#if someone had. like. sat down with me and helped me even just. find a network that could help me more often then they could.

[hitomisuzuya]

Secret admirer+neighbour reader that allows Scara to stay over in her room whenever shit gets rowdy at his home for whatever reason. She leaves letters of encouragement in his locker and snacks and stuff. He found it stupid at first but gave up 'reluctantly'.

But like, pls, he knows it's her. The way she looks at him, hopefully, every time he scowls a certain way, he gets a more expensive snack (within the budget of a little middle-class lady, of course), and he starts liking her a bit too...

And anyway, they get into a cute little confrontation when she cares about him a little too much, with a bit too much honesty with the cutest outfit and he's turned on and- you get the idea.

Please, praise kink. Praise my hubby🥺🥺 maybe a bit of degrading from him.

scaramouche x fem!reader. smut. porn with some plot. fluff. degradation. praise for scara. cunnilingus. for narrative purposes, college has lockers for people who live off campus.

i grinned when i read this ask. legit scaramouche would fall in love kicking and screaming reluctantly about it the whole time🤣 this is a little long.

if scaramouche had it his way, he would've chosen to live on campus at the dorms. but no, being so close to the college made his bitch mother suggest he might be more comfortable just living at home. incidentally, it was over just that issue that you meant scaramouche officially for the first time.

you swore he slammed the door loud enough to rattle to every window of his house. and yours. naturally, it startled you, being out on the porch looking at the orange and purple painted clouds of the sunset. you'd seen him around campus before, but social anxiety often came into play. and he sort of treated you like a nuisance when you tried to talk to him.

"you okay?" you asked, giving him a soft look of concern.

"huh? do you need something?" scaramouche snapped, glaring at you in a way that would've made anyone instantly fuck off.

anyone wasn't you, though. "no, it just sounds like you were fighting with someone," you replied, his glare making your cheeks flush.

"yeah, bitch mother," it was like he didn't want to dedicate the extra few seconds of time to string together a longer sentence to mention her in.

"you can come hang out with me in my room for awhile until things cool down. no one is home right now but me," you said shyly, playing with your hair in an annoying way he absolutely couldn't miss.

"uh, sure. yeah whatever, gimme a few minutes," scaramouche grumbled, turning to go back inside the house. back inside to tell his mother to fuck off one more time. he was automatically suspicious. why were you offering? what did you stand to gain from it?

he thought about these questions while he unplugged (ripped the cords out of the outlet) his xbox, and slammed the door again. threw the door to your house open, and sort of stomped up the stairs. he promptly hooked his xbox up to your tv like he was automatically entitled to it.

but you didn't mind. scaramouche always made you feel weak in the knees. you even got him to tell you what he wanted for dinner so you could make it for him.

this became almost something of a daily occurrence. an occurrence that scaramouche was startled to find how comfortable he was becoming with.

you sure are a strange one. you even sat and watched him play video games late into the night, monopolizing your tv and not really giving a shit if there was something you wanted to watch. you never said a thing if there was. dvrs exist, after all. you would cheer him on and praise him when he was playing good. you looked stuff up on your phone to help him if he got stuck on a part somewhere.

you would remind him about tests tomorrow. he told you whatever and ended up not studying. he didn't really need to honestly. thing is, though, you started leaving notes of encouragement tucked into his folders or notebooks. or left them in his locker with some sort of disgusting sweet treat. "for you to enjoy now or later. it's up to you. good luck today."

he thought it was incredibly stupid. what could you possibly gain from this nonsense? "i don't like sweets," he said, tossing a baggie of oreos on your desk. "disgusting. absolutely no thanks."

your posture stiffened a little, like you'd just been caught red handed doing something secretive. in a way, you had been. "wh-what are you talking about?" you stammered shyly, "who left you those?" you paused for a moment, twisting lock of hair around your index finger. "incidentally, what would you want for something like that?"

scaramouche almost snorted. god, you are so transparent. he knew it was you, but you are still trying to play it off like it wasn't, fidgeting nervously with your fingers. it was disgustingly adorable so he let you carry on with it in his own way. stop it.

"salted rice balls with sea weed in the middle. i like those, not the toxic waste that is chocolate. or rather horse shit," he replied, rolling his eyes.

sure enough, a few days later, salted white rice balls with seaweed in the middle appeared in his locker the next morning. "please, eat these. sorry about before. you try so hard and deserve a good treat."

fuck, fuck, fuck!

he was starting to tuck your notes into his pockets to keep with him throughout the day. some of the snacks you make him looked expensive. and you were the type to buy the ingredients and hand make them yourself. you had to have been getting up super early in the morning to make them or staying up late the night before.

and every time he called you out on it, you shyly played it off. even joking with him about him having a secret admirer, though he swore you looked a little sad at the thought of someone else liking him like you weren't talking about yourself.

even worse, scaramouche started looking at you and thinking; shit, she looks really cute today. those are thigh highs she's wearing cup her thighs perfectly. it makes me wanna..

he'd had enough when he started jacking himself off after he left your house for the night. thinking of you, the innocent girl next door who doted on him and gave him attention. who is way too sweet for her own good. with this stupid crush on him that you refused to say anything about.

how dare you make him fall in love.

you started wearing thigh highs when he mentioned casually he likes them, tempting him with a garter belt. a garter that his eyes strained to casually get a peek at if the pleats of your skirt bounced in just the right way.

he caught you on your way out the door to go the convenience/grocery store that stayed open all night, a list of ingredients and a recipe in your hand to read on the way.

"why do you do this nonsense?" scaramouche asked, snatching the slip of paper out of your hand. he couldn't help but smirk. just like he thought, there was a recipe for rice balls with eel in them and miso soup. you were even going to stop by the coffee shop and get his favorite coffee.

...

fucking hell, you are way too sweet for your own good but damn it, he enjoyed soaking up every bit of your attention now. his bitch mother even "accused" him of dating someone a few days ago. the nerve!

"i..i." you stammered shyly in a way that made him want to kiss you. really really badly. you knew you were caught. "was i that obvious?"

scaramouche snorted. "you are so obvious that you could've landed plane without waving your arms. it was actually a little pathetic," he sighed seeing your reaction. why did you do that? why did your cheeks flush when he flat out insulted you?

and that was how you ended up on your back on his bed, your legs spread and stripped almost entirely of your clothes as he crawled between your legs. "these stay on," he insisted, hooking his finger under the top of your thigh high, letting it snap back on your thigh. he'd angrily kissed you all the way up to his room, pawing at your clothes and swallowing your moans into his mouth.

you always took care of him in your room. and now he was taking care of you properly in his room. it was a chore to fight his pride, anyways. and he didn't want to fight it anymore.

having his hands holding your thighs apart while he licked slow, hungry stripes up and down your pussy was much more preferable. "desperation is good color on you, slut," he groaned, teasingly kitten licking your clit before sweeping it down to swirl around your hole. youclenched on the tip of his tongue like he imagined that you would.

"i..i can't help it," you moan shakily, squirming as you grind on his mouth, "i'm sorry. i'm so in love you with it hurts. i just..just," you are cut off when scaramouche latched his lips around your clit, letting out a gasp of pleasure. your clit tingled and throbbed as he sucked, prodding and swirling his tongue in a way that made a dizzying warmth spread through your core. "i wanted your attention."

you sound so fucking cute it made his cock ache almost painfully. did you have any idea how unbearable you made it all the fucking time? "i saw right through your pathetic attempts to woe me. praise me more, slut. it's making me hard," he groaned, drunk on the taste on your pussy soaking his tongue.

he held your pussy against his mouth as you grinded on his tongue, your fingers finding his hair and pushing his mouth down. "you are perfect, scara!" you cry out, your clit throbbing twice as hard underneath his tongue. "your tongue feels so good! you are all i ever think about!"

he could edge himself on your words praise, soaking up every word. "go on. keep going while i tongue fuck you," he moaned, focusing his tongue on your clit again.

his tongue working your pussy over like a starved animal was making you start to babble nonsense. "your so smart, and handsome and strong. your fingers are beautiful, so beautiful i want to suck on them. don't stop, please. please," you have the cutest sounding whimpers when the jolts of pleasure rocketing through you were too much for you to process.

your precious babbling spurred scaramouche's tongue on, one hand reluctantly leaving your thigh to palm and rub his cock outside his jeans. you deserve to cum hard on his tongue for sounding so sweet.

you twitch and spasm in bliss, tugging urgently on his hair. your hips bucked up to rub and grind on his mouth. you writhed on the bed, relaxing into his possessive squeeze on your thighs. it wasn't long before you couldn't keep it together anymore. or at least as together as you thought you had it. you'd broken on his tongue a long time ago.

you whimper weakly behind your shameless moans, your thighs shaking as your orgasm washed over you. it was so strong it nearly even made your fingers fall limp in his hair. his tongue lovingly fucked you through your orgasm until you were panting and shaking on the cusps of overstimulation. he lapped at your release.

"i think i found the only sweet i will enjoy," satisfied, he sat up and wiped his mouth. you are practically passed out on his bed, exhausted and overloaded. neither of you were making it to your evening classes. he planned to spend that time further devouring you once he let you sleep a little.

[cuubism]

Idk if you are still taking prompts, but: After their first meeting, while Hob still thinks it is a joke, he escorts Dream out. It is only when Dream returns to the Dreaming that he realizes his ruby has been stolen by Hob. Thus begins a game of cat and mouse through the ages, and Hob keeps slipping through his Endless fingers.

oh dear, this was from last year. fun though! could be the basis for a much longer fic. i love thief hob

-

Hob knows better than to gloat openly about his winnings, but he can't help tossing the ruby a few times in his hand as he walks, admiring it. Such a stunning gem, he's never seen its like but in paintings of kings, and even those are rare enough. Invaluable. And the strange lord had just had it about his neck, for all to see.

Hob shakes his head, tucking the ruby away in his tunic. Money can't buy common sense, it seems.

He finds his horse in the stable and leads it outside, stepping into the stirrup and swinging up into the saddle. After a find like this, best to disappear. Easy as the ruby had been to snatch, that strange young lord will doubtless come back looking for it, once he notices it's gone.

Night is falling by the time Hob reaches the treeline. He hasn't been followed--the path behind him has been empty for hours, and the trees show nothing but birdsong as he steers his horse into the darkness. Hob knows this route well, and by the time the moon is high above, he's navigated to a familiar clearing, untacked his horse, and sat back against a tree for some rest.

He can't help but look at the strange ruby one more time before going to sleep. It glows unnaturally in the moonlight, a blue-white reflection on a background of venous red. He tilts it back and forth in his palm, studying the cut. Who, exactly, is going to buy this from him, he can't yet say. But it'll pay his way for years once he finds them.

Hob kisses the ruby's cool surface, then tucks it away in his tunic again, chain wrapped around his fingers for safekeeping. He quickly falls asleep.

-

The moon is still high when Hob wakes, startling back to awareness against the trunk of the tree. He scrubs a hand over his eyes, looking around, disoriented. Strange, it's like it's been only moments since he fell asleep--

His horse is gone. So's his pack. And for that matter, the clearing is smaller, closer, darker than he remembers--

Heart pounding, he scrambles in his tunic to find--

"I imagine you are looking for this," says a low voice, and from the darkness emerges the wine-red glint of the ruby. Following it is the dark shape of the lord Hob had robbed in the tavern, only he's-- he's--

He's horrible. His eyes glow white in the dark, his hair waves in a strange wind, and everything about him is sharp and wrong, like an uneasy nightmare Hob might have in the wee hours, consequences coming back for him.

"Look," he says, holding up his hands in self-defense. Shit, his sword's gone from his belt, too. "S'really your fault for swanning about with that thing, innit? 's bandit country, m'lord."

"Is it?" He... doesn't seem angry. He's smiling. Oh, it's a terrible smile, but nevertheless. "How foolish of me, then. To expect to maintain ownership of my belongings."

"Like I said, thieves about," Hob says. "Got to be careful, now." Really, what did he expect Hob to do? Let someone else get the score?

The strange lord sits down on the grass across from Hob, still with those glowing eyes and that terrible smile playing about his lips. "And what, Robert Gadling, ought I to do, having caught one of these thieves?"

And the thing is. Authority doesn't work very well on Hob. One of his 'flaws' most like to get him killed, 'cuz Authority didn't tend to care whether it worked on you or not. Hob's been hauled before the magistrate for theft before and no matter that he knew he'd be lucky to get away with his life he could never quite bite his tongue. Always a smart mouth, his mum used to say.

