#i think it’s kind of funny now that was tearing up over a bowl but here we are

[bugisbonkerz]

god fucking damnit i just broke my favorite bowl. rest in pieces stephen

[literaila]

peter and sad!reader ? anything you want to write about them

at least there’s that

tasm!peter x reader

warnings: sad reader, annoyingly happy peter

*

peter’s lingering in the kitchen. you know this because you can feel him, the same way you feel it when you’re forgetting something, or when you wake up late and immediately know it.

and because you can always feel him—not that you’ll admit it—even if he’s not here.

but tonight he’s actually lingering. literally sitting with his back against the wall, trying to pretend like there’s something important you’re supposed to be telling him.

“are you sure you trust me enough to pick?” he asks, for probably the seventh time.

“yes, peter.”

“i might pick a youtube video of cool spider-man clips.”

“i’ll watch it.”

“really?” he’s closer now, sneaking towards you like you can’t tell. his aura is impending.

you turn towards him with a fake smile. “with my eyes closed, obviously.”

“obviously.”

this might be the end of this discussion—because peter was supposed to be picking a movie while you compiled the snacks, five minutes ago—but it never is with him.

“are you sure that you’re sure?”

“go, peter. you’re scaring the popcorn.” you mutter, no effort in the joke. but you mean it when you tell him to leave.

you just want to be alone for a minute.

he must sense this in your tone, because he finally says “okay, okay” with his hands up and leaves the room.

you feel guilty for the way you slouch as soon as his absence is apparent.

you wanted this, you think, this time with him. but now that you have it, it’s nothing like you expected.

you’d wanted to be in a good mood. to quip with him and laugh into his mouth at some funny movie. to throw popcorn at each other. to tackle him and stay there for the rest of the night.

instead, you’re kind of hoping that you fall asleep ten minutes into the movie. kind of hoping that he gives up and goes home for the night.

which is ridiculous, because really you just want to tether yourself to him. skin to skin, eye to eye.

but you don’t want to drag him down, so it’s probably best if he just leaves.

you lean against the counter, rubbing your eyes. you’re not going to tell peter any of this, obviously, because he’ll try to fix it like the sweet guy he is.

but there’s nothing to fix. just you in this kitchen, all alone.

the microwave beeps, the popcorn ready. the assortment of weird sodas the peter brought over have been equally divided into your best glasses. the candy peter also brought in fancy little bowls. it’s all ready.

just waiting on you now.

peter must think the same, because he calls from the other room. “babe! what about up?”

“nothing that’s going to make me cry please.” you walk into the room then, trying not to seem suspicious.

“‘oh yes, peter, i trust you to pick the movie.’” he grumbles, doing a terrible impression of you.

“there’s ground rules.”

he smiles over at you, jumping up. “do you need help?”

“no, peter,” you shoo him away, even as he takes the popcorn bowl from him. “did you pick a movie?”

“yes.”

you nod, sitting down next to him so that your thighs are touching. but you sit back before he can put an arm around you. “what?”

“i thought you trusted me,” you glance at him, his eyes wide, and a ridiculous pout. “close your eyes.”

you sigh. “really?”

“yes. lest you doubt me.”

you do close your eyes, and feel that tearing in your chest. some type of exhaustion that’s excluded from medical books. that kind that makes you want to crawl into your room and cling to your bed like an antidepressant.

the movie begins playing, dramatic opening music filling your living room. but you don’t open your eyes.

just one more minute.

peter nudges you. “did you fall asleep?” he asks you, amused.

it takes a moment but you open your eyes, coming face to face with him and his squinted eyes. “no, sorry.”

“are you tired?”

“i’m excited for this movie,” you correct, unenthusiastically. “un-pause it.”

peter looks dubious but he does as you ask, still looking at you as you watch the rolling credits.

after a minute of this you sigh. “why are you staring at me.”

“somethings wrong.”

“you chose the movie.”

“with you.”

you look at him, with his brow furrowed in concern. “no, peter.”

“what’s going on, bug?” he asks, ignoring you. he moves closer, even though you hadn’t thought that was physically possible.

“nothing.”

“you’re a terrible liar, c’mon. you’re all drowsy.”

“i’m fine.”

he rolls his eyes like you’ve already been over something and he’s repeating himself. “you sure you want to watch a movie? we could talk. or just cuddle. i’ll take a nap with you.”

“give me that,” you grab the remote from him, frustrated. you press play and stretch away from peter.

he doesn’t protest as you move away from him and hide between the cushions of the couch.

but you know that he doesn’t look away.

“okay,” he says to you, very softly. “we don’t have to talk. just let me know if you need anything.”

you nod, stiffly, and peter finally begins to watch the movie.

and your apartment is comfortable at its 72 degrees, but you suddenly feel very cold inside. missing something that you didn’t know was there.

there’s something scratching your throat, like a physical aptitude of desperation. the movie begins to blur, and your eyes hurt. your chest hurts, like someone’s punched you, but you know that there’s only one person to blame.

just you, and your shivering heart.

you swallow, looking to peter. he’s watching the movie peacefully, throwing popcorn into his mouth.

you feel bad for him. and for yourself.

but it doesn’t stop you from sliding over to him, your arm brushing his.

“peter,” you whisper.

“hmm, bug?”

“will you cuddle with me?”

peter looks over to you, his face soft and his eyes watching yours carefully. “of course.”

his arms goes around your shoulder before you can blink, and he’s crushing you into him. he smells like butter, but his shirt is warm.

you don’t mind being smushed to death, so you just move into him.

he puts his other arm around you too, moving into some type of makeshift hug. “good?”

you nod into his chest.

the two of you sit for a moment. just blissfully holding onto each other, peter squeezing like he’s worried you might disappear.

at least you’re not cold. that feeling is still there, but dimmed, because the feeling of peter is much more welcome.

the movie is irrelevant, and your eyes fall elsewhere, thinking about nothing. and everything. as usual.

peter starts to run his hand up and down your arm and you shiver, making him laugh.

you hope that it’ll bleed into you. that somehow, skin to skin exposure will spread whatever sort of easygoing disease he has. but probably not.

still, peter leans down, resting on your head “hey,” he whispers to you.

“hey,” you say back, as response.

“i love you, you know?”

“i know,” you repeat, smaller now. “i know.”

“okay,” peter smiles down at you, kissing your hair. “as long as you know.”

you sit with that for a moment, still not wanting to say anything to peter about any of this.

but you relent. “will you stay the night?”

peter nuzzles into you, his nose writing words into your scalp. you can feel his heart beating in time with yours. “whatever you want,” he says.

at least there’s that.

*

[impactdial]

(a small drabble that was apart of something else i was writing that i unfortunately dropped but i thought it was still kinda funny. anyway, come get your sanuso crumbs, truthers!)

The next incident doesn’t happen until a few weeks later. 

Sanji had sat on a stool by the lawn while peeling and slicing a medley of vegetables, chewing on his smoldering cigarette as he worked. Everyone was already on the deck by the time Sanji thought to have a smoke as he finished up preparations for tonight’s dinner, and he glanced up occasionally to idly watch them.

Luffy played a game of charades with Brook and Chopper on the lawn, the latter guessing heartily when he wasn't squealing with laughter. Nami was busily marking up several maps while popping freshly cut fruit into her mouth as she worked (courtesy of their curly cook, of course). Franky seemed to be tinkering with some kind of prototype, enthusiastically chatting with Robin.

Sanji sighed, exhaling a thin smoky plume. He felt content. This felt right, their own established norm. 

Right before his mind could drift further, he saw Nami approaching with her empty bowl. He straightened his posture as he tossed quartered potatoes into a colander, hastily wiping his hands on a kitchen towel.

“Did you enjoy your fruit, my dear?” Sanji crooned cheerily, feeling his chest flutter when their navigator nodded and returned his smile.

“Yes, very much! Thank you, Sanji,” Nami replied, handing the bowl to him. Sanji felt pleasantly warm when she leaned on his shoulder ever so slightly, observing his work. “Is there anything I can help with?”

“Oh, I could never ask you to dirty your pretty hands with this!” Sanji insisted sweetly, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. He gestured to the uncut vegetables in a paper bag by his feet. “Usopp’s supposed to be helping me with the rest of these.” 

There’s a comfortable pause, with Nami just watching with mild fascination as Sanji sliced the peel from a potato in a single, unbroken line before cutting it free.

“Speaking of which,” Sanji began, tossing the freshly peeled potato aside and starting the process anew,”Have you seen Longnose? If I find out he’s ditched–”

Nami laughed, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “I think he’s still working out with Zoro. I’ll go get him if you want.”

Sanji paused peeling for a moment. He lifted his head a touch to glance up at the navigator, waiting for a punchline that never came. The cook chewed his cigarette harder when neither of them spoke. She just looked at him with a knowing, sly expression.

“Since when? How long's he been doing that?” Sanji asked skeptically, trying not to scowl as he resumed his careful peeling. Usopp, who would cling to Sanji nearly in tears as he begged for protection, joining shitty moss-for-brains in his musclehead shenanigans? He’d be more likely to hurt Usopp than do anything remotely helpful for him, knowing the brute. 

Nami shrugged, combing her fingers through her loose, fiery hair before tossing it over her shoulder. 

“For a while now, I guess.” She hummed, her eyes trained on Sanji thoughtfully. “He looks good, huh? Real good. So handsome!”

Sanji squared his shoulders stiffly. Despite knowing there’s no denying Nami’s words, he couldn’t help but smolder a little with jealousy for her praise.

“Oh, Usopp!” 

Nami waved enthusiastically over to their sniper, who had just appeared on the deck trailing behind Zoro from their presumed workout, if the dampness of the form fitting tank top he was wearing was anything to go by. Sanji floundered, especially when Nami squeezed his shoulder as Usopp jogged over and his chest noticeably bounced. If it weren’t for Nami holding him in place, Sanji would’ve quickly retreated. 

“Hey!” Usopp greeted brightly before his gaze shifted over to Sanji and realization suddenly crossed his features, looking guilty. “Oh! Shit, sorry, I got caught up with Zoro. I can peel–”

“Don’t worry about it.” Sanji said curtly, avoiding looking directly at Usopp. He had already peeled five carrots by the time Usopp had jogged over.

“Actually, Usopp, would you move that crate into the pantry for us?” Nami asked sweetly. Usopp just raised a thick eyebrow at her, looking between his two crew mates like he’s trying to decipher the situation.

“Oh, um, sure? The one by the kitchen door?” 

“Yep, that’s the one!” 

Sanji finally afforded himself a glance as he witnessed their once scrawny sniper lift the heavy crate easily, no falter in his step as he disappeared into the galley and the mental image of visible back muscles shifting under glistening brown skin lasts every time Sanji blinked.

Nami merely smiled, patting the cook’s tense shoulder. “You’re welcome.” 

Sanji involuntarily choked, cigarette dropping from his now gaping mouth as he stared widely in shock at the still grinning Nami. His face felt impossibly hot when she tapped a finger under his chin and his jaw quickly snapped shut.

He couldn't think of anything to say as he watches Nami return to her maps, inner thoughts that consisted of nothing but Usopp's so- Why is he- Why can't I look away? making it difficult to argue otherwise.

By the time he manages to compose himself, Sanji realized in frustration he had unintentionally peeled every last vegetable in the bag. 

[elilelibeli]

Reggies drunk craving

Sound of their front door wakes James up. He turns on the lamp next to the couch and sees Reg taking off his shoes.

“Hi love” he ask while yawning.

“Hi Jamie” Regulus smiles at him, “why aren’t you asleep?” he asks slurring.

“Wanted to wait, how was your night?” James gets up to kiss him. Regulus melts in his boyfriend’s touch.

“Great! They played so much Rihanna, I haven’t danced that much in a very long time.” he says in between small kisses. “You can go up and I’ll be right up with you” he says smiling at his boyfriend’s childlike yawn.

James steals one more quick peck and heads up the stairs lazily. He is about to go into the bedroom when he hears a loud curse.

“Reg, love what’s going on” he calls.

“James, where are my leftover noodles” Regulus whines, closing the fridge door with a loud bang. “Did you eat them?”

“Baby, the noodles from last weekend?” He asks and chuckles at his boyfriend’s eager nod.

“No I didn’t eat them Reggie, they were old, I threw them away”

“You threw my noodles away?”

“Yes love, the veggies had mold on them”

“But I wanted to eat the noodles. That’s the only thing I craved in the cab. I was sitting and thinking about those noodles and I really..” Reg can’t finish his sentence because he is crying. He is actually crying about the noodles, big tears and full pout crying.

James can’t help himself but laugh. His boyfriend is standing in the kitchen at 3 am, crying because of the noodles with a lip quiver and that adorable, little pout.

“James, do not laugh! This is not funny you threw away my noodles” Reg says putting his hands on his hips.

“Come on baby, they had gone bad. Go up, try to take those glitters off and I’ll order you some”James pulls him by his belt loop and tries to kiss him. Reg is pretending to be upset but still smiles against James’s lips. He heads up to the bathroom happily.

Last thing Regulus remembers is going upstairs to get ready for bed. Now he wakes up because of a loud bang from the kitchen. He quickly goes down to see what’s going on.

“Jamie, are you okay?”

