#constant and eternal mood

[kissitbttr]

pregnancy was never easy. if it was, fathers could do it.

and truly it was something that toji had learned throughout being married to you and seeing your belly swell with your baby girl. the constant mood swings, back pains, cravings and all. but toji is a wonderful husband. for that, he wouldn’t change it for the world.

anything you want, you get even if your midnight cravings hit. toji will still get up and get dressed before drive to the nearest store that has your favorite red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting.

but being pregnant also means that toji has gotten far more protective than usual. more staying by your side, more checking up on you through his phone, more hiring security cameras and guards to keep you safe. despite your protests, he still thinks it’s necessary.

“sweethea—what the heck?” toji grumbles, eyes almost popping out of his sockets to see you’re not beside him. eyes glancing left and right and that’s where the panic begins to seep into him. “fuck” he scrambles out of the bed, seeing the clock hits at two am,

“no, no, no—“ he feels bead of sweats racing on his temples before slipping on his shoes and a shirt over his head. thinking that something might have happened to you.

god, i can’t go through this. not again. not you. please, please, not you.

toji may not have been the most religious man that has ever walked on earth. but he will beg on his knees and plead to the man up above to never take you away from him,

and just as he about to grab a gun off his safe, he hears the refrigerator door shut downstairs. the sounds making him halt as he quick to whip his head to the source of it.

his eyebrows then furrowed, putting the weapon down carefully before stepping out of your shared room. sometimes he curses himself for buying a home far too big because now he feels like it’s an eternity coming down the stairs. but again, he bought it for you.

the living room lights are already turned off, the only dimmed light he could see is from the kitchen. not only that, but he could hear the metals clinking. so slowly, with ever so confusion written across his face, toji approaches slowly

and there you are ever in your glory, body draped in your favorite pink silky robe sitting on the floor with your back against the fridge. a plate of not one but two red velvet cake slice in your hand as the other forks your way through the delicious treat.

toji heaves out a breathe of relief, knowing that nothing had happened to you. and the noise is loud enough for you to stop chewing and look up. eyes widen at your husband’s figure standing only a few feet away,

“hi” your voice sounds small. almost like embarrassed because you feel like a kid who got caught stealing a cookie off the jar,

“sweetheart” the nickname falls from his mouth like he’s happy to see you after being a part for so long. “what are you doing?”

your mouth slowly begin to chew, a cute smile making its way as your eyes glinting with innocence that toji can’t deny but feel like he’s falling in love with you all over again.

“the baby is hungry” is the only thing you can muster to a response, like it’s an obvious thing. “she wants cake” you giggle quietly,

oh yes, he is definitely falling harder for you again

“the baby is—“ he sighs, hands coming up to rub his face up and down. not because he’s upset but rather amused. “she wanted red velvet cake?”

“mhmm!” you nod vigorously, taking another big bite of the dessert. “and cream cheese frosting!”

and for the first time in a while, toji laughs with his head shaking at the sight of his beautiful wife eating cake at two am. “she told you that?”

“yes! i heard her whisper to me before i go to bed ‘mama.. can we eat the cake? but wait until dada goes to sleep’ because she knows how dada doesn’t allow mama to eat cakes” you smile at him, doing your best of baby voice. licking the cream off the utensil,

toji is grinning so hard he feels like his cheeks are hurting, his eyes are full of love when he looks at you and the little girl you’re growing in there,

“well dada is just taking care of mama so she will be healthy. she needs veggies and whole foods” he takes another step closer, sliding next to you. his eyes never leaving yours, looking at you so lovingly by the way you eat. “i thought something happened to you.. i was panicking”

you pout, not wanting to cause anymore distress on him. “i’m sorry i shouldn’t have done that. but i couldn’t wake you up, you looked exhausted”

he frowns, bending his knees close to his chest. “you should’ve. i would gladly grab the cake for you hence you asked, baby” he leans forward and kiss your temple,

a grateful smile places on your lips, humming in a contentment at the feeling of his soft mouth on your skin. “hmm, i know—“ you cradle his cheek with your free palm, thumbing against his cheekbone and down to his scar.

he used to be so insecure about it until you made him not to be. giving so much praises and kisses about the scar that you think look so hot on him.

“want some?” you extend a spoonful of the cake towards his mouth, in which he opens almost immediately, biting onto the sweet goodness. “how lucky i am to have you, mr. y/l/n”

he laughs, wiping the walnut crumbs off the corner of his lips. “i should be the one saying that to you, doll”

maybe second chances do exist. and it’s a privilege for a person to earn one. toji may had done very questionable things in the past that would make a person think twice in befriending him, let alone married to him but change is real.

and the flaws are what makes it him. it’s one of the reason you are drawn to this beautiful man. because despite every negative seed he may have in him, he still tries. trying and trying to be the person you deserve and the father that your baby girl deserve.

it upsets you to no end knowing that everyone can’t see that. they just see him as a cold, reserved, selfish man who keeps himself closed from the world to see. they don’t see the tears he had shed almost every night for failing to be perfect, they don’t see him having a small banter with you because he wanted to take your last name, they don’t see the amount of times he locked himself in his room because of people talkinh, they don’t see him always rushing out of his office on fridays because he wants to get home before you do just so he can cook your favorite dish,

they don’t see all of that but toji doesn’t care. he doesn’t need their validation nor approval. he just needs yours.

because it’s you he always comes home to. you are his salvation. you are his peace. you are his dream came true.

you, you, you, you.

before you could protest, he presses his lips against yours and move his hand down to your bump,

“happy doesn’t even begin to describe how grateful i am to be your husband”

[backwardsbread]

Hazbin Hotel Characters:

~Marriage proposals~

Warnings‼️: genderneutral!reader, established relationship, characterxreader, lots of fluff, Valentino existing, mentions of cannibals/cannibalism, possessive behavior, pet names used, mentions of divorce, some swearing.

A/N: How would the Hazbin hotel characters propose! I might do a vise versa, where reader proposes. But this one is the characters proposing to YOU. Enjoy~!

This is pretty long- I don’t know how to find word count, but if anyone wants more, drop a request :))

?Semi proofread?

Lucifer:

This man is a NERVOUS WRECK.

When he realizes he wants to marry you, he lowkey panics. Starts acting like you guys just now started dating.

He’s super anxious, trying to impress you, and prove that he’s good enough for you.

(Whether he’s trying to prove that to you, or himself, is up for debate.)

The two of you met on a whim. You didn’t really know it was the king of hell you were talking to when you first met.

How could this be the king?? He was so goofy. His playful demeanor immediately drew you in.

With even learning about how Lucifer was, it didn’t stop those fuzzy feelings towards him that bubbled in your chest.

It took him a long time to even get into a relationship with you, due to him being caught up in his past with Lillith.

But overtime, your affection is what gets him through the tough days.

He gets all flustered and embarrassed at your sweet gestures, trying to hide the fact that he’s realizing he wants you to always only be his.

As we know, he had a previous marriage and that commitment failed him before. He had a right to feel nervous of the subject that once bruised his soul.

But in his heart, he truly knows this is what he wants. He wants to spend his eternity with you if you allowed him to.

When the thought has finally settled, and he knows he’s ready to try marriage again, it doesn’t settle his nerves.

This has to be PERFECT-

He needs the perfect ring, the perfect setting, the perfect outfit. All of which he had easy access to, he is the king afterall.

Yet, nothing seems to be perfect enough. Nothing is enough, nothing he can think of matches how strong his feelings are for you.

Once he thinks he’s decided on what will be perfect, he ditches the idea to try and come up with something better.

He consults Charlie on this issue a lot. Including her in this is very important to him. He makes sure she’s comfortable with the idea of him being married to someone who wasn’t her mother.

Charlie is a bit put off by the idea, it’s strange to think about. She never thought of her father getting remarried, but the thought doesn’t necessary upset her. She’s more worried about history repeating itself.

Overall, she wants her father to be happy, and helps him prepare for the proposal in any way she can.

(Mostly moral support because this guy is in emotional turmoil over this.)

He’s in a constant inbetween of if this was the right thing to do. Was it too soon in your guys relationship? Was it too soon after his divorce? Would you even want to spend the rest of your damnation with the one who started it all?

With heavy encouragement and reassurance from Charlie, he finally has the guts to ask you the big question.

But….. when he takes you out on the date where he meant to propose…

He chickens out. (Or ducks out haha)

“It is quite beautiful tonight.. you know I love you, right?……. Good! Yeah-! U-Uh-.. oh my golly! Look at the time! How that darn old thing does fly-Haha! W-We should head home!- boy am I tired-!”

Rinse and repeat this process a handful of times.

You do start to get a bit skeptical of your partners behavior. You guys had been going on extremely fancy dates at least once a week.

And while you had no complaints on spending time with Lucifer, you did notice his strange behavior.

The way his mood would incline before your guys’ date, and then suddenly decline when it was over. Then having to take the rest of the week to heal his pride.

It was just a big rollercoaster of emotions. You were starting to worry you were the cause of his stress.

(I mean. Technically you were)

During one of his many attempts in asking you, he had already internally given up when he stumbled over his words in the middle of dinner.

Your date was coming to a close, and like clockwork, Lucifer’s chipper mood deteriorated.

His shoulders slumped, he was pouty, and dragging his feet on the way back to the castle.

Before the two of you can enter, you grab Lucifer’s hand, stopping him. He gives you a confused look, posture straightening to look at you.

You give him small pecks all over his face, in hopes to cheer him up from whatever was troubling him.

Your actions have the affect you were hoping for, as he laughs and steals your lips into his own, a wide smile on his face as he rests his hands on your waist.

His nerves seemed to dissipate as he felt an overwhelming sense of security and love for you.

His body was moving before his mind could keep up. The moment just felt right.

He pulls away from your shared embrace, reaching into his pocket, and getting down on one knee. He opens the ring box, revealing the glimmering jewelry within it.

You look at him in shock and he returns the same look, surprised at his own actions. Well there was no backing out of it now- (saY SOMETHING LUCIFER-)

It takes him a few seconds to recover from the shock and he’s tempted to just pretend to tie his shoe. But you knew his intentions and watched the nerves wrack their way up his body once again.

Before he can even speak, give a speech he had rehearsed probably a hundred times in front of his mirror, you say yes.

And the relief that washes over this man— the weight that lifted off his shoulders in that moment— felt amazing.

You bend down with him, smiling ear to ear and chuckling as you realized this is why he was so worked up the past couple months.

Tears fill Lucifer’s eyes as he slides the piece of jewelry onto your ring finger.

You kiss away the tears that slip down his face and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a hug.

His tattered heart feeling stitched back together that day.

Alastor:

We all know Alastor isn’t the biggest on romance.

He’s a true gentleman, of course, but public displays of affection and intimate relationships weren’t his cup of tea.

The two of you had know each other for years in the afterlife, yet it was only recently you had put a label on your relationship.

Falling for you was never part of his plan.

He first saw you as an prey, only a possible soul he could claim for his ongoing collection.

But your sickening sweetness unfortunately grew on him over time. He once wanted to take advantage of it, but he became too fond of you to corrupt it.

You moved from his prey to his acquaintance.

You lived in cannibal town where he would frequently visit.

You join the gossip sessions with him and Rosie, indulging in their banter. It starts by you just walking by and throwing a comment towards their conversation you were listening in to. Eventually you had your own designated seat at their table.

Rosie definitely saw the potential the connection you and Alastor had, so she subtly pushes the two of you to hang out more.

This leads to your relationship advancing from mere acquaintances to good friends. The transition quick due to Rosie’s persistence.

Anytime Alastor would visit cannibal town, he would make effort to pay you a visit. He just felt so drawn to your company.

His smile felt less strained, his body would relax, and he could do what he wanted while you served up some fresh pinkie fingers.

There would be occasions of Alastor realizing he’s dropped his guard around you, and he would be snippy and aggressive those days. In fear of going soft and losing his mojo.

The first time he did this scared you,

(I mean obviously, the mans body grows two-ten times in his demon form)

But after a talk with Rosie about it, you tried to be understanding. Instead of falling away or distant with Alastor after his little tantrums, you simply waited it out. When he was back to normal asking softly if he wanted to talk about it or move on.

It wasn’t clear to you when you guys really started being affectionate towards one another. It just kind of happened.

You knew Alastor to be a gentleman before formally meeting him. So him linking arms with you, kissing your knuckles, holding open doors was nothing new.

It seemed like everyone besides the two of you knew the true feelings you two had for each other before you guys did.

You were holding hands, seeing each other everyday, Alastor would give you his coat to borrow on colder days, etc. Just small sweet gestures the two of you would share.

It took an incredible amount of time for Alastor to come to terms with his feelings. He hadn’t done this before and had no control of what his heart wanted. It was scary.

Putting a label on what you guys had didn’t seem necessary. The two of you knew what you meant to each other in an unspoken agreement.

(Rosie did eventually pressure him to actually ask you out however. It was the gentleman’s thing to do)

(But enough backstory)

More often than not, Alastor found himself spending his nights with you. Not to leave until the morning or midday after.

The two of you practically lived together when the overlord wasn’t too busy with other matters.

We already went over how the two of you weren’t big on labels. It wasn’t until Rosie asked that Alastor had even thought about marriage.

“Sooo… when are you going to put a rock on your pretty thang’s finger?”

“Hm? I don’t think it’s necessary.”

“What?? You’re kidding right? That darling and you have been together ages! You wouldn’t want someone else swiping them away from you, right?”

“Hah! Never going to happen. Who in their right mind would try that?”

“…”

“You do know where we are, right?”

It had never occurred to the Radio demon before. You guys had made your relationship official of course. Anyone else who would try and court you and take you away from him would be simply insane.

But the thought wormed itself into his brain and flourished.

The thought of not knowing what you were doing 24/7. The thought of someone possibly stealing you away without his knowledge.

The thought of some undeserving sinner having their hands on what belonged to him.

It irked him.

After that conversation with Rosie, say goodbye to your privacy. You’re not going anywhere alone. He can’t risk someone even attempting to steal you away.

It was irritating how he was always tracking you, keeping a shadow with you at all times.

If someone even dared to hold open a door for you that wasn’t him or his shadow, he’d show up at your side in an instant.

It made you anxious and overall, you felt your partner didn’t trust you.

You did express these feelings to Alastor, but your words seemed to phase right through him. You had no idea what had gotten into him to make him (even more) protective.

You joined him in bed one night, as he was stilling up, enjoying a book with jazz music emitting from his aura.

You cuddle close to him, the feeling of fuzzy static that enveloped you a comforter for your slumber.

Before you can let yourself drift off to sleep, your partner closes his book with one hand, the loud thump making you jolt.

“Say darling, what do you think of marriage?”

The sudden ask has you dumbfounded, giving him a deer in headlights stare. (Hah-)

He had never even mentioned marriage before yet here he was now, smiling at you as he waited for your response.

You give honesty, telling him you never really thought of it yourself and you were surprised to hear the idea from him.

You did mention how the subject didn’t draw you away. You knew you loved Alastor with your entire soul. Your heart and soul were his without one of his binding contracts.

Once he hears your approval he snaps his fingers making one of his shadows appear, holding out his signature red coat to him. He reaches into the pocket of his jacket, fishing out what he desired.

He pulled out a small box and handed it to you, his shadow dismissing itself from the scene.

You give him a confused look, before gently opening the box. Your eyes meeting the small band inside.

Oh- he was serious?????

You give him a puzzled look, while he just tilts his head at you, silently asking ‘too soon?’

Your eyes continue to track from the ring, to him, back to the ring, then back to him.

Your hesitation comes off as denial to Alastor, so he reaches out to take the box back. Before he can even lay a finger on it, you pull it to your chest protectively.

You give him a glare for even having the audacity to try and take this away from you. Your actions make him chuckle and hold his hands up defensively.

You slip the band onto your ring finger. Once it’s perfectly snug onto your digit, you pull your partner close to you, peppering his lips with small pecks. Scolding him in between your kisses for being so nonchalant.

He simply chuckles against your affections, telling you the ring will be a reminder you are always his.

And you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Vox:

Vox is not one for settling down. No shot in hell.

Have you seen this man?? Holy hell take a chill pill.

A lot of Vox’s priorities lie with his work. He’s always pushing the boundaries of tech, eager to create something new and be on the face of it.

He never thought of dating. Being tied down to one person made him cringe. So the thought of marriage never even entered his system.

Then there was you of course. Messing up his plans.

How could he not fall for you? You were charming, beautiful, and down right too good for him.

(According to him.)

Your presence and the feelings you gave him made him feel threatened. He tried to put him a wall between the two of you, avoiding you at all costs.

But when he would look at his phone, seeing your icon pop up with messages to him. His fans would kick into gear, his cold heart ticking rapidly in his chest.

Yeah he had it BAD.

When you became a priority to him as well, it kind of threw a wrench in the balance of his schedule.

Yes he loves you but that fact scares him. He wasn’t exactly the safest demon to be around.

So he found it better that the two of you keep your relationship secret. Mostly spending early mornings and late nights with you.

It was difficult to manage. You wanted nothing more than to try hang out with your partner all day but he was always busy.

You would visit him at work, but on very rare occasion. You still owned your soul, which meant Valentino saw it as up for grabs, despite Vox’s warnings (threats) to not lay a finger on you.

As much as you enjoyed visiting your partner at work, you understood his reasonings for being uncomfortable with it.

Besides that, the chance of others seeing the two of you in public was way too high. You guys didn’t usually go on dates.

Your partner was more comfortable having you stay at home, having a double life without him. You lived with Vox, but outside of the time you two spent together, you had your own things going on.

Vox knew about it of course, he cares about you more than anything. He needs to know what’s going on at all times. And what you had going on outside of him was important to him.

He always has a screen pulled up in his monitor room while working. Just to see what you were up to.

The screen usually tracked a camera on you whenever you went out, it displayed your phone screen whenever it was in use, and showed your vitals on the bottom corner of the screen.

He didn’t trust the sinners that roamed these streets, rightfully so. Being able to track you gave him a source of comfort when he couldn’t always be around.

As mentioned before, going out on dates wasn’t really a thing. But Vox would usually clear up one day a month in his schedule. Just to spend the entire day with you.

(Of course he occasionally shuts down, checking how everything is going at V headquarters while he’s not around. Cant take this man entirely away from his work)

You’d spend those days cuddling, ordering in some takeout, and just catching up with each other. Getting in as much affection as you could.

The nights were soft and intimate. It was what you always looked forward to.

Vox had some things to do early morning on the day designated for the two of you. You did pout and complain to him, but he promised to be back as soon as he could.

Hours passed and you started to get a little bit peeved that your partner had yet to return home. Checking the time, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

You get dolled up, pack up a small container of snacks, and head to V’s headquarters.

Making your way through the crowd of demons and sinners. You head up the elevator, but it stops on Valentinos floor.

And with just your luck, the lustful demon is standing there, waiting to get on. When he sees your face, he grins wide and enters the elevator. Standing uncomfortably close.

He blows out his pink slut smoke into the small space, making you cringe and try to waft the stench away from you.

Valentino is touchy and that’s an understatement.

So when he bends down at your level, once again offering a job to you, your heart rate spikes.

Meanwhile, Vox is having a one sided argument with Velvette, the young overlord scolding him as she changed his outfit several times.

It wasn’t often Vox was used as a model for Velvette, but he had actually asked her ahead of time to design something special for you and him.

By ahead of time, he asked yesterday, not giving Velvette nearly enough time.

While he tuned out of his teammate reprimanding him, his watch buzzed, alerting him of your abnormal heart rate.

He gives a confused look, his screen going black for a second as he brought up his home security camera on his screen. When seeing you weren’t at the house, his eye twitched.

Where the hell did you go??

He was brought back, his face glitching in and out as he pulled out his phone, bringing up your location.

He saw how close you were and immediately thought the worst.

He zaps himself into the nearest camera, zipping through the electronics to find where you are.

