#pushes him away... in exchange for changing the world to a better place

[charlie-bradcherry]

I keep thinking about the meaning behind the kiss between Crowley and Aziraphale. I mean, it's just so much more than a kiss. It's a sudden last resort, it's a desperate attempt that says 'please, tell me you feel that this is right too'. Crowley's last bit hope to get that damn idiot, that stupid fool to come back to his senses, and kisses him, something that he hopes is enough for Aziraphale to snap out of it and understand what they can have before he steps foot out of the bookshop. Before it's all over. When Aziraphale denies him for a second time (even though he clearly loves him back but he's still as naive as ever when it comes to the matter, that love constipated idiot), Crowley's eyes are concealed but you can just see life has been drained from his face and the rest of his immortal life isn't worth living anymore.

His little, soft sigh of despair and his 'don't bother' ugh, I just--

[plushieni]

from this ask

bakugo treasured you in ways that made no sense, even to himself. he wasn’t sure when it happened—when you went from a stranger, someone who only ever seemed to appear when something was broken, to the person who consumed his every thought. fixing his gadgets, repairing his suit, tweaking his gear; it was supposed to be a simple, exchangable relationship. but somehow, it became something deeper.

some would say it was inescapable, the way you’d fit into his life without him realizing it, until the small talk turned into long fulfilling conversations. the laughter you shared during late-night tinkering sessions, the way your hands would brush when you passed him a tool, the small moments that kept adding up.

when he realized he liked you, he knew he had to ask you out—to get it out of the way, just in case you didn’t feel the same. he just couldn’t hold it back anymore. his voice was rough, like he was gritting his teeth to get the words out, but he made himself say them. it wasn’t some dramatic confession—no cheesy speeches or anything like that. but for bakugo, it was everything.

“y’know, when i’m with you, things aren’t so… bad. you don’t annoy the hell outta me either. and i wanna do better by you. so what do you say? can i be your boyfriend?” he asked, his tone as blunt and straightforward as ever.

when you two started dating, it was definitely a change—but for the better, of course.

you were his equal. it didn’t matter that your strength wasn’t physical—he was more than aware that your mind was just as sharp as his combat, your skills just as powerful in their own right. and it wasn’t just your genius that made him admire you; it was the way you moved through the world, the way you manage to tackle problems and challenges with effortlessly. it was impossible not to respect you.

he’d mention your adjustments to his gadgets, dropping your name casually, always being proud of you. “they thought it’d work better if it was smaller, huh? damn nerd was right,” he’d mutter, hands adjusting his gear with a satisfaction that only came from knowing it had been you who made it better. he was impressed by you more than he would ever say.

complimenting you constantly, but never in the way you’d expect. not with gentle words or soft confessions. no, bakugo’s version was different. “you’re not entirely useless…” or, “you did good, dumbass. don’t beat yourself up.” it all came from a place that was all him, raw and unfiltered. and you knew, deep down, to him it was a comment of admiration.

he understood your dedication to your work, how you’d get lost in a project for hours, forgetting everything else around you. he didn’t need you to ask for anything. he just knew. on the days you got so caught up in your tinkering that you barely remembered to eat or sleep, bakugo would be there—slipping into the workshop with a plate of your favorite food or stacking your laundry neatly by your bed. he wouldn’t say a word. he’d just do it, like it was second nature.

and if it got too bad—if you were pushing yourself too hard—he’d drag you away from your work, his hand firm on your shoulder as he pulled you toward your couch. “get some damn rest, you idiot. i’m not gonna let you burn yourself out.” it wasn’t harsh; it was just how he cared—and oh boy, he cared a lot.

around you, bakugo found a strange sense of calmness. when he was with you, things slowed down. there was no pressure to be something bigger, louder, or stronger. he didn’t have to be the ‘the best’ all the time. didn't have to put up an act. he could just be him, and that was enough. maybe it was the way you let him sit in silence, neither of you needing to fill the space with words. or maybe it was the way you’d look up from your work and catch him staring, only for him to gruffly turn away, pretending he wasn’t adoring you the whole time.

so, with every little thing, every little action, you knew. you knew that he was the one for you. no one else.

© 𝐩𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐢 — do not copy, steal, translate, or claim any of my works as your own.

[ruewritesoccasionally]

Running Home | Aaron Pierre

pairings: aaron pierre x black reader

about: Aaron’s hectic work schedule has strained his relationship with YN, pushing their bond to the brink. After a close encounter sparks jealousy, anger, and confusion, Aaron is consumed by guilt. In the midst of it all, they seek solace—but is love enough to repair what’s been broken?

warnings: angst, jealousy, heartbreak, emotional conflict, guilt, relationship strain, self-doubt, miscommunication, intense emotions, confrontation, love and reconciliation. (changing POVs between aaron and reader throughout)

author's note: my original idea for this was nowhere near this long, very little angst and plenty of smut but i couldn't stop typing and i kinda like where the story went. definitely different from my usual stuff but a good different, i hope ?

word count: 5.7k ************************************************************************

She stood in the doorway of their bedroom, staring at the space beside the bed that used to feel warm and alive with him. Now it was cold—empty. The spot where he should’ve been, the place where they used to find comfort in each other, felt like a distant memory. She let out a quiet sigh, her fingers brushing over the soft fabric of the pillow he should have been resting on.