“Shit, did I wake you up? sorry love I dropped a lid” James answers. James who is standing in front of a stove, stirring a big pot of noodles at 4:30 in the morning.

“Jamie what are you doing?”

“The noodle place you like was not open when I tried to order, so I figured I’d try and make you some.” James was smiling at him “we ran out of spring onions but I think it will be okay”

“You made me noodles.” Regulus is staring at him, his mouth fully open.

“Yeah?!”

“Well.. Jamie is 4:30 in the morning”

“Yes but you were craving them, weren’t you?” James asks while getting a bowl from the cupboard.

Regulus is still standing. He cannot believe that he is not even surprised. Of course this is what James would do, he would stay up all night to wait for him and then cook him a stupid drunk craving at 4 in the morning. He is standing there and he is not even surprised that this is happening because things like this happen to him now. And he suddenly realizes the size of luck and happiness he has are unmeasurable, because he is used to things like this. He gets to receive James’s huge love and exist with this much kindness. He realizes how truly happy he is and how he would do anything to always be this warm from James.

As if something nudged him, Regulus moves suddenly, hugging, or more like jumping on his boyfriend’s back like a mad man. “You are going to marry me, right?” he asks with an extremely serious tone.

James turns around. He is smiling with his whole face, dimples on his cheeks, crinkles around his sweet, sweet brown eyes. He laughs with his loud laugh that Regulus prefers over any symphony he has ever heard.

“Right, of course, of course I will Reggie. I would do it right now if I could” he answers, with sincerity in his voice.

“Right, okay, good, perfect” Regulus answers, unable to form a coherent sentence after having every single cell in him injected with overdose of love. He kisses his, apparently very soon to be husband on his cheek and grabs a hot bowl of what he thinks will be the most delicious noodles in the world from his hands. He is happy truly, truly happy.

[angelsworks]

Little Witch The last kingdom x reader

Chapter 2

Next chapter -> H E R E

Series Masterlist -> Here

Type: Series

Summary: Uhtred decides what to do with you, while you remain bound at his camp. Meanwhile you have your first vision in the company of your master.

Warnings: 18+ mentions of Animal violence, violent imagery, past abuse, etc

The ropes were rough against your previously shackled wrists. Despite the thin layer or dress separating the two, they were beginning to hurt. You were thankful your gag had been removed.

Your cloak had been torn from you in the struggle. Now the misty sky had turned back, the air had turned cold. You tried hard not to let your teeth chatter. Despite your weakened state, you didn’t want your master, or now masters to know it.

It felt more like they were your captures than masters. You likened the experience to your time with Steffen. Although at least here you got to see the outside.

When Uhtred returned from bathing, he brought with him a funny shaped stick. The end was curved into a U. He hammered it into the damp dirt and tied your ankle to it using rope. The rope couldn’t be removed due to the shape of the branch. You couldn’t pull it out either due to how hard he’d put it in the Earth.

Your rope let you move away slightly from the middle fire. To which you did immediately. Moving to sit away from the group.

You lay back on the ground and stared at the sky above you. Remembering the times that Astrid or your mother would point out their stars. Your mother and Astrid shared their Dane heritage. They both had the same interpretations of the stars. Sometimes your mother would make up stories to go along with the pictures they formed.

The thoughts hurt your chest and you couldn’t afford anymore pain. Not with your side feeling like it may split and your legs ready to break.

Your breath carried into the air as a cold wisp. The sight similar to that of the horses, across the fire. Four horses stood quietly, calmly, together.

You sighed and turned to your side, away from the fire. You were cold, hungry and hurting. At least in sleep you could temporarily escape that.

You crossed your arms and tried to shield yourself from the cold. You didn’t dare rub your arms, as to avoid awakening the bruises once more.

You were ready to fall asleep when a gentle hand made you jolt. You sat up and turned around. Osferth, the baby monk. You almost smiled at him, his kindness a staple part of your visions.

He brought a bowl of whatever was cooking on the fire. You saw some vegetables and assumed it was stew.

“Thank you Osferth.” You said, the volume of your voice barely past a whisper. Reminding you of how dry your throat had become.

He nodded, looking shocked that you knew his name. You ate slowly. Gazing across to the fire. Where four men now sat quietly contemplating. Not that you could hear them.

Away from your ears they spoke.

“Uhtred mate, you can’t always think with your cock.” Finan chided playfully.

Uhtred slapped him lightly on the back of the head, while Sihtric and Osferth laughed quietly.

“I’m thinking with my head. What is the chance this seer will curse me.”

“She doesn’t seem anything like Skade.” Osferth adds, eating his stew.

“Looks can be deceiving baby monk. Especially women, this one I once knew looked like she had huge breasts-” Before Finan can continue a look from Uhtred silences him.

Uhtred sighs, “If this is a gift from fate, I can’t pass it up.”

“Fate has not been kind to us in the last months.” Sihtric says to the group, eyes glancing over your small form.

You’ve just about finished your stew as you meet Sihtric’s eyes from across the fire. You quickly look away. Not wanting to draw attention to yourself. Even though you are the topic of their conversation.

“Why not give her a chance?” Osferth offers to the group, finishing his own stew.

“Baby monks got a good idea Uhtred, let her prove to you she’s a seer.” Sihtric concurred, tearing his eyes from you and to the group.

“A good seer at that, not one that wants to curse you.” Finan remarks, nudging Uhtred with his arm.

Uhtred sighs, still uneasy at the idea of you being a witch or seer or whatever thing you were.

“We’ll give her chance. If it’s an act she’s putting on she won’t be able to keep it up it for long.” He decides.

“Not with us all watching her.” The groups attention break away to Finan. They realise that they’ve all been somewhat taking it in turns to watch you. But you were the biggest threat to them at the moment.

You quietly groan as you move to get up. Your muscles stiff from sitting down. Not used to resting after your days travelling. You take your bowl over to the fire, where you hand it to Osferth.

“Thank you.” You once again repeat. He hesitates to take the bowl from your grasp. The others look on stoically.

“It’s not cursed.” You mention, before he takes the bowl out of your grasp.

The fire is a welcome reprieve from the cold air. You try not to show how much relief it brings you. You turn to leave, going back to your spot away from the others.

You lay facing away from them. Closing you heavy lids to try and find comfort in a dreamless sleep.

Sleep doesn’t come easy. Even with the crackle of the fire, or the quiet conversations. Your head won’t clear enough to fall asleep. The cold doesn’t help. It seeps through your dress and into your bones. You feel similar to a block of ice.

You sit up, attracting the attention of those sat around the camp fire. You look around the camp, trying to find your cloak. It lays crumpled on the Forrest floor, near the treeline.

You walk towards it, but are met with resistance. It’s just out of range of your ankle rope. You sigh, a little embarrassed. You go to sit back down, but stop when Uhtred’s voice stops you.

“Witch, what do you want?”

You turn around, seeing four pairs of eyes on you. Probably ready for you to cast a spell or disappear.

“My cloak.” Your voice comes out cracked.

He sighs as he gets up. Walking over to retrieve it for you. Then moving silently back to the fire. His eyes avoid you, until you turn away from them. Then like the others they’re drawn to you.

You were able to sleep a lot easier with the cloak covering you. It kept a layer or heat between you and the cold. Your mind was able to finally find some sort of peace, as you gently drifted off.

Your peace didn’t last long. Soon you felt the darkness around you melting as you fell into a vision.

Blurred pictures started to come to light. You saw a horses mane half braided, your own fingers doing the work. You recognised the white mane as that if Uhtred’s. You were sure he sat behind you on the slowly rocking horse. Next to Uhtred’s horse, Finan and his horse walked behind you. Behind you both Sihtric and Osferth rode behind you.

The path in front of you diverged. The road you followed lead to a large rock, made misty by your vision. Out from the rock jumped five men, bandits. They drew out a large sword and cut at the two front horses. Successfully slaying yours as it fell on you and Uhtred.

From there on you saw the men fight against the bandits. The advantage the Bandits gained was undeniable and lead to most of you being fatally injured.

You woke with a start.

You felt your dress stick to your clothes from the sweat on your skin. Your hair was doing the same to your forehead. Your breathing came out laboured, making white puffs in the air.

The sky in front of you was just breaking into light. It was clear the morning was in the way.

You looked around the camp seeing the fire extinguished. Your Master was no where in sight. Instead you saw Finan tending to the horses and Osferth packing away some of the groups items. Sihtric was also no where to be seen.

Your stirring must have been louder than you first thought. It caused Finan to look your way, still with caution. You sat up and looked away. Trying to focus on your breathing instead.

When you had visions of Uhtred and his men, they usually weren’t so bloody. They did show battles and fights they had, but they always won. Now it was down to you to guide your master and keep him alive.

A task made harder by his reluctance to listen to or trust you.

A pair of boots stopped in front of you. Looking up you saw Uhtred. After seeing Steffen you were sure you’d never see a man quite so tall. Yet looking up at Uhtred you were sure you were wrong.

He bends at the knees to crouch before you. Resting his arms on his knees as his eyes study your composure.

“It’s been decided witch, what will be done with you.” His voice is direct, emotionless.

“You will journey with us to my home in Coccham. We will see if you prove any use or harbour any evil intent. Until you can be trusted, you will remain bound.” He gestures to your arms. Free from any bounds at the moment.

You sigh. You expect this or course. Yet you aren’t sure how long you can put up with the harsh treatment.

[amnestria-the-elf]

I had a dream that my 77-year-old mother was isekai'ed into BG3, so of course I had to write a small little ditty about it.

To be clear, my mother would make a terrible Tav. She has no interest in fantasy or sci-fi and spends the majority of her time on Facebook. Being outside is her least favorite activity. Her favorite TV show is one of the Sunday morning news programs (I have no idea which, because I have not watched broadcast television since 2012, but she definitely tells me about the stories they have on that show all the time.) She is not a decisive person; she was raised in the toxic traditional gender role post-war Boomer era, and is perfectly fine to let others dictate how her life turns out.

Having said all of that, she'd make a decent Bard. For a sweet-looking older lady, she can come up with some surprisingly sick burns. Probably all of that repressed rage that she refuses to get therapy about. Anyway.

*~~~*

Linda was far too old for this shit.

Other women her age spent their time knitting, or going to their little exercise classes, or watching their soaps, or swapping stories about their grandchildren, or writing interesting Facebook posts. God, she missed writing Facebook posts.

But not Linda. Oh, no. Linda had somehow gotten pulled into a horrifying universe and had some kind of parasite inserted in her head, and now found herself surrounded by an unlikely band of misfits who shared the same affliction.

Perhaps she was having a psychotic break. Maybe she was really back home and her daughter had placed her in some kind of institution because she was entirely unresponsive. Honestly, she hoped that was true, but her back hurt like hell and every wound she sustained bled real blood, and that odd little Goth girl had to heal her every time, so she was reasonably certain that what was happening was real.

She was getting better at not getting wounded as often, at least. She learned that she was of better use to the group when she stayed in the back and just yelled insults at the enemies while everyone else did their thing. The angry alien lady seemed perfectly happy to take her rage out on anyone in her way and that disturbingly pale elf did well with his little bow and arrow. He really needed to get some color into his cheeks; he’d never find someone to be with looking like that. If only she could go to Walgreens and get him some bronzer. It would do him a world of good.

The magical bearded man did a surprisingly good job of cooking their meals. Linda tried to help but quickly realized she had no idea how to cook over an open fire. She longed to be back in her newly-remodeled kitchen, with the induction cooktop and smart fridge that automatically reordered her groceries for her. How did any of these people even function without wifi? They would never get to see the funny cat videos that she sent her daughter every day. Such a shame.

The most helpful companion was the heroic young man who had jumped down to fight the goblins in front of the Grove. What was his name? Will? No, Wyll with a “Y.” She remembered the odd little Goth girl teasing him about it. He had been so good with those little horned children after the fight. Her granddaughter would love playing with him.

Tears stung at her eyes as she thought about her granddaughter. Would she ever get to see her again? She sighed heavily as she stared down into her bowl of porridge.

“Are you alright?” a kind voice asked.

Linda looked up to see Wyll coming to sit down on the log next to her with his own bowl of porridge.

“Oh, yes, I’m fine. I was just thinking about my granddaughter,” she said.

“Oh, you have a granddaughter?” Wyll asked. “What is she like?”

“She’s about the same age as those kids you were training back in the Grove. I think she’d like you, actually. She’s very active. She tears around the house as fast as she can, slaying imaginary dragons or pretending to be a lion.”

Wyll laughed. “A courageous heart, no doubt. I hope I can meet her someday.”

Linda sighed wistfully again. “She lives… very far away from here.”

He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You must miss her very much.”

“Yes,” she whispered as tears filled her eyes again.

“Istik, enough sniveling,” that angry alien lady interrupted. “We must find the creche today. Purification cannot wait.”

“Give her a break, Lae’zel,” Wyll said. “She misses her family.”

“Tch,” Lae’zel said with an eye roll, but walked away.

“We don’t have to listen to her, you know,” Wyll said when Lae’zel was out of earshot. “You can choose what we do today.”

“I don’t know what we should do,” she replied. “You decide.”

Wyll frowned. “Well, the area where the githyanki were spotted is not far from a little settlement, Waukeen’s rest. There might be a healer staying at the inn there. It’s a longshot, but…”

“That sounds fine,” Linda said. “Lead the way.”