Within a minute, he’s found you in the elevator, practically cornered by Valentino who was literally drooling on you.

The lights flicker in the elevator as it comes to a screeching halt. Cue your partner showing up with a crack of blue electricity, yanking Valentino away from you by the moth’s wing.

He puts himself in front of you, acting as a shield so you don’t have to be near Valentino’s poison.

“W̵̰̻͍̉̔̅̀̐͐͒͆̒̚ḥ̸̨̧̗̮̖̽̂̓̀̍̋͋́̅̃͘͜͝ǎ̴̯̀͠t̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅ t̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅḥ̸̨̧̗̮̖̽̂̓̀̍̋͋́̅̃͘͜͝ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ f̵̢̻͈̫̬̻͔̘̞͈̆̇̍̈̌͊ͅu̷̬̩̰̫͕̘͎̔́̃̄̍͋̓c̵̛̥͊k̵̘̺̦͉͖̪̪͖͉͊̆̔́̈́̍̃̈́͒̂̑̀̚͜͝ d̶̡̲̗̼̮̤̤̳̲͖͓͍͔͓̓̎̽́̽̏̐͂̆͆͘͘͘ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅ y̶͔͗ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅu̷̬̩̰̫͕̘͎̔́̃̄̍͋̓ t̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅḥ̸̨̧̗̮̖̽̂̓̀̍̋͋́̅̃͘͜͝i̶̡̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅǹ̷̨͍̮̥̹̘͙̗̻̬̬̜̥̮̃̒̈́̽͗̿̍̄̂̏͆͠͝k̵̘̺̦͉͖̪̪͖͉͊̆̔́̈́̍̃̈́͒̂̑̀̚͜͝ y̶͔͗ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅu̷̬̩̰̫͕̘͎̔́̃̄̍͋̓’r̵̡͕͈͚͍͍̼͕̍̀̈́̽̎̍͗̍́̏̚͜͠ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ d̶̡̲̗̼̮̤̤̳̲͖͓͍͔͓̓̎̽́̽̏̐͂̆͆͘͘͘ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅi̶̡̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅǹ̷̨͍̮̥̹̘͙̗̻̬̬̜̥̮̃̒̈́̽͗̿̍̄̂̏͆͠͝ǧ̷̡̟̲̹̩̱͉̮̭͇͚̮̖̟̽̓͊̔̓̕??”

(What the fuck do you think you’re doing??)

Vox’s voice glitched out, muted TV static layering his voice as the fans whirled in the back of his head. In a desperate attempt to cool him down.

Valentino doesn’t give much of a reaction, putting his hands up in feigned innocence.

“𝒟𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓇𝓎 𝒱𝑜𝓍𝓍𝒾𝑒! 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝑜𝒻𝒻𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝓁𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓂 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈𝑒𝓁𝒻-“

“You better watch your mouth.”

“𝒪𝒽𝒽, 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓃’𝓉 𝒶𝓈𝓀𝑒𝒹 𝓎𝑒𝓉. 𝒲𝑒𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝓎 𝒷𝒶𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓈𝓅𝑜𝒾𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝒾𝑔 𝓈𝓊𝓇𝓅𝓇𝒾𝓈𝑒.”

Valentino speaks with sickening sarcasm. You look between the two, incredibly confused. Vox looks like he’s about to explode.

The lights flicker back on, and the door opens, Vox demanding his business partner leave.

The moth scowls at the both of you, before putting one set of hands on his hips, the other set of arms crossing across his chest. In the most sassy way possibly leave the two of you behind.

Vox waits for the elevator door to close before he can breath again. He’s muttering angrily to himself, one hand on either side of his screen as he tries not to blue screen.

You put your hand over his, his cold hand giving you a subtle shock of electricity as you touched him. You give him a concerned gaze, silently asking if he was okay.

Vox looks at you, shoulders relaxing just looking into your comforting eyes. Little bolts of electricity shoot out from the side of his screen as he tries to calm himself, his fans working overtime.

You set down the bag of treats you were bringing for him to hold his hands in your own. You give him a bright smile, concern not leaving your eyes.

You reassure him that whatever he had planned isn’t ruined. You could just pretend you didn’t know! You didn’t want this little run in to ruin your guys’ day.

You ramble on as he just stares at you, almost blankly, his screen fading from blue to a baby pink as he listened to you.

As you’re apologizing for causing trouble, he puts a hand up to stop your little speech.

He reaches into his pant pocket, pulling out a small halo shaped piece of jewelry. He holds your left hand in his own as he gets down on one knee in front of you.

I mean.. you knew he had a surprise planned, but seeing his actions didn’t fail to shock you.

He gives a little speech to you, stuttering and glitching over his words as he tries to explain himself.

For being a perfectionist overlord, this was one hell of a show.

He’s a blushing glitching mess, cursing to himself when he couldn’t find the exact words he wanted to say.

You grab the sides of his screen, looking him in the eyes and forcing him to meet your gaze. You’re saying yes before he can embarrass himself anymore.

He looks a bit shocked by your response, he can’t believe you said yes after that display he just put on. Before he can get the ring on your finger, he blue screens from shock and embarrassment.

You kind of chuckle and sit down beside your partner while you wait for him to reboot. Not like you could go anywhere with the elevator being stuck with the two of you inside. You do gently take the piece of jewlry, sliding it onto your finger and admiring its design.

Cuddling into Vox’s arm, you can’t help but smile brightly at the decorative piece snug on your ring finger.

It was perfect.

[etherfabric]

Why things will be easy now

Choose a pile by which picture you resonate with the most.

If your mind is too busy to clearly decide, take a few deep breaths, and use the finger of your non-dominant hand to hover over the images. One will give off the most subtle yet prominent signals, like tingles, a magnetic pull, or temperature. This is your pile. Multiples are also possible.

more PACs

Pile 1

Queen of Swords, The Emperor

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Things will be easy now because you learned what works for you, and are confident to ditch the rest. Your intuition is razor sharp and wielding it is second nature to you now. Other's opinions don't sway you anymore. You know everyone has their own path, and them doing thing A has no influence on your thing B. You are a master now with drawing boundaries with others as well within your own thoughts - you know which ones are from your true, authentic, eternal, beautiful self, and which one are just silly downward spiraling habits you can opt out anytime. Those doubts are like fluffy clouds on a breezy summer day - superficial, fleeting, never able to stop the sun from reaching you. You know where to put your energy and your focus, and feel the results instantly. How come mood is now so easy? And the best part - it doesn't actually feel new. You remember how this was always at your disposal. How you just forgot about it. But it was always there. Memories of past successes are cut and dry proof of all the blessings to come. It feels powerful, it feels true, it feels good - it feels you. Like actually you.

Pile 2

The World, Page of Pentacles

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Things will be easy now because the minute somethings stops feeling satisfying, another perfect thing will pop up. Talking about divine orchestration, and this is your symphony. You enjoy every step of the journey - the idea, the initiation, the progress, the habit, the finish. You marvel at the infinite combinations of those currents through your perception, and the world is your oyster now. So many prospects that hold reliable promises! It's all up to you. Things that used to be dull and monotonous suddenly bring a sparkle to your eye again. Food tastes rich, water refreshes you with every sip, your body is a miracle you have access to every living second. The physical plane got its magic back. With the eyes of the eternal child, you feel abundant beyond limits. I get the feeling specifically of having beautiful interactions with nature, with an emphasis on animals. Spotting a rare bird, petting a cat, a butterfly landing right next to you. Serendipitous timing with weather - sun right when you want it, rain right when it adds to the athmosphere, a breeze caressing your back as encouragement on a stroll towards something exciting. Beautiful sunsets, stargazing, moonlight moments. You have everything you could ever want, and then some. This is what life is about, and it's so easy. And you know how to stay in it.

Pile 3

3 of Cups, 2 of Wands

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Things will be easy now because it finally clicked: You remembered how freaking likeable you are. Social interactions that used to confuse you now suddenly make sense - people are intimidated and nervous around you! They really want you to like them, and they can't fathom how you don't see that. Well, those times are over now. A calm and confident warmth emenates from within you now, and what used to be a source of anxiety and stress is now a constant uplift in your life - the people you meet, how they look at you, the words they say, just their body language from across the street are all surefire signs you can read like a children's book. They reflect what has finally once againrevealed itself to you: You are beautiful, impressive, radiant, capable, deserving, magical. This makes time by yourself like a serene island of recuperation and contemplation. Your dreams and plans with people are just as easily achievable as opening the door to your room. Mundane, easy, self explanatory, a given. Not ever a focus of your worries. Why worry about the doorknob? Why worry about things that are certain? Why worry about just the right people entering your life at just the right moment, with just the right circumstances, right words, right gifts, right intentions? That's right. As easy as the inhale and exhale. As sure as the next breath. Welcome to the truth.

Pile 4

5 of Cups, The Hierophant

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Things will be easy now because you know you don't have to fake anything to get what you want. Feel sad? Cry. You are still God's favorite and your blessings are on their way. The more authentic you are, the faster they will come. You have found comfort in what others would falsely read as "bad signs". There are no bad signs when you are set on the right path. There are only different stations all with their own rhythm, themes and energies. All parts of you are necessary and welcome. Your joy, your fear, your sadness, your frustrations - they are no longer being pushed away, but embraced. That's how they power your manifestations. The more you, the merrier. You can suddenly feel the beautiful relief and cleanse your tears bring, the empowering holy fire within your rage as it propels you forward towards what you deserve, the soothing hum of your tiredness replenishing every cell. No more thwarted sense of self that breaks you - you are perfect and sacred as you are. The less pressure, the more rewards are coming your way. Life flows through you, you are an expression of the divine, and carry yourself accordingly through all phases of life. You will suddenly see texts and teachings reflecting exactly that. You will feel validated in a way you never felt before, but it will feel just like home. Your true home of eternal love and possibilities.

[xxblairexxss]

Duty

Pairing : Charles Leclerc x pregnant!reader

Theme : Angst / fluff

It reached 3.4k before I could even do the climax so I’m just gonna drop this one first or else I’m gonna rush the next part and ended up ruining everything.

Google result! Let’s hope this is accurate. I spent hours on website trying to find this. PROM is a shorten for premature rupture of membranes!

Requested!

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Charles was ecstatically happy to start the new season with the brightest hope because of how he ended the previous one as the second place in the World Driver Championship, even more elated when this was his first time starting the new season as a new father-to-be but it was undeniable that Charles had been struggling since the first race.

He seemed to be developed a new trait as well as upgraded some of his old ones ever since your pregnancy. Your first pregnancy. He had asked you to stop accompanying him to races which resulted to a fight, and you claimed that he didn’t need your support anymore. He eventually gave in but with conditions where you needed to stay by his side all the time or if he was occupied, he would force Joris to stay with you. When you got into your second trimester, he had again, asked you to to stop attending the races but you still wanted to, so he gave in again but only allowed you to attend the qualifying and race day so you started missing his practice day, which caused the media to question about your absence and Charles had to reassure everyone how you had been doing fine, but he had to be stricter on you to avoid any unwanted accidents. When you entered your third trimester, he didn’t allow you to attend any of the races at all and this time, he didn’t give in, no matter what.

Even so, he never allowed you to be left alone. You would either be at his parent’s house, your parents’ house, or he would bring either one to your house.

No matter how much you reassured him.

“Charles, can I just stay here?” Your voice trailed off, already feeling gloomy from what he was gonna say. You were sitting on the bed, looking at your husband going in and out of the room packing his stuffs before his flight in a few hours.

“What was it, baby?” He walked back into the room, placing one of his perfume into the small luggage bag and cocked his brow, waiting for you to repeat what he had missed.

“I don’t want to go to my parents house this weekend.”

He heaved a sigh of defeat and it made you regret for bringing up the topic. “You know I’m doing this for your safety, right? Honey, I won’t be here for a week, that’s long enough. What if something happened?”

“I know but I’m not due for another month.”

He took your hand in his, thumb softly grazing on your knuckles. “You are already 35 weeks. I can’t take the risk of leaving you alone. The doctor told us you need to be careful as they suspected PROM, no?”

“But–“ You jutted your bottom lips, looking away when your husband tilted his head away, eyes squeezing shut when you tried to argue even more.

“But what, honey? Go on, I’m listening.”

“Y/F/N wanted to come over with her little girls this weekend. I just wanted to do a little movie night and bake some cookies with them.” You felt Charles moved his shirts that you were folding in front of you away and skittered closer, seeing how you refused to look at him now.

“Can I see your pretty face?”

He beamed, feeling his heart caught the eternity’s mist as you looked up to him with teary eyes. “My crybaby.” He had realised since you entered your second trimester, your hormones seemed to be ramped up and you had been in a constant mood swings and crying spells, crying at almost everything. He had told his mom, worried about it as he wasn’t sure why. Even after he talked to you a lot about it and she said it was normal, but it sure took him a while to get used to it.

“Charles..” You hit on his arm and he chuckled.

“Alright, alright. Just this one time, okay? Make sure to pick up my call and let me know if it hurts anywhere.”

“I love you!” You exclaimed and threw your arms around his waist, head leaning against his chest.

“I’m serious, Y/N. Let me know if anything happens. Don’t make me regret my decision. Promise?”

“Promise!”

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

Few days passed, Charles got the podium for the second time in a row and you had been eagerly waiting for him to walk through the door. It was a shame you weren’t there to hug him as soon as he hopped off the fast car but he’d made sure you didn’t feel left alone as he called you right after, even mentioned you and his unborn daughter in his interviews.

“Congratulations! Two podiums in a row!” You threw you arms in the air and hopped, stopping when Charles held your waist.

“Careful, love.” He brushed his lips on your forehead, letting it linger against your skin. “I missed you, and you too, little one.” He bended down and stroked on your middle.

“I wanted to bake you muffins last night but I fell asleep because your child won’t stop kicking me.”

He placed his arm around waist, pulling you close as much as he could, another hand on the side of your belly. “It’s okay, I don’t mind. We can bake muffins together now that I’m home?”

“Are you tired?”

He pulled a funny expression and nodded impatiently. “I am worn out, baby. Total knocked out.”

“Can you buy me the matcha ice cream?”

“I bought you three tubs before I left, didn’t I?”

“I–“ You were going to tell him your excuse but ended up sucking your lips into a thin line, pulling away to pinch your husband on his arm. “Don’t look at me like that! I’m gonna cry!”

He winced and recoiled, hand leaving your belly to stroke on his waist where you just pinched. “Ow! What did I do?”

“You looked at me as if it was impossible for someone to finish three tubs of ice cream in one week! See? You are doing it again! I hate you.”

“What do you want me to do?” His mouth widen in disbelief and brought his palm up to cover his eyes. “Is this okay now?”

“Better.” You giggled and went back hugging his waist. You definitely missed hugging him without your belling getting in the way but it won’t be that long now. “Can you still get me the ice cream?”

“Of course, love. I’ll be right back.”

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

Charles has been home for a week and day by day, you could see how he got progressively quite. He didn’t ignore you, didn’t raise his voice at you, he never did. He was still the husband that you wished every woman would have but he had been looking as if he was keeping a lot to himself.

“Charles?” You heard him hummed in response, his face is buried against your neck, his arm draped on your belly as you played with his hair. “Are you okay?”

“Why did you ask?”

“I feel like you are worrying about something. Talk to me, honey. What’s wrong?” He went silenced, his hand left your belly as he pulled away.

“I don’t know, Y/N. I’m just scared? No– worried. No– I’m not sure. Probably both.”

You placed your under your round middle as you turned, scooted facing your husband who looked like he was in a deep dejection. “Was it because of this weekend?”

“Yeah. I just can’t afford to disappoint them again, love.”

“How do you know you were gonna disappoint them?” You placed your hand on his neck, thumb brushing against his stubble. “Hm?”

“I don’t know. I just feel like it? It’s not the first time, honey.”

“Don’t be too harsh on yourself. It’s not even the race day yet but you are already assuming the worst. Give yourself a chance to prove yourself. I know my husband very well and I know he can ace everything thrown in his face.”

His lips turned into an upwards curve as he bended down to kiss your belly, hand patted on the side of it. “Mommy really knows how to cheer daddy up, doesn’t she? How I wish you could come too, baby.”

“We can come! Right, baby?” You replied, your hand strokes on the other side of your middle, voice filled with a hint of hope.

“No. I didn’t actually mean it, honey. It was hypothetical.” He straighten his body, and you saw the frown he always made whenever you told him you wanted to come to any races.

“But I really want to go..”

“You know what my answer will be, don’t you? I’m not gonna change it this time, Y/N.”

“This could be my last time attending your race before she comes. I don’t want to stay in the house. It’s getting boring and I have nothing to do.” You had been waiting for him to look at you as perhaps, there could be a tiny expectation where he would change his mind but he didn’t. “You’ll never understand.” You pulled your hand away, standing up to leave the living room.

“Baby,” He called out and of course, he got ignored. He knew it and wasn’t even expecting for you to reply. “Hear me out first. Y/N–“ You slammed the door and locked it before he could pushed it back. “Okay, locking the door is not it, honey.” He knocked and waited, but he didn’t hear anything. “Y/N, open the door.” Nothing. “Baby, please.” Still nothing. “Open the door or I’m gonna eat your ice cream. I’m serious.”

“You are mean.” He bit his lips, trying to hold his smile when you opened the door a second after, glaring at him with your arms folded.

“Oh? I’m the mean one when you just slammed the door and locked your husband out of the room? Baby, can you at least hear what I was gonna say?”

“I know what you’re gonna say. You don’t have to say it to my face.” You rolled your eyes and walked back to the bed.

“I thought you know how to read my mind. I was gonna ask you to be my date this Sunday but I think I got rejected.” He was going to stand up, pretending to be walking away but you gripped on his arm.

“Oh my god! Really? Can I really go to the race?”

“Last one before our little girl arrives.”

He gave in, yet again.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

You had been feeling cramps ever since the weekend arrived. Your back had been hurting since your third trimester but it hurt even more these days, especially when you laid down. You could barely fall asleep even when you tried to sleep sitting against the headboard so you always woke up feeling all worn out which caused you to lose appetite. Even your head hurt due to the lack of sleep.

Charles had realised you were somewhat different but every time he asked you, you would just brush it off, saying that it was normal for pregnant women to feel like this nearly the end of the pregnancy. He realised you didn’t ask him to buy anything that you craved for which you used to every single day. You had been really quite. You only took a bite out of your meal only when he caught you but every time he asked if you were fine, you would always say yes, telling him to stop worrying. He had been contemplating if he could skip practice day, in any way possible but you got so mad at him for “being silly”.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

You were sitting in front of your dressing table, contemplating about which scent you should go with when your belly went tight, as if going through another cramp and it made you winced in pain. Your body slightly bended towards your middle.

“Honey? Are you done?”

“Y– yeah, I’m almost done.”

“Hey.” Charles peeked his head and strode to where you were sitting, crouching down so he could see your face. “I know I’ve been asking you this for like the million times but are you really fine? You are worrying me, love. You don’t have to come if you are not feeling well.”

“I am fine! I am just excited. I promise.”

His hand went to your round belly and softly rubbed on it. “I saw your face scrunched up earlier. Is she giving you a hard time?”

“She just has been kicking non stop. She’s probably too excited to see his daddy wins the race.” You placed your hand on his and cackled.

“Oh, I’m not sure about that, baby.”

“You can, honey! We’ll be rooting for you!”

“If that’s what my girls wished for then I guess I could make it comes true. P5 to P1 doesn’t sound hard, does it? We need to go. Are you all set?” He stood up straight and pinched on your cheek. “You look beautiful, baby.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the smile from the compliments. “Liar. Can you help me up?” You stretched out your arms for him to pull you up.

“Ready? 1, 2, 3!” His body was slightly slanted to give you enough space when you stood up. “I’m not lying. My wife is so beautiful I almost mistook her as an angel.”

“Whatever.”