It's no different with this lord. Hob's hardly about to bow his head and apologize. He remembers the smirk on the other man's face at his challenge in the tavern. Pretty little thing to be talking big words about punishing thieves.

"Dunno," he says, tracking his gaze over the soft lines of the man's dark robe, his fine neck and narrow shoulders. The longer Hob looks, the less frightening he seems, though there is still something of the otherworld about him. God's teeth, if Hob's brought the ire of the fey about him... "What would you like to do?"

And the strange creature laughs. Just a chuckle, but nevertheless. "I could make you spend your next one hundred years paying a thief's price over and over again in the Dreaming, as penance for taking my ruby," he says. "Should I do that, Hob? Cut off your hands, and again and again as you regrow them?"

"If you did you wouldn't get to see what they can do for you," Hob says. Hell, Hob'll do it even without threat of punishment. He's a pretty little lord, for certain, even if he is fey.

The lord chuckles again, and closes his fist around the ruby, stealing its light. Without the reflection, his eyes seem even wilder. "Hm. Perhaps not this time. I am too curious to waste your next century in sleeping punishment." He takes Hob's face in one hand, holding his chin in sharp fingers. "Be wary what your hands touch in the Waking World, Hob Gadling. Not all creatures will find your insolence humorous enough to wish to be merciful."

He lets go, and Hob falls backward through the tree at his back, falls into darkness--

And wakes in sunlight, his pack beside him, his sword at his side, his horse grazing a few feet away.

Heart pounding, he shoves his hand into his tunic, though he already knows what he'll find.

Or what he won't find. The ruby, gone into the darkness, into dreams, with his strange, fey lord.

Hob shivers.

Well. He'll certainly have to meet him again in 1489, now. Not to retake the ruby--that hardly matters in the end.

But answers to all the mysteries it's brought: those Hob would gladly steal.

[pinkyqil]

LOVING YOU FROM A DISTANCE [Ingrid engen x mapi lèon x reader]

Masterlist

Summary: You love her, but she's in love with someone else that isn't you and all you can do is love and wacht her from a distance but would you really accept it?.

A/n: this is one out of fives parts of my Ingrid x mapi x reader serie. Updates every Monday, if you have any suggestions/questions that you'll like to see in the serie let me know and as always feedbacks are appreciated and hope you guys enjoyed this one 🫶🏿

Contains: emotionally dependent reader, cunning mapi, angst, a lil bit of yander vibes from r, toxicity.

You recently joined the team a few months ago, Ingrid was apart of your teammates who had hosted a welcome to the team party for you and the other girls.

The moments your eyes meet hers you could feel the butterfly in your stomach. Understand what people meant by love at first sight.

But that any thoughts you were having where crushed. the moments your eyes landed on a brunette woman arms filled with tattoos greeting Ingrid with a kiss on her lips while staring at you.

She couldn't be dating anyone could she?. You thought .but then again, you know nothing about this tall goddess that was standing a few feet's away from you.

Deciding to get out of mapi's view and interact with your new teammates even though you only wanted to speak to Ingrid.

That night, you took it upon yourself to find her socials and followed her along with a few other teammates.

The next day at training, you made sure to be up bright and early for the new training session while hoping you could be able to talk to Ingrid.

Your plan consists of partnering up with esmee from what you gather. She was really close to Ingrid and the rest and could eventually help you get closer to Ingrid.

Every day, you would come in early and would plant in piece of flowers.where you know she'll sit at or slip in chocolate bars into her locker or love note.

But every day it looks like your efforts goes to waste because she'll either trash anything you gave her. Or it would've been mapi who had put it into the dumpster before Ingrid could notice them.

She was starting to annoy you really bad. But today happened to be your lucky day.

It was during a training session and you where placed on Ingrid's while mapi was on the opposing team.

Everyone was having fun and showing out their best skills when all of a sudden you stole the ball from mapi and was about to score, which earned a lot of ou's around your teammates until she had tackled you down hitting your ankles real bad.

Yelling and falling down while holding down your left, Ingrid was the first one to reach asking if you were alright.

"Come on she's alright I didn't even hit her legs that hard". The spenaird said but instead she got a cold glare coming from her girlfriend.

"Ai mapi, I don't think we need any of our teammates injured, so let's keep it down with the aggression". Patri voice yelled out.

Ingrid helped you up along with the medic, you where hopping on your left leg has they tried moving you inside the building.

"I'm very sorry for what mapi did she's normally not like this". She said sat down right next to you

"It not your fault we're all adults and if she wanted to apologize she would've". You told her

"I probably won't be able to play for a while the pains killing my ankle". You told her.

"That kinda of sucks if you need a ride home, please let us know, pretty sure it the least we can do."She told you and you took on that offer.

You knew that it only pissed off mapi way more when she saw Ingrid helping you make way to their designated parking spot. Ingrid sat in the back with you so that you wouldn't feel any lonely.

You didn't know if it was too much when you had laid your head on her shoulders and close your eyes but before you did. The look mapi gave you just made you feel 10 times better already.

[dorabellingham]

Just drive

warning: none

characters: jude x fem!reader

summary: when your water breaks but he doesn't know how to drive to take you to the hospital

may contain spelling and translation errors!

It was a typical summer day in Madrid, the sun was shining brightly, and the heat seemed to increase by the minute. You, nine months pregnant, were relaxing on the couch with the fan on, trying to ease the discomfort of the final stretch of your pregnancy. Your big belly was proof that Amala was almost here, and you already felt a mix of anxiety and excitement at being so close to meeting your daughter. Jude, attentive to your every move, approached you every few minutes, asking if you needed anything, if you wanted water, if everything was okay. Even with his anxiety and care, he couldn't hide his nervousness about the upcoming birth.

—Honey, I'm fine, stop looking at me like I'm going to explode at any moment!

You laughed, seeing your husband's worried look.

—It's not that, but... what if it explodes? I mean, what if... —He hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. —What if your water suddenly breaks?

You laughed more, already used to his exaggerated concerns.

—I'll let you know, don't worry.

But ironically, that's exactly what happened moments later. You felt a strong contraction and then...water running down your legs. Your water had broken.

—Jude...

You called, trying to stay calm as you felt the wave of pain increase.

Jude, who was in the kitchen, dropped the glass of water he was holding when he heard the serious tone in your voice. He ran into the living room and found you with your eyes closed, breathing deeply, trying to deal with the pain.

—Is...is it now?

He asked, his eyes wide.

You nodded, still breathing deeply.

—Yeah. She's coming.

That was enough for Bellingham to panic. He started pacing back and forth, grabbing his cell phone, putting his hands on his head, clearly not knowing what to do.

—Okay, breathe, Jude, breathe! I just need to take you to the hospital, that's all! I just...uh...where are the car keys? I'll drive!

Between contractions, you looked at him and noticed the despair on his face. It was true, he didn't know how to drive. In the rush of moving to Madrid and with the intense routine of games, he had never taken the time to learn. You were the one who always drove, which wasn't a problem... until now.

—Jude... you don't know how to drive...

You said, with a mix of concern and pain.

—But you can't drive like that! Not when you're... with... with Amala coming.

He started gesturing, trying to find a solution.

The pain increased, and you grimaced. Even in the midst of the chaos, you tried to stay calm.

—Babe, I'll guide you... you'll have to... you'll have to try.

With a mix of desperation and determination, he helped you get up and, together, you walked to the car parked in the garage. You, still in pain, sat in the passenger seat, while Jude took the wheel for the first time.

—It's okay, honey. Just… just stay calm.

You said, trying to focus between contractions.

Jude took a deep breath, adjusted the seat and the steering wheel, but his hands were shaking. He started the car and looked at you as if waiting for some confirmation that everything was okay.

—Jude, step on the brake before putting it in gear. That’s it, that’s it… now take it easy, don’t rush, just go.

The car moved slowly through the garage, and you tried to hold back your laughter, mixed with the pain and the surreal situation. With every meter traveled, Bellingham concentrated as if he was about to score a decisive goal.

—Babe, just… go straight. It’s not that hard, just relax…

You said between contractions, trying to stay calm for him.

Jude murmured softly to himself, a kind of mantra to keep from panicking. You finally reached the street, and he accelerated a little more, but with the same excessive caution of someone driving for the first time.

—Jude, can you go a little faster… I… I need to get to the hospital before Ama…

You said, trying to breathe between words.

—Okay, okay....I'm going.

He sped up a little, but any slower car seemed like an insurmountable obstacle to him. It was as if he was facing the biggest match of his life.

Halfway there, a new wave of pain took over you, and in reaction you squeezed your boyfriend’s arm tightly. He looked at you quickly, worried.

—Sweetheart, are you okay? I… I’m driving as fast as I can.

—Jude Victor, focus on the road, please! Just… just get there.

After a few streets, you finally saw the hospital. With one last awkward turn and a somewhat crooked parking lot, Jude managed to stop the car in front of the emergency entrance. He ran out of the car, calling for help, while you tried to keep your breathing under control, already relieved to be there.

Nurses arrived quickly, putting you in a wheelchair and starting to guide you inside. Jude held your hand until the last moment, making it clear how much he was with you, even without knowing how to deal with the situation.

—Sorry, Y/n… I didn't know driving would be so… so complicated!

He said, his voice still shaking.

You smiled, despite the pain.

—Jude, you did a great job. Now… go ahead, come meet our little girl.

[0omillo0]

a/n: angst/comfort hi!! the 17th is going to be my birthday and I’m very very scared ahah, this fic is about my worries and rlly represents me. I just need an hannie by my side ♡

You sat across from Han at a small café in Seoul, nursing the hot tea he’d ordered for you. The date had started out fine. He’d texted you that morning, asking if you wanted to go out that evening, and for a moment, you’d forgotten everything weighing on your heart. You’d carefully picked out an outfit, put on makeup, and tried to prepare yourself for a fun night.

But as the evening wore on, the doubts and insecurities you thought you’d left at home crept back in. You glanced at him, watching the way he laughed easily with the barista, the way strangers around you seemed to brighten up at his mere presence. He was so magnetic, so effortless, and all you could think was that he deserved someone who could reflect his light instead of feeling like a shadow at his side.

The thought sank in, pressing down on you with a weight you couldn’t shake.

You stirred your tea absentmindedly, trying to keep your mind from spiraling, but you couldn’t help it. Every time he reached out to brush a piece of hair from your face, every time he looked at you with those warm eyes, your chest tightened with the dread of losing him. You knew it was irrational, but the thought haunted you: One day, he might wake up and realize he deserves more.

You tried to hide the way your shoulders were sagging, the way your smiles felt strained. But Han noticed everything.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked softly, his tone gentle but laced with concern. You looked up at him, startled to find him watching you so closely.

“Yeah… I’m just tired,” you murmured, giving him a small, unconvincing smile.

He didn’t seem to buy it, but he didn’t push. He simply nodded, shifting the conversation to lighter things, his voice lilting with stories of his latest music projects. But you could feel his gaze flickering back to you, his eyes searching for signs of what was really wrong. You felt the guilt settle in, hating yourself for ruining what was supposed to be a carefree night together.

After dinner, he suggested a walk by the river. You agreed, hoping the cool air might help clear your head. The city lights glimmered off the water, and Seoul was alive with the sound of people enjoying the night. You felt your heart aching as you listened to the laughter around you, realizing how few friends you had to share your life with, how alone you felt despite having Han by your side.

As you both reached a quiet spot by the river, he led you to a nearby bench. You sat beside him, staring out over the water, willing yourself to feel okay. But the silence weighed down on you, and soon you felt the tears welling up.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said softly, reaching for your hand. “Please tell me what’s going on. I can tell something’s bothering you.”

You tried to hold back, but your emotions were too raw, too heavy. “I just…” you choked out, and before you could stop them, tears started spilling down your cheeks. “I’m scared, Jisung.”

His eyes widened in concern as he shifted closer, his arms coming around you instinctively. “Scared? Of what?”

Your breath hitched, and the words felt tangled in your throat. “Of losing you. I’m scared… that one day, you’ll realize I’m not enough. I don’t have a lot of friends, I don’t have people like you do. You could have anyone, someone who wouldn’t be so… needy.”

Your voice broke, and you buried your face in his shoulder, unable to stop yourself. You felt small, embarrassed, like you were admitting to something weak and ugly. But Han held you tighter, his hand gently rubbing your back as he let you cry. His warmth felt safe, grounding.