*~~~*

The burning building put Linda over the edge. No way could she handle rushing into flames and smoke to save somebody. Let the young people kick in doors and risk life and limb. Wyll seemed very proud of himself as he rushed in, so Linda just sat down on the edge of the fountain with a soft groan. Minutes passed; she started to worry that perhaps they weren’t going to come back out when a group of sweaty, sooty people stumbled out, coughing. 

When it became clear that Wyll was actually the son of a Grand Duke, Linda’s mind was made up.

“That’s it, Wyll. From now on, you’re in charge,” she said.

“I’m… what?” he asked, bewildered.

“In charge. You make the decisions. I’m done,” she said.

“Um, you’re sure? I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes…”

“I’m sure. I don’t think any of the others can handle it. Magic man talks too much–”

“Magic man?” Wyll asked, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“I’m not good with names!” Linda snapped. “The pale one is too whiny and these two–” she gestured to Lae’zel and Shadowheart– “won’t quit fighting. That leaves you. Help me. Please.”

Lae’zel and Shadowheart both started to grumble, but Linda cut them off with a withering glare honed by years of experience taking care of children and a husband. Wyll eyed them, then nodded and took a deep breath. “All right. I’ll take charge. And make sure everyone gets what they need,” he said pointedly towards the others.

Good. Let Wyll do whatever needs to be done. From here on out, Linda was staying at camp.

[asher-agere]

BSD agere headcanons (Part 3)

I’m back now with part 3 of my BSD agere headcanons! I’m on such a roll! Part 3 is as promised… The Guild! I struggled with some of these since I don’t understand all their characters the best, but I still did my best! And I hope you’re able to enjoy my thoughts!

⭒༺♰༻⭒Guild⭒༺♰༻⭒

Fitzgerald is definitely a caregiver. He loves getting to spend his money on his little! He’ll buy them everything they could ever possibly want and then some. Outfits, pacifiers, toys, teethers, cute dishes. Literally anything and everything. He’s also super fun to play with! If his little one is playing pretend sometimes he’ll get confused, a little lost in the story, but he’ll pretend he knows what’s going on! He loves being in a father role. If his little one calls him any kind of father like nickname he might start crying, but they’re happy tears!

Melville is also a caregiver I feel. He’d like to tell his baby plenty of stories and he’d have the Moby Dick fly around them in its tiny form! He loves making everything ocean themed. Ocean themed pacifiers, sippy cups, stuffed animals, onesies. All of it! He’ll play ocean noises in the background, perhaps even some sailor tunes quietly! He likes to rock his little one a lot. He’ll even invest in a rocking chair for that purpose. He encourages drawing over coloring! He wants to fuel their creativity!

Louisa is definitely a regressor. She’s just a little baby! I mean look at her. I think she’d regress from like 1-3. She’s always very nervous! She gets scared and cries easily. Almost always non-verbal and wants a pacifier. Most of the time she regresses involuntarily and just wants to be held, but if her caregiver calms her down enough she does like to color! She loves having stories read to her. Also loves picnics! If her or her caregiver have a garden that’s where she wants to be! Blocked off from the big scary world, but still outside! A perfect balance

Poe I can see either way. As a little he’d regress pretty tiny, 1-4. He likes listening to classical music in the background while his caregiver reads him a story. Maybe he’ll look out a window and color. He loves playing with Karl! Makes the baby giggle so much. As a caregiver he’d spoil his little one rotten in every possible way. He’d buy them so much stuff, and shower them in praise and affection. He’ll even teach himself new stuff just for his baby! If his little one has long hair he’ll learn how to style it, he’d be willing to learn how to sew clothes, he’ll also write them bedtime stories! Sometimes even interactive ones using his ability

Lovecraft I can see as a regressor! He’d regress to a toddler age I think, like 4-7. But he’d be completely non-verbal. He’s perfectly capable of talking, he just won’t. He doesn’t cry either, he’s not the most expressive. He will laugh though! He likes collecting “weird” stuffed animals. Fantasy creatures mainly, things that aren’t usually considered normal. I think at first he wouldn’t understand he’s regressing, he’d need someone to explain it to him. He’d try being independent, if he can he should right? He’d need a caregiver that would step in saying things like “Let me do that for you little one”

I think Steinbeck would be a caregiver! He loved his family, a little one is just an addition to that! He loves making them little bowls of fruit for snacks, especially grapes of course. He’d like taking his little one to his farm and showing them around, letting them help in the tiny ways they can. He’d also do matching outfits! They could match overalls and he’d buy them a hat! If it falls off that’s ok, he’ll pick it up and hold onto it for them. I think he’d be pretty good at reading stories too! He’d try to do a bunch of funny accents, and usually not do great- Which would make his baby laugh!

Lucy is definitely a regressor! Poor baby girl just wants friends. I think she’d regress from like 2-5. If she’s in a younger headspace she struggles to talk, but she’ll still happily babble! In a bigger headspace she can be sassy, better watch out with this one! She LOVES stuffed animals. She wants to fill Anne’s room with them, she’ll mainly regress in Anne’s room because she feels safe in there and it’s easy to access. She loves stories! If her caregiver is reading her a story she’ll constantly interrupt with her own ideas! Sometimes that just means baby babbles, but her caregiver is still expected to listen!

I think I see Margaret as a caregiver? She’s been shown to have a caring and protective side. I think her little would grow very attached to her voice due to how defined her accent is making her voice stand out. Therefore stories and lullabies become consistent. I think she’d make light use of her ability to have things fly around to entertain her little, being careful of course nothing truly weathers away. She’d love dressing up her baby! Lots of pretty outfits. She’d also like being outside with her little one! She likes feeling the wind

Mark would be a little! He’s more in the toddler age range, 3-7. He loves going exploring on adventures! He always makes Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer play with him too! He can be a fussy baby though. He doesn’t want to take a bath! Or stop to eat! Isn’t it obvious he’s having so much fun playing? But with a lottt of praise he’ll be willing! He always wants to feel like he made the choice though, never wants to be ordered around. Being ordered around isn’t very adventurous. Bath time can also be made more fun with bath toys! He just wants all the toys to play with

I definitely see Hawthorne as more of a caregiver. He’d be very doting, setting up a bedtime and all of that stuff! He’ll make home cooked meals and set up a cozy atmosphere with some candles and maybe even a fire in the fireplace while he watches a movie with his little one! He’d like rocking his little one to sleep while he reads them a bedtime story. He doesn’t buy anything excessively, he’s very responsible, however he always makes sure he has enough of everything. At least 3 of everything, always has rewards hidden away to reward good behavior, anything he could possibly need!

I hope you enjoyed my thoughts on these characters! I had fun examining the characters to understand them well enough to write this! Next up will be the Decay of Angels in honor of my Nikolai cosplay I finished for a Comic Con the other day!

[ducknotinarow]

[CharlieRhodes] "If I said you were the only handsome person in the room, would you believe me?"

| 💜💜💜 --- 'I love you' Sentence Starters;

It was odd once Rhodes let the tears fall, he felt numb after, then he just felt scared? There was more tears though after that? But Rhodes was pretty sure it was all still just fear that he was holding on to at the time. Now? Now Rhodes was just kind of mad? Eh more like pissy if anything. Rhodes wondered if there were more things like the grief cycle? He didn't think you could have one when you hadn't lost anything. Though Rhodes felt like he was likely to lose something. He was still hiding out at the Evans-Alder home it been at least three days now. Still no sign his Mom knew about anything that had happened. Rhodes hadn't even received a call or so much as a text from his Dad either. Him mom? Made sense she wasn't made aware of what was going on. Dad was still covering for his absence from school was his guess at the time.

Which just made he more mad at his Dad. Why could he cover for why he was away but didn't bother to check on him? His Dad didn't even ask him once if he was okay hell he didn't even know where he was! He had met Buddy and their Dad away from his Dad's place. Shouldn't his Dad be worried? Rhodes wouldn't be shocked at all if Karine somehow had involvement on this part as well.

Because of course his Dad just went along with just anything she said.

Rhodes shoved his phone back into his pocket and rested his head to the little control panel of the alley they were assigned when they came out to bowl. It was a good idea for Rhodes to get some air and be out and about but he wasn't feeling like himself. Normally he be the one at the counter getting them set up and grabbing their shoes even. Mostly so he could be funny with the names for the score board. Rhodes wasn't really feeling up to it so he just made way to the alley first and took his seat. Well Charlie and Buddy dealt with the rest, Buddy even offering to grab snacks.

For once Rhodes didn't complain about the thought of overly greasy fries or nachos or even wings at a bowling alley. Charlie was the first to their lane Rhode reaching over to take his pair of shoes. "Thanks" he huffed a bit before he went about switching his shoes for the bowling ones. Normally Rhodes filled in the silence between him and Charlie, able to chat away with easy around the big guy but right now he didn't really have the sprit in him to be well to be Rhodes.

He could hear the chatter behind them because of it though, the group near them seemed to take notice of Charlie. No surprise Charlie was a giant after all. And it wasn't the first time he been mistaken for being the wrong age either. But Rhodes couldn't help but tune into the chatter the moment he knew they were talking about Charlie. With the mess he was dealing with Buddy and Charlie had been his saving grace, just doing anything they could to show Rhodes he had them he guessed. That's just who they were after all, two welling meaning birds who would go out of their way for someone..someone like Rhodes.

An off comment about poor kid with their lame Dad as they comment on the blue hair color got Rhodes feathers to bristle right away. Maybe he was still holding on to some rage from his and Karine fight a few days ago, so he might been looking for an outlet. Or maybe? He was just mad in general? Anther stage of his current grief like cycle perhaps even?

Rhodes had moved even before he realized it himself, striding over to the lane near by purposely even sitting down in the center of the group.

"Eh you got one thing right there, his dye job is well done I should know I did it." Rhodes boasted a bit "Oh than again maybe two things, he is very Daddy~" Rhodes chimed a bit seeming to lower his voice down to whisper on to the little group. Before he spoke on further. "Big daddy C as I like to come him you know when were alone." Rhodes was really just aiming to shut them up and it seemed to be working. If it weren't for the fact Rhodes was winning here by lacking shame in his statements. Didn't matter if it wasn't true they didn't need to know that. "I know hard to see that but don't worry I'm man enough to handle him and trust me I handle him well." Rhodes suggested with a very obsession hand jerk motion. Seeming to hit their limit the small group decided to get up and leave only one making a comment switching it around from. Charlie seeming like some lame ass adult trying to look young to Rhodes looking like he got his hair cut with a lawn mower.

Rhodes felt over his choppy hair style slightly puffing his cheeks over the remark. As they left and Charlie came to join Rhodes, Rhodes eyes shifting over towards him. "Oh sorry I know you hate when I call you that, and ya know all the big talk. They were just pissing me off." Rhodes admitted before he went back to looking at his hair. "think it helped though I only now care about my hair, I can't believe I came out in public like this? Let alone let my boyfriends see me as this mess? Damn I'm really not my hot stuff self am I?" Rhodes stated he really did feel better blowing off some of his emotions. Even if it was at a near innocent third party. Looking at the wreck that was his hair, it was gross and dry too forget the bad cut he really hadn't been following his hair care. He didn't have his oils and microfiber towel with him either! uh and the blue stripe was fade into a grow grey color!

It was like a slow realization hitting Rhodes at the time grey eyes growing wide. "I can't believe I look like this!" He covered his face and turned over to slightly hide. "How low have I fallen to make other see this mess!" He slightly whined a twinge of the old Rhodes coming through. As he dramatically whined.

"If I said you were the only handsome person in the room, would you believe me?"

Rhodes peer out from his hand hearing Charlie ask "Nah" Rhodes chuckles a bit before looking to Charlie "Cause you're here too." He admits before sitting back up seeming to be over his current appearance. "But seriously if I don't get this fixed I will fucking die and you and Buds will have to break up with my god flawed unattractive corpse."

[sadiecoocoo]

Anyone wanna hear a funny story that totally didn’t traumatize me? (I promise it’s nothing actually traumatizing… tw for snakes ig?)

So last June I was home alone, my parents were working and my sister was on her senior trip with some friends. So, while I was home alone, I was tasked with taking care of my pets, one black lab (Luna) and a mainecoon (Sabine). When I went to feed my dog, I let her out afterwards. She didn’t really want to go out, which is normal she’s the kind of dog that doesn’t like going outside without someone with her. She was a stray, likely because she’s not a “real” lab, tho we don’t know what other breed she’s mixed with, so of course she has a bit of anxiety with being alone. I just brushed it off as her not really wanting to go outside at the moment, and I wasn’t really in the mood to walk her out there since I had let her out not too long before. When I went back onto the main floor (her food bowl is in the basement since that’s my Dad’s “man cave” and he takes care of her the most), she got really excited and started jumping up and down and sort of going to the door to the backyard. I was a little annoyed since I jsut let her out, but maybe she just randomly got the urge to be outside for a bit. So I went to the door and let her outside. my cat, Sabine, was in the kitchen a few feet behind me.