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

They were expecting rain to come since it had been raining during both practice and qualifying round but it felt like the sun was just a hand fist away from your head the moment you stepped out of the car. The media had to make it worse since this was your first appearance in the paddock in your last semester where you looked undeniably pregnant now. They had to block your way when you just wanted to sit down as fast as you can, even after Charles had rejected every request. His arm never left your waist. He even shook his head to people who asked to interview him regarding the race, telling them that he would come back after he sent you to the Ferrari’s hospitality.

“Here’s your drink. Oh, and I also got you some chocolates because it’s hot and you always needed something sweet. Some vitamins which I’m not sure if you ever need them but, you know, just in case. And– “

“Charles, I’m fine. Go and do your duty as a driver, honey.” You held his hand that was halted in the air as he was searching for something else he could give you.

“Are you sure? You were trembling earlier, Y/N.”

“It was just the sun. I’m fine now. See?” You cupped his cheeks and giggled when he shivered, feeling your cold hands against his skin. “Go! Don’t make them wait.”

“I’ll come back to you before I have to get into the car. Don’t be in the garage. Stay in here. It’s more comfortable, alright? I love you.” He leaned in to kiss you and pecked on your shirt covered belly. “And you too, little one. Please be nice on mommy.”

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

You were lying through your teeth but Charles didn’t catch any of it. He was probably too nervous for the race as he could usually read you like an open book. Your cramps had been going on recurrently, your belly is hard to touch and it felt heavier. The steps taken from your car to the paddock made you out of breath, your legs were shaking from having to walk through the cramps but your husband knew nothing about any of it. You felt like the weather and the tension from earlier might had something to do with it. You weren’t going to tell him because he had enough on his plate and though you knew he didn’t mind it at all, you didn’t want him to do anything hasty on the race day. He had told you multiple times how he could skip the practice and even the qualifying round if you just told him something was wrong and if he knew about what you had been feeling these past few days, he wouldn’t even be attending this race and you couldn’t afford that. He was a Ferrari driver before he was your husband. This should be his priority, not you. It’s Monaco, he had always been the centre in every Monaco GP, what would the fans say if he, the only Monegasque in the grid was missing on the important day.

You weren’t sure why you had been feeling this way. Your due date was 3 weeks away. That was surely long enough. You even googled if it was possible for women to get Braxton hicks in their 37 weeks into the pregnancy but most of the answers sent you to shiver that you refused to read in detail and tried to hold it off, until the race, at the very least.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

Charles couldn’t see you before he got into the car. He had been pushing his schedule back when he chose to stay with you in the hospitality earlier so he had no more gap before he race. He was now in the grid walk, fireproofs suit on as he was putting on the balaclava, the white-coloured open mask while one of his race assistant, Xavi was holding his helmet. “Where’s Joris?”

“He’s there. Joris!”

Joris came running from the side of the grid and Charles turned to look at him. “Please keep an eye on Y/N for me. I have a feeling she’s not telling me something.”

“Got it. You don’t have to worry about her.”

“If, God forbid, something happened to her during the race, please let me know. At any time of the race.” He then took the helmet from Xavi and gripped on Joris’s shoulder as he was about to walk away. “Promise me, Joris. Let me know. No matter what position I am.”

“Nothing will happen to her, Charles. I’ll be by her side. Just focus on your race.”

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

“Ow..” You winced, steps came to a halt as you placed your hand on the wall to hold yourself. The cramp became more and more intense you could barely stand up any longer than 5 minutes. Even a walk to the bathroom took you long enough as you had to keep on stopping or your legs would just give away. “Not too hard, baby..”

“Y/N, you okay?” Joris came and your face instantly became more at ease to hide the pain.

“I’m fine, Joris. I just feel a little hot.” He offered you a hand and as soon as you pulled your hand from the wall, your whole body became wobbly and Joris immediately caught you in his arms.

“Woah, woah, slow down. Let’s walk you back to the lounge area, alright? Just lean on me.”

You felt a chill as you started sweating abnormally though you were in an air-conditioned area. Soon as you took a step forward, everything became a blur and you lost control of yourself, giving in completely.

“Y/N!” You felt Joris’s body against yours as you fell to the ground. Your eyes were heavy that it felt like it required a huge amount of energy to force it opened and you let yourself capiltulated to the darkness.

Joris immediately called for a medic and he was told that you needed to be taken to the emergency room right away, making him even more overwrought as it sounded more serious than he thought. “Can you wait until I informed her husband first?”

“Sir, we are suspecting internal emergency. We can’t wait. Leave us her emergency contact number and we’ll call them to direct to the hospital.”

Internal emergency. Joris could barely think straight and became more perturbed. One because Charles had given him the responsibility to look over you and he thought it was just his friend being overprotective. Second because you had been more like a family, like a little sister to him so he didn’t want anything bad happened to you. He had given Charles’s parent a call, telling Pascale to call your parents as well before he barged into the garage. He couldn’t cross the pit lane due to safety precaution but the group of people who had direct access to the drivers’ radio were all sitting across the pit lane. He ended up grabbing a random engineer to help him passed the words. “Tell them to inform Charles that his wife had been brought to the emergency room.”

He then saw the engineer walked and whispered to the person in charge and felt a little relief because now all he had to do is wait for Charles so he could go to the hospital.

But he didn’t know none of his words were being conveyed.

“Charles,”

Silenced.

“Guys, I’m listening.”

“No, nothing. Just wanted to inform that we are sticking to plan A.”

“Copy that.”

Joris waited, and waited. He was so anxious he couldn’t even stand still. He saw Charles on the final turn and thought to himself that he was gonna came into the pit lane any second,

but he didn’t. His car passed the starting line again as he carried onto the next lap.

✧.* tags! @i83andrew @cltrlne @karmabyfernando @ohthemisssery @ru-kru @tastebaldwin @f1obessed @aundercover @love4lando @shinrjj

if your usernames were crossed meaning I can’t tag you 😭 let me know if you would like to be removed or added to the taglist! or if I missed anyone!

[sidekick-hero]

I've got a ghost in the hallway grinning

Written for @steddieangstyaugust day 2, prompt: ghosts. Title from Euclid by Sleep Token.

Tags: Ghost!Eddie, Angst with a happy ending (!), childhood friends, canon divergence

words: 1.7k | AO3 | teen

"You are such a charmer, big boy. Oh, wow, your eyes are so blue; it's like looking at the ocean. I can't believe she let you get to second base after that line."

"Oh, please, what do you know? How many second bases have you been to?"

Eddie recoiled at Steve's words, and Steve immediately wanted to kick himself. That was a low blow, even for him. Eddie's constant teasing about his dates always got under his skin. It’s why he mostly stopped bringing girls over, but Megan had insisted they couldn’t go to her place because her mom was always home. She didn't want to risk getting caught in his car.

So he brought her home to let his house ghost judge his moves.

What was his life, anyway?

Despite his irritation, Eddie was his best friend, alive or not, and Steve didn’t want to hurt him.

"Shit, Eddie, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"But you did, Steve. And you're right. I haven't even kissed anyone. All I know is from those cheesy movies you secretly watch."

Steve gave Eddie a faint smile. "Oh my God, that was once. Maybe twice. And no one was supposed to know."

Eddie looked up at him, his big brown eyes still sad. "Who would I even tell? You're the only one who can see me. Don't worry your pretty head, Stevie, I'll take all your secrets to my grave."

Now it was Steve's turn to look sad, all his earlier giddiness from making out with Megan gone.

"This isn't funny, man." Steve's voice broke, and that finally snapped Eddie out of his strange mood.

Eddie approached, hand hovering over Steve’s arm, like he wanted to touch but couldn’t. Steve knew he couldn’t.

Eddie couldn’t touch him because Eddie was a ghost. He was dead, with no body to touch Steve with. They had tried, when they first met, and several times since. It never worked, just a cold whisper against his skin, but nothing substantial.

"Sorry," Eddie mumbled, looking contrite.

"It's fine. I just want to be alone for a bit, though. Please."

"Sure, Stevie. I’ll just… go, I guess. See you later?"

Steve forced himself to smile at Eddie to show him everything was okay between them. "Yeah, definitely. We still have to watch the new Star Wars movie, right?"

"Right. Just call when you're ready, and I'll see if I can fit you in."

With that, Eddie disappeared to wherever ghosts go when they’re not here. Steve still had no idea how it all worked, just that Eddie always came when he called.

The one time he didn’t, after a particularly bad fight—the worst they’d ever had—Steve had a panic attack. He had been alone at the time, as had become more and more usual for him. It was the only time Steve swears he felt Eddie, who had hugged him as tight as he could, begging him to ‘breathe, Stevie, please, just breathe, pleasepleaseplease.’

After that, Eddie had always been there as soon as Steve said his name, even when they were fighting.

Steve lay down on his bed and stared at the ceiling, a deep sigh escaping his lips.

He wondered what had changed between him and Eddie, when it stopped being so easy. He had known Eddie since he was six years old, when his parents and he moved into this house.

It was a hot summer day, and Steve had been hiding in his room, playing with his toy cars, when a voice behind him startled him. “What’re you doing there?” the voice had asked, and when Steve turned around, a little boy around his age was standing behind him.

They both had been lonely up until they met. Steve, a shy boy in a new neighborhood, found it hard to make friends. Eddie, a ghost with no memory of how he died, had been wandering the house for what felt like an eternity. They became best friends quickly, finding solace in each other's company. Strangely, Eddie seemed to grow up alongside Steve, his ghostly form aging in tandem with Steve’s living body.

They played together, laughed together, and shared secrets no one else would understand. Eddie was there for Steve’s first day of school, his first crush, and his first heartbreak. They spent countless nights talking about their dreams and fears, their bond growing stronger with each passing year. Despite the oddity of their friendship, it felt natural to them—an unbreakable connection that transcended the boundaries of life and death.

But lately, something had shifted. The effortless camaraderie they once shared now felt strained. Steve couldn’t pinpoint when it started, but he missed the easy days of their childhood when everything made sense and nothing seemed impossible.

Steve knew that it wasn’t just Eddie who was responsible for the new tension between them. It was Steve who had fallen in love with his dead friend.

It all started when he was thirteen. He had woken up to the strange feeling of being watched, and when he opened his eyes, he caught Eddie leaning over him, his translucent lips pressed against Steve’s. Before he could try to kiss back, Eddie had jumped away.

Eddie had apologized profusely, telling Steve he’d just been curious. He said it always looked so magical in the movies when people kissed, and he wanted to know what it was all about. Nothing more—it didn’t mean anything.

Too bad it meant a great deal to Steve. It had been his first kiss, and he didn’t even feel it.

A week later, when he kissed Tina to see if it would cause the same flutter of butterflies in his stomach, Eddie had caught them. Steve would never forget the look on his face.

Steve had apologized, even though he didn’t know what he’d done wrong—just that Eddie was hurting, and it was somehow his fault.

Eddie had been cold and distant, acting aloof and laughing in Steve’s face. He mocked him, saying he was already training to become a man-whore, asking if he’d kiss anything with a pulse and without.

That had been their first fight, and even though they made up afterward, things started to change.

The room was dimly lit, the glow from the TV screen casting flickering shadows on the walls. Steve and Eddie were sprawled on the couch, watching the latest Star Wars movie. Despite the tension between them, movie nights had remained a cherished ritual.

Steve’s dating life had become the elephant in the room, a sore topic between them that neither he nor Eddie wanted to address.

As the film progressed, a romantic scene between Leia and Han Solo unfolded. The characters on screen leaned in for a kiss, and Steve felt a familiar pang in his chest. He glanced at Eddie, who was watching intently, his expression unreadable.

The scene ended, and Steve felt the words bubbling up before he could stop them. "You know," he began, his voice barely above a whisper. "I wish I could have felt it when you kissed me."

Eddie turned to him, his translucent form shimmering slightly. "Steve, I—"

"I know you were just curious," Steve interrupted, his eyes fixed on the screen. "But it meant something to me. It was my first kiss, and I wanted it to be you, but I also wanted to feel it."

Eddie’s expression softened, a mixture of regret and sorrow in his eyes. "I’m sorry, Stevie. I didn’t know it would mean so much to you. I never wanted to hurt you. That’s the last thing I ever wanted."

Steve sighed, leaning back against the couch. "I know. It’s just… I’ve thought about it a lot. Wondered what it would have been like if you were—if you weren’t—"

"If I weren’t dead," Eddie finished for him, a bitter smile on his lips.

"Yeah," Steve admitted, feeling a lump form in his throat. "If you were alive, things might have been different."

Eddie moved closer, his ghostly presence sending a chill down Steve’s spine. "I wish things were different too," he said softly. "But I’m still here, Stevie. Maybe not in the way you want, but I’m here."

Steve turned to face Eddie, their eyes locking. "I know. And I’m grateful for that. It’s just hard sometimes, knowing what we could have had."

When Steve meets Eleven, he's trying to protect the kids—his kids, in a weird way—from monsters that came from another dimension. A ghost he’s in love with living in his house is no longer the strangest thing happening in his life.

They sat in silence for a moment, the movie playing on in the background, both lost in their thoughts.

When El and Chief Hopper disappear inside the lab to close the portal, they all listen in through the walkie Dustin insisted El take with them.

They hear her scream, they listen to her win, and then the tearful cheering from her and Hopper.

"You did it, Kiddo. I knew you could do it. Come on, let’s get outta here," Chief Hopper says, sounding prouder than Steve's dad ever did. But then again, Steve never saved the world, so maybe that’s fair.

His heart stops at El’s next words.

"Wait, Dad. We need to save Eddie first."

Eddie.

We need to save Eddie first.

"Who’s Eddie?" Hopper asks, and Steve snatches the walkie from Dustin, not wanting to miss a single word.

"He's another boy like me, but he's asleep. Always asleep. They somehow take his energy from him to power their weird experiments. I don’t know how it works, just that he’s lying in this room all alone. We can’t leave him here, Dad. We can’t."

Steve’s mind races, trying to process what he’s hearing. Could it be the same Eddie? His Eddie?

"Eddie," Steve murmurs, gripping the walkie tighter. "Eddie, if you can hear me, we're coming for you. Hold on."

The group falls silent, the gravity of El's revelation sinking in. Steve's heart pounds in his chest, hope and fear swirling inside him. The ghost he loves might not be a ghost at all, but a boy trapped in a nightmare, waiting to be saved.

[perfectlyoongi]

BOYFRIEND!JIN who gives you a new stuffed animal on every special date. it was already a tradition that came from when you were friends, but Jin simply couldn't get rid of that habit — not when there were so many different stuffed animals to give, not when he saw you always happy and returning to childhood times that left you feeling safe. “our family is growing! we are great parents. i am so proud of us.”

BOYFRIEND!JIN who insists on dressing up for halloween with you. from choosing your costume, to browsing stores, to trying on and laughing at each other, all the magic of halloween was precious to Jin, just because long days of laughter and planning and going out filled your schedule — it was like a constant cascade of good mood that he liked to see in you. “this year you choose the costumes! but can we please match? just so people can see that we’re together, you know?”

BOYFRIEND!JIN who wakes you up with chaste kisses half an hour before the alarm goes off, just so he can spend those thirty minutes loving you. hugging your body, hiding his face in your neck, Jin's lips released small kisses that covered your skin with infinite promises of eternal love. “good morning. it's still early, don't worry. let's just stay like this a little longer. together. please.”

BOYFRIEND!JIN who sends you selfies whenever he has the opportunity. when he is most beautiful or when he is most tired, when he wants to make you laugh or when he wants to remind you that he loves you, the choices were endless; your cell phone was full of exclusive photos of Jin that, on more complicated days, made you realize that the love between you was too intimate to be fake. “honestly, whenever i remember you and you're not with me, i feel the need to send you a photo. sorry about the amount by the way.”

BOYFRIEND!JIN who turns the music up to the maximum and sings duets with you while the two of you take care of the house. Jin made everything a party, because he knew it was good for your spirit; as such, Jin decided to turn the boring chores at home into something good, something to celebrate, something that would make you forget the tiredness they caused and make you focus only on the joy of the songs and screams. “next week, we’re going to make a set list as if it were a concert! oh! we can wear our matching pajamas! it’s going to be so fun.”

BOYFRIEND!JIN who likes to try new restaurants with you. it was almost like a mission for the two of you to find new restaurants in the cities you visited and lived, gastronomic curiosity being just an addition to moments well spent and memories created. “i think a new restaurant opened down the street. want to try it? if you don’t like it, i promise i’ll buy you a pizza.”

BOYFRIEND!JIN who said he loved you on your birthday before the day even started. the sun still painted your room melancholically when Jin gently woke you up; Jin's hand caressed your face, his lips formed into a smile as he saw you slowly waking up to a breakfast in bed and a confession that had been weighing on Jin's heart for a long time. “happy birthday, nugget. thank you for being in my life. i love you.”

[acerathia]

novae || Xiao

Summary:

nova: a star that ejects some of its material in the form of a cloud and becomes more luminous in the process

The souls filled with karma find relief under the touch of your skin. Yet, you've never tried to cleanse anyone, not since you've gained your freedom. Until the one you're indebted to asks you to help a certain Adeptus. And who are you to refuse?

Wordcount: 4.6k

Read on AO3

Pairing:

Xiao / Reader

Tags/CW:

reader is an adeptus, implied to be an electro user, flashbacks to the archon war, slight deception by healing xiao, slowly falling in love, giving him flowers, making him food, confessions, both love and others, indirectly though, promises to stay

Note:

I lack human contact waow,,, sorry for the repost, accidentally deleted it whoops

Everything hurt, soreness laying a thick coat over your very being. You’re barely able to feel your fingertips, only the tingling at their base assures you of their continued existence. Tongue darting you, you lick at your chapped lips, trying to ignore the dryness in the cavity of your mouth itself. But even your tongue feels barren, your attempt futile. Your skin feels like it’s going to crack the moment you dare to move, so you lay still, wishing for a mere drop of water to fall upon you, to let you relish in its spirit of life. This feeling of helplessness makes you wish you were dead. Yes, death. Something to truly free you from your suffering. Yet, your own body shackles you in your immortality; left with no choice but to let yourself rot without any perceptible changes. The rot only you can feel, the rot only you can accept and take. A blessing turned curse. Like any old fairy tale. But you doubt that you’re going to have a happy end. Not with the ravage happening outside.

At least that’s what you think it might happen outside, stuck in the darkness, a cave with no escape. A prisoner only used for your essence only to be tossed aside once your use has expired, but never freed, never let go. Being in the palm of their hands feels like the cold ground underneath you. Unwelcoming, hard, a chill to your bones, and a constant ache.

You barely remember how much time you have spent in this prison, shadows swallowing everything you could use to discern the passing of the passages of time. You barely remember the first days of your stay; filled with fights, heat, resistance. You barely remember, but your body certainly does, clamping up at the mere roughness of someone, at every instance someone raises their voice, no matter the reason.

Suddenly, some dust flutters down, freed from the ceiling far above, only to get inhaled by your lungs. A cough wracks your body, and with every contraction it feels like a piece of you is going to splinter and break away. The tiny vibrations, once not perceptible and instantly there, are shaking you to the core. And you knew what’s going to happen shortly, what they’re going to do to you once again. With every visit you are left with more pain, with more nightmares, with less life. Yet, this is the only way for you to survive, even if involuntarily. As long as you were of use to them, they weren’t likely to get into the mood to rid themselves of you. Not that they cared about your existence beyond what you could offer them. As long as you pleased them. And never do they offer you anything in return, leaving you hollowed, cracking yet filled with vitality beyond what you desire.

The trembling grows into a rumble, the ground shaking as rock scrapes against rock. They’re here. And they’re going to give you their pain, the alienations they’re suffering from, pushing them into you to get rid of all their own suffering. And you can’t help but be curious why. What is going on outside your isolated cave for them to come back on the brink of their eternal sleep?