“Y/N,” he whispered softly, his voice thick with emotion. “Look at me.” He pulled back just enough to tilt your chin up, his eyes searching yours. “I know you don’t have a lot of people around you, but that doesn’t mean you’re alone. You have me. And I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

You shook your head, trying to look away, but he held your gaze steady. “I mean it,” he continued. “I didn’t fall for you because you’re perfect or popular or any of that. I fell for you because of who you are, because you’re kind, and thoughtful, and you make me laugh more than anyone else ever has.” His thumb brushed away the tears still slipping down your cheeks. “So please, don’t ever think you’re not enough. To me, you’re everything.”

A fresh wave of emotion washed over you as his words sank in, and you leaned into him, letting yourself be held. He murmured soothing words, his hand running through your hair as he promised he’d be there for you, no matter what. And for the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to believe him, to feel that maybe you really weren’t alone.

The morning of your birthday came with another surprise. You woke up to a soft knock on your door and found Han standing there with a huge bouquet of flowers, his face lighting up with that boyish smile you loved so much.

“Happy birthday, beautiful!” he cheered, pulling you into a warm hug. His energy was so infectious that you felt yourself smiling despite everything.

The day unfolded in a blur of joy and laughter. He took you to all your favorite spots, surprising you with small gifts and even insisting you try all your favorite street foods. His enthusiasm and attention never wavered, making you feel cherished in a way you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in a long time.

As the afternoon faded into evening, he led you to a cozy picnic he’d set up by the Han River, a blanket spread out with snacks and drinks carefully chosen just for you. The sunset cast a soft, golden glow over everything, and as you sat beside him, you couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming gratitude for this day, for him.

Just when you thought the day couldn’t be more perfect, he surprised you yet again by walking you back to your home and opening the door to a chorus of voices shouting, “Surprise!” You froze, stunned as you took in the scene before you. Your family, your brother Hyunjin, and even some of Han’s friends had gathered, decorating your house with balloons, streamers, and a homemade banner with “Happy Birthday, Y/N!” written across it.

Hyunjin ran over to hug you, laughing as he held up a party hat for you to wear. Your mom waved from the kitchen, smiling as she finished setting out a cake, and Han grinned beside you, his arm around your shoulders as he took in your reaction.

Your chest tightened, not with sadness this time, but with a pure, overwhelming happiness that felt almost too big to hold.

Han leaned down, his voice soft and close to your ear. “I know you sometimes feel alone, but tonight, I wanted you to know how many people care about you. You’re loved, Y/N. More than you realize.”

Tears prickled in your eyes again, but this time, they were happy tears. You squeezed his hand, letting yourself soak in the warmth and love surrounding you.

The rest of the night was filled with laughter, cake, and music as you celebrated with everyone there, feeling more connected than you had in ages. Toward the end of the night, as you watched your friends and family chatting and laughing, you felt a hand slip around your waist. Han looked at you, his gaze tender.

“Happy birthday,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss you softly. “And thank you… for letting me be a part of your life.”

You hugged him close, realizing that, for the first time in a long time, you weren’t afraid. You were safe, and with Han by your side, you knew you’d never be alone again.

taglist : @hannamoon143 @intartaruginha

[ahyperactivehero]

i asked on election night if anyone wanted a little drabble to help with the stress, and unfortunately it has taken me a little longer than i would like to get them out!

@det-agency: please write Edwin getting turned into an orb for the first time pre-canon and Charles freaking out i think itd be so fun

(fun fact, this is my first orb fic! i've wanted to write one for a minute, but this is the first that i've actually sat down and wrote out!)

Drabble 5 (Orb Fic)

London, 1991

Getting chased by a vengeful ghost was not exactly what Charles had planned for when they’d set off to speak to their client, but he supposed that’s what you get being a ghost detective.

Edwin sprinted ahead of him, his long legs easily giving him the speed that he needed to leave their client in the dust. 

���Who woulda thought our client was the guilty one?” Charles yelled out to Edwin, who glanced over his shoulder. 

“It is certainly a twist,” Edwin said. He suddenly veered off to the right, racing towards the bedroom mirror they had come through earlier. If they could get there, they could head back to their newly established office and regroup. They’d certainly need to think of a better plan now that their client had turned on them and absolutely wasted their original suspect.

Edwin reached the mirror, his hand outstretched as he concentrated on getting them back to the office. Charles turned around, his hands immediately finding comfort in his cricket bat. If that bastard even thought about getting close to them he’d smash him.

“Come on,” he heard Edwin mutter under his breath. “Find it, find it, find it.”

Mirror travel was something Charles had yet to master, but Edwin was aces at it. It would probably only take him a second before–

A choked, gasping sound came from behind him, followed by the tell-tale sound of someone stepping through a mirror. He spun around, worried for a moment that Edwin might have fallen through the mirror and been separated from him, when he felt his soul go cold.

Their client, Geoff Mann, stepped from the mirror. His hand was already through, and in his fist was an iron knife.

An iron knife covered in ghostly blood.

“Edwin!” Charles yelled, rushing forward just as Edwin staggered backwards.

His hands were on his throat, blood seeping through his fingers. Charles felt panic like he never had before. Iron hurt ghosts, but could it kill them? Was stabbing enough to obliterate a ghost? Maybe not, but what about cutting their throat?

Edwin fell straight into his arms, and Charles would have dropped his cricket bat if it weren’t for the vengeful ghost of their client standing over them. Blood dripped off of the knife and pooled on the carpet and it seemed wrong that it wouldn’t actually stain it. Not that Charles wanted anything to be stained with his best friend’s blood, it just seemed wrong that it wouldn’t.

“Hold on,” he said in what he hoped was his most reassuring voice. Gently, and without looking away from Geoff, he slid Edwin to the floor. He ignored his hand dragging down Charles’s arm, begging him to stay– to not leave him alone.

This would only take a moment. Besides, he needed to take care of the threat before he tended to Edwin.

“You fucked up,” Charles said, twirling his bat. Geoff didn’t even have the decency to look the least bit frightened. 

“You’re gonna make me move on,” Geoff said. “And I ain’t doin’ it.”

They weren’t. That’s not what their Agency did. They couldn’t force someone to move on if they didn’t want to. It wasn’t even what Geoff had originally hired them for!

But none of that mattered now. Not when Edwin was behind him, gasping and potentially dying. 

(He wasn’t even sure what dying would mean for a ghost. Would he go back to Hell? Disappear?)

He didn’t even give him a chance to respond. He swung his bat against his arm, almost enjoying the way it cracked and forced him to drop his knife.

Charles wasn’t a violent person, no matter how much he feared being like his father. But the satisfaction he got from seeing that man drop to his knees in pain after what he’d done to Edwin? Well, he might need to reflect on that.

The urge to keep going was strong– after all, what was to stop him from coming after them later? – but he forced himself to stop. 

“If anything happens to him,” Charles warned, holding out his bat against the other man’s head. “I’m comin’ back.”

Quicker than the other man could react, he bent down and picked up his knife and turned back to get Edwin. 

He laid there, air and blood gurgling as he tried to keep his wound closed. At some point his eyes had screwed shut, like that might help block out the pain. They sprang open at the first sign of Charles’s touch, that faint bit of panic he’d seen when something reminded him of Hell shooting across his face before flattening out into something more manageable.

“Let's go,” Charles said. He put his hands under his armpits, intending to haul Edwin up if he had to, but a flash of light overwhelmed his vision and Edwin disappeared.

“Edwin!” he yelled and looked from hand to hand as if he might have somehow been hiding there. 

A small orb, just a bit bigger than a cricket ball, floated there in front of him. There was no trace of Edwin, just the small, pulsing yellow orb.

“Edwin?” he asked, unable to keep the disbelief out of his voice.

The orb bobbed for a moment, as if it were answering. The yellow seemed to glow brighter for a second before dimming until it was a faded, off-white color. 

Forget it. Charles had no clue what was going on, but he didn’t have time for this. He snatched Edwin up and booked it through the mirror,  no destination in mind– only intent on getting them as far away as possible.

It took several tries before he got back to the office, and by then his nonexistent heartbeat had slowed down to something far more bearable. Without even thinking he tossed his bag and bat to the floor and uncovered the ball of light he’d been keeping safe in his hands.

There was an unexpected feeling to it, not quite a weight but certainly a warmth. It reminded him of when he was alive and he’d stick his cold finger next to a heater or run them under warm water once they’d gone numb.

It was the first time he’d felt warmth since he died.

He held the orb closer to his face and chest for inspection. It was perfectly round, the edges of it reminding him of an impossible mix of glass and a cloud. It wasn’t solid, but he also couldn’t put his hand through it, even if he tried.

“Edwin?” he asked again. Could this really be Edwin? What had that ghost done to him?

The orb pulsed, yellow light coming back to it before fading again into that cool, white light.

So it really must be Edwin. 

He glanced over at Edwin’s slowly growing collection of books and wondered if there was something about this in one of them. The subject of orbs had never come up before, but then again, neither one of them had ever been as hurt as Edwin was before. 

Was this what happened when something hurt them? How badly did they need to be hurt in order for it to happen? 

“Hey,” Charles said as he ran his hand over the orb. “Don’t worry, I’ve gotcha.”

There was another pulse. The orb seemed to hover above his hands for a moment before gravity seemed to take over it and it dropped back down. 

In a sheer panic, Charles caught it. Or not it, he supposed. Because this thing had to be Edwin. If it wasn’t that would mean that either Edwin was gone or he’d left him behind with their insane client. 

The idea that he might have done that nearly sent him into a tailspin. Should he double back and check? What if this was a trick and the real Edwin was somehow still there? Or what if there was something special about his knife that had turned Edwin into an orb?

Gently, he cradled Edwin to his chest as he turned to look for his bag. He’d picked up the knife, hadn’t he? Thankfully, it only took a few tries before he successfully pulled it from his bag. Ha, take that Edwin, he was getting better at using it.

“See, mate,” he said, his voice low and soft as he spoke over the orb. “I told you this bag was worth it. Already earnin’ its keep, hm?”

The handle of the knife was thankfully not iron coated. Charles hadn’t even thought about that earlier when he’d grabbed it. All he’d been thinking about was that Edwin was hurt, and he’d needed to disarm the guy.

Blood covered the blade, but aside from that there seemed to be nothing interesting about it at all. Not strange markings, no traces of magic that he could tell. It looked exactly like every other boring knife out there.

Except this one had hurt his friend.

The orb– Edwin, Charles supposed– pulsed again, the light from it peeking out between his fingers. Had Charles squeezed it by accident? He’d been so focused on the knife, so caught up in thoughts of their client hurting him that he hadn’t really…

Slowly but with more force than Charles anticipated, the orb pulled free from his hand. It bobbed around the room, floating here and there as if it were looking for something. It lingered above Edwin’s chair, the space where the other boy spent most of his time in the office. 

Yet there was nothing for it to do. It’s not like the orb had hands. It couldn’t hold a book or write or do anything that usually interested Edwin. 

As if it had realized this, it lazily floated back over to Charles. That yellow light seemed to be getting even stronger, calming Charles’s nerves just a bit. A strong light had to be a good sign, yeah? Surely that meant that Edwin was fine. 

Except what if he wasn’t fine? What if yellow was bad and he was trying to warn Charles? What if he needed help, and Charles couldn’t understand him? How was he meant to do anything if Edwin couldn’t talk to him anymore?

The orb bumped into his head, the softest, gentlest headbutt Charles had ever experienced. His thoughts slowed down as he lifted his hands up to cup the orb again.

“Well, mate,” Charles said. “What do you think we should do?” 

Edwin didn’t answer. Not that Charles thought he would.

“What if I read to you?” he asked. “I love it when you read to me. Helps me relax, yeah?”

Edwin seemed to warm up in his hands again. Charles took that as a good sign.

He strolled over to Edwin’s bookcase (our bookcase, Charles, the Edwin in his mind reminded him) and browsed their selection. Most of them were detective novels, but Edwin had recently started to collect more on magic and the supernatural.

No, he thought, should really stick to a classic.

“What about Sherlock Holmes? You love him,” he said, as if Charles didn’t also love him.

He grabbed one of their Sherlock Holmes books at random and made his way over to the couch. “Might as well get comfy, eh?” he asked and sprawled out.

For a moment, Charles was sure Edwin was going to float away. Maybe he hadn’t been as interested in reading to him as he’d thought. Instead, Edwin merely rolled down until he was resting on Charles’s chest, that warm, familiar feeling spreading all over him.

So Charles read to him. He read to him until he had finished one book, and then started on another that he could reach. His voice was a low rumble, the sound fading into the background as he split his attention between the words and Edwin. Time passed slowly and hazily, the sort of dream-like quality that only came when it didn’t really matter.