When I let Luna out, she ended up kicking something in. At first I thought it was a stick, but when I closed the back door I noticed it was moving, writhing. Before I could process what it was, my fight or flight response kicked in and I ran away from it to my room upstairs. Now, the layout of my house is a little weird… it sort of goes into a circle on the first and basement level floors. So the kitchen ultimately connects to the dining room and living room, so it didn’t matter which way I went I would be able to get to the upstairs either way. As stated before, Sabine was in the kitchen, which was luckily the direction I went to get to the upstairs. I noticed that she was intently looking towards the door, or more accurately the moving creature. Without thinking, as I was running, somehow not tripping over myself (good to know that my clumsiness will spare me in times of need), I leaned down and scooped my cat up without stopping. The next bits were kind of a haze, the blood was pumping too loudly in my ears for me to really remember it and I was moving too fast for me to process where exactly I was going, I just knew I needed to get to my room and slam my door shut. So that’s what I did.

I dropped my cat as soon as I shut the door, then promptly collapsed onto my bed in tears, breathing heavily from fear and adrenaline. When I realized what had happened, I immediately texted my dad, who was thankfully on his way home since he only worked until around 4:00 on most days. I told him, “there’s a snake in the house,” followed by a basic description of what all had happened. He said he was on the way and to keep an eye on it. I thought with terror that that meant I needed to leave the sanctity of my room and watch as it slithered around my house, possibly to where I wouldn’t be able to see it without going downstairs. I sat there for several minutes crying, shaking, and laughing in hysterics as my cat pushed on the door trying to get out of my room. Sabine is an indoor cat, she’s never been outside unless she was in a carrier, so I didn’t fully trust her survival instincts. I had grabbed her and put her on my bed before I left the room, sniffling and trying not to fall from my weak knees.

The upstairs of the house is a lot smaller than the main floor, since the living room goes all the way up to the roof. My room is to the right of the top of the stairs, and is directly above the dining room. The rest of the upstairs is above the kitchen and garage. The back door where the snake got in was in the living room, bordering the kitchen, so I could see it from the top of the steps. If I went to the midway point of the steps, where the wide step is due to the turn, I could see into a bit of the kitchen. I didn’t dare leave my perch at the top. Still shaking, I hesitantly looked at the rug in front of the back door. I took a sharp inhale and cringed as I could no longer see the snake. I ran back into my room before surveying the rest of the house, there was no way in hell is actually go looking for it, not with all the furniture it could hide under. That was another thing that struck sheer terror through my bones. In the living room, dangerously close to the back door in this situation, was a very large couch. A VERY large couch. One that if, oh I don’t know, a snake crawled under, you wouldn’t really be able to get it out.

I went back to my bed, a new fear realized, and told my dad what happened. He asked what kind it was, I told him it was fairly small and light blue. Then there came the waiting game. If you couldn’t tell by now, I have a big fear, maybe even a phobia, of snakes. Really for all reptiles and amphibians, they’ve just always rubbed me the wrong way, what with there slimy skin and the way they just wait without moving for something to come to them. I have nothing against them or anyone who owns a pet reptile/amphibian, I know they’re needed in the environment, but keep those slimy fuckers away from me unless me to have a full blown panic attack. Which you might have guessed was what I was experiencing during said waiting game. The only thing keeping me from passing was from the lifeline that my friends gave me over text. Didn’t stop me from crying and shaking though. I was laughing at the absurdity of the situation. I’ve been an impatient person, but having to wait in this, was so much worse than an update for a video game or a long line at a restaurant. I stared at the crack under my door the entire time, waiting for a slithering creature to crawl under.

Finally, thirty-two minutes after I first texted my dad, though it felt like an hour, he made it home. The sound of a garage door never sounded so relieving. My fear spiked again as it took a few moments for the door to open, but it finally did and I heard my dad’s footsteps. I sent him a quick text after a few more moments asking if he’d found it yet, I was met with radio silence. It didn’t take long for me to surmise that he had in fact found it, for a loind banging was repeatedly heard. I jumped and made a pathetic sound as I felt tears well up in my eyes again. My car ran under my bed, and I wished she had jumped on top so I could clutch her like a teddy bear.

A few seconds later, the noise stopped, followed by the sound of the back door opening, and the scraping of a shovel on a wooden floor. My dad then called up to me that the snake was dead. I slowly conjured up enough courage to leave my room, and sat perched at the top of the stairs again. I still didn’t want to go downstairs, or anywhere near the back door. But my dad was laughing, joking about how the snake was not actually small like I had said. I think I started crying again and finally went down and hugged him. The we laughed about the fact that I made sure to grab the cat before running up to my room, I guess I’d be the person that’d go back into a burning building for their pet.

Yeah, so that happened a bit over half a year ago. Since then I e made sure to check the blinds and keep a little distance before opening the door. I’ve also been thinking, how come Luna didn’t want to go outside in the basement, where it was safe, but instead went outside upstairs??? Does she want me to die??? I also could never tell if she had kicked the snake inside or if it had jumped inside, but my dad said that the snake seemed a little hurt so she probably kicked it in by accident (or on purpose… the investigation didn’t prove profitable)

Anyway, if anyone has any questions about this whole ordeal, lmk! I leave you all with the texts I sent my dad,

There was another picture of my bad holding up the murder weapon with a big shit eating grin but I don’t have it anymore, I’ll have to ask my dad for it later

[watching-pictures-move]

Movie Review | Rush Hour 2 (Ratner, 2001)

Having managed to enjoy the work of both Chris Tucker and Jackie Chan on the big screen within the past week, I knew it was time to see them reunite. Time to see them once again join forces for the greater good. Time to revisit... Rush Hour...2. Why not the first Rush Hour, a movie I actually enjoy? Two reasons. One, I've often wheeled out this one and the third in other reviews to illustrate the decline of the average level of filmmaking within the period of a few years, and there's no way in hell I'm willingly rewatching the third. Second, the first one seemed to have left Netflix, and there's no way in hell I'm willingly rewatching the third, so Rush Hour 2 it is.

I think Air gave me an appreciation of how Chris Tucker can be well used in a movie. For example, when he slows the fuck down, lowers his voice, speaks in a soothing tone and stays offscreen for large chunks of the movie, as in Air, he can be pretty enjoyable for the few minutes of well chosen screentime he actually appears, and also the many minutes during which he is nowhere to be seen. (Okay, I'm being a bit mean, he's actually quite good in the movie.) But even in the first Rush Hour, when he's given an actual arc and given some semblance of humility by the story, going from the biggest joke of his department to gaining the respect of his colleagues and himself, you can see how his motormouthed style can be amusing. Here, he's totally unleashed, refusing to shut the fuck up for even an instant, yammering his way with his high-pitched squeal through the movie with total indifference to the needs of the plot. I wanted to tear my head off and roll it away like a bowling ball.

If anything that came out of his mouth was funny, it would be one thing. But for the first half of the movie, his dialogue consists of nothing but relentless racism against the entire Hong Kong population, who somehow resist the urge to cast him off into the sea. And when we foolishly think he might have dialed things down, he comes roaring back during the climax, when he accuses Saul Rubinek of discriminating against him, and then in the spirit of reconciliation, gambles for racial unity, dedicating at least one throw of the dice to Nelson Mandela. Who is more racist, the man being racist to everyone he meets, or the man falsely accusing others of racism? Trick question: it's the same person. (I guess in most instances the first one would be more racist, although the second one is definitely craftier.)

But Tucker at least provides the movie with some noxious lowlights, because the comedy in this otherwise is nothing but tepid callbacks to the original, only played with much less conviction. (Once more without feeling.) There's also the skeevy scene where the boys spy on a scantily clad Roselyn Sanchez through a zoom lens, which anticipates the vile, strangely confessional humour in the third entry, where Tucker graduates to sexual harassment and Roman Polanski performs a cavity search on the heroes. (Apologies if I ruined Rush Hour 3 for anybody just now, but the movie kind of ruined itself by being total dogshit anyway.) I do think you can frame these movies interestingly in the context post-handover international context they came from. The original, aside from its optimism about America-China relations, offers a rebuke to colonial rule. The sequel, with its ugly American run amok, shows the condescension with which Hollywood met the Hong Kong stars who tried to cross over. It's a metaphor for itself.

On that note, I do want to spare a moment to lament John Lone's work in this movie. Imagine going from major roles in The Last Emperor and Year of the Dragon, two of the most acclaimed movies of the '80s, to getting only fifteen or so minutes of screentime in this, around half of which has him subject to anti-Asian racism from Chris Tucker. At least when that happened to him in Year of the Dragon, it was from Mickey Rourke, and he got to play a cool character to compensate. I will however say that Zhang Ziyi holds her own pretty well here. It is not a complex role, but she imbues her character with enough screen presence and ferocity that she's one of the few things in this movie that isn't embarrassing. Also, if you can keep a secret, I thought the part where she said she was gonna blow up Jackie's head was kinda hot.

Seeing this a day after I saw Rumble in the Bronx on the big screen, the action scenes felt as if they were playing at half speed. Sure, it's shot cleanly enough, and the performers are clearly very capable, but the framing is indifferent, the choreography uninspired and the cutting arhythmic. Jackie's talents for physical comedy are used much less than even the original, which at least gave him fun stuff like the bit where he climbs over the wall. Here, he mostly makes the same few funny faces while beating up bad guys. You look at the big climactic stunt, something which should knock your socks off, and instead of presenting it to you in a handful of clean, awe-struck shots, it cuts relentlessly, emphasizing the obvious greenscreen during the unnecessary closeups. But still, the fact that this is all coherent makes it play favourably compared to much of American studio action cinema in the years since. Time has been kind to anything shot on film and anything made before the mid-2000s, and I do think the Hong Kong scenes have some pretty handsome cinematography. And the scaffolding scene is pretty neat, even if the movie cuts too often. There's at least conceptual creativity there. Compared to the desaturated, greenscreened, cut-to-shreds, rubbery CGI hellscape of the third, this looks like a masterpiece.

[luveline]

Maybe a Steve zombie au where there’s a really close call and reader almost doesn’t make it. Steve is just so shaken up he refuses to let go of them. Also congrats on 30k!!!!

thank you so much!! I hope this is okay ty for ur request!! ♡ fem!reader

You wake up to a hand in your hand.

"Oh, fuck," you croak. You're not sure what you're cursing about, because every bone in you body is hurting. Which one to choose?

It's an all encompassing kind of pain, pervasive as a tooth ache. The only thing that doesn't hurt is your palm against Steve's, or your chest where his head rests. Both of those points feel okay.

"Steve," you say, throat dry as sandpaper. It barely sounds like his name. "Steve. Wake up. Please."

You shake your joined hands.

He moves remarkably quickly. One second his hands a limp weight and the next it's squeezing you tightly, his head turning on your chest so you can see his face. He looks pretty bad, all sallow skinned and dirty, but it's not too far from the norm.

"Steve?"

His eyelashes pull apart like they've been glued together.

"Can I have painkillers? Please?" You're in enough pain that it makes your teeth chatter.

"Shit," he says, sitting up. "Shit. Shit." He stares at you, relief and surprise breaking through the heaviness of his fatigue.

"Do we have any?"

He shakes himself. "Yeah, of course we do."

Steve reaches under the bed you're on. You peer down at his one hand, the other still clutching your own. He searches through his rucksack for a pill bottle and uses the side of his hand rather than let go of you to open it, pouring two and then a third pill out.

Steve helps you up enough to drink with his hand behind your shoulders, murmuring a sorry, "I know," when you hiss in pain. Your head feels like somebody dropped a bowling ball on it.

As soon as you've taken the pills Steve sets you right back down, both hands now clasped to your wrist. It's the longest he's ever touched you, at least while you're both awake. He hugs you in his sleep sometimes.

"Do you remember what happened?" he asks.

You shake your head. The movement sends a pain like an electric shock up the length of your neck and Steve quickly shushes you, a reassuring, pitying bump of sound. "Sh, it's okay. Try not to move your neck, yeah?"

You swallow and blink back tears. It's alarming to find yourself so injured. Steve's touching you so much, it's like you almost died.

His grave expression tells you you might be closer to the truth than you realised.

"I knew we shouldn't have gone in there... I'm sorry. The water damage was worse than I thought and you- The floor gave way. You landed funny. I'm sorry."

"I fell through the floor?" you ask.

Steve nods slowly, one hand secured around your wrist and the other moving up your arm. "I couldn't work out what was wrong but you wouldn't wake up."

You focus on his touch. Your head, neck, and lower back hurt like crazy. When Steve had helped you sit up it had made your stomach burn, as if you'd done a hundred crunches without warming up. The only distraction is his light touch, his fingertips soothing up and down the length of your forearm. How many times have you hoped he'd touch you like this? And now he is you can hardly feel it through the aching.

You wouldn't wake up.

"How long have I been asleep?"

"You woke up this morning," he says, "I didn't think you would remember that. But before that, it was a long time. Sixteen hours."

You look over him again. It's obvious he's barely slept, and that he likely hasn't gone very far.

It's a single bed, but he can fit if he's willing to lie on his side. You shuffle away from him and pull at his arm.

Steve stares.

"Come up here."

He only listens when you try to pull your arm out of his hands, climbing in beside you carefully. You're not sure if he's noticed how he's clinging to you.

"You really need to stay still. I don't know what you've done. You definitely have a concussion," he says quietly.

"Did I throw up?"

"No."