You turn your head slightly towards the opening of the cave, even if the spraying light might blind you, might warm you, you try to take a peek outside, as you do every single time with no avail. But this time, this time you’re facing something much brighter, a different figure towering over the entrance. His eyes are glowing a bright ember. And suddenly, a feeling of safety envelops you.

*-*

Sunshine warms your skin, flooding your sight underneath your eyelids with a bright peach orange. A groan escapes you, as you try to shut your eyes even tighter, but the effort of ridding yourself of the light is simply not worth it. So, you slowly open your eyes again, only to be greeted by the almost red leaves swaying with the breeze. Some of the leaves freed themselves, slowly traveling down towards you. And you stretch out your arm to catch one, yet, despite its close proximity, you miss your chance, and the leaf continues on its journey, only to be joined by the wind.

With a silent thud, you let your arm fall back down. With your eyelids fluttering, leaving your vision blurry and unfocused, you simply watch the intricate dance of the wind, only visible by the twirls of the leaves around it. There’s no need for you to move, no reason at all. Your motivation to go around your day to day life does not exist. Even if you have responsibilities, ones which do not matter in times of peace, reducing their importance to nothing but ashes of the past. Being made an adeptus amounts to nothing after all. And you’re not someone who desires to sniff out the affairs of others, to simply have something to do. Just doing nothing is enough for you, being free to do so is enough for you. That’s your mindset; as long as you’re free, nothing truly matters.

That’s at least what you’re trying to tell yourself. But the moment a rich voice, one all-too familiar, sounds from underneath the tree you're sitting on, you immediately jolted into an upright position, your eyes scanning the table down below. Your first thought is that you might be experiencing some kind of hallucination, but then you remember that you would have noticed any influence on your mind and body. Still, you can’t believe your eyes. It’s almost like a memory came to life. Amber eyes, a brown ponytail, and the same tea he’s always sipping on.

A chuckle. “Good morning, my dear. May I inquire why you have been neglecting your responsibilities?”

Startled, you want to immediately jump down and to make sure that everything before you is real, but you feel a weird coldness on your face and you lead your fingers to your cheeks. Wetness. One sticking to the corners of your eyes, almost dry tracks running down your skin; and your eyes flicker. Have you been crying? There’s no reason for you to cry.

You furrow your eyebrows as you scrub the remnants of whatever happened in your sleep away. Glancing back down, Rex Lapis is still there, waiting for your answer with incredible patience, one that should be unaccustomed to you, his rage and short temper something you got acquainted with the moment you first met him.

Yet, you’re thankful for his patience as you finally make your way down to him, taking a seat on the other side of the table. And then you rest your head on your palm, elbows on the table, body leaning dangerously to the side.

“Good morning, Rex Lapis. Well, I’ve gotten used to not following any responsibilities, you see, not a bit of motivation in my bones. Surely you must understand that, Sir.” Your eyes flutter and stay heavy lidded, even if your heart is beating much too loud in your head.

This is Morax, Rex Lapis. The One who Strikes Deals. And you reckon you have a certain deal with him, even if he never was one to ensure your part to be fulfilled. Now he comes to collect.

A sip of tea. A moment of silence. You peeking at him from between your eyelashes. His cup returns to the small plate with a clink similar to a bell, making you shiver.

“Well, I suppose I do. Yet, a broken contract has consequences, and you are very well aware of that, yes?”

His gaze upon you is soft, a glint akin to the warm sunshine, nothing like the blazing fire that once occupied his mind. You swallow, pulling your shoulders closer to your ears. Morax doesn’t need any answer, he simply continues.

“Then, you shall go to Wangshu Inn. Once you have arrived you will know what to do.”

Immediately, you straighten up, nodding your head, only to bow before him the moment you’re back on your feet. Your heart is still beating, yet your worries ease at his soft voice, not a hint of malice to be felt. Rather, it almost seemed like Rex Lapis is plotting something and he’s only planning to watch you from afar.

But that’s okay, as long as you don’t land in another cave, darkness swallowing you whole, or be abandoned by the one who saved you, you will gladly accept anything he asks of you, anything he obeys you to do. As long as you can stay by his side, content and accepted.

With light steps you begin to jump down the mountain, following the flow of the water towards Jueyun Karst, only to continue following a path between mountain ridges, leading you over water and towards open plains. You’re thankful for the open view, as you are able to discern Wangshu Inn in the distance, keeping your feet onto the path leading up to it.

Arriving at the small island, you take a moment to simply stare, admiring the height and the life bustling around this small place. Only after a while do you continue your travel, climbing towards the inn in a couple of small jumps.

The reception is almost equally filled with noise as the ground below, yet you fail to see the actual reason Morax has sent you to this place. But you can’t return without anything. So, you continue exploring the space, peeking into the hot kitchen, the smell of freshness mixing with spice, discovering the guest rooms, until you uncover the terrasse, one empty of the crowd down below.

There are no signs forbidding entrance, and nothing to stop you from stepping closer to the railing. The soft breeze caresses your face and you breathe out.

But before you could release any tension properly, you feel a shiver down your spine and you spin towards the source. The source of the pressure you’re all-too-well acquainted with; one of hatred and pain. Your breath catches in your lungs, phantom cracks ripping through your joints.

Only to face another, not a human but an adeptus, and something more. Teal frames his soft features, making the gold in his eye pierce through your being. You swallow. An illuminated beast stands in front of you, one taking the form of a human. And this can only make him one thing: A Yaksha.

You know him, or rather, you know of him. The last of his kind, the Conqueror of Demons, and equally haunted by them. Despite his calm appearance and the small frown on his face, he is dripping with karmic debt, and you realize why Rex Lapis has sent you to this place, to the Conqueror of Demons.

And you ought to be angry, to be scared to go through everything once again, to be hurt. Of being sapped of life and filled with evilness only to get thrown away like a puppet without strings. The bitter taste sneaks down your throat, a memory now non-existent.

“You, what do you seek in this place?” his voice brings you back to your current situation.

The words are rough, guarded, yet his voice has a soft quality, akin to silk against your skin, and you blink a couple of times, imagining him calling you by your name, in another tone. You almost forget to answer, but his sheer presence and its fluidity, easy to go as it came, reminded you once again of what you had to do.

You take a step closer, a slight bow to show your respects towards the Conqueror of Demons, and you introduce yourself, sharing your name with another with a name of the same origin. You wait, but nothing happens, he doesn’t tell you to hide away. So, you continue, straightening yourself to meet him eye to eye; only to notice the sparkle in his eyes as the soft glow of the sinking sun stows itself in them.

“I’m honored to meet you, Conqueror of Demons. Rex Lapis has sent me to this place, presumably to stay by your side for some time.”

His frown deepens at your words, and his body turns away the slightest bit, as if his senses are telling him to refuse and be done with it. But his mind seems to be aware of the person standing behind you, pushing you towards him with a plan bigger than any of you. Two adepti with a debt towards the generosity personified; yet it can never be enough to pay the price of life, of freedom.

Despite his reluctance, you begin to notice how your mere presence is alleviating his burden. That means that his senses and mind might be at odds with each other, yet his body is experiencing relief with you by his side. You don’t know how to feel about it, about manipulating his burden against him, even if unintentionally.

You don’t get enough time to properly stew with the possible consequences of your actions, but at the end of this, you had no real choice, did you? Who are you to defy orders from your savior? Using your abilities on a stranger, as renowned he might be, is something you have to take upon yourself to relieve your own debt.

A huff. “Fine, if Rex Lapis has told you to accompany me, then you shall do so, but stay out of my way,” he warns you, before disappearing with the next flow of wind.

The tips of your fingers crackle as small bits of electricity jump between them. A sigh; a stretch of fingers and joints. He might have thought this move would throw you off his tracks, yet he seems to have forgotten that despite your lacking, you still are an adeptus. So, it doesn’t take long for you to discover his prints of zapping electricity, flowing with each move, each thought. A system so similar to everyone else, yet different in the way it exists, processes, responds; one you’re bound to know like you know yourself.

With his position in mind, you begin your journey towards him, your speed not up to par to his when he’s one with the wind, yet consistent enough to catch up to him eventually. The open plains make traveling easier, too.

Easier to see, as you discover plums of darkness hovering over a certain area, only to vanish as something cuts through them. Picking up your speed, you hurry towards the battleground of the lost and the grudges. Yet, despite being there, you could not act, could not help, your body not owning any techniques to fight. All you could do is wait, wait and pick up the pain and pieces.

The shadows vanish and leave only the ickiness of being haunted by the past behind, with the bitter taste of a promise to return. You step towards the only living being in between all these nightmares from another era, shoulders slumped and breath heaving.

You want to call out to him, but it doesn’t feel right to use his name or to use his title, so you just– “It’s me…”

Licking your lips, taking a breath, waiting and waiting and waiting, but he doesn’t refuse your presence, and you step closer slowly, softly, ignoring the stickiness around you, focusing on him and his unfocused gaze upon your silhouette.

Carefully, you put your arms around him, helping him walk towards another space, free from the tarnished souls seeking to taint in return. With your support he sits under the shade of a tree, back against the trunk, heavy and uneven.

You murmur a quick apology, as you settle in front of him, almost too close, to let your fingertips come into contact with his shoulders. A breath, in sync. Buzzing, in your veins, and slowly you notice the tension release in his body as the pain leaves him. A hiss, too silent to be heard, as the karmic debt, his unending burden, and pain, seep into your bones, creaking and whistling. A familiar sensation. A sensation too familiar it seems, because your body starts doing its job, breaking everything down, crumbling it into nothing, leaving you with a phantom of an ache.

After you have taken what you could, you slump to the side, laying down onto the soft grass, and the breeze reminds you of your place, and despite the tension and the spasms filling your body, you smile.

Glancing towards the Conqueror of Demons, you notice that his body has sunk in itself, muscles finally releasing the tension of suffering. And for a moment you both stay laying like this, side by side, one digesting and ridding yourself of the pain, the other relishing in the newly acquired freedom.

Maybe this is the starting point of his trust towards you, lending him a hand when needed the most, but that doesn’t matter, as another moment has a place in your heart, in his heart, too.

Since that first fight, you have been trailing behind him, staying on the sidelines as he fights the anger and hatred left behind, waiting for the end so you can patch him up, using your own abilities to heal whatever injuries he might have sustained. All while slowly cleansing him of his karmic debt with each touch, each skin to skin, with each bit of distance closed.

Sometimes you greet him with some stuff you have collected as you wandered around. Showing him glittering shells and shiny, smooth gemstones. There is even a moment, when you have collected flowers, climbing and singing to get your hands on them, to hand a bouquet to him after his fighting and healing session is over.

“This is for you, Conqueror of Demons!” you grin as you hold them towards him, excited to see his reaction to yet another present.

And your arms slack, the flowers sink, at the sight of his frown, one you hadn’t seen since your first encounter. You press your lips together, trying to think what you had done wrong this time, opposed to every other surprise.

“It’s Xiao,” he tells you, voice soft, careful, guarded in some way, yet desperate for something, something more.

And you smile. “Yes! This is for you, Xiao!”

A slight blush spreads over his cheeks, dusting him in a lovely shade of a late afternoon sun, and the Conque– no, Xiao takes them with slow movements, tips of fingers touching and tingling, mindful of the delicateness of the flowers, aware of the too-soft connection, one with no real reason but to simply, touch.

Feeling the heat spreading over your skin, you grab a single flower, pulling your fingers away in the process. You look at the flower, a Qingxin and you slowly twirl it. Glancing back at Xiao, his own eyes are focused on the small bouquet in his hands. So, you make use of the little distraction and lean forward to tuck the flower into his hair, secured by his ears.

Of course, he has noticed you move and your eyes meet, faces close, your fingertips grazing his cheeks, and you’re grateful gravity pulls you back into a sitting position the moment you feel yourself freeze. Still, you give him a smile, even with the warmth covering your skin and his intense gaze.

The moment didn’t last long, as a cold feeling rained on your senses, alarming you of yet another gathering of negativity. And Xiao isn’t one to forgo his responsibilities for mere companionship, even if his eyes linger as he makes his way towards the next fight in this unending chain. Despite that, you promise to continue to stay behind him, to support him with steadiness.

The sun sets and rises in a continuous flow, and since that day you started trailing less and accompanying more, instead of simply seeing his back, you began to look to the side towards him. The time together has forged something special, yet, there continues to be distance between your fingertips, even as you walk side by side. Distance which feels wider than the Chasm itself, as your desire to touch him, to be close to him grows with every kind gesture Xiao shows you. But, you continue to deny your own feelings, deny whatever is sparking between you and him.

Until you’re sitting in front of a fire, making food as you wait for him to return. The adepti do not need sustenance, yet you indulge yourself with delicacies, not keen on staying without for no reason. Additionally, a little whisper has reached your ears, telling you of his favorite food, one even Xiao takes delight in, and for some reason you feel the desperate need to make Almond Tofu for him, so you do.

The recipe was provided by Verr Goldet when you subtly asked her about possible foods in your last visit. Since then you have been slowly collecting the necessary ingredients to make it happen. Though the process has been a little more difficult than you had anticipated, and above what you might expect of your own abilities, you finally drizzle some syrup over the bowl as a last touch.

The meal between your hands and only the shine of the fire, you look upon your creation with pride and excitement. And soon, Xiao comes back, taking a seat by your side without hesitation. Immediately, your body reacts, putting one hand on his shoulder, looking for injuries in his own little network of electricity, while sapping another portion of his karmic debt. Luckily, this fight has left him unscathed, so there isn’t a lot for you to do.

Giddiness overtakes you, because you pull out the prepared meal and push it towards him without any words. Without hesitation, Xiao accepts what you give him, his hand covering yours, holding the bowl between you, his gloves warm against your skin; and this is the touch you have been longing for for some time.

You watch him as he realizes what the meal entails and he looks up from the Almond Tofu towards you, eyes wide and filled with surprise and something oh-so soft. Especially with the way the flames of the fire caress his features, making his eyes revering and gentle. His jaw works, and the words escape him as he continues to simply look at you, to let his eyes linger over every feature of yours.

And you realize something. Something you have denied yourself, denied him. But before you could truly voice your heart, your soul, promising him your everything, he has the right to know the truth.

So, you make sure the meal is properly in his hands before you pull yours carefully, reluctantly out of his soft grip. You open your mouth, only to close it, words escaping, your heart heavy. There’s no foreshadowing how he might react, how badly what you have done, have been doing, could affect whatever has been budding between you.

Xiao… There’s something I need to tell you…” you start, wrangling with the right words, wanting to tell him the truth, yet not hurt him more than he has been hurt already.

He simply tilts his head, waiting for you to continue your confession, an almost hopeful glint in his eyes, the meal yet untouched.

“I– I’m sorry, but, well, you see, Rex Lapis has sent me to you, you already know, but… there’s a reason. How– uhm, how do I say it… I’ve been by your side to cleanse your karmic debt, using the powers bestowed upon me… That’s– That’s why you have been feeling at peace by my side…” Your fingers writhe on your lap, your eyes avoiding direct eye contact, barely able to even look in his direction.

And all you can hear is a thunk of ceramic against rock. And all you can feel is the empty air, cold and nothing more. He has left without a word. Without telling you what his thoughts are, what he’s feeling about what you have done.

You slump into yourself, arms wrapping against your torso as you face your own knees. He’s gone because you have hurt him. You have hurt him and you have never realized that there’s another kind of pain, one squeezing the breath out of you, making your heart ache and your eyes burn; one that can be given and received at the same time.

The moon sinks and the sun greets you, and you don’t move from your spot. There’s no place for you to go. There’s no reason for you to continue following him if Xiao doesn’t even want your presence, your company anymore, and you cannot return to Mount Aocang just like that. So, you stay and wait, stay and wait. And for the first time in your time of being free, you feel restless at the lack of connection, of actions, of companionship.

During this time of waiting, you continue to stay in the same location, never straying too far from the initial fireplace, in hopes of him coming back to… to do anything, to talk, to confront you, to get angry, anything. So, you stay and wait, stay and wait.

When the sun is at its highest, you do seek some shade underneath the next tree big enough to provide you with some relief. You close your eyes, trying to plan your time, to fill it with meaninglessness to avoid any stray thoughts from getting to you. The breeze caresses your cheeks, and you open your eyes, expectations gone and yet growing.

A presence by your side. An all-too familiar pressure, much more soft, cared for than the first time. And when you tilt your head towards the source, your eyes meet illuminated golden eyes, the sun putting a halo in them, while the remnants of the wind play with teal strands of hair.

You gasp his name, breath clogging your throat and you have to swallow a couple of times, words refusing to form coherency in your mind.

Xiao lets his eyes wander over your face once again, familiarizing himself with a sight he had missed dearly during your time apart. Then, his fingers brush over yours, but instead of that being the end of the contact, he slowly begins to interlock his with yours, watching your reaction with his heightened focus. And you let him, feeling your breath growing shorter, your neck hotter at the intensity of his gaze upon you.

He murmurs your name. “During this time apart, I realized it’s too late to sever our connection… My heart– I mean, I will protect you as you protected me, as long as you stay by my side…”

His words touch something deep in you, vibrating in your chest, rattling you awake, bursting in you and overflowing your veins with warmth and comfort. A smile sneaks onto your lips.

“I will never leave your side as long as you allow me to,” you answer him, aware that there’s much more to say, much more to confess. But you’re both aware of each other's feelings, and you will take each step hand in hand.

A small smile graces his face, making him glow despite the shadows cast upon your faces. And as if it’s the usual thing to do, Xiao sinks into you, letting his head rest on your lap as the tension flows out. Your hands subconsciously start caressing his hair and you simply enjoy his presence, giving you peace.

The sun sets with your bodies and minds close, with the promise of staying together, of holding each other’s hands, of growing this love between you with each minute, with each word, with each gesture. And you promise him once again to stay by his side, as long as he stays by yours.

[streets-in-paradise]

Matured Desire - Achilles x (Fem) Reader

Troy (2004) Oneshot

Requested by Anon

" hiya! I have an Achilles request, what if they’ve both been sort of enemies for the longest time ever since they were kids, and at one point he gets fed up, and kisses her roughly ending up in the roughest kinkiest sex people could think of (tying up, choking, spanking, dirty talk, dom x sub, sort of a hate fuck.) please! "

Hi! I'm a bit nervous because this is my first time writing a full piece of smut, but I did my best and i hope you will enjoy it. The plot for the childhood rivalry is inspired in greek mythology, but adapted to how the story of the film plays out regarding characterzations.

Warnings: Rough hate fuck against a wall - hair pulling -chocking - spanking - lots of dirty talk.

Summary: Your eternal rivalry with Achilles gets you the attention of the mycenaean king In the context of his country wide search for a queen. Bringing up your troubled past together, the myrmidon believes you are seeking an union with Agamemnon to get the power to destroy his life.

As he confronts you about it, your tensions get to a critical point when the warrior concludes he will have to do something out of it. Your hatred remains too close to passion and he can only ruin you for any other man before you could ruin his lifetime's ambitions.

Tags: @thorsslxve

There was nothing Achilles despised more than the cheerfullness of Agamemnon. Not only because it usually meant bad news, but also due to how insufferable he tended to become on a good mood. His arrogance was high up to the sky contesting with his. Since the king felt in constant need to compete with his best warrior, it was important for him to brag on his every achievement.

On that particular moment, it was about the bride he would get for himself. After his brother married the most beautifull woman in the world he started to reconsider the lack of a queen in his palace and commanded every king of Greece to pick one of their unwed daughters so he could pick a wife among the princesses of the region. All the generals of his army were invited to witness the contest, and a handfull of kings he considered friends were there as well.

It was a power display to cause envy. A parade of the most ravishing girls of Greece after Helen circling the King in some sort of reverse parody of what happened when the spartan queen was still a maiden wanted by a multitude of suitors. The myrmidon found it hilarious, but that entertainment came with the price of standing the triumphal bliss of his rival.