Eventually, when he thought he might go insane from reading so much, he talked. He told Edwin how he was sorry he hadn’t been fast enough to stop him– because really, Charles had been right there after all– and how he hoped that Edwin forgave him. He told him that when Edwin felt better, he would do anything he wanted. He’d even go see that play he’d been talking about that Charles couldn’t remember the name of if he wanted. And there was a show that Charles was interested in going to, but they could stand at the back where it was quieter and they were less likely to get stepped on if Edwin wanted to come.

He told him how much he missed him. How worried he was about him. How he knew that it had only been about a day since he’d gone into this form, but he didn’t think he’d missed anyone this much. Not his mum or dad, not his friends or teachers. No one.

Finally, he fell silent. He was sure that if he dug down deep enough there was more for him to say, but what was the point? Edwin was still stuck looking like the world’s brightest cricket ball, and he had just spilled about everything he had in him.

“I’m just worried,” Charles said. His arms wrapped around the orb so tightly it doubled as a self-hug. “Y’know I worry.”

Then again, maybe Edwin didn’t know. Charles loved to portray himself as this confident, friendly guy. Sure, he could be protective, but did Edwin know he was serious enough that he could worry?

Something shifted. The solid, golden color the orb had been since he’d started reading to him briefly changed. It flashed blue, a color that Charles normally loved but reminded him too much of Death in this instance, before it faded, and the orb was gone.

Before he could worry whether or not Death had actually come for them, he felt a solid weight pressing down on him. And there, in his lap, laid out across him, was Edwin. His feet were tucked up, allowing his long body to fit neatly onto the couch, his head cradled against Charles’s chest.

“Edwin?” he breathlessly asked.

Edwin shifted, his head tilting back just enough to look up at him. Charles had to loosen his death grip on him to allow even that. “Charles?”

Immediately, Charles hugged him closer. He smashed Edwin’s face into his chest and pressed his chin to the top of his head. “Don’t ever do that again, mate,” he said. “I mean it.”

For a moment, Edwin was frozen. Then, he thawed and relaxed himself into Charles’s hug. “I did not mean to worry you,” he said softly.

“Yeah, well, you did,” Charles said without any heat to it. Finally, he let his arms slide away from Edwin and allowed himself to get his first real look at his friend.

The first thing he noticed was that he looked tired. Dark bags lined his eyes and blood still smeared his collar, although whatever wound had been made was gone. He seemed paler than normal as well, but Edwin was always so pale it was hard to tell. 

“Alright?” he asked, still looking for any sign that he wasn’t.

Edwin nodded. “Yes,” he said. His voice sounded stronger than before, and God if it didn’t sound like Heaven to Charles. The idea that he might never have heard his friend speak again hadn’t truly hit him until this moment. “I believe I am unharmed.”

Charles’s eyes darkened. “You were stabbed. In the neck,” he said. Or close enough, anyways. “And then you turned into this glowing ball, and… well, I didn’t know what to do.”

Edwin flinched at the mention of his wound before soothing his expression into one of fondness. “Yes, I… seem to remember that,” he said. His hand came up to touch his throat, only to find no wound there. “It would seem I have healed.”

“Maybe that’s what that was?” he asked and made a gesture with his hand to show orb-sized Edwin. “Maybe that was like ‘ghost healing’?” 

Something between annoyance and acceptance flashed across Edwin’s face. “I believe you have it right,” Edwin said. “It would seem that would be the form ghosts take when they heal.”

Charles nodded. “Kinda brills, honestly. Like a turtle goin’ into their shell or something.”

Edwin squinted his eyes at the comparison. “I suppose,” he said. And then almost immediately collapsed when he tried to get up.

“Oi!” Charles said and wrapped his arms around him. “What’re you doing? You wanna be an orb again?” 

Edwin huffed as he settled back down. His face had washed out even more after his ill-advised attempt. “No, I do not,” he said. “But it hardly seems appropriate for me to just… lay all over you.”

Before he had died, Charles might have agreed. There was a certain amount of weirdness to it, he supposed, but that didn’t mean that he wanted Edwin to get up. In fact, he wanted Edwin to stay right where he was until he was strong enough to stand without passing out again.

Edwin rolled his eyes when he said this. “I did not pass out. Ghosts cannot do that,” he said. Yet he laid his head back down against Charles’s chest, his now ruffled hair tickling Charles’s chin. 

“Go back to sleep,” Charles said. Before Edwin could argue, he held a hand up and used it to gently bop him on the arm. “And don’t say ghosts can’t sleep. That’s basically what you were doing before.”

Edwin started to shake his head, but the motion quickly became him snuggling down against Charles. “I am merely resting my eyes.”

Charles grinned, a sudden wave of fondness he’d never felt for anyone else overtaking him. “Yeah, well rest your mouth too.”

Edwin tried to flip him off but failed. “Almost had it,” Charles teased.

“I’ll figure it out one day,” he said before fading back off to sleep. 

At least this time he stayed a ghost.

[asherraccoon]

Jealousy- Radiosilence, background Radioapple- angst- highschool au, human au

Lucifer. Little mister perfect. 

Oh, how Vox hated him. 

Lucifer was perfect. Just. Fucking. Perfect. 

It's really no wonder every girl and boy in their school loved him. 

Every boy and girl. Including Alastor. 

Alastor. Vox's best friend and crush. Of course Lucifer had to come along and steal Alastor from him. And oh, how Vox hated it. 

“Calm down, Vox, me and Luci are just getting along. He's the new kid. May as well make him feel like he has at least one friend here,” Alastor had said when Vox brought up how he and Lucifer were spending a lot of time together. 

“Luci?” Vox's eyes narrowed. Alastor had a nickname for the whore? 

“He said people can call him nicknames,” Alastor shrugged. He scratched his neck. “He's a nice guy, Vox. You should try being nicer to him,” 

Vox huffed. He leaned against the stair railing in front of the school. “He's a fucking whore, Al,” he said.

Alastor frowned. “Vox, you don't even know him,” 

“I've seen him, Alastor. He's got chicks all over him! A fucking slut like him dosent deserve people being nice to him!” Vox argued. 

“Just because people like him, he isn't a slut, Vox!” Alastor reasoned. “He even told me that the people trying to constantly flirt with him, make him uncomfortable. I'm trying to help him get them to leave him alone,” 

“He's lying!” Vox said, stepping towards Alastor. “That little mister perfect whore is just waiting for someone that he can manipulate and use!” Vox said. He gritted his teeth. “That bitch is going to use you, Alastor,” 

Alastor crossed his arms. “I get it,” he said. “You're jealous,” he said. 

Vox blinked, seeming surprised. He stepped back. “What? No I'm not! Why would I be jealous of that little cunt??” 

“You're jealous that I'm making friends,” Alastor replied. “You're so lonely and desperate for attention that the moment your one friend talks to someone new, you get all jealous and pissy about it!” Alastor said, stepping closer to Vox. “I'm allowed to have friends other than you, Vox. You don't own me,” 

Vox bumped into the metal railing behind him. “I- That's not true!” he argued. “I'm not jealous. I'm not stopping you from making friends… I-I'm not lonely!” 

Alastor scoffed. “Yeah, right,” he flicked Vox's forehead. “Little word of advice; no one likes a clingy, needy, jealous asshole,” he said, staring directly into Vox's eyes. 

Vox stared at him, unable to get the words out. 

Alastor backed away and walked off into the school. Presumably to find Lucifer. 

Vox watched him leave. 

Something wet slid down Vox's cheek. Fuck.

Vox wiped the tear away only for more to come. “Fuck… No… stop it…” he mumbled to himself. He let out a sob. 

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

Vox didn't have any friends. He stopped letting himself get attached. He glanced across the classroom, where Alastor and Lucifer were talking and laughing.

Alastor leaned in and gave Lucifer a kiss on the head.

Lucifer giggled in response.

Vox gripped his pencil tightly. Why was he still so jealous of Lucifer? He looked away and down at the paper he was writing on.

“Hey,” a voice said. 

Vox looked up.

A girl with dark skin and big pigtails sat down next to him. “Velvette,” she introduced herself. She had a British accent. She held out her hand.

“Um…” Vox hesitantly took her hand and shook it. “Vox…” he said quietly. “Are you an exchange student..?” 

Velvette nodded. “Straight from London,” she crossed her arms behind her head and propped her feet up on the desk. She had a good sense of fashion, Vox observed. 

“Where… Where did you get those clothes?” Vox asked. 

“These?” Velvette laughed. “Well, I made the shirt myself, thrifted these gloves and pants, the jacket was also thrifted but I modified it to be more cool…” She explained her outfit to him.

Vox listened in awe. He was amazed to learn that she designed and created clothes all on her own. And she was only, what? 17? 

The two hit it off great. But, Vox told himself he wouldn't get attached. Not again. 

But… maybe Velvette wasn't so bad. 

Maybe… just once… ever since sophomore year… Vox could let himself have fun for once. Let himself have a friend. 

Just one friend. 

[botanicalfoxx]

OK this is kind of a hot take about the whole Nexus arc but I gotta get this out of my brain and into a post because I haven’t seen anyone else say it.

I think if Nexus would have sat down with the celestial family and TOLD THEM DIRECTLY that he was having trouble with his identity being conflated with Moon’s, they would have helped him. I’m not talking about just saying ‘I’m not him’ in an argument, I’m talking about directly spelling out ‘this is what’s hurting me, please stop doing x and y.’ (Dude nobody in this family is neurotypical you have to be DIRECT. Ain’t no hint dropping that’s gonna work here. I say this as someone who also needs it spelled out for me lol) There is next to no doubt in my mind that the family would have made the effort to step back and let him develop as a person, that they would have listened. Heck, if he was having that much trouble articulating it Earth would have gladly helped him find the words. He wouldn’t even be the first to have this sort of problem (see: Solar changing his name and appearance to avoid the identity and expectations associated with Eclipse.)

If there had been a proper sit-down-and-spell-it-out conversation about his problems, it may not have fixed everything instantly but the family would have made the effort to try. I say this as someone who does the same thing: Nexus sat there and let it fester until it turned him into an angry, resentful person, and by then he was so far into it that in his mind, it was everyone else’s fault. I mean yeah, technically, but if you directly told them what was happening they would have made an effort to fix it for you because they loved you. Even after you went off the rails Sun never STOPPED loving you.

The blame doesn’t rest solely on Nexus, not at all. The pressure he perceived from his family to be Moon had to have come from somewhere. But you can’t convince me they wouldn’t have listened if he talked to them about it.

If you ask me, in a perfect timeline, Nexus would have made the choice to talk to somebody about this issue before it got so bad. Probably Earth, who would then help him discuss the issue with his family and eventually become his own person. He would likely have moved into a new body and changed his name (again, like Solar) and in the process I’m willing to bet they’d find the original Moon in that chip in his head and bring him back as well. With the original Moon back and Nexus having his own name, body, and identity outside of him, Nexus would no longer feel the need to live up to Moon’s legacy (or at least not quite as intensely.) Of course there would still be problems (because what’s a good show without conflict?), Solar probably still would have gotten thanos snapped and eventually resurrected, but at least the whole family would be able to face it together.

Hot take finished.

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Reunited 4

Part 4

Pairing: modern!Sihtric x reader with a side story of modern!Sigtryggr x reader

Authors note: it's probably a bad idea to post it today, but fuck it ... I'm having too much fun writing this. And don't tell me I didn't warn you - it's gonna be a ride 😅.

Warnings: heartbreak, use of alcohol, very suggestive (lowkey smut)

Summary: It was supposed to be a short two week trip that turned into five long years apart, just because your best friend couldn't keep her mouth shut. Will the reader and Sihtric manage to repair their broken relationship and find their way back to each other? Or will the reader decide to stay with the handsome and talented Sigtryggr?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Word Count: 4,1 K

The whispers started small—a passing comment from a mutual acquaintance here, a vague mention in the industry gossip there. Gisela had done her best to shield you, brushing off any mention of Sihtric with a casual dismissal, redirecting your attention to new projects, exciting events, or people who would, in her words, "help you look forward, not back."

But eventually, the whispers grew louder, impossible to ignore.

You hadn’t been looking for updates on Sihtric, but it was almost as though the universe itself had decided that you wouldn’t be able to escape his shadow. It started with a model at a shoot, casually mentioning that she’d seen him out one night, barely able to stand, clinging to the arm of someone you didn’t know. The words "worse than I’ve ever seen him" lingered, simmering in your mind.

At first, you ignored it. Sihtric wasn’t your concern anymore, you reminded yourself. He had made his choices, just as you had made yours. But more stories came—different people, different places, each one painting the same picture of a man who was unravelling, barely holding himself together. The Sihtric they described was a stranger to you, and yet those stories struck a painful chord deep in your chest.