You raise your eyebrows and then immediately stop. "Oh. Lucky you. Or lucky me. That would be embarrassing, right? Survive the zombie apocalypse to die choking on my own vomit?"

He hums. "Imagine how I felt. Kept you alive all the this time for you to die because we wanted new jeans."

"Bet I need new jeans now."

He nods regretfully. "Don't worry about it. I'll find you something."

You push a tired arm over your chest to cling him right back, fingers braceleting the muscle of his bicep hungrily. He's okay, and you're okay though you feel a thousand percent awful. As long as you get better, everything's gonna be fine.

"Thanks for taking care of me," you say, turning your face as much as you before your neck twinges in protest.

He presses down on each of your fingers in turn, distracted. "Don't worry about it."

"Are you okay?"

"I didn't fall ten feet."

"Are you okay?" you ask again, because he needs to be okay.

Strands of hair fall into his eyes, obscuring his expression. "I'm fine."

"Have you been eating?"

He laughs, a stark contrast to your hushed back and forth.

"What's funny?" you ask.

He needles his arms around your arm and hugs it to his chest, entirely unabashed. "I missed you. I'm glad you're awake."

You glare at him. "You missed my stupid questions."

"Yeah, I did."

Steve goes back to stroking your arm. You drop back into your pillow properly, gaze naturally landing on the yellowed ceiling above. He touches you almost unthinkingly, hands all over.

If you'd known almost dying would make him this clingy you might've tried it a long time ago.

-

more steve zombie!au

[tragic-shadows]

Mistletoe

Word Count: 2087

Warnings: None

Pairing: GibbsxReader

Summary: Abby’s noticed the tension between you and your boss. She decides to do something about it..

A/N: I meant to put this out actually on Christmas but my family is crazy. So anyways, merry Christmas!! 

"You're joking." You stared at the cardstock that lay on your keyboard that morning. "A Christmas party?" 

Tony laughed, "Oh Abby never jokes about parties." 

"Great." 

"Why, did you have other plans tonight? Going off to see that little boyfriend of yours." 

You rolled your eyes and pushed him away from you. "We broke up two weeks ago." 

"Oh. Sorry." 

"It's fine, I broke it off not him. He was an ass if I'm being completely honest. But yes, I did have plans tonight, my sister is coming into town and I have to pick him up at the airport." You gave him a little wink and took the card down to go talk to Abby.

-

-

-

When you got down to the lab you saw you weren't the only one questioning the lab tech about her impromptu invite. "Abby," Gibbs growled. "I hate going out on Christmas Eve."

"Well yeah, I know. That's kind of the point Gibbs. It's to get you out of your comfort zone and have some fun! And it's not Christmas Eve, it's Christmas Eve Eve. The day before Christmas Eve."

"Hey Abs," you thought best to insert yourself before they started getting mad. "So this really is tonight?"

"Yep!" And then her face fell. "Don't tell me you can't make it either?" You shrugged apologetically. "Awe Y/N!! Please I have a Christmas game for everyone to play and it's bad enough that Gibbs won't come." 

You look to your boss, "You're not going either?"

"Dinner with Diane."

You turned up your nose. "That sounds awful."

"Mhm. But Fornell is out of town and he saved my ass the last case so I owe him." Gibbs shrugged and turned out of the room.

Abby groaned. "Ugh this is going to be a disaster!" 

"Abby it'll be fine," you assure her. "It's two people." 

"I know I know but.. I had a plan. You're going to hate me for it." 

"I could never hate you. What was the plan?"

"To get you and Gibbs together." 

You gasped. "Abby- we've talked about this. No meddling! It's bad enough that it's my relationship you're messing with but the fact that it involves our boss is even worse."

"I know, I'm sorry Y/N I just can't stand the way you look at each other when your backs are turned. He looks like he just wants to tear your clothes off of you, and you.."

"Want to do the same, I'm very aware." The crush you had on your boss was less than ok, it was just bad. You were down bad. It started as thinking he was funny, or kind. You wanted to have lunch with him sometimes, maybe just sit next to him. Then you started getting nervous whenever he stood next to you, and you couldn't sit still whenever you were at his house. One day you had tripped and he had caught you and it was a full blown panic attack. And now you couldn't even be in the same room with him without your gaze wandering to his blue eyes. Some would describe them as icy but to you they were the color of a gentle summer sky. You couldn't hand him his coffee because if your fingers brushed you were sure that your heart would beat so fast it would explode. And you surely couldn't go over to his house. Just the idea that his bedroom was upstairs was enough to make you blush.

"I was going to plant some mistletoe and then get you guys drunk, very drunk, and see what would happen." 

You smirked actually kind of liking the idea of drunk kissing the man you had fallen in love with. "Tell you what. If you can get Gibbs out of dinner with Diane and get him to that party, I will be there. Promise."

Abby's face lit up. "Oh thank you thank you!!" She threw her arms around you and buried her face in your hair. "You are like- my favorite person- ever." She pulled away and rushed over to her station, grabbing a bowl. "Here take a name. It's for the secret Santa." 

You reached in and shuffled them around, pulling one out from the bottom and looking at it. 

"Is it someone good?? Don't tell me who but just tell me if you wanna switch."

You tried not to smile at the name on the list. Scrawled in Abby's neat handwriting was her own name. 'Abby S.' 

"No I think I'll keep it. If the night works out I know just what to get my person." 

-

-

-

The dress you had chosen was a long-sleeved, short green velvet dress. Paired with a black biker jacket, tights, and your black boots, it looked perfect. The party was being held at Ducky's, mostly because Abby's house wasn't exactly.. appropriate. Some people had a thing against axes that could fall from the walls at any moment. You had ordered an uber for yourself which would then be on its way to pick your sister up from the airport. You let yourself in to the grand house and were instantly met with the sound of Taylor Swift's Lover, the smell of baking gingerbread, and even the slight hint of wine. You placed your gift on the table with the others and went to find your lovely hostess. 

"Abby?" You stuck your head into the kitchen. 

"There you are!" She dusted flour off her hands and took of her apron. "I was beginning to think you weren't coming." She was wearing a sparkly black dress wit ha white sash that matched too well with the sparkly black Santa hat on her head.

"Of course I was coming, I was just a little late, as usual. Is he here yet?" 

Abby beamed, pointing out into the living room where the 'he' in question was standing. Gibbs wore a dark blue suit and a black tie. In one hand he held a glass of wine (which you didn't even know he drank) and the other was stuffed into a pocket. It was clear that such a social event was not his forte. He stood off to the side, looking more at the snow falling outside than the people inside.

"Hey, Abs I know you were going to try and get us drunk to make this work.. but I'd really rather not."

"Oh Y/N!" She stomped her foot. "Are you backing out??" 

"No of course not." You rolled your eyes. You were a lot of things but a quitter wasn't one of them. "Just look at him." You sighed, leaning against the doorframe. "I just wish he knew how much he meant to me. How much I long to kiss those lips and just be in one of his embraces. I want to lay my head on his shoulder and look into his eyes and tell him everything that he is."

"Well then do it!! Why don't you just call him over and walk under the mistletoe. He's been drinking that wine for the past 20 minutes, he has to be a little tipsy." 

You groaned. "Fine. Ok, I'll do it. Just cross your fingers for me please?"

"Always!" Abby pushed you across the floor, jumping up and down.

"Hey boss." You side up to him, leaning against the fireplace. "Enjoying the party? I thought you weren't going to be here tonight?"

"Since when do I enjoy parties, Y/L/N?" His blue eyes turned towards you. "And you? Said ya' weren't gonna be here either."

"Abby kind of forced me. Said there would be no party without me." You tightened your grip on your glass, trying your best not to let your arm brush against his. "So is it a party now?"

Gibbs let a chuckle slip from his lips. "Suppose so." He went to take a drink but he was already out of wine. "Wanna get a refill?" 

"Sure." You followed him into the kitchen, cringing slightly as you passed through the door that did not have the mistletoe hanging above it. "What are you drinking?"

"Whatever you're having. This wine stuff isn't for me."

"Yeah," you chuckled, taking his glass, "not for me either. I much prefer bourbon." 

"What?" Gibbs turned towards you, suddenly much more interested in the conversation. "Did ya' say bourbon?"

"Yeah? So?" You shuffled through the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Weller Antique 107. "This good?" Gibbs opened and closed his mouth a few times before finally just settling on a nod.  "Here." you passed the glass over to him. As it changed hands your fingers touched, the interaction didn't go unnoticed by your boss. 

"Somethin' on your mind, Y/N?"

"Why would you ask that?" You bit back a smile.

"Know somethin' I don't?"

"What would that be?"

Gibbs let out a breath of disbelief. "What's your game?"

"My game?" This time you let out the breath. "No game, I just enjoy talking to you. Which is honestly funny if you think about it seeing as you're a man of so few words." You turned to see if you had gotten any reaction from him. His body language didn't tell you anything but his eyes did. They were filled with something that only Abby had noticed when he looked at you. "Can we talk somewhere that isn't so.." You cringed as some little kid rushed in-between you two. "Busy?" You followed him as he crossed the threshold of the kitchen. You were going to follow but you figured was now or never. You pulled his sleeve and he stopped walking. "You know what that is?" You pointed up at the plant hanging above the opening.

The side of Gibbs' mouth turned up and he looked down at you. "Ya' had this planed, didn't ya?" 

"Maybe." You put your head down, suddenly very self conscious. "I realize now that was probably not the best idea." 

"And why do ya' say that?" 

"Because it's the truth." 

Gibbs took a swig of his bourbon before putting it on the table beside the door opening. "Is it? Or is it just what ya' want everyone else to think?" At this point you had both forgotten the fact that there were other people in the room. "Do you care what other people think about you?"

You shrugged. "If I cared what other people thought would I have gotten you drunk and pulled you under the mistletoe?" 

"Sounds like somethin' Abby would've come up with."

"Who says she didn't?" You were only slightly aware of the distance that had been closed by the two of you. Gibbs' breath of wine, whiskey, and bourbon found its way to you. He smelled like sawdust and cinnamon, the dark coat only making his eyes look brighter. "Abby is a very.. smart… woman." You slowly trailed your hand up to the lapels of his jacket, hoping you were reading the situation correctly. "And you are a very smart man Leroy Jethro Gibbs." 

Your boss's hands had found there way up your back, one hand came up to meet your face, his finger tilting your chin up. "And you're a very smart woman, Y/N. So. You gonna tell me whether or not you wanna do this?"

"And what is this?" You searched his eyes for any sort of trick he was trying to pull.

"Wha'd do ya' want it to be?"

You licked your lips, watching as his eyes followed your tongue. "I think you know." You waited for half a second before gently pressing your lips to his. They were softer than you imagined, full of love and kindness that he couldn't say with words. Funny how his words came out of the same two things that made you melt so far to the floor. His calloused hands pulled you closer as your own fingers danced up and down his shirt, playing with his collar as he deepened the kiss. You wanted more and you thought he did too, but slowly, he pulled away.

"Not here," he whispered, his voice surely coming out raspier than he had planned. "I'll take ya' home, kay?"

"Home?"

"Ok, my house. Better?"

You nodded. "Mhm. But I'm staying for cookies and eggnog first."

Gibbs placed his hand on your back, guiding you to the front door. "I'll have Abby bring some over in the mornin'." 

You would be there in the morning. The thought made you trip over your own feet, a laugh escaping your lips as Jethro guided you out the door. 

TAGS: @aleck-cross @ah-blossom @ilovemark1951  @marennnx @originalsoulcollector @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @kittenlittle24 @twilightlover2007 @whoreforhondo @pinkcrystal44 @marvelslut16 

[redheadspark]

Hawwu could i request Druig x eternal reader where reader hasn't been in the best head space from thinking they haven't done well on missions to thinking they aren't enough for Druig, He notices that reader has been distant and he tries to confront them about it

Hope it makes sense

A/N: HAWUU! This is so cute and perfect for Druig, thanks for the request, Anon!

Enough

Summary: Doubt was a funny thing to navigate, especially for an Eternal who doubts her place. Thankfully Druig is there to guide her.

Warnings: Angst and Fluff mixed together!

Druig was looking for you.

His first sign that something was wrong was when you weren't at your usual perch in Phastos's lab. Usually, you would be sitting along the indent in the wall, one leg dangling down and swaying as you were watching the inventor at work, add in your opinion and tow cents when he wanted it.  Mostly you liked to watch, eye lit up in amazement and curiosity as he would invent something new out of thin air.  

But when Druig looked there, you were gone.

The second sign that something was off with you was the snacks still full.  You loved snacking away in the earlier afternoon, much like Druig who could eat all day if he could.  But you were more prone to having any kind of fruit that was available: Mango or Apple or even an Orange or two.  You loved fruit, it was both sweet and filling for you to give you an extra boos too energy.  There was always a small bowl at the ready for you in the main meeting area where Gilgamesh would make the meals, filled to the brim with fruits and treats that were your favorite.

Yet once again, when Druig looked in the kitchen area, you were not there. 

"Where is she?" he asked himself, taking the bowl in his hands as he moved out of the kitchen and over to the corridor that lead to the sleeping quarters.  That's when he noticed your door was already opened a bit, pausing and having a lingering feeling you would be in there.  No one else was on the Domo, enjoying the cooler afternoon and mingling with the humans that in the city close by.  You would be there too normally, drinking in all the human life in that city and learning more about the fragile species. 