In order to avoid an early scandall making fun of him, Achilles tried to distract himself watching the girls. They were all veiled for the future groom, only showing their faces when he commanded each one to introduce themselves. Beauty from all over the country was gathered there and while their faces remained covered he could still have a fun cassually checking their bodies.

He found a personal favorite quite soon. The light clothes of her fancy purple dress allowed him to perfectly picture her shape underneath, occupying his imagination in more pleasant thoughts. One by one her contestants did their thing, but he followed her with expectancy for the big reveal.

All traces of amusement abandoned the warrior's face when he recognized you. From all his many daughters, King Lycomedes had to pick you in representation of Scyros. It was unfortunately true for him that you had become a very desirable woman, so the choice was understandable, but you were one his enemies of longest date. Since he was a kid hidding in your father's court, and when you were teenagers you almost got him kicked out of there.

Everytime you crossed ways, disaster happened.

It was an unspoken theory, but he believed it all started because you were jealous of your sister. She was his first crush, and you told your father about it after you discovered them making out. Lycomedes would have kicked him out if Odysseus wouldn't have discovered his disguise in the first place, but your hatred didn't end with that.

Only a heartbroken girl would react so viscerally, the hate you hoarded for years didn't make sense otherwise. He believed you still despised him because you couldn't have him and once that childhood crush matured into desire things could only escalate. You would never forgive him for being your first love, but the passion of your hate showed your flame never got extinguished.

As soon as circunstancies allowed it, you were mesmerizing the mycenaean king with your disdain for his soldier.

" Achilles! Long time no seen. " You saluted him, with poisonous cordiality. " How are things going in your kingdom of savages? Well, only if that can be called a kingdom. Nowadays it's a military reserve of Mycenae you don't even rule as king. "

The myrmidon was visibly calm, calculating his strike before delivering it.

" How is Deidamia? I remember her with such strong affection."

" She is married. " You responded, with false propriety. " Happyly married, thanks to our protectiveness of her keeping scum away."

The wedding of his teenage crush didn't bother him at all, but he still manage to utilize it against you.

" I always knew she was going to make it before you. Look now where you ended: pleasing an old man that could be your father. "

You showed a tranquilzing smile to the king, mere witness of your altercate that was untill then very amused.

" Don't worry, your majesty. Achilles tends to act like this arround me because my presence reminds him of details that ruin the appeal of his legend. He wants no one to remember he spent his younger years hidding in my palace dressing on girl's clothes so your emisaries wouldn't find him. Have you seen the baby face of his little cousin? He has the same girly features he used to have back then."

Agamemnon was in awe with the slander. Even if it was just for that, you were becoming a strong favorite.

" Well, my dear. I hope you have some good stories for me. "

" She is the only person in the country who is more obsessed with me than you. " Achilles recalled, determined to ruin your plans. " She went as far as turning her father against me saying i was going to sleep with her sister. "

The way in which he twisted the facts to make it sound like a conspiracy against him got out the worst of you.

" I was the onlyone seeing past your charm, and time proved I was ríght now that we all know of your amatory adventures. " You fiercely defended yourself. " You were a reckless boy that had just discovered the thing hanging between his legs and was eager to try it on the first foolish girl available. Deidamia was too naive, but I knew better. By warning my father I protected her and saved our royal house from the shame of being stucked with a fatherless mess like the one you were when we received you. "

It crossed límits, but he wasn't afraid of returning the hatefull gesture.

" I think your boyfriend deserves to know where all that hate for me comes from before taking his choice. " He teased you ríght away. " You are my Phaedra … "

He had just compared you to the most sexually frustrated queen in greek history, whose vengefull spite was rooted on being ignored by the object of her desires.

" You insolent BASTARD!!! " You called him out before you could loose your temper and try to smack him. " Better start praying I won't be crowned queen. "

The warning left a bad taste in his mouth that was stronger than the altercate. Imagining you as Agamemnon's bride was a nightmare on itself because of the implications of a teaming up against him, but there was more that he couldn't simply admit.

He hated you, but couldn't stand the thought of seeing you with him. He still attempted to understand why you were so Interested on giving yourself to that pig of a king. Could your thirst for vengeance have gone that far? Where you capable of tolerating Agamemnon as your husband just so you could get some control over him? It was most likely that you had no idea of where you were stepping in, since your island once sheltered him safely because they didn't have much contact with the mycenaeans.

Figuring out what you were all about was his most inmediate need but, for that, he needed to talk to you in private. All day he awaited untill the oportunity to get lost with you presented itself during a lousy banquet. Following you closely as you intended to leave, he catched you off guard in a hallway.

" You knew this was coming, now follow me. "

Your playfull smirk spoke for you before you did.

" What If I don't? "

He grabbed you harshly, keeping your wrist still.

" We will do it the hard way. "

There was no choice, so you let him guide you through the foreign palace searching for the nearest room he could lock you in. Achilles secured the door behind him, knowing from then you were going to be completely alone.

" After comparing me to the thirsty wife of Theseus, you drag me away like this? " You mocked him ríght away. " Have you no shame? "

The tension was escalating slowly, but consistently.

" I have no time for your games, so you better tell me what I want to know. "

You chuckled lightly, enjoying yourself in this curiosity.

" Go ahead, i'm feeling generous. "

He groaned out of angered frustration, clearly fed up with you already.

" What do you want from Agamemnon? Do you expect me to believe you really are excited to the chance of being his wife? "

You response was calm and you were aware that would provoke him.

" He is the wealthiest, most powerfull man in Greece, and he hates you … Two qualities I find irresistible. "

He pushed you against a wall, barely able to control his rage to continue the interrogation.

" Do you think i'm a fool? You can't possibly wish for anything but the power to destroy me through that marriage. "

His strong hand grabbed your neck and squeezed, cutting off your air with ease. Achilles wanted to force a truth out of you, but couldn't help noticing you were peraphs too on board with that before releasing you so you could speak.

" I want an empty palace where i can sit on a throne. " You began to explain once you catched your breath. " While he will be away with you doing his wars, i can do what I want here. "

It wasn't enough for him.

" … And when he will want to touch you? Are you going to spread your legs for him like a good little wife ? "

His hand was once more arround your neck, quietly threatening with more choking depending of your answer.

" Are you trying to scare me? That's not going to work with me. " You mischievously warned him. " I'll do what it takes, my duty of queen. Agamemnon can have me, I will even fake my moans if i have to just to keep him satisfied. I'm fine with that, he has to get something out of the deal. I will take care of his throne and meet his sexual needs "

The answer awakened something primal on him.

" Not if I ruin you first … "

Sick of pretending to ignore the frustrating tension, he pulled you in for a rough kiss and you responded taking one of your hands to the back of his neck to pull his hair.

There was no way out for you from then.

Achilles ripped off the safety pins of your dress so it would fall on the floor. Once you were naked against him he began to tease you again.

" Look at how easily I destroyed your pride … Yet you dare to deny you are a needy whore. "

You didn't stay behind, iniciating another passionately hatefull kiss while your hands worked in undressing him. The godly shaped hero allowed you to roam his perfectly sculped body and you sank your nails in his hips before replying.

" You are only good at killing or fucking and you loathe me enough for either, so unless you want to spear me … "

The recklessness was paid at high cost when he turned you over so you will be facing the wall, head posicioned firmly to the side.

" I'm going to make you feel as if I was killing you. " He whispered against your ear in a husky tone. " But first, you will learn to respect me. "

You flinched with anticipation, incapable of predicting what he would do. Then, his hand started following the trace of your back all the way down and stopped in the curve of your ass.

A soft squeeze was followed by a hard spank that sounded as strongly as it felt. It send a wave of confusing, pain-stained pleasure all the way to your core, but you tried to keep still. He persisted, untill it became so intense that your knees were failing and you were about to cry.

" Who are you going to spread your legs for now? " He asked in a mock. " Are you going to be my obedient little whore? "

You lost the few shame you had left with one more slap on the mistreated surface of your asscheck.

" YES, YES! " You practically cried out. " I'll be, … I'll be your whore. I want it so badly, please! "

Achilles released a dark chuckle.

" Let's see how bad you really want it. "

He had barely reached the surface of your soaked cunt with his fingertips and you were already buckling your hips in desperation to find friction.

" Dripping wet, you nasty whore. " He commented and removed the hand to watch you fall apart. " Stop whimpering, i'm not going to keep touching you. Caresses are not what you deserve."

Suddenly, you felt the tip of his hard cock teasing your folds. Arrousal had reduced you to a pathetic mess and he got to hear you sobbing from that contact.

" No mercy, I will be rammering you. " He warned you. " … and you are going to take it. "

With that, he pushed himself inside you. Absolutely careless for your needed time adjusting to his size, he began his mercieless thrusting using you for his pleasure. The animalistic grunts he was making and the exquisite painfull pleasure of being fucked like that were soon going to become to much for you.

Achilles had completed his vengeance to control you before you could control him: you were ruined for any other man.

[midastouch013]

Seasick

I'm sorry, I just had to use this gif, but it has nothing to do with the fic, I swear.

Based on this request

Summary: You're on a cruise with your girlfriend, and so why do you snap at her?

Warnings: None, unless you count throwing up.

P.S This one's short, I'm sorry, I've been kinda stuck on my writing

----

The cruise had been your idea—a chance for Natasha to unwind, away from the constant demands of being an Avenger. You knew how much she loved the sea, the gentle rocking of the waves, the endless expanse of blue stretching out as far as the eye could see. So, you planned this getaway, a luxury cruise away from the bustling city.

As the ship set sail, Natasha wasted no time in making the most of the luxurious accommodations. You found her stretched out on the private deck of your cabin, soaking up the sun in a black bikini that left little to the imagination. Her red hair was fanned out around her, and she wore sunglasses to shield her eyes from the bright sunlight.

You, on the other hand, opted for comfort over style, dressed in an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt on a black tee and cargo shorts, a beer in hand as you admired the view (both of them).

"Enjoying yourself, Nat?" you asked, taking a sip of your beer.

Natasha cracked one eye open, a lazy smile tugging at her lips. "More than I can say, Y/n. This was a brilliant idea."

You settled into the deck chair beside her, reaching out to brush your fingers along her bare arm. "Just wanted to spoil my favorite Avenger a little."

Natasha chuckled, shifting to make room for you on the lounge chair. "Well, mission accomplished."

You hummed, giving her a forehead a peck followed by her lips

"I'm glad"

---

As the day wore on, you suggested exploring the ship and trying out some of the activities it had to offer. Natasha agreed enthusiastically, and soon you found yourselves participating in a salsa dancing class on the upper deck , against your many protests which had been override by a simple plead from the redhead.

However, Natasha couldn't help but notice that you kept disappearing at odd intervals. She watched you slip away multiple times, always with a mysterious expression on your face. Concern started to gnaw at her when you came back every time just a minute level paler, but she pushed it aside, not wanting to ruin the mood.

After the third time you disappeared, Natasha finally approached you, a slight frown marring her features. "Y/n, you keep disappearing. Is everything okay?"

You turned to face her, your expression neutral. "Yeah, everything's fine, babe. Just needed to take care of something."

Natasha's brow furrowed with worry. "Are you sure? You've been disappearing all day."

You felt a surge of frustration, your patience wearing thin. "I said I'm fine, Nat. Can you please just drop it?"

Natasha's concern turned to hurt as she recoiled slightly. "I'm just worried about you, Y/n. You've been acting strange all day."

You snapped, unable to contain your frustration any longer. "Well, maybe if you stopped hovering over me, I wouldn't feel the need to disappear!"

Natasha's eyes widened in shock at your outburst, hurt flashing in her eyes before she quickly masked it. "Fine," she said, her voice cold. "I'll leave you alone then."

With that, she turned on her heel and stormed off, leaving you standing there, regret washing over you in waves.

You stood there for a moment, your stomach churning with a mix of regret and guilt. But as you took a step to go after Natasha, a wave of nausea hit you like a ton of bricks. Clutching your stomach, you stumbled back towards your room, moving as quickly as you could.

By the time you reached the door, you were feeling light-headed and queasy. You barely made it to the bathroom before you were retching into the toilet, the taste of bile burning in your throat.

After what felt like an eternity, the nausea began to subside, leaving you feeling weak and exhausted. You groaned as you rinsed your mouth and splashed some water on your face, trying to soothe your frazzled nerves.

Feeling utterly defeated, you crawled into bed, pulling the covers up around you. You closed your eyes, hoping that when you woke up you'd fell better and apologise to your girlfriend.

--

As you lay in bed, trying to calm your queasy stomach, you felt another wave of nausea hit you. Rushing to the bathroom once again, you barely made it in time before you were retching into the toilet for what felt like the fourth time since your argument with Natasha.

You were so focused on trying to keep your stomach under control that you didn't hear the door open, or the soft footsteps approaching you. It wasn't until a gentle hand was on your back, rubbing soothing circles, that you realized you weren't alone.

Looking up, you saw Natasha kneeling beside you, her eyes filled with concern. "Babe, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

You wanted to respond, to reassure her that you were fine, but another wave of nausea hit you, and you were back to retching into the toilet.

Natasha didn't hesitate. She pulled your hair back gently, holding it out of your face as you emptied your stomach once again. Her touch was gentle, her presence a comforting anchor in the midst of your misery.

After what felt like an eternity, the nausea began to subside, leaving you feeling weak and exhausted. You leaned back against the wall, breathing heavily as you tried to regain your strength.

Natasha didn't say anything, just reached for a washcloth and wet it with cool water before gently wiping your face clean. Then she helped you to your feet, guiding you back to bed and tucking you in with a tenderness that brought tears to your eyes.

"Thank you love," you whispered, your voice hoarse from retching.

Natasha smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. "Anytime baby. I'm here for you, always."

After you had gotten back under the covers of the bed, you felt a pang of guilt as you looked at Natasha, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, near your legs, watching you with concern.

"I'm sorry, Nat," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I forgot to bring my meds for my seasickness, and I didn't want to ruin our holiday."

Natasha's expression softened, and she reached out to take your hand in hers. "You don't have to apologize. I'm just glad you're okay."

You shook your head, feeling the need to explain further. "But I wanted this to be special for you. I wanted you to have a perfect holiday, with all of the recent missions and the government being on your back. I'm sorry I messed it up"

Natasha stood up and pulled you into a gentle hug, holding you close. "Y/n, you already make every day special just by being here with me. And as for the holiday, well, I hardly ever let myself have one, but being here with you is more than I could ever ask for."

"I love you, Nat. I just want you to have a good time"

"Anywhere with you is a good time" she assured, before a smirk creeped up her face,

"And I'm sure you'll show me an excellent time tonight"

" No walking for you tomorrow, that's for sure"

----

[sasheemo]

When we collide

Chapter 11

Read on AO3

Fic masterlist

Chapter Summary: Agatha sneaks into your house, and an already risky plan takes an unexpected, and even riskier, turn.

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: I know this update took forever and I am so sorry, work and life in general have been crazy lately. Writing has been such a slow process, and finding the time to sit down and focus has been hella hard.

That said, I’m so grateful for your patience and support—it truly means the world to me. Every comment, like, and bit of encouragement keeps me motivated to push through, even when things feel overwhelming. I hope this chapter was worth the wait and that you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed crafting it.

Thank you for sticking with me through this journey. Your love for this story keeps me going 💜

It feels like you’ve been hiding in the shadows of your garden for hours. You have no idea how much time has passed or how long Agatha has been inside.

Seconds stretch into minutes, and you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve been waiting an eternity.

The night grows colder and heavier with each passing second, the chill creeps through your dress, your eyes fixed on the darkened windows above. The faint glow of the kitchen light spills onto the ground, a subtle but constant reminder of your mother’s presence inside.

You clench your hands into fists at your sides, trying to still the growing unease coiling in your chest. The plan had seemed straightforward at the time: get Agatha inside, have her pretend to be you, and wait for her to open the window. But now, as you stand in the biting cold, the enormity of the risks begins to gnaw at you.

Agatha doesn’t know your mother. Not the way you do. 

She doesn’t know the sharp edge to her voice, the way her words cut deeper than her glares. She doesn’t know the little tells, the moments when her mood shifts and it’s better to stay quiet than risk provoking her. And most importantly, Agatha doesn’t know the intricate, tense dance you’ve perfected over years of enduring her.

The weight of it all suddenly feels crushing. You shift uneasily, your breathing shallow as your thoughts spiral. What if your mother notices something’s off? What if Agatha hesitates or says the wrong thing? What if she tries to talk her way out of something and slips up? 

You bite down on your lip, forcing yourself to breathe slower, deeper. But the thoughts don’t stop. 

What if your mother catches her before she even reaches your room? What if she figures out the truth? What would she do - to Agatha, to you - if she realized the extent of this betrayal? Your mind conjures up a dozen worst-case scenarios, each one more terrifying than the last.

A sharp gust of wind pulls you from your spiraling thoughts, and you glance down instinctively at the small bundle of fur near your feet. The rabbit, Agatha’s rabbit, sits quietly in the shadows beside you, its nose twitching as it sniffs the night air. Its presence is steady, calm, almost indifferent to the storm raging in your head.

You crouch down slightly, your fingers brushing against the creature’s soft fur. It doesn’t flinch, simply shifts closer as if it senses your unease. There’s something grounding about the animal, something simple and reassuring. Agatha had brought it here with her, and for some reason, the thought that something she clearly cares for is by your side soothes the sharp edges of your panic.

You take another breath, steadier this time. The faint glow from the kitchen is still there, unchanging, and the stillness of the house seems both unnerving and hopeful. 

She’s inside. She’ll make it.

And then, finally, you hear the faint creak of the window above. 

Your head snaps up, your pulse quickening as you watch it ease open. Your own face peers out from the shadowed wooden frame, tense and searching the garden below. It takes you a second to remember that it’s actually Agatha.

The sight pulls at something strange in your chest. You know the spell you cast has served its purpose, that she’s safe now. That realization settles over you like a wave, and you exhale slowly, steadying yourself.

Closing your eyes, you draw on the lingering energy of the spell, your magic buzzing faintly under your skin. You picture her, not as a reflection of yourself, but as she truly is: darker, undeniably powerful, magnetic. With a flick of your wrist and a soft breath, you send the magic out, releasing it.

When you open your eyes, the figure leaning out of the window has changed. Her true form has returned: wild, dark hair framing her face, sharp cheekbones catching the faintest glow of the night.

Agatha’s gaze catches yours, steady and knowing, as if she’s fully aware of what you’ve just done. She tilts her head slightly in acknowledgment, a silent signal to come up. 

The tension in your chest doesn’t fully ease, but you let yourself glance at the towering tree at the center of the garden, its ancient branches stretching out in every direction like a great, unmoving sentinel. The bark is thick and weathered, furrowed with deep grooves that speak of countless seasons endured. 

Its lowest branches bow slightly under their own weight, but higher up, the limbs grow stronger, sprawling outward with a defiant strength. One of its largest branches curves close to your window, not enough to block the view from your room but near enough to serve as your path inside.

The tree has always been there, a quiet companion through your childhood. Back then, its lower limbs had felt like a sanctuary, their rough surfaces welcoming and steady beneath your hands. You’d scramble up effortlessly, laughing as you dangled your legs and let the world blur into your own imagined wilderness. 

But tonight, the tree looms above you, its branches no longer inviting but daunting, like a puzzle demanding perfect precision. Your gaze fixes on the thick branch that leads toward your window, and doubt creeps in uninvited.

You exhale, trying to calm the knot of nerves twisting in your stomach. The branches look sturdy, thicker than they seemed when you were younger, but you know they’ll need to hold more than they ever have before.

You step closer to the tree as you prepare to hoist yourself up. But as you look upward, plotting your path, reality snaps into focus. 