One evening, as you sat across from Gisela at your favourite café, her attempts to distract you from the topic finally fell short. You’d reached your limit.

"Gisela," you said, interrupting her as she rambled on about an upcoming exhibition. "Why didn’t you tell me?"

Her eyes widened, a flicker of guilt crossing her face. "Tell you what?" she asked, feigning innocence, though you both knew exactly what you meant.

"About Sihtric." Your voice was steady, but there was an underlying tension. "About what’s happening to him."

She sighed, placing her cup down with a slight clunk. “I didn’t think it was something you needed to hear. He’s not your responsibility anymore. You deserve to live your life without his shadow looming over you.”

"But he wasn’t always like this," you replied, voice barely more than a whisper. "I know him, Gisela. Or I thought I did."

Gisela reached across the table, her hand finding yours. "You did know him. But that’s not who he is now. Whatever he’s become, it’s because of his own choices."

“Gisela,” you said, setting down your coffee and looking her in the eye. “Do you think… Maybe my refusal to speak with him made things worse?”

Her brow furrowed, concern and frustration blending in her gaze. “What do you mean?”

“All these stories about him… spiralling,” you murmured, your fingers tracing the rim of your cup. “He just wanted to talk, you know. And I just showed him away in the worst way possible. I can’t help but feel that maybe, if I’d just been willing to listen to him, he wouldn’t have ended up this way.”

Gisela shook her head, her expression firm. “You can’t think like that. You have every right to protect yourself. Talking to him wouldn’t have changed anything. He’s responsible for his actions, not you.”

You glanced away. “But our last conversation, Gisela. I can’t stop thinking about it. The way I turned him away, how angry and cold I was. Maybe I was… too harsh.”

“You weren’t harsh,” she replied, squeezing your hand. “You were clear about your boundaries. You have every right to those, especially after what he put you through. Don’t start blaming yourself.”

Despite her reassurance, the memory of that day lingered in your mind like a shadow. That look in his eyes, the desperation just beneath the surface, how he had struggled to find the words. And how you had shut him down, leaving him standing alone on that set, without a chance to explain himself. It had felt empowering then, taking control of the situation, reclaiming your peace. But now… now, you weren’t so sure.

“Maybe,” you whispered, almost to yourself, “I should’ve just listened, if only to give us both some closure.”

Gisela’s gaze softened, but her voice remained steady. “Closure doesn’t come from reopening wounds, and that’s all he’d do. He’s gone too far down this path—he’s not the person you knew.” 

Gisela squeezed your hand. “You have every right to protect yourself. You don’t owe him anything—not after what he put you through. He’s doing this to himself, and I don’t want to see you dragged down because of him again.”

You didn’t answer. Wrapping your hands around the warm coffee cup, you stared into the swirling steam rising from the dark liquid. Why does everything have to be so damn complicated? 

That night, alone in your apartment, you lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Every time you closed your eyes, fragments of that last encounter on set replayed in your mind: Sihtric’s hesitant steps, the way his voice had cracked when he’d asked to talk, the look of devastation as you’d turned your back on him. You’d told yourself it was for the best, but was it really?

You picked up your phone, fingers hovering over the screen.

Before you could think it through, you sent a message to Gisela.

"Do you think I should try talking to him? Just once?"

The three dots indicating her reply popped up immediately, and then her response followed, firm and direct.

"No. That chapter is over. Don’t reopen old wounds."

You put the phone down, staring at the empty space in your living room as her words echoed in your mind. Gisela was right, of course. She had been there through it all, had seen you at your lowest, helped you pick up the pieces of your life, reminding you of who you were outside of him. But this wasn’t about reopening wounds. This was about understanding. For your sake, and for his.

With a steadying breath, you made a quiet decision. Tomorrow, you would reach out, you would go to the set and talk to him—not to rekindle what was lost but to speak out, to lay the ghosts of your past to rest. Maybe it would bring peace to both of you, to let you finally close the chapter for good. 

You arrived at the set the next morning with that quiet resolve still fresh on your mind, the familiar hum of voices and equipment doing little to settle your nerves. Today, you would finally speak to Sihtric. 

Maybe it wouldn’t change anything, and maybe it would leave you feeling just as hollow as before, but at the very least, it might ease the nagging feeling that had taken root since your last conversation. There was no script in your mind, no clear sense of what you would say. Just a need for… something. Resolution, maybe. Closure. Or perhaps, deep down, a glimmer of hope. What? No, shut up! You almost slapped yourself in anger. What hope?

As you waited, you glanced at the door every few minutes, each time your heart skipping a beat, only to settle back down when he didn’t appear. The seconds stretched into minutes, each one adding another layer to the knot forming in your stomach. 

You had run through a dozen different ways to start the conversation in your mind, but none of them felt right. How do you confront someone you’d once loved but had shut out entirely? What could you even say that would bridge the distance between you after everything that had happened?

You clenched and unclenched your hands, feeling more foolish with each passing minute. A part of you cursed yourself for not following Gisela’s advice, for not simply letting it go. “Leave it in the past,” she’d said, her voice filled with quiet insistence. And yet, here you were, waiting for a man who’d hurt you, hoping he’d arrive so you could dig into the buried pain between you both.

What was it you expected to hear? A confession, an apology, an explanation? The truth was, you didn’t know. You just felt as though you couldn’t move on with this weight still hanging over you, with the sense that you had played some part in his downward spiral. Was it really closure you were looking for, or did some part of you, a part you’d never admit aloud, still care for him, still believe there was something worth salvaging?

The chatter of the crew buzzed around you, but you barely registered it. Occasionally, you caught snippets of conversation—small whispers about Sihtric, talk of his “new habits” and frequent no-shows. The makeup artist mumbled something under her breath about his inconsistency, a sigh of exasperation barely audible. 

You stayed, doing your best to keep a composed front, pretending to focus on the tasks in front of you. But beneath the calm façade, a familiar ache simmered—a sinking disappointment, perhaps even a touch of anger, that he hadn’t shown up. You tried to tell yourself it was about professionalism, about the wasted time, the disrupted shoot, but deep down, you knew it actually wasn’t. You’d finally been ready to talk, to face the unresolved tension between you, and Sihtric had left you waiting, his absence a silent answer in itself.

As the hours stretched on and the last hopes of his arrival slipped away, the emptiness grew. The loss felt oddly profound, a quiet ache that lingered, as though something vital had slipped through your fingers, even if you couldn’t name what it was.

—--------------------------------------------

Just as you finished slipping on your heels and checking your reflection one last time, a soft knock echoed from the door. You opened it to find Sigtryggr standing there, a calm, admiring smile spreading across his face as he took in your appearance. His suit was impeccably tailored, the dark fabric accentuating his tall, lean frame, and his long hair was pulled back in a way that softened his strong features.

“Wow,” he said, his voice warm as his eyes lingered on you. “You look… incredible. Absolutely stunning.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips as you glanced down, a little flustered by the way he looked at you. “Thank you,” you murmured. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

He chuckled, reaching out to take your hand, and his fingers were warm and steady around yours. As you turned to grab your purse, he tilted his head slightly, studying you with gentle curiosity.

“You sure you’re alright?” he asked softly, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your hand. “You seem a bit… distracted.”

You took a breath, glancing at him before looking away, feeling the weight of the day’s thoughts pressing down on you. “I’m fine,” you said, though the words felt weak even to your own ears. “It’s just… been a long day.”

Sigtryggr’s expression softened, his gaze unwavering as he searched your face. “If there’s anything you need to talk about, I’m here. No pressure—just… if you want.”

You felt a warm reassurance in his words, his genuine concern like a balm to your lingering unease. You managed a small smile, grateful for his presence. “Thank you. Really. I… I appreciate it.”

With a gentle squeeze of your hand, he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “No need to thank me,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “Tonight’s about enjoying ourselves. Let’s make it a good one.”

You slipped your arm through his and offered him a small smile, feeling a comforting sense of calm settle over you. Sigtryggr’s quiet confidence grounded you, his warm presence lifting your spirits just enough to face the fashion show you’d agreed to attend with him.

The venue buzzed with energy, lights flashing as photographers captured the evening’s best-dressed attendees. You and Sigtryggr moved through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries with designers, editors, and models. 

The night felt almost surreal, as if you were floating through it, your worries temporarily forgotten as you lost yourself in the glamorous whirlwind of conversation and clinking champagne glasses. But then you spotted him.

Across the room, Sihtric was leaning against the bar, a glass dangling from his hand, his face flushed and his eyes somewhat unfocused. His shirt was wrinkled, his hair dishevelled, and his grip on the camera strap on his shoulder was loose, like he had already forgotten that he even had it. 

You froze as he caught sight of you, his gaze narrowing before flickering over to Sigtryggr. For a moment, he seemed to hesitate, but then he began making his way toward you, his movements slightly unsteady.

“Is that him?” Sigtryggr asked, catching your tension. His tone was gentle but alert.

You nodded, unable to tear your gaze away as Sihtric approached, his expression dark and unreadable. The familiar ache twisted in your chest, but you straightened, bracing yourself for whatever he was about to say or do.

“So,” Sihtric sneered as he stopped before you, eyes flicking dismissively between you and Sigtryggr. “You didn’t waste any time, did you?” His voice was laced with bitterness, words slurring slightly as he swayed on his feet.

“Sihtric, don’t do this,” you said softly, hoping to defuse the situation, but he ignored you, his focus shifting fully to Sigtryggr.

“And you…” He tilted his head, eyeing Sigtryggr with disdain. “Think you’re so much better than me, huh? Perfect little prince, sweeping in and saving the day.”

Sigtryggr’s face remained calm, though you could feel the tension in him. “I think it’s best if we all take a step back,” he replied evenly, his hand settling on your shoulder in a reassuring gesture. “This isn’t the time or place.”

But Sihtric’s eyes flashed, his face twisting into a sneer. “You think you can just step in like I never meant anything?” His voice grew louder, heads turning as people began to notice the unfolding scene. “She was mine, you know. You’re just a cheap replacement.”

You felt Sigtryggr’s hand tense, but he kept his composure. “You’re drunk, Sihtric,” he said quietly. “Go home. Let’s not make this uglier than it needs to be.”

But Sihtric’s face hardened, his expression an unsettling mix of pain and fury. Before either of you could react, he lunged forward, his fist aimed clumsily at Sigtryggr’s face. His movements were sluggish, heavy with the effects of alcohol, and Sigtryggr sidestepped effortlessly, catching Sihtric’s arm and stopping him in his tracks.

“Enough.” Sigtryggr’s voice was firm, his grip on Sihtric’s arm steady as he pushed him back, keeping his own emotions in check. “Go home. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

The words struck Sihtric like a slap. He staggered, his face flushing with humiliation as he looked between the two of you. For a fleeting moment, you saw the vulnerability beneath his anger—the brokenness and regret lurking behind his bloodshot eyes.

“Fine,” he muttered bitterly, wrenching his arm out of Sigtryggr’s grip. His gaze lingered on you, the weight of everything unsaid filling the space between you. “Enjoy your perfect life,” he spat, his voice cracking slightly as he turned and stumbled away, nearly knocking into a nearby table on his way out.

The crowd, still buzzing with curiosity, watched him go, a hush settling over the room as people exchanged whispers and glances. You stood there, heart pounding, torn between anger, pity, and an ache you couldn’t quite shake.

“Are you alright?” Sigtryggr asked, his voice steady, his hand gentle on your shoulder as he guided you toward a quieter corner, away from the prying eyes.

You shook your head, you were far from being alright. Sihtric’s words, his reckless behaviour, the way he’d looked at you—it was like seeing a stranger in the shell of someone you once knew. The man who had stood beside you tonight was unrecognisable, and yet, the guilt still clawed at you, lingering in the pit of your stomach.

Sigtryggr’s arm slipped around you, as he led you toward the exit. “Let’s get you out of here,” he murmured, his tone soft and protective. 

You nodded, grateful for his presence  and the two of you walked out into the cool night air, Sigtryggr’s hand lingering at the small of your back, guiding you with an ease that felt natural. 

He turned to you with a soft smile. “It’s still early,” he murmured, his gaze drifting over your face. “Would you like to come to my place for a nightcap?”

As Sigtryggr's question hung in the air, a shiver coursed through you, both from the chill of the night and the deeper question his invitation held. His face, framed by the soft glow of nearby streetlights, showed only openness, yet your mind raced. 