There was no way you were in your room, not on a day like this.

Druig approached your door, thinking that you weren't going to be there at all.  But when he was close enough to touch the opened door, he heard the faintest sound, almost like a breeze or the movement of leaves.  He paused, thinking he misheard something that was inside your room.  But he heard it again.

A sniffle.  You were crying.

He pushed open the door, peering onto the room and noticing you were on your bed.  Your back was to him, shoulder moving in sync with your near silent crying as your head was hung and your hands were limply in your lap.  Druig felt his heart break: he never saw you in such a mourningful manner before.  You were always happy and ready to start your day early in the morning, looking for the bright side in any situation that was placed in front of you.  Druig never saw you down or sad, and now to see you in tears made him worry for you all the more as you finally heard him behind you at your door. 

"I was looking for you," Druig explained, you still not moving to acknowledge him while he walked into your room, "The others are in the city, and I figured you would be there--"

"Druig," You said his name, sounding almost wounded like a spooked animal.  Druig slammed his mouth shut, feeling his stomach churn as you turned your head a bit for him to see your profile. He gazed at the glazed eyes, the wet cheeks, and the quivering of your chin as you spoke again.

"Am I good enough?"

Those four words seemed so simple and yet complicated in Druig's mind as he cocked his head at you, not understanding what you meant.  He said nothing at first, trying to figure it out in his own mind as you sniffled once more.  He cleared his throat then.

"Good enough?" He asked, carefully walking around the bed that you were perched up to see more of your face and how broken you appeared to be.  The shoulders were sagged, your hands looking as if they wish to grip something so tight, the usual glow you had with your eyes and smile was long gone. 

"Am I a good enough Eternal?"

Now that broke his heart all together.

"Who says you're not?" He asked, sounding a bit more agitated at the notion of something putting negative thoughts and lies into your brain.  But you sighed and shrugged, Druig moving within moments to sit next to you on the bed, watching as you were looking down at the ground and not at Druig in the eyes.  He wanted to see the warm brown orbs you had that reminded him so much of the autumn leaves, bright and richer in joy.

"I don't feel as though I am doing a good enough job, as an Eternal," You admitted to him, harboring those featuring thoughts for some time and not being able to talk to another about it.  Druig pondered for a moment as you kept talking, "There's been so many times in the past, going up against Deviants, that I know I didn't do all that I could do stop them.  I mean, I know my own abilities are not as grand as Ikaris's powers, or as fierce as Thena's powers--"

"You powers are your own," Druig interrupted you gently, making you stop as he watched with with gentleness in his own blue eyes and a small smile on his face, "Have I ever told you how I felt about your powers?"

"You called them unique," You explained, seeing Druig nod his head as he gestured to the open door that lead to the hallway.

"I doubt any one of them can harness the water element like you can.  You do it with grace and with power, none of the others can do something like that," He explained to you, seeing you watch as he kept talking, "I find that comparing one's self to others is a robbery of loving one's self,"

"I don't mean to.." You started, but he placed his hand on your wrist.  A split second of warmth went through it instantly, making your cheeks feel rather flushed as he eyed you with sincerity and with love.  

"If the others won't tell you that you're good enough, then I will.  I see how you are devoted to keep the humans safe from harm and how to wish to bring them joy," He explained calmly, your heart expanding from hearing him tell you that and a small smile was showing on your lips while he went on, "You have the biggest selfless heart out of all of us, including Ajak I think,"

You felt your blush deepen a bit.

"Arishem picked all of us to be here on this planet.  He hand picked us, and although I don't always agree with him and his philosophies on humans, I know he has you here with us for a reason," Druig explained to you. He never was one to agree with Ajak and Arishem when it came to not helping or interfering with humans. He wanted to help and to stop the pain, having to stay on the sidelines as humans were harming one another. It killed Druig as the years went by, a bitterness was growing inside his heart and spreading as the centuries came and went.

"You are enough," He said to you, the three words seemed so calm and light but they meant the world to you, "I say you're enough, and I know the others feel the same way too, okay?"

You nodded your head, feeling him lace your fingers together before you could say anything else. It felt right to hold his hand, almost like the first touch of your toes in the water along the ocean shoreline, of the warmth of the sun rays first thing in the morning. To have the mind controller seek you out and give you hope and assurance of your place with the Eternals, it made your feelings for him turn into some more meaningful and deep.

With no signs of slowing down.

"Now, how about you and I eat this, and we can enjoy some peace and quiet away from the others? Especially Kingo, I don't think I can stomach him talking about himself for another moment, don't you think?" Druig asked coyly as he placed your snack bowl between you two on the bed, you giggling and nodding as you both started to eat in comfortable silence. That fleeting moment of doubt had vanished and evaporated, and a new sense of hope and belonging was now there within your soul.

All thanks to the mind controller, whom you would marry some years later.

The End.

tagged: @a-lumos-in-the-nox @basicrese @botanicalbarnes

[aka-indulgence]

Overflow

(ehe…. vent fluff… prepare for Not Proper Writing I guess)

sads about stuff other people said that made (reader)’s brain go “aaaa” and Sans is there to tell you how much he means to him

—————

You were hoping Sans wasn’t paying attention to you haphazardly throwing together your (and his) dinner. It’s just some.. noodles and some onions… some instant broth… You dropped the knife and threw it to the sink with more force than necessary. You could almost, physically feel Sans turning his skull around to look at the kitchen.

“you ok in there?”

“Everything’s good!” You answered, also with more force than necessary. If he could see your smile you’d probably look kinda insane.

You make noodle soup with anxious energy. It felt like it took forever for the water to boil. You put the bowls on a tray and carry it out to the living room.

Sans looks at you expectantly (and with some worry) as you put it down on the table in front of you. The tray hits the table with a smack! sloshing the soup, which ended up on your hand. The burn from the boiling hot liquid was instant.

“Argh!!!” You exclaimed, running to back to the kitchen.

“shit, are you ok?” Sans’ brows are furrowed as he followed you to the sink.

“It’s fine! I’m sorry.” you quickly said, staring hard at your injured hand like it was the cause of all your problems.

It felt like you’ve been on a thin string all day. You had a stumble at work, and someone had made a comment on how clumsy you are. It… it wasn’t a lot. It’s not like you were outright bullied. But for some reason it stung somewhere in your chest and has been floating around your mind for the rest of the day. You felt stupid. The harder you tried to ‘get over it’ the more your brain just wanted to focus on it. And you felt even sillier, because it just made you want to cry more. And over what?

The tears were threatening to spill over your eyes as you held your breath, turning the faucet further. Maybe so the water would drown out the sounds of you sniffling.

Gently, a hand reaches beside you over your hand on the faucet, closing it. Sans takes a paper towel and dabs it around your wet hand, wiping it with… almost too softly. Somewhere at the back of your mind the memory of someone patching up your cuts as a child surfaces and your tears fall.

… Of course Sans is completely oblivious to your spiraling thoughts, and doesn’t know why you started to sob.

“… buttercup?” Sans frowned. “what’s… what’s wrong?”

He doesn’t say anything when you lean forward to hug him, hiding your face in the hood of his jacket. You stand there for a while, letting your shoulders shake.

After a while, you said “Sans…”

“yes?”

“Do you think I’m good enough?”

… Long pause.

…

“wh… what do you mean by that?”

“Adequate. Not stupid.” you answered bitterly.

Instantly, he holds your shoulders, his forehead against yours.

Gently, he prompted “where did you get the idea that you’re not?”

“…” You didn’t look at his eyelights. You’re too embarrassed.

“… ok, that doesn’t matter right now. but please don’t say that.” Sans plead. “because you have no idea how… how much you are,”

He mumbled for a bit before he added “how much of a treasure you are.”

Oh man. There goes your tears again.

“i… feel so lucky that you’d want to be with a lazy, ketchup-drinking skeleton like me,” he chuckled, corner of his grin lifting.

“Y… you’re smart and funny,” you said almost automatically, “… and handsome,”

His smile gets wider. “exactly why i feel so lucky. how can i have this… beautiful, wonderful human look at me and… and love me? (y/n). you’re more than enough. i don’t care whatever anyone says about you, how you got the idea that you might not be ‘good enough’- to me, you’re… you’re overflowing. you’re smart…. and you’re kind. more than i am. and i think that’s much more admirable.”

You rubbed your face, hiccuping a little.

“hey. you aren’t your mistakes. so let’s not pretend you are,” Sans eyed the knife in the sink, “you’re (y/n). and i’m the lucky monster who can call you my date. come eat with me?”

You’re thumbing the sleeve of your shirt when he asked.

“Only if we’re watching something funny. Or cute.”

“ok, animal videos…. like an old person?”

“Yep.”

He kissed your cheek and bridal carried you to the living room. Neither of you are bothered by the cool soup.

[erodasfishtacos]

Adjustments

When Y/N is getting tired of staying at home with the baby while Harry tours.

word count: 5k

contains: sexual content, language, a dash of angst

It was still early but Harry didn’t mind. When he was on tour he craved sleep like no other. To be in his bed, spooned around his love, and no alarm set.

However, the deep desire for sleep is just a faraway thought now because he’d rather be sleep deprived and wake up to his curly-haired baby any given day.

He looks to you. Mouth slightly open, face stress-free, and peaceful. Harry hated coming home from tour to see the bags of exhaustion under your eyes from taking care of the baby all by yourself.

He constantly had to swallow back guilt. He tried to do everything to make it up when he was home.

Harry didn’t find touring as exciting and fun as he use to. He sometimes counts down the tour dates until he’s home.

Sometime he can’t wait for the concert to wrap up so he can sneak in a quick FaceTime before you lot head off to bed.

Sasha was two, her birthday near days away, and Y/N had been running around like a mad-woman trying to make sure her party would be perfect.

Y\N sometimes held herself to the exceptions of other celebrities wives. Ballon arches, custom cookies, and beautiful decorations.

However, unlike other celebrities, you did this all yourself. No event planner, nobody except Anne and Gemma.

Harry wants you to sleep as much as possible and allow you the luxury he gets on tour. Sleeping in until noon sometimes in the empty, cold hotel room with nothing else to do.

He can hear Sasha babbling incessantly from her little bed. The little yellow railings preventing her from falling out or escaping.

Harry heaves himself off the bed, tugging on some sweatpants that had been thrown off hurriedly when you’d told him you’d been wet for him since he walked in the door last night.

“Hi, hi little love,” Harry murmurs as he opens the door to her bedroom. The yellow flowers hand-painted from the wall setting the theme for the room.

Sasha was a good baby and an ever better toddler. However, almost as a little teenager, she sure did have her mood swings. They weren’t quite out of the terrible twos stage yet.

She wanted her mom as she stood there.

“No, mummy,” Sasha whines, tugging on Harry’s cross necklace with force after he scooped her up.

“Hey, we don’t do that. Remember we treat people with kindness.”

After a promise of chocolate chips in her pancakes, she agrees to help Harry cook you breakfast. 

It was messy and his bare chest was covered in flour. Not quite sure how the little girl had gotten it into her curls but they were managing.

Harry loved watching Sasha play with the cooking utensil. Smacking whisk around, looking quizzically at a spatula. 

It made Harry want to buy her a little play kitchen. He was surprised they didn’t already have one. He thinks they might have on in their New York City apartment that they haven’t traveled to recently.

He makes a point while Sasha is chewing at the pancakes to search to find one. He finds a same-day pickup at a local toy store and orders it.

That’s one thing he loved about making so much money. He could spoil you and the baby, his family with everything and anything they want or need.

Y/N always struggled with accepting gifts from Harry but as they years went on and they got married and combined bank accounts. (well she brought a hefty three thousand to the marriage, he graciously gave her full-access to his money). 

A few weeks after your wedding, when you went to an ATM to get twenty pounds out for a cash-only restaurant and when the receipt said you two had six-hundred thousand and some change in just one of your CHECKING account - well you nearly almost fainted.

You had been worried about the three pound service fee before seeing that.

Harry could sometimes get ahead of himself. He’s had disposable money since he was sixteen. Y/N would sometimes hum, asking if he really needs a fifteen-thousand dollar wool Gucci coat.

Y/N would make it a point that she doesn’t want Sasha to grow to be materialistic and spoiled. So Harry was scolded every once in a while when he gave into Sasha’s puppy dog eyes.

Maybe not the best decision but he planned to set it up when you were out for lunch this afternoon with a friend. Hopefully, you wouldn’t notice? If he strategically put it in the playroom.

“Mmm, what’s all this?” You murmur, tying your silk robe at the front. Just enough cleavage showing that Harry feels a twitch in his joggers. Sue him, basically everything his wife did turned him on.

“Pancakes, mummy!” Sasha giggles, syrup coating her cheeks and fingers. “Kissy?” Her dad had taught her that.

“Yes baby,” you agree, leaning in to press a kiss to her soft curls, avoiding her sticky mess. 

“Kissy?” 

You look up to your pouting husband with identical absurdly wild curls from bed. 

“Spoiled, you lot,” you tell him before padding over to him and pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

Forever the horny teenager, his large hands finds your bum and pull you closer - deepening the kiss.