One of your hands is clutching the rabbit, its small body shifting slightly against your palm, leaving the other useless for climbing. Both hands will be needed to grip the bark and the branches, to steady yourself as you ascend.

You can’t climb like this.

Your jaw tightens as you glance down at the animal, then over your shoulder at the satchel pulling against your back. The weight of both feels suddenly oppressive, a barrier between you and the safety of the window above.

Your breath is clouding in the cold air as you glance up at the towering tree again. For a moment, you stand frozen, your mind racing for a solution.

Then, an idea comes to you. Maybe it’s reckless, maybe it’s not perfect, but it’s all you’ve got, and it’ll have to do.

Kneeling carefully, you place the rabbit gently on the ground beneath the tree. 

“Stay.” you whisper softly, as the small creature sniffs the grass, its twitching nose brushing against a fallen leaf. You shrug the satchel off your back, unfastening the flap with fingers that tremble slightly from the cold.

You glance down at the contents of the bag and let out a soft sigh of relief. Agatha, it seems, is a light packer. There’s enough space, you think, and without hesitation, you scoop up the rabbit again, cradling its small body close for a moment. 

“Alright, you’re going in.” you whisper, angling the bag carefully to create a safe, snug space.

The rabbit shifts, its ears flicking in mild protest, but it doesn’t wriggle too much as you tuck it in among the folds of Agatha’s clothing. You adjust the fabric gently, making sure it’s secure, and offer a quiet, almost reassuring murmur. “See? Not so bad.”

You hope the familiar scent will keep it calm during the climb. For a moment, the faint smell reaches you as well - earthy yet sweet, rich and layered - and it stops you in your tracks. The briefest flicker of distraction pulls at you before you shake it off, focusing on closing the satchel and readying yourself for the climb.

You glance up at the window to check for any sign from Agatha, but what you see halts you. She’s leaning out of the darkened window, her features clear despite the shadows, and her expression… well, if looks could kill, you’d be flat on the ground.

Her glare is direct and unmistakable, her lips pressed into a thin, irritated line. It doesn’t take much to realize why. 

She’s staring straight at the satchel slung over your shoulder and the rabbit inside it. You’re frozen, caught mid-motion, her piercing gaze making you feel oddly small, like a child caught red-handed. Your irritation flares before you can stop it, the sharp edge of it cutting through your nerves. 

‘What exactly does she expect me to do?’ you think, sarcasm practically spilling over. ‘Carry it in my teeth?!’

You bite back a laugh at your own thoughts, the absurdity of the situation tugging at the corners of your mouth. You glance away from the window, shaking your head with a mix of annoyance and amusement. 

“As if she’d have a better idea.” you mutter quietly to yourself, the words more a release of tension than anything else.

The bark digs into your palms as you grip the trunk, pulling yourself up onto the first branch. It creaks faintly under your weight, but it holds, as it always has. Your breath comes slow and deliberate, each movement measured as you reach for the next handhold.

Even so, the awareness of Agatha’s eyes on you gnaws at the edge of your focus. Her gaze feels like a weight on your back, amplifying every misstep and every slight tremble in your limbs. The idea of her judging your clumsy climb, silently critiquing each slip of your footing, sends another wave of irritation coursing through you.

And yet… there’s something oddly reassuring about it too. As if her presence, no matter how frustrating, guarantees that someone will catch you if you fall. Not literally, of course, but the thought lingers, steadying you more than you’d care to admit.

You shift your weight carefully, reaching for the next branch. The satchel presses against your back, its weight a constant reminder of your responsibility, and of the sharp eyes above you. You resist the urge to glance up briefly, focusing instead on the climb.

You move cautiously, gripping the bark tightly as you climb higher. The tree groans faintly under your weight, and you freeze, holding your breath. 

The sound seems impossibly loud in the stillness of the night, a sharp contrast to the quiet hum of crickets and the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze. For a moment, you glance toward the kitchen window, half-expecting to see your mother’s silhouette appear, but the glow remains steady, undisturbed.

You grit your teeth, focusing on your balance, careful to distribute your weight evenly. Every move feels agonizingly slow, the need for silence making each step a deliberate act of precision.

As you near the branch that curves toward your window, you reach out with one hand, your fingers brushing the rough bark. It’s close, close enough that you can almost imagine the feel of the window frame beneath your palm. 

But as you shift your weight to make the final stretch, your foot slips against the trunk, the bark giving way beneath your boot.

Your stomach lurches as your balance wavers, your free hand scrabbling desperately for a hold. The satchel shifts sharply, throwing you further off balance, and for a terrifying moment, you’re certain you’ll fall. Your breath catches in your throat, panic blooming in your chest.

From her vantage point at the window, Agatha tenses instantly. Her eyes widen, and for a split second, she shifts forward slightly in a reflexive, almost involuntary motion, as if she could somehow close the unbridgeable distance and reach you. Concern flickers across her face as her hands grip the windowsill tightly, knuckles paling with the pressure.

But then your hand finds purchase, gripping a knot in the bark just in time to steady yourself. 

You hang there for a moment, your heart pounding in your ears, your body frozen as the satchel settles back into place. The rabbit stirs faintly inside, and you murmur a soft reassurance under your breath, though it’s as much for yourself as for the animal.

The faint creak of the tree subsides, and the night seems to hold its breath along with you. You force yourself to exhale slowly, the tension in your chest loosening as you steady your footing once more. Carefully, you reach out again, this time gripping the branch firmly before pulling yourself up onto it.

The window is finally within reach, a threshold to safety. 

As you glance up, Agatha is there, her figure sharp and still against the faint shadows of the room. She’s waiting, her presence a silent promise that the plan is almost complete. The sight steadies you and, for the first time since the climb began, relief flickers at the edges of your thoughts, fragile but real.

As you near the window, Agatha leans out further, her gaze flicking to the satchel slung over your shoulder. She lifts a hand, gesturing for it with a slight wave of her fingers, her expression calm and maddeningly smug.

You pause, blinking at her. 

“Really?” you mutter under your breath, incredulity practically dripping from your tone. 

She tilts her head slightly, arching a single brow, her smugness somehow amplifying as she gestures again, clearly waiting.

For a moment, you consider ignoring her, but then you glance at the satchel. She has a point, giving her the bag would mean the rabbit is safer, and, without the extra weight on your back, you’ll have an easier time pulling yourself through the window.

With a dramatic sigh, you shrug the satchel off your shoulder, the strap sliding down your arm before you lift it toward her. She stretches downward, her fingers brushing the edge of the leather before she grips it firmly and pulls it from your grasp. 

For a moment, you watch her, half expecting her to disappear entirely now that the bag is secure in her hands.

And that’s exactly what she does. Agatha retreats, vanishing from the window’s edge with the satchel in tow. You roll your eyes, your mind instantly jumping to the conclusion that she’s probably fussing over the rabbit. 

The thought irritates and amuses you in equal measure, but you shake your head and steady yourself for the final push. 

The ledge is close, and with the satchel gone, the climb feels marginally easier. You stretch your arms upward, gripping the edge of the window frame as you shift your weight onto the thick branch beneath you. 

Carefully, you pull yourself higher, your knees brushing the frame as you begin to hoist yourself inside.

For a moment, it seems like you’ve done it. Your body halfway through the window, balance steady enough to keep going.

And then your foot catches on the edge of the frame.

The jolt sends you stumbling forward, your grip slipping as the momentum drags you into a clumsy, uncontrolled tumble.

Agatha moves instantly, appearing as if out of nowhere, her reflexes instinctive and precise.

You barely register the sudden shift before her silhouette is in front of you. One of her hands darts out, gripping your arm with surprising strength, but it’s not enough to counter the force of your fall. Her other hand slides to your waist, firm and steady, trying to catch you, but the momentum is too much.

There’s no time for either of you to adjust. The pull of gravity drags you forward, and you both tumble into the room in a chaotic, ungraceful heap. The impact knocks the breath from your lungs, and you land tangled together. 

Agatha is half-sprawled over you, her weight pinning you to the floor, grounding and overwhelming all at once. The world seems to fade, narrowing to the soft rustle of leaves in the night and the rhythm of her breathing. 

Her face is unbearably close, so close that her breath brushes against your cheek, warm and uneven. Untamed hair spilling over her shoulder and grazing your arm, strands scattered haphazardly from the fall.

There’s a stillness to her expression, but the faint parting of her lips reveals a hitch in her breathing, as though the shock of the tumble hasn’t fully left her.

Both of her hands remain where they caught you, one curled tightly around your arm, the other pressed firmly against your waist. The heat of her touch burns through the fabric of your dress, rooting you in place even as your pulse races wildly.

Those sharp blue eyes, piercing even in the dim light, are locked on yours. The intensity of her gaze makes your breath catch, as if she’s not only seeing through you but searching for something at the same time.

For a moment, nothing else exists. Your chest tightens and your pulse hammers in your ears as the space between you feels impossibly thin, a fragile thread stretched taut and trembling. 

And then, fleetingly - so quickly you almost think you imagined it - her gaze drops, flickering to your lips. The motion is so subtle, so brief, that it vanishes almost as soon as it happens. But the imprint of it remains, sharp and electric, making you shudder.

Your mind scrambles for something, anything, to say, but the words won’t come. All you can do is stare back at her, your chest rising and falling as you struggle to make sense of the moment.

The silence stretches, thick and almost suffocating, until Agatha breaks it. Her voice is low, threaded with dry amusement but carrying an almost daring undertone that sets your nerves alight. 

“Are you always this dramatic,” she murmurs, “or am I just special?”

The words pull you out of your daze, and your cheeks burn instantly, the heat rushing to your face. 

“I— I didn’t—” you stammer, scrambling to find words, but every coherent thought scatters.

Agatha exhales sharply, her lips twitching as if she’s about to say something else, but instead, she pushes herself up abruptly. 

The cool night air rushes in as her warmth leaves, and you’re left on the floor, heart still pounding in your ears.

She brushes off her skirts with deliberate ease, her expression once again smug and composed, though there’s a flicker of tension in her movements. She extends a hand to you, her sharp gaze watching you carefully.

“Come on, get up.” she whispers, her tone calm but firm. “Your mother might have heard that.”

You glare up at her, your pride stinging, but you take her hand anyway, letting her pull you to your feet. Her grip is firm, steady, and as she helps you up, her fingers linger just a second too long before she steps back.

The sensation is fleeting but familiar, a ghost of what had happened only hours earlier by the lake. She’d done the same after you healed her burns, offering her hand with that same deliberate calm, as though her touch carried no weight. But it had lingered then too, just like now, and the memory ignites a warm spark in your chest. 

As you rise to your feet, your balance feels oddly unsteady, not from the fall but from the moment itself. You linger there, caught between embarrassment and something heavier. Your fingers twitch at your sides, as though still feeling the echo of her grip, and your gaze follows her as she moves away.

She crosses the room, moving toward the satchel she’d placed on the floor earlier and crouching down. 

You turn toward the window, reaching for the frame to shut it. The cool night air still drifts into the room, carrying the faint scent of the garden below. Your fingers curl around the wood, and just as you push it closed, a sound freezes you in place.

A creak. Faint, but unmistakable.

Your heart stops, and you glance at Agatha, who has gone still beside the satchel, her hand hovering over the flap. Her sharp eyes meet yours, and for a moment, neither of you breathes.

Another creak follows, heavier this time, accompanied by the low groan of the wooden stairs shifting.

Panic flashes between you in a silent exchange, the weight of the moment sinking in with brutal clarity. Agatha straightens slowly, her hand dropping from the satchel as her gaze darts toward the door.

Well, shit. Your mother definitely heard.

[ap0llonian]

Park Follies

PERCY JACKSON x Apollo!READER

sypnosis: you don't like the rides percy's taking you for your “friendly” themepark date, until you head for the ferris wheel.

notes: reader is, again, a child of apollo, reader is gender neutral, reader is very judgemental, fluff, friends to lovers, ferris wheel trope

a/n: took the pic from a manhwa called operation: true love!

-----

The sun was already setting, beaming down on the theme park, and you couldn't contain your excitement as you navigated through the vibrant seas of people. Every corner of the park pulsed with energy, from the screaming rollercoasters to the colorful stalls lining the walkways.

But the rides Percy led you to were... not so thrilling. You were a child of the God of—many things! You were the embodiment of fun. He must've lacked the “humor literature.”

“This ride is seriously lacking,” you declared, shaking him with an insistent grip. “I thought you would show me something that could really make my adrenaline pumping, not just a slow spin on a plastic horse.”

Percy smirked, shaking his head. “It’s a carousel, not a roller coaster. Not everything can be an epic adventure.”

“My point still stands.” You shrugged with a grin.

The day continued with a mix of roller coasters, carnival games, and food stands. Every ride you encountered seemed to get an immediate and loud critique from you. You had a special way of making even the simplest attractions sound like the worst thing ever. Despite your constant complaints, Percy remained as patient as ever—only staring at you with an underlying tone of something you couldn't seem to shake.

As you approached another game stall, your attention was completely captured by a prize displayed on the table. It was a plushie that had the exact features of Percy—and with no problems, you got it.

“Wow, it’s got the same hair as him too...” You muttered, fiddling with the knitted clothes. It was removable too—who does that?

“Look, Jackson, it looks exactly like y—”

Turning around, you'd only seen a random kid staring up at you with the stink eye (what a bitch.)

Your heart dropped, and your eyes immediately started darting to her surroundings, trying to find the supposedly, very spottable son of Poseidon. He was nowhere to be found. Like, literally. Too many people to even find him.

“That guy!” You grumbled to yourself as you rammed through the seas of unfamiliar faces, muttering a few apologies to whom you had accidentally bumped into.

None. None. None!

He was nowhere to be found, making you even more agitated.

Minutes stretched on, each one feeling like an eternity. Your eyes darted back and forth, scanning every black haired guy. The thrill of the games and rides seemed like a distant memory now, replaced by a gnawing worry.

“He’s—” There he finally was, standing in line for the ferris wheel. He seemed so nonchalant, with a pack of pretzels—he didn’t even think to tell you!

Relief (with a mixture of irritation) flooded through you, and you rushed over to him.

“Percy, where have you been?!” You demanded, grabbing a hold of his arm with a vice-like grip. “I was about to organize a search party! You can’t just leave me like that!”

He, clearly taken aback by your sudden outburst, raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Sorry, sorry! I was just saving a spot for us on the ferris wheel.”

“Next time, tell me where you’re going!” You scolded, reaching up to tug on his reddening ear.

He nodded, an apologetic smile on his face, and led you to the ferris wheel. As you climbed on one of the cabs, you noticed the slight shiver to his body, even under the weight of his jacket. His hands started to pale, a contrast to yours.

“You seem cold,” you muttered, trying to lighten up the wilting mood.

“Nah, I’m alright.” Percy assured with a shake of his head, and sat in the opposite direction as you.

You didn’t buy it—not when the blood on his palm was starting to go away. You unwrapped the scar around your neck and rose from your seat. Without hesitation, you wrapped it around his neck, hoping to provide some comfort.

His eyes slightly widened, and he instinctively grabbed your wrists. “No, I’m okay. You keep it—”

“Percy, just take the scarf. You look like you’re about to turn into an ice sculpture.” You deadpanned, your eyes staring directly at his. The once glowing aura of yours seemed to darken along with the sun setting, making the atmosphere more—intimate, ish.

With a resigned sigh, he gave in, accepting the scarf and wrapping it around his shoulders. The two of you settled into the cab as the ferris wheel began its slow ascent, the view of the park unfolding below you.

The sky transitioned from bright blue to soft oranges and pinks, creating a breathtaking backdrop that framed the scene perfectly. The fading light bathed the scene in a soft, romantic light, enhancing the atmosphere.

“Dad would’ve loved it here. The view is breathtaking!” You said as your eyes landed on the little people below you. “Even if—”

Before you could finish your dramatic musing, Percy’s gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. There was something in his expression, a mix of hesitation and longing, that made you pause.

“Percy, what’s wrong? You okay?” You asked and leaned in slightly with narrowed eyes, trying to find anything out of the ordinary on his face.

Well, none. He was perfect.

Your cheeks started to heat up—and not from the temperature, but from his gaze. You turned your head to fully face him, mouth opening to speak. But then—

His lips press against yours, for just a moment. A very long moment. It was gentle but filled with an unspoken deoth that made your heart race.

You then reeled back, staring at him wide-eyed and gaped. You couldn’t even notice the faint tint of pink spreading across his cheeks, embarrassed by the sudden intimacy.

“I’m sor... what?” Your words died on your tongue, which was unlikely of you. You were usually so talkative.

Not here, though. Your breath was utterly taken away.

“Y-yeah... sorry, I’m so sorry.” He stammered softly, his hand flying to his mouth.

You cleared your throat, not being able to hear the incoherent and muffled apologies and explanations coming out of his mouth. Your mind was trying to process this whole thing.

You weren’t mad; quite the opposite. You felt... giddy. The same feeling with your father when he was with his past lover—but you didn’t know that. The author just wanted to add that for references.

Albeit, your fingers slightly twitched, almost wanting to do something you might regret. But you only live once, right?

So, with no hesitation, you grabbed the ends of the scarf and pulled Percy in for another... well, kiss. Your lips meshed into each other perfectly, the softness of it making you melt. The kiss was longer, a little more passionate, and it conveyed everything you had been feeling throughout the day.

When you finally broke apart, the both of you were breathless, staring at one another with flushed cheeks and bewildered expressions. You kissed Percy Jackson.

A shy smile managed to dance across his lips, “So, how’s the view?”

You grinned and gently pushed his face away, averting your gaze to the ground.

“Definitely better now.”

[anniebeemine]

warnings: blinded reader who was injured in the field, anger, some rude comments to Spencer, happy ending :)

You heard the door creak open and the soft flicker of a light switch being flipped. Instinctively, you tried to step over the threshold, eager to be home after what felt like an eternity. But before you could take that step, Spencer’s hand was on your shoulder, the touch gentle but firm as he moved you slightly to the side.

“Hold on,” he said softly. “We sort of left a mess. Let me go in first.”

The air felt different in the entryway—warmer, familiar, and yet, with the loss of sight, strangely foreign. It had only been a few weeks, but it felt like everything had changed. You knew the layout of your home by heart, each piece of furniture and each corner. But now, in the absence of your vision, everything felt distant, like a memory you were trying to recall in the dark.

You stood in the doorway, listening closely to the sounds inside your home. There was the unmistakable thud of shoes being tossed to the side, followed by the soft rustle of clothing being picked up and moved. Each sound painted a picture in your mind, filling in the blanks that your eyes could no longer see. A small smile tugged at your lips, and you tried to lighten the mood, to bring some semblance of normalcy back into the situation.

“I never realized we lived like slobs,” you joked, your voice laced with a mix of humor and uncertainty.

There was a brief pause, then Spencer chuckled, a sound that warmed you from the inside out. “You’re just now figuring that out?” he teased back, his voice closer now, as if he had moved toward you.

You could almost picture the way his eyes would crinkle at the corners when he smiled, the way his lips would quirk up in that way that always made you feel like everything was going to be okay. The sound of him straightening things up, trying to make the space as comfortable as possible for you, was both endearing and bittersweet.

“It’s not too bad,” Spencer continued, his tone softening. “Just a couple of things out of place. But I’ve got it covered.”

You nodded, the smile lingering on your face.

The first week back home had been a challenge. While you had managed to stay somewhat optimistic during your time in the hospital and through the intensive therapy sessions, reality had begun to settle in now that you were back in familiar surroundings. Learning to navigate with a cane, relying on your other senses, and coming to terms with the fact that this was your new normal had been difficult, but you’d handled it—at least outwardly.

In the hospital, there had been structure, routine, and the constant presence of medical staff ready to offer encouragement or assistance at a moment’s notice. But now, in the quiet of your own home, that structure had dissolved, leaving you alone with your thoughts, with nothing but the unfamiliarity of your familiar environment.