Your heart quickened, battling with the silent questions tumbling in your mind. What did you want this to be? Sigtryggr was unlike anyone you’d ever met—a quiet intensity wrapped in kindness, the kind of person who saw straight through you, not as if judging, but as if he truly understood. A part of you had been starving for this kind of connection, so different from what you’d known before, but was it too soon? Could you let yourself open up to someone again, let him see the parts of you you’d worked so hard to piece back together?

And then, a thought cut through the haze, sharper, clearer: What would Sihtric think if he saw you now? A pang of anger flared beneath your skin, surprising you. Why should it matter? Even more so—why would he care? But the questions lingered, twisting like thorns in your mind. Why did he keep finding his way into your thoughts, haunting you with his absence, even though he was gone from your life for good?

Admitting it hurt more than you wanted to acknowledge. He was gone. The reality pressed down like a weight you’d been struggling to lift. This was the perfect moment to close that door, to step into something new, to let someone else in… Or, you could keep waiting, letting the ghost of him drift around you, keeping everyone else at arm’s length, forever just out of reach.

With a soft, steadying breath, you looked back at Sigtryggr and found him still there, watching with a quiet patience, not pressing or urging, but simply waiting. His expression held nothing but warmth, a silent invitation in his eyes that felt as gentle as it was genuine. His presence was calming, without expectation, without judgement. In that instant, the idea of stepping forward didn’t seem so daunting.

Your heart lifted, and you found yourself nodding, a smile tugging at your lips as you met his gaze. “I’d like that.”

—--------------------------------------

Sigtryggr’s apartment was just as you’d expected—filled with art and an understated elegance that spoke to his style. Soft lights cast a warm glow over the room, and as he poured two glasses of wine, you took in the paintings lining the walls, the sketches scattered across his workspace, small glimpses into his creative world.

He handed you a glass, his fingers brushing yours briefly, sending a shiver up your spine. You took a sip, the wine rich and velvety, warming you from the inside. You could feel his gaze on you, intense yet tender, and when you looked up, the air between you grew charged, a subtle current building with each passing second.

“You know,” he began softly, stepping closer, “I can’t stop thinking about how beautiful you looked tonight. Or… how beautiful you look now.”

His hand reached up to brush a strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering, fingers grazing your cheek. You felt your breath hitch, the gentle way he was looking at you sparking something within. Without overthinking, you leaned in, your lips meeting his in a soft, hesitant kiss.

Sigtryggr responded instantly, his hand sliding to the back of your neck as he deepened the kiss, his mouth warm and inviting. The wine glass slipped from your hand onto the table as his other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer. You melted into him, the heat between you building, his kisses growing hungrier, more insistent.

He led you toward the bedroom, his hands never leaving you, each touch filled with gentle urgency. When you reached the bed, he paused, his eyes searching yours, as if asking for permission, making sure this was what you wanted.

You answered by pulling him down to you, and he responded with a low, pleased hum, his mouth trailing down your neck as his hands found the zipper of your dress, sliding it down slowly, his fingers grazing your bare skin, igniting every nerve.

Clothes were shed, piece by piece, until you were both exposed, bodies pressed together, skin to skin. His touch was tender yet commanding, guiding you with an instinctive rhythm that left you breathless, each kiss and caress drawing you further into the heat of the moment.

Every brush of his fingers felt like fire, igniting sparks across your skin. His hands traced a path over you with a careful, reverent touch, as though he was discovering you piece by piece, memorising every curve and every reaction. His breath mingled with yours, soft and warm, as his lips explored places you hadn’t even known craved attention, gentle but unyielding.

You arched your back against the mattress and moaned loudly as he thrusted into you. Your fingers wove into his hair, pulling him closer, and he responded, his mouth tracing a path along your jaw, down your neck, igniting a trail that left you gasping, clutching him as though he were an anchor in a sea of sensation that you thought almost forgotten.

Sigtryggr moved within you with a steady, skillful rhythm, each thrust deliberate yet intense, his gaze locked on yours, simmering with a passion that left you utterly breathless. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, a loud moan escaping your lips as pleasure surged through you, erasing any lingering hesitation or self-consciousness. Whatever doubt or embarrassment you’d felt about revealing how touch-starved you were melted away, replaced by a powerful wave of heat and sensation that overwhelmed every thought, leaving you lost in the intoxicating bliss he brought with each movement.

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss, his hands roaming over your body, igniting every nerve he touched. His touch was confident, demanding mixed with softness and careful attentiveness, his focus solely on you, on every little reaction he coaxed from you.

The pleasure inside you coiled tightly, building with each movement, each shared breath, and the way breathless moans spilled from your lips only seemed to spur him on. He responded with a low groan, his pace quickening as he drove you both toward the edge, his presence grounding you even as he unravelled you entirely.

When the two of you finally lay together in the quiet aftermath, limbs entwined, Sigtryggr pressed a gentle kiss to your shoulder, his hand tracing soothing patterns along your skin. The silence between you was comfortable, his warmth enveloping you as you nestled into him, feeling safe and content in his embrace. Your breathing slowed, each gentle stroke of his hand pulling you closer to sleep. 

But as your eyes grew heavy, a familiar image intruded—a vision of Sihtric, broken and desperate, his face etched with the same raw pain and bitterness you'd seen at the event. His haunted eyes, full of anger and longing, stared back at you, and his words echoed in your mind, refusing to fade: “She was mine.”

—-----------------------------------------

Morning light filtered softly through the blinds, and you blinked awake, stretching slightly before noticing Sigtryggr’s arm still draped around you, his peaceful face turned toward yours. A small smile tugged at your lips as you remembered the night before, and you let yourself relax, sinking back into the moment. But just then, the sound of a key turning in the lock jolted you both out of the haze.

The door swung open, and a woman’s voice called out, her tone full of urgency and familiarity, sending a chill through you. “Sigtryggr?”

You froze, exchanging a startled look with Sigtryggr, who looked just as caught off guard. She called his name again, her footsteps growing closer as she moved through the apartment and toward the bedroom. Your gaze flew to Sigtryggr, wide-eyed with surprise, but before either of you could speak, a young woman appeared in the doorway, her eyes landing on you in bed with him.

With a yelp, you instinctively wrapped the blanket around yourself, heart racing as the reality of the situation hit you.

“Stiorra,” Sigtryggr started, his tone a mix of apology and guardedness as he sat up, tugging at the blanket to cover himself too.

[fanficlolsblog]

JUST FRIENDS

back to my main masterlist

pairing: fem!reader x astrid deetz

summary: you find yourself caught in a complicated relationship with astrid deetz, who is spending time with another guy named jeremy. as you navigate your feelings of jealousy and confusion, you confront astrid about her intentions, leading to an emotional struggle between love and heartbreak. despite your desire to be together, it becomes clear that the timing may not be right, leaving you to question what you truly mean to each other.

warnings: emotion turmoil, jealousy, romantic tension, potential for unrequited feelings, mentions of partying and drinking.

w/c: 2k+

a/n: pretend that jeremy isn’t a ghost and he is a human boy.

the sun was setting over the horizon, casting an eerie glow across the landscape. the small town of winter river always had an air of mystery, especially when the night began to creep in. you had just returned to your apartment after a long day when you received a text from astrid deetz, your close friend and an undeniable force of chaos and charm. you and astrid had a bond that felt both thrilling and complicated; there was a spark between you, something electric that lingered in the air, but she often kept you at arm’s length.

as you sat on your bed, scrolling through your phone, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of anxiety mixed with excitement. astrid had mentioned hanging out with jeremy, a guy you had heard a bit about but never met. the thought of them together ignited a fire of jealousy inside you. you couldn’t quite place it, but it was difficult to shake off the feeling that you might be losing her to someone else. the way she described jeremy in her texts seemed almost too enthusiastic, and you couldn’t help but wonder what they were doing together.

deciding you couldn’t just sit and stew in your thoughts, you pulled on a jacket and made your way out the door. the chill in the air greeted you as you stepped outside, the night sky slowly revealing a tapestry of stars. you walked down the street, your heart racing with every step. the closer you got to astrid’s place, the more apprehensive you felt.

when you arrived, you hesitated outside her door, your hand poised to knock. after a moment of contemplation, you finally knocked, the sound echoing in the stillness of the night. almost immediately, the door swung open, and there she was. astrid stood in the doorway, her dark hair tousled, eyes sparkling with mischief. she wore a black tank top that hugged her figure and a pair of ripped jeans that accentuated her unique style.

“hey! you made it!” she exclaimed, pulling you into a warm hug.

“yeah, thought i’d check in on you. what’s going on?” you replied, trying to sound casual even though your heart was pounding.

“just hanging out with jeremy,” she said nonchalantly, stepping back to let you in. “you remember him, right?”

you nodded, forcing a smile. “of course. nice guy.” the words felt hollow in your throat.

as you entered the living room, you spotted jeremy lounging on the couch, a can of soda in his hand, and an easy grin on his face. “hey, y/n! good to see you,” he said, lifting his drink in a casual salute.

“hey, jeremy,” you managed to reply, feeling an uncomfortable tension creeping in. astrid settled onto the couch beside jeremy, leaning into him as they chatted about some random topic that felt distant to you.

you tried to shake off the unease, opting for the kitchen where you poured yourself a glass of water. as you took a sip, you could hear their laughter echoing from the other room, each laugh feeling like a dagger to your heart. you couldn’t deny the jealousy bubbling up inside you; it made you feel small and unimportant.

just then, jeremy’s voice drifted into the kitchen. “so, astrid, you never told me about y/n. are you two close?”

“oh, we’re super close,” astrid replied, her tone light and playful. “y/n is like the best person ever.”

“oh, really? then why are you hanging out with me?” jeremy teased, nudging her with his elbow.

you felt a strange twist in your gut at the easy camaraderie they shared. it wasn’t just the jealousy that stung; it was the realization that you might be seen as just a friend when you wanted to be so much more.

“i don’t know,” she responded with a playful shrug. “sometimes you need a little chaos, you know?”

you couldn’t help but scoff at her words, feeling a mix of irritation and yearning. you turned to grab your phone, scrolling through it aimlessly to distract yourself.

“y/n, you alright?” astrid’s voice broke through your thoughts, drawing your attention back to the living room. she had a concerned look on her face, her brows knitted together.

“yeah, just thinking,” you replied, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace.

“come on, join us,” jeremy encouraged, gesturing to the space beside him on the couch.

you hesitated, your heart racing. the idea of sitting next to them felt unbearable, but you didn’t want to seem rude. so, you took a deep breath and made your way to the couch.

as the evening wore on, you tried to engage in the conversation, but it felt like an uphill battle. every laugh that escaped astrid’s lips made your stomach churn. it wasn’t that you didn’t want her to be happy; it was that you couldn’t help but feel like an outsider in a moment that should have included you.

after a while, you decided to excuse yourself. “i’m gonna step out for some fresh air,” you said, standing up.

“want me to come with?” astrid asked, her eyes searching yours for any hint of distress.

“no, it’s fine. just need a moment,” you assured her, walking out onto the small balcony outside.

the cool night air hit your face, grounding you for a moment. you leaned against the railing, staring out into the darkness. the stars seemed to twinkle in sympathy, and you let out a sigh, feeling the weight of your emotions crashing down on you.

after a few minutes, you heard the door creak open behind you. astrid stepped out, the warmth of her presence enveloping you like a cozy blanket. “are you okay?” she asked softly, her voice laced with genuine concern.

“i’m fine,” you replied, trying to dismiss the turmoil inside you.

“you don’t look fine,” she said, crossing her arms.

“it’s just… i don’t know. you seem happy with jeremy, and i’m happy for you, i am,” you started, your voice faltering. “it just feels different, that’s all.”

“different how?” she pressed, her gaze unwavering.

you hesitated, weighing your words carefully. “like you’re not the same astrid when you’re with him. it’s like… i don’t know, you seem to forget about me.”

her expression softened, and she stepped closer. “i promise that’s not true. jeremy is just… different, you know? he’s fun and easy to be around.”

“and i’m not?” you shot back, your emotions spilling out.

“that’s not what i meant! you know that,” she said, her voice rising slightly.

“then what do you mean?” you challenged, your heart racing. “because it feels like you’re choosing him over me.”

the tension hung in the air, thick and suffocating. astrid’s eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you both stood in silence, the world around you fading away.

“i’m not trying to choose,” she finally said, her voice low. “i just… i don’t know what i want right now.”

that admission hit you harder than you expected. it was as if she had pulled the rug out from under you, leaving you vulnerable and exposed.

“you don’t know what you want?” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper.