“Miss you s’much on tour, all I think about,” he whispers into your mouth. “Your tits, your cun-“

“Harry!” You laugh, smacking at his chest, “Can’t talk like that in front of the baby!”

“She didn’t hear,” he grumbles, giving your arse one last squeeze, “Tonight.”

“Tonight,” you agree back, ignoring the pinch of arousal. 

—-

Sasha was putting up a fight when she realized that you were leaving without her. Grabbing at your leg as you tugged on a Gucci sneaker.

“I’ll be back soon, Sash,” you assure her but to no avail.

Her cheeks ruddy red and splotched. Tears staining them as she wails dramatically at the top of her little lungs. 

“I don’t know if I should go,” You sigh as Harry wrestles her tiny body off of you so you don’t trip.

“No baby, you need a break. She can’t hold you hostage,” Harry laughs as Sasha wriggles a little in his arms.

“Call me if you need me to come home.”

“I’ll be fine, now go, have a mimosa for me,” Harry smiles down at his daughter who is staring at you like you’ve just killed her beloved pet.

You can’t help but giggle at the glare, “so scary, missy. I’ll see you soon, I love you.”

Sasha buries her nose into Harry’s neck. Her sobs more sad than angry at this point. Which makes your heartbreak a little.

—-

Sasha was getting impatient with her father. As he attempted to figure out how to screw on the oven door to the overcomplicated design.

She occasionally ran off with a piece he needed so it took much longer than he’d thought. But this thing was sophisticated, you pour water into a little tub and it runs through the faucet like a real sink.

Sasha gave her father a wide smile when he had finally told her it was all done. He helped fill the little shopping cart with plastic fruit and veggies.

She was babbling to herself happily, occasionally making sure her dad was still in the room with her.

Harry had grabbed his journal off the kitchen table and was scribbling down mismatched lyrics about how much love he was filled with.

His last two albums were nearly just songs about you. The next one was definitely going to include tracks about his baby.

When he hears the alarm sound and get shut off, he knows your home and he feels a little twinge of anxiety in his stomach.

Distraction? That should work right?

“Hi baby,” Harry greets, planting a kiss on your lips before squatting to untie your sneakers for you.

“Well hello there!” You look around surprised to not see your daughter toddling to you as well. “Is bug sleeping?”

Harry shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck, “Um, no. Just playing in the playroom right now.”

“Was she good?” You asks, noticing he’s changed clothes. He loved to laze around in joggers if he could. “Did you go out?”

“Just for coffee,” he covers, technically - he did grab a coffee for himself at a drive-thru. “How was lunch?”

“Good, mimosas were shit so I only had one. Missed you guys too much. So glad your home,” you sigh into his chest, basking in his tight arms around you.

“Only 73 more concerts to go,” Harry replies.

He can feel your shoulders tense at his lame attempt of a joke. It wasn’t funny to you, not in the slightest. 

“Just 73, huh?” You shoot back, untangling yourself from his grip. “Just another eight months away from your wife and baby.”

“Love...” Harry begins, swallowing hard. He was just as emotional as you when it came to it. 

You shake your head, swiping at the stray tear, “Just forget it,” you huff before trekking off to see your daughter.

Harry is cautiously trailing behind you with a bowling ball of nerves in his belly. 

When you walk into the playroom and see the new kitchen set - you stand nearly frozen in the doorway.

“Mummy! Mumma look at what daddy got me!” She chirps, standing to come to you. You easily lift her up and accept the plastic apple she hands to you proudly. 

You feel a tightness in your throat, “it’s so nice, baby.”

“Nice,” she repeats, “come play, mumma.”

“I just got home, give me a few minutes and I’ll be back in,” you promise with a kiss before placing her back down.

She seems satisfied with your answer and scurries back to where she had placed her babydoll on the countertop - feeding it.

“Can we please talk in the kitchen?” You asks, trying your best to keep your voice level in front of your daughter.

Harry dejectedly nods and follows you into the kitchen, dragging his boot-clad feet a little. 

“Look, I know your mad, lovie. But I just got the idea and didn’t think too much about it. Know y’don’t want to spoil her but-“

“Do you not listen?” You ask harshly.

He looks at you dumbfounded. Unsure of the question. It sounded like it was a trick question.

“You’re unbelievable!” You whisper-shout so Sasha doesn’t hear.

Harry feels himself getting defensive, “You’re tha’ mad about a bloody toy?  I’m her father allowed to buy her things too!”

“No, Harry. It’s not about that. It seems like your so busy with your job that you just tune me out on our calls.”

Harry’s brow furrows. That wasn’t true in the slightest. It was the highlight of his day to hear your voice and how it went at home.

“That’s bullshit and you know it!” Harry snaps, his voice a little louder. 

“Go into the storage room off the side of the garage.”

He gives you a confused look but obliges, after trailing through your maze of a house. He reaches the large extra room.

When he opens the door, his heart sinks. He immediately knows why you’re so upset with him.

A beautiful, hand-painted kitchen set is sat with a large pink bow in the room. The hutch saying in cursive, “Sasha’s Kitchen.”

It was her favorite colors - blue and yellow- with painted images of all her favorite characters like Peppa Pig and Blue from Blue’s Clues.

He remembers how excited you were on the phone that night - when you revealed her third birthday present and how perfect the artist had made it.

Harry had been listening -truthfully- but he was also nearly asleep after two encores of Kiwi onstage and a meet and greet backstage.

He felt like shit now. Disappointed in himself for ruining this surprise he knows you were looking forward to giving her in a mere few days.

But the excitement of another kitchen set surely would be lackluster now. 

“Baby, m’so sorry,” Harry says quietly, with guilt bubbling in his throat. “I was listening. I just...I forgot.”

“Nothing we can do about it now it,” you bite out. Disappointed at the ruin surprised making you prickle with anger towards your forgetful husband.

Harry begins to apologize once again but you don’t let him, “I need to put her down for a nap.”

— 

You drift off as well in your bed- taking advantage of Sasha being asleep in the next room over.

Harry doesn’t quite know how to fix this situation. He’s much too embarrassed to call his mum or sister who would just give him another earful.

He felt like being on tour has been mucking everything up. He loved his job, most days. But days like today - he wishes to never see a recording studio or microphone again.

Harry’s pondering all this when he hears a cry from the baby’s room. 

Sasha is stood, bleary-eyes with a sad frown as her father enters. 

“Sweet pea, what’s the sad face for?” He hums as he tucks her into the curve of his slim hip. Bringing her down onto the main level so you aren’t awoken.

“Daddy, kitchen?” She sniffles, pointing towards her playroom.

He shakes his head. Deciding the least he can do is bathe her so you wouldn’t need to later. She still had remnants of fruit pouch in her cheeks.

“No, darling. S’bath time. Then you can play,” he boots her nose. Snatching some clean baby clothes from where they’re folded and waited to be put away on the coffee table.

“No no no,” she whimpers angrily, shaking her head and smacking her arm against her father’s tattooed chest.

“Sasha Anne, no hitting, absolutely not,” Harry uses his firm father’s voice that he didn’t have to pull out very often.

“No bath, daddy, no!” She wails with all the dramatics of an A-List actor. 

“Hey, mumma’s sleeping. We cannot yell,” her father hushes her as he trails into the bathroom.

“Mean daddy!” She exclaims as he wrestles her into the tub. Splashing the water and wriggling away everytime he tries to cup water over her head to rid her of the shampoo.

“I know, I know, so mean,” he acknowledges sympathetically. A headache arising in the front of his skull from his baby’s high pitch noises and shouts.

After another fight into clothes, she’s still not happy when she’s sat in front of her kitchen. She throws the plastic toys around and whining anytime Harry moves an inch.

He’s feeling a little overwhelmed if he’s honest. With his worry about your precious argument and the unusual tactics of your toddler - he was stressed out. 

“Binky,” Sasha looks expectantly at her father.

Oh, good idea. She loves that.

Harry can’t find any lying around like usual so he digs through the drawers around the living room until he finds one.

After cleaning it off, he hands it to her and she pops it in her mouth happily. Her attention now direction back towards her new toy.

He let out a sigh of relief. He wasn’t quite sure how you did this alone so much of the time.

—

 When you finally wake from a fitful nap, you hear noise from the playroom. You’re still extremely frustrated with your husband but it’s less intense. Until...

Until you walk in and Sasha turns around, smiling around a binky you surely thought you’d thrown away.

Sasha was getting too old for a pacifier - even though she was just using it when she was really upset or at night.

You’d been binky-free for three weeks. And all the crying and tears from your daughter where now meaningless.

“Where did she get that pacifier?” You grit out.

You had told him multiple times you were weaning her off of it.

“She was fussy. I gave it to her, tha’ alright?” He asks cluelessly.

“Harry! I’ve told you so so many times that I’d been weaning her off of it. She just stopped crying about it a week ago!”

“I told you about this - just like the kitchen. God, you get so goddamn wrapped up in your career that you forget important things like this!”

“Baby...” Harry whimpers, hands up in surrender. “I keep, I keep messing up. I’m - I don’t know where my mind is.”

“I’ll tell you were your mind is, Harry. In the countries your traveling to, the concerts your performing at. You promised me...you fucking promised when we started trying for a baby this stuff wouldn’t happen!!”

Harry’s face crumples, “yo-you’re my everything, lovie. You and bug. None of this means anything without you. I’ll quit music, never write another lyric or sing another note if that’s what you want from me.”

He meant that fully heartedly too.

When he wrote If I Could Fly and write the lyrics, “I’ll give up everything, just ask me to.”

The fans, the producers, you - don’t truly know how much he was being truthful in the lyrics.

“I would never ask you to do that. I want you to do what you love but I want you to follow through for your family!”

At your raised tons, Sasha begins to whine, looking with wide, concerned eyes.

“Mummy?”

With that, you scoop her up. “M’going to your mums. I’ll be back later.”

Harry watches anxiously as you pack Sasha’s bag. He feels useless as he hands your her fruit pouches and crackers from the pantry.

As you snatch the car keys from the entry tables, Harry asks in a near whisper, “What’s going on? I’m so lost.”

“I’m lost too. I jus-just can’t keep doing this. It’s too hard for you to be away from us like this. I feel like a single mom sometimes.”

With that, you’re out the door and on your way to your mother-in-laws. 

For the first time ever, Harry had a fleeting thought that you’re going to divorce him. He knows it’s not just about the toy and the pacifier.

He hasn’t been home enough. As much as he tries, the FaceTimes don’t make the distance and time apart any easier. 

You have all the responsibility of this little human and your heart twinges on days you’re missing you husband and you constantly at met with his little replica.

Harry feels like he’s going to have a panic attack. He’s only had a handful in his lifetime but this one was intense.

He grabs his phone and dials the number to his best friend. He really needed a shoulder to cry on right now.

“Hey mate! What’s good, big boy?” The Irish man belts into the phone only to be met with sniffles and tears.

“Niall, I don’t know what to do.”

—

Anne was expecting you. She had set up tea with little cake in the back garden. Sasha was excited to chase the cats around the greenery. Her cute jumpsuit sodden with dirt and grass stains in no time.

“I’m sick of being at home alone all the time with Sasha. I miss Harry too much, she misses him too much,” you croak, attempting to keep your tears at bay.

“I want Harry to continue his career and live his dream. Most people never get the chance he’s gotten. I-I just need him.”

“Oh honey,” she rubs my hand soothingly, “I can only imagine. I know I missed him fiercely to the point it was unbearable when he was sixteen. I still miss him too.”

“I...I’m going to sound like such a bad mother,” you take a deep breathe, “would I be a bad mum if Sash and I joined Harry on tour?”

“Do you think that’d make you a bad mum?” Anne asks softly, a small smile on her face.

“No, I don’t think. I’d be happier because I’d be with Harry and we could actually be a married couple 24/7. She would get to see her dad everyday.”

“I think you’ve found you answer,” Anne chuckles, pouring more hot water into your cups.

“It will be so stressful.”

“More stressful than it is now?” Anne replies.

“Nothing can be more stressful than right now.”

- -

The talk witdh Niall helped only a little bit but enough to not feel like he’s going to vomit every other minute.

He was worried you were going to come in here and ask him for a divorce because he couldn’t follow through on his promises as a husband and a father.

Harry was ready to do whatever it took to prevent that from happening. He’s not above groveling and begging for you to stay.

It is dark when you pull in, toting in a sleeping child in your arms that you pass off to Harry who’s waiting at the front door.

He tucks his baby into her bed, tugging the blankets over her, and staring down at her sweet, cherub face for a little longer than usual before heading into your master.

You’re sat on the corner of the bed, biting your lip, and playing with you flashy large diamond ring as a force of habit.

“Baby...” Harry rasps, not touching you but kneeling down in front of you. 

“I can’t do what we’re doing anymore,” you begin, completely unaware that Harry thinks you’re about to ask for a divorce.

“I don’t think you’re going to agree with what I have to say, but I think it’s the best,” you swallow harshly, hoping he doesn’t shoot down the proposition.

“Please, I’ll do anything, lovie. Don’t leave me, don’t divorce me. I’ll do anything’ you want, sweetheart. Please, I need you. I’m so inlove with you.”

Harry is full on sobbing by this point, hanging his head against your knees as he attempts to catch his breath but finding it hard.