The first few days had been bearable. You found some comfort in knowing that Spencer was there, that he was trying his best to be supportive and patient. He would guide you around the house, making sure you were safe, his voice always calm and steady. But as the week wore on, something inside you began to shift.

At first, it was just a dull ache in your chest, a sense of sadness that would wash over you in waves when you accidentally knocked something over or missed a step while trying to navigate from one room to another. But as the days dragged on, that sadness began to fester, morphing into something darker, more volatile.

You tried to stay positive, to remind yourself that you were strong, that you could adapt to this. But every time you reached for something and missed, every time you stumbled or misjudged the distance to a piece of furniture, the frustration built. It gnawed at you, making you short-tempered and irritable.

You found yourself snapping at Spencer over the smallest things—like when he tried to help you find a cup and you insisted you could do it yourself, only to realize you couldn’t. Or when he offered to make you breakfast and you lashed out, accusing him of treating you like you were helpless. He never snapped back, just took it in stride with an understanding that only fueled your guilt and frustration.

And then there was the anger—pure, unfiltered rage that simmered just beneath the surface. Anger at the job that had taken your sight. Anger at the world for being so unforgiving. Anger at yourself for not being able to accept this new reality as easily as you wanted to. You could see bright lights and shadows, sure, but they were a constant reminder of what you had lost.

One evening, as you sat on the couch with Spencer beside you, the weight of it all became too much. You could feel the anger bubbling up, threatening to spill over. You clenched your fists, trying to keep it at bay, but it was no use.

“Why did this happen to me?” you burst out, your voice trembling with the force of your emotions. “Why did I have to lose my sight? I was just doing my job, and now… now I can’t even walk around my own house without bumping into things!”

Spencer looked at you, his expression pained. He reached out, but you pulled away, not wanting to be comforted, not wanting to feel the softness of his touch when all you felt inside was jagged, sharp-edged anger.

“It’s not fair,” you continued, your voice breaking. “I don’t want this. I don’t want to live like this.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, hot and stinging, but you couldn’t tell if they were from the anger, the frustration, or the deep sadness that had taken root in your heart. Spencer didn’t say anything, just sat there with you in the silence, his presence a steady anchor even as you felt yourself drifting into a sea of emotions you couldn’t control.

And as the week wore on, that anger became harder and harder to contain. It would flare up at the smallest provocations, leaving you feeling exhausted and hollow afterward. You knew Spencer was trying to be patient, that he was doing his best to help you through this, but in those moments of rage, you couldn’t see past your own pain.

You hated that you were pushing him away, that you were taking out your frustration on the one person who was always there for you. But the anger was all-consuming, leaving no room for rational thought or measured responses. It was like a storm inside you, one that you didn’t know how to weather.

And so, you kept struggling—struggling to adapt, struggling to keep the anger at bay, struggling to figure out how to live in this new world that felt so foreign and unforgiving.

You wake up to the sound of Spencer's steady breathing, the weight of the previous night's argument still heavy on your heart. He’s lying with his back to you, and even though you can't see him, you can sense the distance between you. It’s not just physical; it’s emotional too. The anger from last night lingers in the air, but so does the regret.

You know he’s sleeping like that to give you space. He’d offered to help with something simple, and you’d snapped, frustration bubbling over in a way you couldn’t control. You hated that you were doing this to him, to both of you. You didn’t want him to be the collateral damage of your struggle, but it was happening anyway.

Determined to make up for it, you decide to get up quietly and make breakfast. Maybe you can start the day differently, show him that you’re trying, even if it doesn’t always seem like it. Maybe if you show him that you’re trying, you’ll start to believe it yourself.

The house is eerily silent as you shuffle your way to the kitchen, relying on memory and touch to guide you. It’s still dark enough that the shadows blend into one another, but you’ve memorized the path by now. You reach out for the counter, fingertips brushing the cool surface as you orient yourself. The toaster is where you left it, so you reach for the bread, feeling for the familiar shape of the slices.

You focus on what you can do—something simple, something you’ve done countless times before. You pop the bread into the toaster and turn the knob, trying to estimate the time. It’s a small victory, but one that feels significant in this moment. You can do this. You can make toast.

As you wait, the smell of warming bread fills the air, and for a brief moment, it feels like everything might be okay. Maybe this is enough—a small gesture to show Spencer you’re still here, still trying to hold on.

But then the toast pops up, and as you reach out to grab it, your fingers brush against the metal. The sudden, sharp pain makes you flinch, and you hiss in frustration, jerking your hand back. You’re immediately angry at yourself for making such a simple mistake, and for a split second, it feels like a confirmation of everything you’ve been trying to deny: that you’re helpless, that you can’t even make a simple breakfast without something going wrong.

But you don’t let the anger take over. You breathe through it, trying to remind yourself that accidents happen, that burning your hand on a toaster could have happened to anyone. Even if you could see, this could have happened. It’s not a sign of your failure; it’s just a moment, an accident, nothing more.

Still, the burn stings, both physically and emotionally, and as you stand there in the kitchen, you feel the weight of everything pressing down on you. The toast is done, but the small triumph you’d hoped for feels hollow now, overshadowed by the sting in your hand and the frustration bubbling up inside you.

You think about going back to bed, about lying down next to Spencer and pretending none of this ever happened, but you know that won’t fix anything. You’ve already put the effort in, and you can’t back down now. Even if it’s not perfect, even if it’s not what you wanted it to be, you’ll finish this. You’ll try.

You slowly make your way to the cabinet, grabbing a plate and placing the toast on it. You feel your way to the fridge, finding the butter and spreading it across the toast with practiced movements. It’s simple, but it’s something.

As you stand there, alone in the kitchen, you can’t help but feel the exhaustion creeping in. You’re tired—tired of struggling, tired of trying to make things work, tired of feeling like you’re fighting a losing battle. But giving up isn’t an option, not when Spencer’s still here, not when you know he’s trying too.

When you’re done, you just stand there, letting the weight of everything settle over you. You want to go back to bed, to curl up beside Spencer and hide from the world, but you know that’s not fair to either of you. You’ve come this far, and you won’t give up now, not yet.

Determined to push yourself, you decide to try making scrambled eggs. You remember the guidance from the nurse during therapy—the way she patiently walked you through the process, how she showed you to feel the eggs through the spoon to know when they’re ready. It’s not just about cooking; it’s about regaining some sense of normalcy, some control over your life. It’s a challenge you’re willing to take on, even if it’s daunting.

You carefully gather everything you need: a bowl, a whisk, a spoon, and the carton of eggs. You take a deep breath and reach for the first egg, concentrating as you tap it against the edge of the bowl. The crack sounds louder in the quiet kitchen, and you can feel the tension in your shoulders as you carefully pull the shell apart, letting the egg slide into the bowl. Relief washes over you as it lands safely, the familiar squish reassuring you that you’ve done it right.

Encouraged, you reach for the second egg, feeling more confident. You tap it against the bowl, feeling the crack form beneath your fingers. But this time, when you try to pull the shell apart, it’s slippery. The egg slips from your grasp, and before you can react, you feel the cold, slimy sensation running through your hand.

It’s the kind of mess that would have annoyed you before, but now it’s overwhelming. You freeze, the egg continuing its descent until it plops onto your foot, oozing between your bare toes. The sensation is startling, the cold yolk squishing against your skin, and it’s enough to shatter the fragile sense of control you were holding onto.

You stand there, feeling the egg seep between your toes, and you can’t help but feel a surge of frustration. This was supposed to be something simple, something to prove to yourself that you could still do this. But now, with the egg on your foot and the mess in your hand, it feels like a reminder of everything you’ve lost, everything that’s changed.

You want to cry, to scream, to let the frustration out in some way, but you don’t. Instead, you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. You reach for a paper towel, carefully wiping the egg off your foot, the sensation of the sticky yolk making you cringe.

You feel the burn of tears behind your eyes, but you blink them back. You won’t let this defeat you, not today. You clean up the mess, your movements slow and deliberate as you wipe the counter and the floor, focusing on each small task to keep the frustration at bay.

Once the mess is gone, you stand there for a moment, your breath coming in slow, shaky waves. You’ve cleaned it up, but the feeling of failure lingers. You were trying so hard, and it still wasn’t enough.

But you know you can’t give up. You won’t give up.

Taking another deep breath as you wash your hands, you grab a new egg and try again. This time, you manage to crack it without any issues, the egg sliding smoothly into the bowl. It’s a small victory, but it’s enough to push you forward.

As you whisk the eggs, feeling the texture change beneath the utensil, you remind yourself that this is just one moment in a long process. It’s okay to struggle, to get frustrated, but you can’t let it stop you. You’ll keep trying, keep pushing, because that’s the only way forward.

You carefully reach for the pan, the cold metal sending a shiver through your fingers. You place it on the stove, your hand lingering on the handle as you mentally prepare yourself for the next step. Turning on the burner, you feel the heat begin to radiate from the stove, a warmth that should be comforting but instead fills you with anxiety. You’ve done this so many times before, but now it feels like a monumental task, the simplest of actions turned into an obstacle.

As the pan heats up, you reach for the butter, guiding it into the pan by feel alone. The sizzle is sharp and immediate, and you move quickly to pour the eggs into the pan, feeling the way the liquid begins to solidify under the heat. You pick up the spatula, gripping it tightly as you start to stir, trying to focus on the texture beneath the spoon. It’s a delicate process, one that requires both patience and attention, and you’re determined to get it right.

But then, in a moment of distraction, your hand grazes the edge of the pan. The burn is instant and sharp, a searing pain that makes you gasp. You pull back quickly, your other hand instinctively reaching for the injured one. But there’s no time to dwell on the pain, not when you’re in the middle of cooking. You shake your hand out, trying to push the pain to the back of your mind, and force yourself to keep going.

You return to the task at hand, stirring the eggs with renewed determination. But then it happens again—another misstep, another burn. This time it’s worse, the heat searing into your skin and bringing tears to your eyes. You grit your teeth, fighting the urge to throw the spatula down in frustration. The pain radiates through your hand, and you can feel the tears building, threatening to spill over.

Standing over the pan, you try to focus on the eggs, but it’s hard. You’re crying now, the tears mixing with the pain and frustration of it all. This was supposed to be something simple, something to prove to yourself that you could still do this. But instead, it’s turning into another reminder of how hard everything has become. You want to stop, to walk away, but you don’t. You can’t. You’re determined.

Taking a deep breath, you focus on the task in front of you. You stir the eggs one last time, feeling the way they’ve set, the texture just right. With shaky hands, you scrape them onto the plate, placing them carefully next to the toast. It’s a small victory, but it feels like a monumental one.

You freeze, the plate trembling slightly in your hands. You debate whether or not to serve a glass of juice or milk. The warmth of the eggs seeps through the ceramic, but it’s the heat of his gaze that you feel most intensely.

“How long have you been standing there?” you ask, your voice a little unsteady.

“Since you pulled the eggs out of the fridge,” Spencer replies softly. His voice is a mix of concern and admiration, the words tinged with an emotion you can’t quite place.

You swallow hard, the weight of his presence settling over you. You’re not sure if you’re relieved or embarrassed that he’s seen you like this—struggling, vulnerable, determined to do something on your own but fighting every step of the way. You turn toward him, gripping the plate tightly as if it’s a lifeline.

“I wanted to make breakfast,” you say, the words coming out more defensive than you intended. "For you."

Taking a slow step toward you, he let out a soft, “Thank you.”

You bite your lip, debating whether to admit just how hard it was or to keep pretending you had it all under control. Though you can’t see him, you know how he’s looking at you, pure love and admiration.

“I almost gave up,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper.

“But you didn’t,” he responds immediately, his tone firm. “You didn’t give up.”

You can’t tell if that makes you feel better or worse. The truth is, you did finish, but it came with tears and pain, and part of you wonders if it’s worth it.

Spencer’s hand reaches out instinctively, his fingers grazing the back of your hand, careful not to touch the tender spot. His touch is gentle, almost reverent, as he takes the plate from your hands and sets it down on the counter. You’re grateful for the relief, the pressure of holding it now gone.

“Let me see,” he says softly, taking your hand in his. He examines the burn with the same care and precision he uses when handling evidence, his thumb brushing over your skin with a soothing touch.

“It’s not too bad,” he reassures you, though his brow is furrowed in concern. “But I’ll get something for it.”

You nod, feeling a mix of gratitude and frustration. Gratitude because he’s here, because he cares. Frustration because you wanted to do this yourself, to prove that you could. But now, standing in the kitchen with him tending to your burn, you realize that maybe you don’t have to do it all alone.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice catching in your throat.

He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You don’t have to do this by yourself,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your skin. “I’m here. We’re in this together.”

You nod again, the tears you’d been holding back now slipping free, but this time they’re not born of frustration or pain. They’re tears of relief, of love, of knowing that despite everything, you’re not alone. Spencer wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, and you lean into him, letting the warmth of his embrace wash over you.

As you stand there, you realize that this is the first step in moving forward—not just for you, but for both of you. It’s okay to struggle, to have moments of weakness, because in the end, you’ll always have each other. And that’s more than enough.

[translucent-sun]

Over the next five years, they’d build themselves a comfortable life. Not an easy one, but comfortable enough. Taking on jobs had come to be only necessary when the desert’s dryness became particularly dry, when the heat became so unbearable that only the richest, biggest moisture farms with the most modern equipment were ableto harvest the precious liquid. When their reservoir was empty, their vaporator unable to keep up, and they were forced to buy their water. Only then did their life become a little more stressful. But even that was temporary. 

Obi-Wan’s only worry these days was Cody’s health. Or the decline of it. The training and connection to the Force they’d kept up with at least twice a week, be it playful swordfight or simple meditation, certainly had kept both of them fit, but Obi-Wan couldn’t help but notice that Cody needed breaks much more often, even skipping some days entirely, saying he was too tired, or simply not in the mood. 

Cody denied that anything was wrong, of course, and Obi-Wan couldn’t do much but accept his stubbornness. But accepting it didn’t stop him from worrying. 

Often, the fact that he might one day have to take care of Cody occupied his every thought. It wasn’t the taking care part that worried him – he would gladly do so, of course. It was the fact that he was getting old himself that worried him. That he won’t be able to care for him one day. It was a haunting thought. But nonetheless, it was interrupted. 

“What are you doing?” Cody’s voice came from a strange direction. Only when Obi-Wan opened his eyes, turning to follow the familiar sound did he remember where he was. 

Calling back down from the edge of the roof, his back resting against its dome, he replied, “I thought I heard a Bantha and wanted to track it. Then I must have fallen asleep.” 

The first part was entirely true. Where Banthas roam, sand people won’t be far, so making sure they’re not heading in your direction is not a bad idea. Cody shook his head in apparent amusement. 

“You’ll get burnt. Come down, dinner is almost ready.”

“Come up. When it’s only almost ready it won’t hurt to spend five more minutes out here.”

Cody sighed, punctuated by an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “Fine.” 

Slowly walking up the makeshift stairs they’d put up a few years ago, every step took visible effort, and Obi-Wan caught himself worrying again. 

With a groan, Cody settled next to him, shoulder pressed to shoulder. They sat for a minute that felt like an eternity, seconds stretched into a lifetime. Obi-Wan wished it could go on like this forever. Though when Cody finally spoke, time retracted back like a spring.

“If we don’t get back in our dinner will burn.” His shoulder bumped into Obi-Wan’s gently. Obi-Wan’s head tipped back, his eyes falling shut. 

“Just a second,” he whispered, almost a plea. 

His eyes opened, turning to watch Cody when he felt a hand in his hair. He’d started to wear it shorter again, and it had turned almost entirely gray by now, even growing white in some places. And he knew Cody loved it. As did he love Cody’s own. In general, Cody was just growing more gorgeous with age. His hair was graying too, the white streak in his once black hair almost invisible now, blending in with the gray that was slowly growing in. Only the back of his head had kept its color, bound at the back of his head in a loose knot. A few loose strands fell over Cody’s forehead, making him look a little unkept.

It was beautiful. And a constant reminder of the passing of time. He forced himself to look away, blinking, struggling against the light. He pushed the thought as far away as he could

“Alright,” he said, already rising. “Let’s go.”

[agentstarkid]

AN ETERNAL LOVE BULLSHIT ✦ DR3

Based on this ask

✦ PAIRING: daniel ricciardo x famous!latina!reader

✦ CHECKERED FLAG: 3.7K words (I tried to keep it short, oops)

✦ TRACK LIMITS: angst, self-doubt, crying, feelings of not being enough, heartbreak.

✦ MAY'S RADIO: I've had this on my drafts, ruminating on it for days, soooo I hope you guys like it. Vitto, Iza and Chloe are the real MVPs of this chapter! Queens uplifting another Queen 💅🏽💖 This was fun to write! Thank you so much nonnie for this idea! ilysm <3 p.s. can y'all spot the song references? 👀

This is set during Saudade. | Everything between "—" and italized are flashbacks.

< previous chapter | series masterlist | general masterlist | next chapter >

The end of April in California had days of clear skies, endless blue, and a gentle breeze carrying the sweet scent of blooming flowers. The sun shone warmly, casting a golden glow over everything it touched, yet the cheerful weather felt almost mocking to her current state.

Her guitar lay across her lap, repurposed as a makeshift table for the notebook where she hastily scribbled words, each one an attempt to capture the storm of emotions swirling within her. The grass beneath her was cool and grounding, but it did little to tether her to the present. Every line she wrote was a desperate attempt to process the pain, to make sense of the abrupt void he had left behind. 

Life moved on around her with an indifferent rhythm, but her mind was still stuck replaying the scenes in a Bahraini hotel room on a fateful Friday morning in March. She was stuck, a relic in a world that had already moved on, trapped in the shadow of what once was. The ache in her heart was a constant companion, a reminder that she was still right where he left her, struggling to find a way back to herself.

Her pen moved frantically across the pages, as if the act of writing could somehow release the torment inside her. But each word, each lyric, only seemed to root her more firmly in the past. The guitar beneath her fingers, once a source of joy and creativity, now felt like a conduit for her sorrow. She was lost in her own words, hoping that somewhere in the tangled mess of emotions, she might find a way to heal.

But amidst the ache, she found solace in the unwavering support of her friends. 

Since landing in Los Angeles, her friends had been her rock. When days of isolation had left her feeling like a shell of herself, Vitto and Andrew had intervened, offering her refuge in their home outside the city. Their house, tucked away from the relentless glare of cameras and the whirlwind of drama, had become a sanctuary. The quiet of their surroundings was a balm for her frayed nerves.

Baby Iza, their little bundle of joy, at almost 1 year old, was a constant source of comfort. The child's tiny hands and infectious giggles seemed to have an almost magical ability to lift her spirits. It was as if Izabele could sense her sadness and made it her mission to shower her with love and affection. 

With the sun casting gentle rays through the window, the child would toddle into the room with her tiny feet pattering softly on the floor. Her face, a picture of innocent determination, was often lit up by a bright smile. She would clutch a small toy in her chubby hands—a plush animal or a colorful block—and make a beeline for her godmother, as if to say, “Here, play with me. Everything will be okay.”

Sitting down beside her, Iza would arrange her toys with meticulous care, her eyes occasionally glancing up to gauge her mood. They would sit together in quiet companionship, the simple act of play bringing a semblance of peace.

As the night fell and the room grew dim, she would make her way to her aunt's side once more, but this time with a special gesture. She would carry one of her favorite teddy bears, its soft fur worn from countless hugs—she recognized it as the one that Daniel had gifted Iza when she was born. 

Her sleepy eyes would barely stay open, and the pacifier bobbing gently in her mouth gave her a serene, dreamlike appearance. She would approach her aunt with the bear in tow, offering it with the sincerity only a child can muster. The gesture, simple yet profound, was Iza’s way of offering comfort and reassurance. The irony wasn’t lost on her, as the comfort offered by the bear was tied to the person who had broken her heart.