“no, and it scares me,” she admitted, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “i care about you, y/n, but i don’t know how to navigate this… whatever this is between us.”

“it’s not fair to me, astrid,” you said, feeling your voice shake. “i want to be more than just a friend. i want to be there for you, but it feels like i’m competing for your attention.

her expression shifted, and you could see the conflict in her eyes. “i never wanted you to feel that way. i’m sorry if i’ve made you feel like you’re not important to me.”

“it’s not just that,” you admitted, the weight of your feelings crashing down on you. “i’ve liked you for a long time, and watching you with someone else… it hurts.”

“wait, what?” she said, taking a step back, her eyes wide in disbelief.

“yeah,” you confessed, feeling your heart race. “i thought you knew. i thought it was obvious.”

a moment of silence stretched between you two, the realization hanging heavy in the air. astrid’s gaze softened, and for the first time, you could see the vulnerability in her expression.

“i didn’t know you felt that way,” she whispered. “i thought you were just being a good friend.”

“i wish it was that simple,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “but it’s not.”

the tension in the air shifted, and astrid took a step closer, her hand reaching out to brush against yours. “i never wanted to hurt you,” she said softly.

“i know,” you replied, your heart pounding in your chest. “but it’s hard to watch you with someone else when i feel this way.”

“i need time to think,” she said finally, pulling her hand away. “but i don’t want to lose you.”

“then don’t,” you urged, desperation creeping into your voice. “don’t let this come between us.”

“i won’t,” she promised, her eyes searching yours. “i just need to figure things out.”

you nodded, feeling a mixture of relief and anxiety. “okay.”

just then, jeremy’s voice called out from inside, interrupting the moment. “everything okay out there?”

“yeah, we’re good!” astrid replied, a hint of unease in her tone.

as she turned back to face you, you could see the conflict still swirling in her eyes. “let’s go back inside,” she suggested, her voice steadying.

you followed her inside, the warmth of the apartment wrapping around you like a blanket. as you entered, you felt the weight of the unspoken tension still lingering between you.

“you guys good?” jeremy asked, his expression casual, but you could tell he was aware of the underlying tension.

“just talking,” astrid replied, her voice steady.

“cool, cool,” he said, taking a sip of his soda. “what do you want to do next?”

you exchanged glances with astrid, the unspoken words hanging in the air. you knew this was going to take time, but for the first time, you felt a flicker of hope that things could change between you and astrid.

the night went on, filled with laughter and light conversation, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted. you were no longer just a friend; you were someone who mattered, someone who could make astrid reconsider everything.

as the hours passed, you found yourself sitting next to astrid on the couch, your shoulders brushing against each other. jeremy was talking animatedly about something, but your attention was on astrid. she had a sparkle in her eyes that seemed to mirror your own emotions.

“hey,” you whispered, leaning in closer.

“yeah?” she replied, turning to face you.

“do you think we could talk again later? just you and me?”

“i’d like that,” she said, her voice soft and sincere.

“good,” you smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you.

the rest of the night passed in a blur, filled with laughter and moments of connection that made your heart race. you couldn’t help but feel that a new chapter was beginning for you and astrid, one that held the promise of something deeper.

as you said your goodbyes to jeremy and made your way home, you couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was about to change. the tension between you and astrid hung in the air like a delicious secret, and you were ready to embrace whatever came next.

the night sky sparkled above you as you walked, a sense of hope filling your heart. you were ready to see where this journey with astrid would take you, knowing that the connection you shared was worth exploring. and perhaps, just perhaps, you wouldn’t be left wondering what could have been any longer.

[javierssidechick]

BOUND BY FATE, FREED BY LOVE

Warnings: arranged marriages, slight angst, fluff

Sumarry: when Arthur learns that your father has arranged a marriage for you, he’s heartbroken and furious. Determined to protect you from a life you don’t want, Arthur promises to help you find a way out, showing just how deeply he cares for you. Together, you face the possibility of defying expectations to choose love over obligation.

Word count: 580 words

Arthur sat across from you, listening as you haltingly explained what your father had done. You watched his face shift from confusion to shock, and then finally settle into a hard, angry frown.

“He arranged… what?” Arthur’s voice was rough, barely above a whisper, but you could hear the tightness in it, the disbelief. He shook his head slowly, as if the words didn’t make sense.

You swallowed, trying to steady your voice. “He… arranged for me to marry someone. Some man he thinks is good enough, respectable enough. He’s already promised me to him.”

Arthur stared at you for a long moment, his blue eyes darkening as the words sank in. His jaw was clenched so tight you could see the muscles twitching. He looked down at his hands, fists tightening in his lap, and then back up at you. “And you’re just gonna… let him do this to you? Let him decide your life like that?”

You shook your head, feeling the weight of your father’s decision pressing down on you. “Arthur, I don’t want this. I told him that, but he wouldn’t listen. He said it was ‘for the best.’”

Arthur scoffed, a bitter smile flickering across his face. “For the best, huh? For who’s best? Sure as hell don’t sound like he’s thinking about what’s best for you.” His voice had a sharp edge to it, anger mixing with a pain he was trying to hide. You knew that for all his gruffness, this cut him deeper than he would ever let on.

He stood up abruptly, pacing the length of the room as he muttered to himself, his hand running through his hair. “So, he’s just gonna hand you off to some fella, like you’re some… some prize to be won?” He turned back to you, his eyes blazing. “He don’t know you. Not like I do.”

You could hear the hurt in his voice, and it made your chest ache. “Arthur… I didn’t choose this. You know that.”

He nodded, but his face was set in a hard, determined look. “Yeah, I know. But you don’t have to go along with it. There’s ways outta this, if you want ‘em.” He paused, his eyes searching yours. “I’d help you. If you’ll let me. I’d do whatever it takes to keep you from a life like that.”

You could barely believe the intensity in his voice, the way he spoke with such conviction. “Arthur… you’d really do that? Even if it meant going against my family?”

“I would,” he said firmly. “You deserve better than a life someone else picked for you. You deserve to be with someone who cares about you, who knows you. And if that means we gotta fight for it… then so be it. I don’t care what it takes, and I sure as hell don’t care what anyone thinks. I just… I can’t stand the thought of you bein’ with someone who don’t know a damn thing about who you are. Not like I do."

You felt a warmth spreading through your chest, a feeling of hope and safety that only Arthur seemed able to give you. He wasn’t offering empty promises—he meant every word.

“Arthur,” you whispered, taking his hand. “If I could choose… it’d be you. Every time.”

The words hung in the air between you, and for a long moment, there was nothing but silence. Then, slowly, Arthur’s face softened, his lips curving into a small, almost vulnerable smile. He brought your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. "Then it’s settled. You and me… we’re gonna figure this out, together."

In that moment, all the fears and uncertainties seemed to fade away. With Arthur by your side, you knew you could face whatever came next.

[kaytheday]

The Weight of the Eldest Brother

Hello! This is my submission for Day 4 of @outsidersweek

This submission is pretty long. I know that today has been a difficult day for everyone (which is probably why this fic is so long 😭), if anyone needs someone to talk to or vent to, just PM me! I am here for anyone who needs it. More under the cut!

On the rare occasions that Darry Curtis Jr. got nervous, he would feel irritable. Sweating incessantly as his fuse was cut short. He knew that a nervous Ponyboy would start shaking, going pale and sometimes even throwing up. Ponyboy had confessed that the few track meets that college scouts had stopped by to watch, he’d been so nervous he’d thrown up. Soda would turn into a firecracker, unpredictable and unable to concentrate, sleep, or even sit still for more than a few seconds. His restlessness would only grow as the nerves ate at him. 

Now, Darry sat completely still on that hospital bench. He was sweating and staring at the floor and feeling like he might throw up. He was nervous. That’s what he assumed this feeling was anyway.

This felt worse than the time with his parents. Somehow, this was ten thousand times worse. He didn’t know what he would do if-

“Mr. Curtis?” He turned to find the coroner looking at him expectantly. “Are you ready to go down?” 

Soda had been missing for upwards of three days. It wasn’t unusual for him to disappear for small stretches of time, it wasn’t like he lived at home anyway. But he usually found Ponyboy or Steve and went to hunt down some action. Neither of them had seen him since the fight. 

Darry and him had gotten into a terrible fight. The kind of fight that no longer becomes about what you were first fighting about, instead becoming a contest of who can say the nastiest thing. 

So Soda had stormed out. 

And Darry doesn’t even remember what it is that he said. He said a lot of terrible things that night, any one of them could have been the reason Soda stormed out. But he doesn’t remember. And now it might be the last thing he ever said to his brother. And he doesn’t even remember it. What an asshole. 

There in the hospital's ground floor, Darry just gulps and gives the Coroner a nod. Standing on shaky legs and following him to the hospital morgue… the same one where his brother might be lying. 

“Are you feeling alright Mr. Curtis?” Darry jumps a little, of course he’s not feeling alright. The last time he was here it was to identify two different members of the Curtis family.

It seemed like a lifetime ago but he still remembers it like it was yesterday. Their bodies were still fresh from the crash. Mottled and bloody but despite the disfiguration, Darry knew it was them. It just reminded him of something that his Momma used to say to him when he was little and wanted to help hold Ponyboy. 

“How come he only stops crying when you hold him?”

“Ponyboy loves you very much but sometimes babies just want their momma. A baby will always know his momma.” 

His mothers words certainly rang true on that terrible night. Even in death his mother was very beautiful. She would have been glad that her baby boy always knew his momma… even in death. 

He’d hoped that would be the last time he would ever receive a call from the coroner's office.

Luckily, it was his day off and even more luckily, he was the only one home. 

“Hello Mr. Curtis, this is Jeff Alberts. I am a chief coroner with St. Francis hospital, I may have some very bad news regarding your brother…” That was all Darry heard before his world shattered into a million pieces. 

Somehow this was worse. He thought the universe would have cut them a break by now, but this was worse. This was worse than his parents, worse than Johnny and Dally, worse than that damned draft letter that started this whole mess in the first place. 

“I feel fine.” Darry told the coroner. “Just a little lightheaded.” He doesn't know what it was in him that told the coroner that. Probably the fact that this coroner seemed like a real adult and Darry felt like the same scared little kid that had to identify their parents' disfigured bodies with his little brothers at home. Darry was still that same scared kid that stepped up to raise his two little brothers all while simultaneously messing things up even more. 

He didn’t have time to think about Ponyboy right now. He couldn’t imagine what Ponyboy would do if the body he found in the morgue was-

“I know these situations are very difficult, do you need to sit down for a minute? I can grab you some water if you’d like.” 

“No, I’m okay.” 

“Okay.” They went down a few more stairs. “The man we received in the morgue came in with a stab wound among other lacerations…” With each word Darry felt himself getting sicker. He needed to throw up or punch something or maybe both. “...also found various evidence that he may have been on drugs or with someone who was using.” Then the coroner launched into an explanation of the man’s physical description, a lot of which matched Soda exactly. 

Stay standing. Darry told himself. You can’t stop now. It was the same stuff he had told himself the first time he had come here. It was awful when his parents were killed. Darry had felt worse than he’d ever felt before. Beyond terrible, Ponyboy had been throwing up because of how hard he was crying and Sodapop looked about ready to combust at the way he was moving. But Darry was the one that couldn’t stop, the one that had to pull them together, take charge, and make sure everything was okay. Nobody else was going to do it. 

“Are you ready to go in Mr. Curtis?” Darry took a deep breath, steeling himself for the worst. He could say no, he could tell the coroner that he needed a minute. But it was better that he just do it now. It was better that he just went in immediately. Afterwards he would need to call Ponyboy and tell him that it was Sod-

“Do you need another minute son?” Darry couldn’t breathe. Just breathe. Just calm down. He tried to take another deep breath. “Son?” 

“Okay. Let’s go in.” 

The room smelled the same way that it had when he’d been there the first time. The body was underneath a sheet on a metal table. The table had some flecks of blood on its shiny exterior. Darry went and stood next to the body on one side. 

“I’m going to pull the sheet down now. Is it alright if I do that Mr. Curtis?” Darry bit his lip and nodded. He didn’t really have a choice, he had to know. He had to know so he could figure out a way to pull their family back together again. How would Ponyboy take this? Darry hadn’t even told him about this, Pony was at work anyway. Home from school for the summer but more importantly to see Soda after his tour  in Vietnam. Darry didn’t know what Ponyboy would do if he found out his favorite brother had been killed. Ponyboy had already lost so much. He couldn’t take losing one more. How could Darry take it?

The sheet came down. 