“Harry!” You murmur in confusion “baby, look at me, please?”

It takes him a moment to meet your eyes, your face is soft but wrinkled in concern. 

“What are you talking about? Divorce?” You choke out the words. Never in a million years would you willingly agree to part from your husband.

“I know I’ve been fuckin’ up. I can’t bloody figure out how to balance shit. I’ve not followed through and neglected you n’ the baby. I’m a bad husband and a bad dad.”

“Hey,” you said with force, bringing your hand under his chin so he has to keep eye contact. “Do not ever say something like that again. You are the best husband and father. You provide for us. You love us more than I’ve thought possible. You’re perfect for Sasha and I.”

“You said you couldn’t do this anymore,” Harry chokes out, letting his ringed hands rest on the tops of your thighs. His diamond wedding rand flashing in the light.

“Oh, H. I’m sorry - I didn’t mean with you.” You chuckle lightly, “how could you ever possibly think I’d leave you, pet?”

He shakes his head, “it’s because y’too good for me. Don’t deserve you.”

“Hush,” you hums, running a hand through his curls. “I know how to fix this.”

“How? I’ll do anything f’you,” Harry would agree to jump off The Empire State Building for you without a second thought.

“The baba and I are going to join you on tour. I know we agreed it’s be too much but I can’t imagine it can be any harder than this.”

Harry’s face lights up like a Christmas tree.

“That’s if you’ll have us,” you whisper coyly, excited by his reaction.

“Yeah, baby. It means I get to fuck you every night,” Harry growls pushing you back and up into the bed before crawling on top of you.

“A teenage boy, I swear,” you giggle, flushed just thinking about how much more time you’ll have together. 

“S’it so bad I want t’fuck my wife? That I’m so bloody gone for you that I’d do anything f’you?” He presses against your lips before demanding entrance.

“You can have me in your bed every night,” you agree, letting his tongue twist with yours with fever and urgency. 

“Mmm, only groupie I’ll ever need.”

“Shut up,” you laugh, allowing him to slip your shirt over your head and attach his lips to your collarbone.

“Can’t wait to fuck you in every country - like we did when you toured with me before the bab.”

When he tosses your bra across the room, you gasp at his mouth finding your nipple instantly. Nipping and suckling at the sensitive nerves with intent.

His hand doesn’t waste anytime, skillfully unbuttoning your jeans and zip with one hand before cramming his large palm inside to cup you in his hand.

“Only pussy I want, fuckin’ made for me,” he groans at the warm wetness he feel through the thin underwear. The tips of his fingers stroke over your clit with confident movements.

“Stop teasing!” You whine, wriggling out of your jeans and panties in one go. Harry is still completely dressed above you - which shouldn’t be sexy but it is.

“Don’t know how I thought you’d ever leave me. Y’fucking obsessed with my cock,” he laughs - sure of himself now.

“If you don’t touch me, I swear-“

“I’ve got you lovie, best wife ever, y’know? Just wanna please you,” he promises the damp skin on your neck, landing nips and bites that will surely leave a mark. 

“Then please me,” you demand, your tone a higher pitch than usual for your arousal.

You’re rolling your hips upwards to meet his jean-clad center. The friction feels delicious against your sensitive nerves.

Harry takes hold of your hip with one hand to halt your grinding, his other hand finding your heat and without hesitation - slides two thick fingers into you.

“H, yeah,” y/n moans, rolling her hips down to meet his hand. Her arousal coating his knuckles and he can’t describe how sexy that is.

He curls his fingers towards the top of you tight wall, finding the little spongey spot that has you bucking your hips and whimpering.

“Oh, did I find the spot, love?” Harry teases like he doesn’t know. He’s been an expert in pleasuring you for the past eight years. 

“Yes baby, m’gonna come,” you nearly slur with pleasure. The cold metal of his rings brushing against your heated folds in relief.

“Only gonna let you come - if you promise me you’ll come again f’me.”

“I will, H. I wil-“

“Ssh, s’okay. Give it to me, my love,” Harry croons sweetly, leaning to suck a nipple as he speeds up his minstrations. 

Your chest is rising and falling at a fast pace, your hips meeting his curled fingers on every thrust as he pushes you over the edge, “fu-fuck,” you moan, trying your best to keep your voice down.

“Tha’s it. M’wife looks so fuckin’ gorgeous when she’s coming on my fingers. Need you on my cock,” Harry grunts, removing his fingers and working to get his clothes off as fast as possible.

He’s positioning himself at your entrance with intent, wasting no time pushing in. No matter how many times you took him - it was always a stretch but it was immensely pleasurable.

“Love you, love our family. Can’t wait f’you two to join me on tour,” Harry pants, attempting to keep his thrust slow and meaningful but he was so turned on he was already becoming sloppy.

“S’going to be so nice. Spend everyday with my husband,” you hum, wrapping your legs around his waist and resting your feet on his bum. You can feel the muscle flexing from his thrusts.

“Yeah, never get tired of hearin’ that word.”

“Husband?” You giggle, “we’ve been married for five years.”

“Still can’t believe you agreed to,” Harry murmurs, his lips pressed against your temple as he becomes more determined. His thumb finding your clit and giving it hard, tight rubs.

Harry could have anyone he wanted. Millions of people lusted after him. It was hard to believe sometimes that he only wanted you. But in moments like this, you never questioned it.

“You’re ridiculous,” you tell him, biting his full bottom lip.

He growls, “hush up. Let me fuck you, yeah?” 

With that, the only thing that leaves your mouth is whines and gasps as he hits your spot on every fluid thrust with a determined thumb on your nerves.

“Cl-close,” Y/N shutters, legs quivering with sensitivity and arousal.

“Baby, baby wait f’me, m’close,” he begs against your skin, licking and kissing wherever he can reach. He speeds up his movements and you fell him tensing up, his mouth dripping open in an o shape and his eyes squeezing shut - his telltale sign.

You allow yourself to let go at that point and ride out the waves of intense climax with him as he weakly thrust a few more times until he lays his weight on top of you.

“The bubby is going to love South America,” Harry smiles into your mouth. His large palms massaging at your shaky, wet thighs.

“I think she’s going to love being with her daddy more,” Y/N replies, a hand coming to cup his jaw in a slow, languid twist. 

—

Thanks so much for checking it out :) PLEASE SEND ME REQUESTS!

[dudeandduchess]

Kyojuro and “I like the way your hand fits in mine.” if you have the time and energy please. Thank you.

Hey hey, Ren!!! I hope you like it! ❤️‍🔥 I had this idea since a couple of days ago, and me and Biz just fleshed it out during a jam session. Now, here’s me polishing it for a fic. The prompt was just so perfect that I had to put it here. I hope you like it! 😌❤️‍🔥

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Kyōjurō x F!S/O: Ramen Nights (Fluff, Modern AU, SFW Scenario)

Summary: Wherein Kyōjurō’s wife wakes up with a craving for ramyeon. Full domestic fluff.

Kyōjurō didn’t even know what time it was. All that he knew that was there was something shaking him awake. At first, his initial thought was to wake his wife up and run out of their apartment— with her slung over his shoulder— in case it was an earthquake. However, he was proven wrong, and really dragged from his sleep, when she called his name out in a whisper.

“Kyō? Kyōjurō?” (Y/n) uttered in a tiny whisper, all while moving her hand on her husband’s arm, to start poking his chest. “Kyō, wake up.”

He didn’t even want to open his eyes, and everything in his body told him to keep sleeping, but his wife’s soft pleas had him cracking his eyes open, all while he stretched his arm that she had been using as a pillow. “Mm? Yeah, baby? Are you okay?”

Instead of answering immediately, (Y/n) had to pause— both physically and mentally�� as she made the mistake of looking too closely up at Kyōjurō. Even with how horrible the light from her bedside lamp made her look, it still made the blond look so handsome.

He was so close to looking ethereal, in her opinion. But she wasn’t going to tell him that; he already had a big enough head— especially with her entire family loving him so much. Deep down though, she still believed that he was the most handsome man in the world.

“(Y/n)? Is something wrong?”

At that, the young woman quickly shook her thoughts from her head— knowing that she would pick them up at a later hour. Then slowly, her lips quirked up into a small smile, as she made sure to give her husband her best pleading look. “I’m hungry, Kyō. I want some ramyeon.”

Her craving played right into her husband’s skillset too, which had her waking him up in the first place. Had she craved for anything else, she would have gotten up and done it herself, because for all of Kyōjurō’s perfection, he also had some flaws.

Like how he couldn’t cook anything except fried eggs, rice, and instant ramen. And that hadn’t been without months of teaching Kyōjurō how to do things just right— including cleaning the kitchen up spotlessly afterwards. Even Senjurō had been pleasantly surprised when Kyōjurō had made him rice and a fried egg when he came over to visit.

“Ramyeon is the spicy one, right? That Korean one you like.”

Slowly, (Y/n)’s small smile tipped up into a sweet grin, silently thanking the gods that she had such a kind husband. “Yes, the one that has the same name as your dad.”

“My dad… Shin…” The young man mumbled softly, before cracking a smile and turning so he could press a kiss to his wife’s forehead. “Dad ramen. That’s funny.”

It really wasn’t, but Kyōjurō was just so adorable that (Y/n) didn’t have the heart to tell him that. “With two eggs, okay?”

“I know, baby. And add green onions if we have them, as well as mushrooms,” The blond answered with a grin, as he reluctantly pulled away from his wife and got out of bed. However, even if he had already kissed her forehead, he still leaned down and brushed another kiss against the top of her head.

“I love you, Kyō,” (Y/n) bid gently, all while trying to bite back a blush and a flustered smile that wanted to make themselves known on her face.

However, her effort was all for naught when Kyōjurō answered, “I love you more.”

And with that, he slipped his home slippers on, before making his way to the kitchen to make her request. All the while, (Y/n) sat up on the bed and turned the TV on to keep her occupied while waiting for her midnight snack.

After all, she didn’t want to miss out on another one of hers and Kyōjurō’s ‘Ramen Nights’. Safe to say that it was a common occurrence in their household, that’s why it had gotten a name in the first place. And it was during those nights that she got to spend time with her husband— without life getting in the way and cutting their time short; as the world was already asleep, and they were free to just bask in each other’s company.

Thankfully, it didn’t take long for Kyōjurō to cook her ramyeon; coming back to their room with it in a bowl paired off with only one set of chopsticks.

They were so used to that song and dance that (Y/n) immediately turned the TV off, before hitting the switch for Kyōjurō’s bedside lamp— illuminating their room even more— before she set off to wait for him to sit down by the end of her bed. And once he was all settled, she gingerly climbed onto his lap— wanting to straddle him, but settling for sitting sideways instead.

“Made with extra love,” Kyōjurō whispered as he handed the bowl over to her, all before pressing the gentlest of kisses against her cheek. “Just for you, baby.”

“Thank you, Kyō,” (Y/n) uttered sincerely, giving him a peck on his lips in return— and also earning the most adorable blush on his cheeks. Even after five months of being married, and two years of being together, he never ceased to be so cute whenever she caught him off guard.

After that, all conversation between them stopped; it was just the two of them enjoying each other’s company— with (Y/n) taking turns feeding Kyōjurō too. They were in their own little bubble, and it was obvious that they loved it there; judging by the tiny smiles and the lingering kisses that they shared every once in a while.

“This tastes even spicier from your lips,” Kyōjurō whispered after pulling away from one such kiss. He even made a show of licking his own lips, then winking at his wife— which was totally worth it when she started giggling like a teenager. “You make it so spicy, baby.”

“What would I have ever done without you, Kyō?”

“You don’t have to think about that, since I’d have always found a way to meet you,” At that, the young man took the empty bowl from his wife’s hands and set it down next to him on the bed. Then he wrapped on arm around her waist, as the other one wrapped around one of her hands— which she had set down on her thighs.

Slowly, he brought the hand up to his lips and pressed a kiss to each of her fingers; before rubbing his thumb over her knuckles in an effort to soothe her. “After all, you’re my soulmate.”

(Y/n) felt her tears prickling the backs of her eyes at that, but she blinked in the hopes of keeping them at bay. She didn’t want to ruin such a good time with the waterworks— even if her pregnancy hormones were the one responsible for her being so emotional.

Seeing that, Kyōjurō brought her hand back up to his lips, before tightening his grip on it. “Have I ever told you how much I love the way your hand fits in mine? Like you were made just for me.”

It was a clear ploy to distract her from her tears, but it only served to make her heart melt even more for her husband. “You’re too perfect for me, Kyō.”

“You’re wrong, baby. You’re the one who’s perfect; my perfect wife.” Those words didn’t fail to finally have the waterworks running; (Y/n) could even feel her face scrunching up into one of her undesirable crying expressions, so she quickly wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck— even burying her face against his skin.

“I love you.”

Instead of pulling her away to check on her, Kyōjurō brought his arms up and wrapped them tightly around (Y/n)— even rubbing her back as she kept on whispering her words of love for him. He would be crazy to even turn her away, when he loved every single thing that she was saying; especially adding in the fact that she was pregnant with their first child.

Kyōjurō could only hold her closer to him, before pressing a kiss to the side of her face, before grazing his lips by her ear. “I love you the most, (Y/n). I’m never letting you go.”