Despite the tangled emotions that the bear represented, she’d accept the gesture with a quiet grace. Each night, she would clutch the teddy bear tightly in her arms as she lay in bed, she would close her eyes and allow the bear’s presence to soothe her. It was a small, ironic comfort, a connection to a past she was still grappling with. She never spoke of it to anyone, keeping this bittersweet detail to herself. 

Vitto and Andrew's kindness, along with Baby Iza’s innocent charm, and Fio and Danna’s constant facetime calls—and impromptu visits—, were her anchors, grounding her in a time of turbulence.

Rumors had started circulating about Daniel moving on with Heidi, emerging just two weeks after their breakup. As she heard whispers and saw the headlines, she felt a deep internal conflict. One part of her mind tried to dismiss the rumors, knowing all too well how the business thrived on gossip and sensationalism. She had been in this world long enough to recognize how quickly false narratives could spread and how little they sometimes reflected the truth.

Yet, another part of her, the part that had been wounded by every argument they’d ever had about their future, couldn’t silence the inner voice that screamed she was a fool. It was the same voice that had questioned every promise, every declaration of eternal love Daniel had made. How could someone profess to love her, to call her the love of their life—a million times—, to talk about rings and cradles, and then, almost as soon as it was over, move on to someone new?

But a single text changed her entire world.

The moment she received confirmation from Chloe that the rumors were true, a wave of crushing disappointment and pain washed over her. It felt as if the ground beneath her had given way, leaving her in a freefall of disbelief and heartache. The confirmation struck her like a physical blow, knocking the breath from her lungs and leaving her feeling hollow inside.

The betrayal was sharper than she could have ever imagined. Daniel, the person she had known better than herself, had indeed moved on after only two weeks. The image she had clung to, the person she had given the benefit of the doubt, shattered into a thousand irreparable pieces. How could someone who had claimed to love her so deeply and had spoken of a future together move on so swiftly? The realization was a bitter, choking pill to swallow.

Her heart ached with a profound sense of loss, not just of the relationship but of the person she thought Daniel was. The trust she had placed in him, the dreams they had shared, all felt like a cruel joke. She felt duped, as if she had been sold a "get-love-quick" scheme by someone who never intended to follow through on his promises. The sense of being deceived cut deeply, leaving a wound that seemed impossible to heal.

She sat there, gripping her pen tightly, her mind swirling with the betrayal she felt so deeply. Without a moment’s pause, her pen began to race across the pages of her notebook, pouring out the raw, unfiltered emotions she could no longer contain. The lyrics flowed from her as if they were the only way to make sense of the chaos within:

And ain't it funny

How you ran to her the second that we called it quits? 

And ain't it funny how you said you were friends? 

Now it sure as hell don't look like it 

You betrayed me 

And I know that you'll never feel sorry 

For the way I hurt, yeah 

You'd talk to her 

When we were together 

Loved you at your worst 

But that didn't matter 

It took you two weeks 

To go off and date her 

Guess you didn't cheat 

But you're still a traitor

With each line, she felt the searing pain of his betrayal more acutely. How could he have moved on so quickly? The words “two weeks” echoed in her mind like a relentless drumbeat, reminding her of how little time it had taken for him to replace her. The sense of being betrayed, of having her trust shattered, was almost unbearable. She had loved him at his worst, given him everything, and yet it had taken him mere days to discard their love and move on to someone new.

The realization that she was right, that he had been talking to her while they were still together added salt to the wound. It made every moment they had shared feel tainted, every promise he had made feel like a lie. The anger and hurt intertwined, fueling the lyrics that poured out of her. He might not have cheated in the traditional sense, but the emotional betrayal was just as devastating, if not more so. To her, he was a traitor, someone who had violated the sacred trust of their relationship.

The pen in her hand paused for the first time in days, the words unable to flow as freely as before. The grief was too raw, too overwhelming to articulate. She felt an intense, suffocating sadness, mixed with anger and a sense of foolishness for believing in him. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, and her chest tightened with the weight of unspoken emotions.

Her phone storage has been filled with voice notes for the past weeks, but the number has elevated exponentially since the news had hit. Her chat with her producer has been overflowing with “What do you think of this?”, demos shared between them back and forth. 

For moments, she was consumed by raw anger, her pen becoming a weapon as she furiously wrote songs that painted him as the villain he had become in her eyes. She felt the fierce determination to make him know—and if his treacherous heart allowed, to feel—her pain.

Each line dripped with venom and sorrow, a raw portrayal of the anguish he had inflicted upon her. The thought of him reading her words and realizing the depth of her suffering provided a fleeting sense of power and justice.

But after the anger came a deep, suffocating depression. The reality of his betrayal settled over her like a heavy, oppressive fog. Each day felt like a battle to simply get out of bed, and her once vibrant spirit seemed to wither under the weight of her grief. She found herself crying at the smallest things, her emotions a raw, open wound that refused to heal.

—

One night Vitto found her in bed, her cheeks tear-stained and her eyes red and swollen, looking every bit as miserable as she felt inside. Without a word, Vitto quickly gathered her in her arms, holding her tightly as the heart-shattering sobs began anew. The weight of her friend’s pain pressed heavily on Vitto’s heart, but she held her close, whispering kind and reassuring words, trying to contain the pieces of her shattered glass heart.

In a voice barely above a whisper, filled with desperation and heartbreak, she asked the questions that had been gnawing at her soul. “Why can't it be me for once, Vitto? Why can't someone choose me?” Her voice cracked with the weight of the pain she felt. “Is it so hard to love me? What's so wrong with me that no one has the will to stay?”

Vitto's heart ached at the sight of her friend so broken, so lost in her despair. She tightened her hold, pulling her closer as if she could shield her from the cruel thoughts that plagued her mind. “There's nothing wrong with you,” Vitto whispered back, her voice gentle but firm. “You are so easy to love, fofinha, and anyone who doesn't see that is a fool.” She prayed that her friend would see the truth in her words. “You deserve someone who sees you for the amazing person you are and who will never let you go.”

Vitto rocked her gently, smoothing her hair and murmuring softly. “You’re strong,” she whispered. “Stronger than you know. You’ll get through this, one step at a time. You have us, and we’re not going anywhere.”

That night, after the tears had subsided, she found herself sitting on the windowsill, staring out into the vast, indifferent sky. The weight of her grief pressed down on her chest as she gazed at the stars, feeling more alone than ever. 

In the quiet darkness, she whispered her desperate plea to any entity that might be listening. She wasn’t asking for fame or fortune, but for something much simpler and infinitely more precious: love. A love that wasn’t for the artist she became on stage or the persona she put on for the cameras, but for her—the real her, with all her flaws, insecurities, and hidden depths.

She was on her knees, metaphorically, begging for someone to change her fate, to alter the prophecy that seemed to doom her to be always left behind. Why couldn’t someone love her as fiercely as she loved them—or even harder?. 

The question lingered in the air, a painful echo of her deepest fears. She longed for someone who would choose her, who wouldn’t toss her aside once the initial novelty wore off and someone else, shiny and new, came along.

The night air was cool against her skin, a stark contrast to the burning ache inside her. She closed her eyes, letting the silent tears fall, each one a small release of the pain she carried. 

She wasn’t asking for much, just someone who would love her, not for what she represented, but for who she truly was. Someone who would see her, really see her, and still choose to stay. The silence of the night offered no answers, but she hoped—prayed—that somewhere, someone would hear her and bring her the love she so desperately craved. The stars offered no answers, but in the quiet of the night, she found a sliver of solace in the act of voicing her deepest wish.

—

The phone rang late in the evening, its sound piercing the quiet of the room. She hesitated for a moment, glancing at the screen. Chloe's name flashed across it, and a part of her almost didn’t want to pick up. But Chloe had been there for her in ways she hadn’t expected, turning from an acquaintance into one of her closest friends. With a deep breath, she answered.

“Hey,” she said softly, trying to mask the exhaustion in her voice.

“Hey, you,” Chloe replied, her tone gentle, almost cautious. “I just wanted to check in on you. How are you holding up?”

There was a brief silence, the kind that stretches out when you’re trying to find the right words to explain a pain that feels impossible to describe. “I’m… surviving, I guess. It’s been hard,” she admitted, her voice wavering.

Chloe sighed on the other end, a mix of empathy and frustration evident in her breath. “I’m so sorry. I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re going through. And I hate that I had to be the one to confirm it. You deserve so much better.” 

Her heart ached at the sincerity in Chloe’s words. “I don’t even know what hurts more—the fact that he moved on so quickly, or that I still can’t hate him for it. I feel like such an idiot, holding on to the person I thought he was.”

“You’re not an idiot,” Chloe reassured her. “You loved him, and you believed in him. There’s nothing wrong with that. But you have to remember that this isn’t about you, it’s about him and his inability to recognize what he had.”

A sad smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Thank you. It’s just… I keep asking myself how someone can move on so quickly. I thought what we had was real. We talked about a future, Chloe. The farm, rings, babies, all of it. And then, two weeks after we break up, he’s with someone else? It just… it doesn’t make sense.” she said, her voice cracking. “How could he say all those things to me, make all those promises, and then just... move on? Like I never mattered.”

Chloe hesitated, knowing that what she had to say might sting, but also feeling that honesty was necessary. “I know, and I wish I had the right words to make it better. I don’t understand it either. But people… they’re complicated, and sometimes they don’t even realize the damage they’re causing until it’s too late. Sometimes-” she let out a sigh, “Sometimes people make decisions that don’t make any sense, that hurt the ones they’re supposed to care about the most. But that’s on him, not you. You’re allowed to grieve, to be angry, to feel everything you’re feeling.”

“Do you think he ever really loved me?” The question slipped out before she could stop it, her voice barely above a whisper. It was a question that had haunted her since the confirmation of Daniel’s new relationship, and now it hung in the air between them, heavy and loaded with vulnerability.

Chloe paused, her heart aching for her friend. “I think… I think he loved you in the way he knew how, but maybe that wasn’t the way you deserved to be loved. And that’s not your fault. It’s his loss, really. You gave him everything, and he’s the one who couldn’t appreciate it.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she fought them back. “It just hurts so much, you know? I keep thinking that if I had done something differently, if I had been better, maybe things would have turned out differently.”

“Don’t do that to yourself,” Chloe said firmly. “You did nothing wrong. You were yourself, and that should have been enough. He’s the one who couldn’t see what he had in front of him. But I see you, and so do the people who really care about you. You’re not alone in this.”

The girl swallowed the lump in her throat, grateful for Chloe’s words, for her friendship. “Thank you, Chloe. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I’m here for you, no matter what,” Chloe replied warmly. 

As the conversation between the girl and Chloe lingered, an uncomfortable question bubbled up within her. She hesitated, biting her lip before finally asking, “Chloe, how is Heidi? Is she… nice? She looks like she is.”

Chloe paused on the other end, considering her words carefully. “She is nice,” she admitted softly. “She’s kind and sweet, and she seems like a good person.”

The girl swallowed hard, a mix of emotions swirling in her chest. “I figured as much,” she said, her voice tinged with a quiet resignation. “At the beginning, I wanted to tear her apart, you know? I wanted to pick out every flaw she had, convince myself she wasn’t good enough. But I couldn’t do that… because she just looks so nice and kind. It’s almost like it made everything worse, knowing that I couldn’t even hate her.”

Chloe sighed, understanding the conflict in her friend’s heart. “It’s natural to feel that way, to want to protect yourself by finding reasons to dislike her. But you’re also showing so much strength by acknowledging that she’s not the enemy. It’s okay to feel conflicted.”

The girl nodded, though her throat tightened. “I just wish it didn’t hurt so much, Chloe. I wish I could be happy for him, for them. But it’s hard when it feels like I’ve been discarded, replaced by someone who seems perfect in every way.”

“Listen,” Chloe said, her voice firm yet gentle, “you’re human, and it’s okay to feel hurt and conflicted. But don’t let those feelings define you. You’re more than what he made you feel, and you deserve someone who will see all of you—the good, the bad, and everything in between”

“I know,” she whispered, though the knowledge didn’t make the pain any easier to bear. “It’s just hard to accept sometimes.”

“It is,” Chloe agreed. “But you’ll get there. One step at a time. And remember, just because she’s nice doesn’t mean your feelings aren’t valid. You’re allowed to grieve what you’ve lost, even if it’s complicated.”

—

Slowly, the depression began to give way to a semblance of acceptance—or something that resembled it. It wasn’t forgiveness, nor was it forgetting, but a grudging acknowledgment that clinging to the pain and anger would only prolong her agony.

She continued to write, but the tone of her lyrics shifted. They were still tinged with sadness and loss, but there was also a hint of desperation and sometimes hope.

We broke up a month ago

Your friends are mine, you know, I know

You've moved on, found someone new

One more girl who brings out the better in you.

[...]

And do you tell her she's the most beautiful girl you've ever seen?

An eternal love bullshit you know you'll never mean

Remember when I believed you meant it when you said it first to me?

And now I'm pickin' her apart

Like cuttin' her down will make you miss my wretched heart

But she's beautiful, she looks kind

She probably gives you butterflies.

[...]

I hope you're happy

I wish you all the best, really

Say you love her, baby, just not like you loved me

And think of me fondly when your hands are on her

I hope you're happy, but don't be happier.

Acceptance came in small, painful increments. It was in the quiet moments when Baby Iza’s tiny hand rested on her cheek, or when Vitto and Andrew’s unwavering support reminded her that she was not alone. It was in the act of writing itself, where she could pour out her heart and begin to untangle the threads of grief and loss.

As she sat on the grass, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows around her, she realized that while Daniel’s betrayal had broken her, it had not destroyed her. She would rebuild herself, piece by piece, word by word, until she was whole again. Despite everything, she was still standing.

Through the anger, the depression, and the acceptance, she learned that she had the strength to endure. The scars from this heartbreak would always be there, but they would also be a testament to her resilience and her capacity to heal. And in those moments of writing, she knew she would emerge from this experience stronger, wiser, and ready to embrace whatever the future held.

[prideofcelestia]

❝when he yelled at you but then you started crying❞

« characters - mephistopheles, simeon »

« gender neutral reader »

« headcanons »

levi, beel, belphie

satan, barb

luci, asmo

SIMEON

Simeon was so calm, so composed, so angelic that it was easy to forget that he could get mad. It was easy to forget that his primary sin was wrath.

You couldn't even remember the reason his serene features contorted in rage. The surprise was too great to bear, the fear too consuming to think straight. When one who is a source of constant comfort, one who has always been the one to keep a cool head in most situations lose their temper, it is dreadful. Your brain could hardly imagine him getting angry than it could process that he would direct his anger at you. You, who he had always considered so important, so dear. You, who he had often asked to be with him no matter what.

When Luke walked in, he found you crying and trying to get as far away from Simeon as was physically possible. It upset him and the older angel was at a loss about what to do. So he left.

Angels aren't perfect creatures. In fact, it may as well be this pressure, this false idea that makes it difficult for them to portray their true feelings. So it never pours without a heavy downfall, drowning the ones who believed that they knew the angel well.

However, one aspect of Simeon stayed as true as the eternal darkness of the Devildom. He came to knock on your door after he messed up, and not without your favourite snacks and a handkerchief, because even if he was not perfect, he genuinely cared about you.

MEPHISTOPHELES

Mephisto had been acting cross with you for a while or so you estimated from his behavior. It was not difficult to guess the reason of his silence, or the unnecessary avoiding of the eyes as he busied himself in other activities. He could be exactly like the children he loved at times. That didn't deter you from approaching him because these were a part of life and you had signed up for not only the good times but also the bad ones.

The confrontation ended in disaster and you leaving with tears that he desperately wanted to dry. It was not you. It could not be you! He would have talked to you if he was upset with you!

He was just... A hand flew to his temple. He was so burdened by his duties that he had no time to breathe. He knew at once that the irritation targeted at you was unjustified. When you appeared at his door with freshly baked cookies, he shouldn't have been so mad that he raised his voice at you. He wasn't even annoyed with you. The meeting he had just come out of had ended in a disagreement and he couldn't help but still think of possible snide remarks he could have made. It was infuriating to think about it. Obviously, he couldn't have verbally fought with them since that would be beneath him but a demon was allowed to dream!

Nothing truly validates the course he took while communicating. It should have been straightforward without inflicting pain. Telling you the reason without being a brat. Why should he hide anything from you?

That, however, did not matter. You were innocent in the incident and he hurt you. And now his chest felt tight, it was difficult to breathe and he felt more frustrated about everything, but mostly with himself.

Despite how he proudly rants about demons and their ways, he becomes an example of a gentleman when apologising to you. Ready with a bouquet of flowers and charming, sincere words, he clearly stated the reasons for his bad mood and took responsibility for his actions. His eyes are sad and looks down from time to time. He would understand if you wouldn't talk to him anymore but believe him when he said that he didn't mean it.

He doesn't want to lose you, you know? What he wishes would disappear are your tears and pain.

[deletarius-draws]

Baldur’s Gate 3 ~ “Harmonious Ardor”

Solus Aximand (Tav) & Lae’zel

So this piece took me the most time to touch up, originally it was supposed stay in a sketch to inked phase of the two, but then of course I decided to explore other possible additions to the piece. Such as background ideas, I knew for certain they’d be in the Astral Sea somewhere, so I looked into a few references, firstly being from an entirely different game. “The Siofra River” in Elden Ring, that underground area where the ceiling looks exactly like that of a cosmos, with stars and misty Nebula. It’s one of my favorite places in the game, the ruined architecture, white bark trees and ghostly figures that roam that there. This inspired the initial execution of the piece, then after setting the scenery of the background and adding a few things, I looked for more references of a cosmos, in other franchises as well as actual photos of space to further ground the foundation. I looked into Warhammer 40k’s Warp photos too, but of course, if one is familiar with 40k’s lore on the warp, I personally thought, “Nah… Far too chaotic of a depiction, lovely illustrations, but it wouldn’t mesh harmoniously with Sol & Lae’s tranquil & loving embrace, the center piece of the whole thing. I did want to convey the passion through certain use of colors however with just as much peace, respect and unconditional love the two have for one another. So finally I delved into some actual dnd Astral Sea references, browsing through the otherworldly and spiritually inspired illustrations, especially the older edition artworks. Eventually I came across Astral Plane lore and did a bit of reading as I absorbed what I could from the reference images, which helped with painting in proper colors for where the two are currently. Taking Color Pools and other atmospheric lore of the Astral Sea into consideration. I’ve currently been in a sci-fi fantasy mood for quite some time, again. Which helped bring the overall piece together here, I’ve been writing up my own lore of my world’s Astral Plane, keeping the drive to finish the piece alive. Of course I’ve also taken inspiration from the game itself from the screenshots I took while the party visited the Astral Plane for a few moments during my playthroughs.

They are on a floating landmass amidst other floating islands and debris, I honestly can’t say if this is before or after the wars against Vlaakith. Personally I’d like the think it’s after but it is also possible it’s some time in the middle, as they would also find and cherish the moments of repose and peace. The constant fighting, deepening bonding and venturing, the two stay as close together, only splitting if they tactically must, usually if not always in the same general area they reunite. Solus and Lae’zel prefer to be inseparable, they move and fight as one, they know this, that they are indomitable together, but if need-be, will separate, only to always rejoin shortly after during strategic planning. Being just as monumental in combat separately, ensuring the two do not ever fail to return to the other’s embrace, in their own love language they call this, “Our Eternal Return”.

I greatly appreciate you if you read all that, I usually don’t write out my thought and creative process, but it does help to keep the drive alive. I had more but thought this is long enough, I’m still writing head canon of the two as well as fleshing out Solus Aximand (one of my Tavs) as his own character more. I really appreciate the likes, reblogs and eyes that see my work. I’ll be in the shadows working on more in the meantime.