The relief that flooded through him was instant. It had him nearly swaying on his feet, his eyes growing hot and wet as he stared at the body that wasn’t Sodapop. 

He could understand how the coroner thought it was Sodapop, especially considering it was Soda’s wallet they found in his pocket. This guy looked nearly the same, but there were a couple clear differences. This guy's nose had been broken more than once and his hair was longer. Soda had barely had time to grow out his hair since the four months he’d been out of the army.  This guy was also missing the scar that Soda had on his neck from Two-Bit throwing a bottle at him three years ago. 

“Is this your brother, son?” 

It’s not him. It’s not Sodapop. 

“No, it's not him.” The doctor looked skeptical. 

“Are you sure? Sometimes in death our loved ones can-.” 

“I’m sure. It’s not him.” Darry interrupted. This wasn’t like the first time, with his parents. He had known immediately as soon as he’d seen their mangled faces that it was them. This was completely different. 

“Okay.” The doctor said softly, pulling the sheet back over the man's face. “You are free to go Mr. Curtis. Thank you for coming in.” Darry still had Soda’s wallet in his back pocket. He was relieved but still worried. If he wasn’t here, where was he?

Before he knew it Darry was putting a dime in the slot of the hospital payphone. 

“Hello?” Ponyboy.

“Hey kiddo.”

“Hey Darry, what’s going on?” He sounded genuinely confused and maybe a little worried. He had a right to be. Darry didn’t usually leave the house during his days off and then mysteriously call home and not say anything. 

Darry thought about telling him. He thought about telling him everything. The coroner's office, the guy who looked like Sodapop, the pit in his stomach. But he couldn’t tell Ponyboy. He shouldn’t even have to be worrying about Darry in the first place.  

“Just makin’ sure you made it home from work okay.” 

“Sure.” Pony said slowly, still confused. “You okay? Where are you calling from?” Of course the kid would pick up that something was wrong. 

“Just the gas station. I’m headed home in a minute.” 

“Okay, I’ll see you when I get home then.”

“Okay, bye Pone.” 

“Bye Darry.” And just like that the call dropped. At least he had one brother accounted for. 

Darry didn’t even really remember the drive home. He did that sometimes. His head filled with so much worry and stress that he simply went on autopilot, somehow managing to find the way home without crashing the car. Today was no different. 

He could hear the racket before he even stepped through the front door. Ponyboy and Steve were on the floor, a hand of poker set out before them and Soda… Soda?

Soda was home. The same Soda that had come back from Vietnam so different. The same Soda he had fought with and driven out of the house. The same Soda that he had driven to the hospital to identify. The same Soda that was sitting on the couch in front of him, unharmed and not dead in a hospital morgue. 

“...arry?” Ponyboy was looking at him, something like concern written in his eyes. 

“Sodapop?” He asked, completely ignoring Ponyboy for a moment. “Where you been?” 

“Around. Didn’t know if you’d want me back for a while after… that night.” He trailed off, obviously uncomfortable with everyone's eyes on him. 

“You’re always welcome here, no matter what.” Darry said in that no nonsense tone. Darry wiped his hands on his jeans. “You guys start dinner?” He asked, itching to change the subject. 

“I preheated the oven.” 

“Thanks Pone, I’ll finish it.” He felt their eyes on him as he went to the kitchen. Get a grip. He told himself. Of course Soda is fine. He began to slather the thawing chicken in sauce.  He went to get some butter out of the fridge when he nearly ran into Soda. 

“What’s this about?” He asked, running a nervous hand through his hair. 

“What’s what about?” Darry asks, taking some frozen vegetables out of the freezer. 

“You were lookin’ at me like you saw a ghost. That’s gotta be something.” 

“I’m fine, I’m just really glad you’re okay Sodapop.” Soda’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion. 

“Sure, I was only gone a few days. Are you still mad about our fight?” Soda asked.

Darry thought about telling him. He really did. About telling him everything. He thought about telling him that he thought Soda was dead and he was the one to blame. He thought about telling him about the smell and even mom and dad. He thought about yelling his head off that Soda should have called, should have told Darry where he was, that he could have been killed and it would be all Darrys fault. 

After all, Darry hadn’t had anybody to tell for so long.

But he didn’t.

Over the years he had a lot of practice of knowing which things his little brothers needed to know. His little visit to the coroner's office and hospital morgue was not something either of his little brothers needed to know about. 

“No, I’m not mad about that. Not anymore little buddy. Now how about you help me with dinner, huh?” 

“Sure Dar.” Soda says easily, knocking his shoulder against Darrys. “Though we might be having blue chicken.” Darry laughs, thinking about how close he was to thinking Sodapop was dead. How he had felt like this might never happen again. Everything would be fine. Soda was alive and Darry would keep it that way if it killed him. 

[vagueconfusion]

it is late so I'm going to be a lil too vulnerable on main and then probably bury it so it doesn't get seen

sometimes I still get really upset that when my mental health took (even more of) a dive when I tried college my family mostly left me to deal with it on my own. and I struggled with it really hard for almost a decade. the only thing bringing this up would do is destroy or strain relationships that I rely on to keep myself housed and safe, and I also still love them despite everything.

but it hurts to have lost such a big chunk of my life while repeatedly asking for help, and sometimes being told yes they would help, only for it to rarely materialize. lingering in this only paralyzes me though, so I'm trying to learn to let it go but it's difficult

[prozach27]

.

[chastiefoul]

he finds you crying ft. love and deepspace men

ft. zayne, xavier, rafayel, and sylus a/n: I always feel like mc wasn’t given enough time to grief when chapter 4 happened (or maybe they just didn’t show it or i remember it wrong) but to lose the people you’ve considered family like that in front of your eyes would severely mess on anyone’s mental well-being. mc stronger than me fr i would've had a breakdown every night. so i tried to write the comfort that was long overdue. <3

Zayne

He found you hunched over at the couch, knees tucked to your chest. your shoulder shook as he heard the sniffles and although he’s physically perfectly fine, he swore it felt like his heart was breaking in two.

He would gently put his key on the table, making his presence known in the subtlest way possible so you didn’t get startled.

You quickly tried to wipe your eyes and sat normally but suddenly in no time you were carried as he made you sit on his lap, bringing your head close to his neck as he held you tight.

Zayne wasn’t one who’s great at offering consoling words, as he also a firm believer of actions speak louder than words. As he rubbed your back gently he only said, “Let it all out, I’m here.”

So you did just that. You’ve said this once to him as a joke, but truly, anywhere by his side was the time you felt the most safe.

The doctor continued to comfort you in silence, hoping with every beat of his heart that his arms and hands that’s so used in saving people’s lives, could offer at least some kind of solace for your heart that was in disarray.

Xavier

He’d never hated the sight of a bed so much, until he found you crying atop of it.

Xavier would rushes over to you (arguably faster when he encountered strayed wanderers), determined to do anything he could to help you feel better.

As he put a hand over your cheek, wiping the tears that just kept on coming he whispered, “I’m here, what do you need?”

When you couldn’t even manage a reply Xavier would just stay by your side, his and was diligent in rubbing the side of your face; he never felt so useless, knowing the little gesture gave almost to none help.

For someone who finds sleep easy inbetween every hours, that was the most restless he’s ever been. He stayed with you until you calmed down, offering gentle whispers as you felt your awake state slipping away.

The moment you’re asleep Xavier was keen on wiping your face softly off of the remaining tears, and he tucked you in properly. He brought you to his embrace.

Yet unlike any other nights, he couldn’t find any part of him that was able to join you into the dream state.

Rafayel

Rafayel knew he came at a bad time. Seeing the way you spoke so stiffly and the way you zoned out of the conversation every few minutes.

However, he also knew he couldn’t leave you alone right then.

The silence once again was loud, but he didn’t think you realize that, as he followed your stare to the table, to what’s on the top of the table to be exact. A necklace with an apple charm on it.

He approached your side, cupping your face with both of his hands. “Miss bodyguard, you don’t have to be strong all the time, you know? Especially now, since you’re off duty.”

You chuckled quietly, but what followed after was not your usual easy smile but instead it was tears streaming down your face. And it felt like Rafayel could offer anything he had just to make them stop. And if that’s not enough, he swore to give you twice or thrice of what he had, it didn’t matter if he was to be in debt.

He held you tight, the sight of you crying was enough to make tears made their way to his eyes as well. And it pained him, knowing the best he could do in that moment was only to hold you tighter, as he wished that he could mend whatever broken part you had with one of his.

Sylus

He didn’t even flinch when you climbed on his lap, your usual talkativeness was nowhere to be found.

You rested your head on his shoulder and within seconds he knew that your emotions were in chaos, and if you thought you could find comfort in him, then he was more than happy to be there for you.

“Let me stay like here for a while,” you said weakly, voice all tense and anxious.

He brought a palm to your back, “By all means, darling. You didn’t think I was going to turn you away, did you?”

You stayed quiet, trying your best to get your emotions in order but it just seemed impossible. Sylus then sigh at your another attempt to pretend once again that you’re okay. “Cry if you need. Tears were never a sign of weakness, it just proves that you’re human.”

His rigid sentence somehow brought a strange sense of comfort for you, making your tears escape freely.

Sylus’ fingers felt fleeting on your back, like a touch that could slip away anytime. But he made sure none of that will happen as he stroke your hair gently over and over.

Was he worried of you? Absolutely. Yet he believed with all of his entire being that you that has fallen apart that day, would have no time standing back up again on the next day.

If there’s anything he learnt about you during your time with him, is that you’re a stranger to giving up.

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Villain!Ghost x Pregnant!Wife!Reader

Synopsis: Your husband wants your company..

A/n: GUYS OMG, I know it's been 1 month and a little more since my last official work. I've been procrastinating on this for so long since I only have less than a week till school again.. Also everyone I love on this app is just disappearing, like @ghost-cyphera just deleted her account 4 days ago and I got the notif but didn't see it in time, I didn't even get to say goodbye. Just wanted to apologize to you guys after being gone for so long as well. Also, another villain!Ghost drabble? 👀

Finding it difficult to walk was one of the least things you've suspected you'd be concerned of upon conceiving, always needing your handmaiden's help in such a mundane task was shameful to say the least but your husband insisted.

If it hadn't been the hand maiden then it would've been him instead, you couldn't keep him from his duties from the kingdom as he carried even yours. Wanting you to turn your attention to the health of the babe growing in you and especially yourself..

"My lady.." you were pulled out of your thoughts by the voice of your handmaiden. You took in a breath from the cool air that blew on your face as you stood by the stone railing..

"Yes, Leticia?" You turned to her..

"The prince consort has requested your company.." Leticia announced, you nod as you removed your hand from the cold stone. You glanced once more to the people of your kingdom, going about their day and life before gently lifting yourself off from leaning on the stone.

Leticia offered you her arm to help you walk more efficiently..

...

"You sent for me..?" You asked your husband, he was sat and signing another set of documents and scrolls. You closed the door, palms gently pushing till you heard it click.

"No, I told them to announce my arrival to you. How dare they exert my wife by giving her false instructions.." he huffed to which you laughed. He wouldn't do anything violent about it, as he so usually does with staff that don't comply but he knew it'd upset you if anything gory were to happen to them.

"I am quite alright, I need to move around too. It's proven to be good for our child." You said, sitting next to the graciously comfortable chair next to his working desk that he had someone make for you.

You felt relief from the pressure previously on your back, hand on the bump of your stomach and with that a sigh came from your lips. Peacefully watching your husband, the sound of the satisfying scratching of the quill on the crisp papers.

You felt his hand grasp yours, he pulled it, lips resting on the back. His affection made your heart beat faster and he felt it, the pad of his index finger on your wrist. The thumping made him chuckle as you smiled and leaned your head on his shoulder.

"You should rest for a while, my love. You'd work yourself to sickness at this point." You kiss his cheek softly. He put his quill down, "If that's my wife wants.." he said.

He wrapped his arm around you, the other hand placed on your baby bump. His thumb gently rubbing, you jolted a bit feeling a strong kick..

It made you groan, how restless the rascal is. Your husband adjusted his hand to feel the next kick.. he'd swear it was a girl, not that he'd care for that sort of thing. He'd kill for them either way, especially for you. He could stare at you all day, swollen with his child.

How glowing you looked wrapped in the finest silk and the gold and jewels in your hair and body clicking upon contact with another piece, he wished he could tell you how utterly speechless you'd leave each man by just walking passed them but to him no word is enough to describe you.

At least he could spend these small intimate moments with just you and you alone, free of the world for even just a few minutes as he needed a break from the work he very much was eager to do to be able to receive praise from his wife..

My CoD Masterlist

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