Sure, she was happy that Aaron was finally getting the recognition he deserved. She knew better than anyone how hard he worked, how relentless his dedication was. She had seen it all—the long hours, the sweat, the sacrifices. This wasn’t just any man she loved. This was Aaron. The love of her life. Her childhood sweetheart. Her future husband. The father of her children. And yet, in spite of it all, the life she had once dreamed of with him felt more out of reach than ever before.

He wasn’t completely absent, of course. She would get the occasional FaceTime call when his schedule allowed it, or a text when he found a moment to spare. Sometimes, he’d send her a bouquet to make up for missing an arranged call. But none of that was enough. She needed more than a screen to look at him, more than a few hurried words exchanged between his busy days. She needed him here, with her, in the same space, to feel his presence beside her again.

The silence of their home echoed louder than it ever had before. She missed him more than she cared to admit. She missed the way his laugh filled the room; the way his touch grounded her. The warmth of his skin, the way he held her close as if nothing in the world could pull him away. That was the version of him she craved—the one who wasn't lost in a whirlwind of meetings and press tours, the one who remembered how to make time for them.

And now, as she stood there, facing the emptiness once more, she realized it wasn’t just about the physical absence. It was the emotional distance that hurt more. He was out there, conquering the world, but she was here—alone, waiting for the man she loved to come home.

The power of love was indeed frightening, something Y/N had always known but never fully understood until now. This season of her life had thrown her into new territory, teaching her things she never thought she'd have to confront. She tried to brush it off at first, telling herself it wasn’t that deep—just a phase. But the more she sat with the thought, the more she realized it wasn’t something that could be ignored – the growing tension between them, his absence his busy schedule and her silent yearning. Their life together couldn’t be swept under the carpet, not for long. No matter how much dust they let settle over the cracks, something had to give.

“Something has to give,” she murmured softly to herself, her heart heavy with the weight of those words. She wasn’t sure what it was, or how it would unfold, but she knew one thing for sure: something had to change.

************************************************************************

“No. I refuse to sound like this, I refuse to look like this,” she whispered to herself, standing in front of the mirror, eyes meeting her own reflection with a resolute gaze. “I love my man, and I am proud of his accomplishments, but I will not mope and whine. I am not sad or angry or even bitter. I just miss my man, and that’s not unreasonable. But what is unreasonable, is staying in this house, thinking about it, and expecting it to change in an instant. It’s not who I am, have been, or will be. Self-care starts now.”

Her thoughts rang with clarity, like the first breath of fresh air after being suffocated. She wasn’t going to let herself drown in loneliness. She was going to reclaim her power, and she was going to do it the only way she knew how—by looking after herself.

With renewed purpose, she grabbed her gym bag, deciding that a Pilates session would be the first step toward grounding herself again. The studio was quiet, the soft thrum of music and steady breaths filling the air as she worked through each stretch and movement, pushing her body to feel alive and in control. It wasn’t about competition; it wasn’t about impressing anyone—it was about her.

After the session, she was packing up, gathering her water bottle when she noticed the guy who’d been a few spots down from her. He had just finished setting up his phone and was filming a piece of his workout for his social media page. He looked up at her, gave a friendly smile, and then—seemingly hesitant—approached her.

"Hey, sorry to bother you," he said, offering a warm smile. "I’m filming my workout routine for my TikTok, and I was originally thinking of cropping you out, but you’ve got a good flow going. I wanted to ask if you'd be cool with being in the background for a second. I’ll make sure it’s all about the technique and not about you, promise.”

YN looked at him, intrigued. She wasn’t usually one to be filmed, but his demeanour was easy-going, and the thought of seeing herself in action on video made her smile. "Sure, no problem," she replied, stepping forward as he adjusted his phone. "I’m just finishing up my session, so feel free to catch me stretching if you want."

He grinned, clearly pleased with her willingness. "Appreciate it, thanks. Actually, if you're cool with it, I’d love to film a few post-session stretches of you. Just some stuff that really helps with flexibility, you know?"

YN gave a nod, feeling more at ease now, and moved through a few of her favourite stretches. She’d always been comfortable in her body, and today, with her focus on herself and no pressure, it felt even more liberating. As the camera clicked, the guy gave a few encouraging words. She kept her posture steady, breathing deeply and taking it all in.

Once the last stretch was filmed, the guy stopped the camera and gave her a thumbs-up. "Thanks for the content feature, you were great."

YN smiled, adjusting her water bottle. "No worries, glad I could help."

“Do you mind if I tag you in the video once I post it later? I’ll send it your way when it’s up, and I’ll tag you in the caption.”

She thought about it for a second, then nodded. "Sure, why not?"

After exchanging social media handles, the guy introduced himself as a personal trainer who regularly posted fitness content. He promised to send her the link once he had everything edited and ready to go. "It’s all about sharing good vibes and helping people get better, you know?" he said with a smile before he packed up his things and headed out of the gym.

YN felt an unexpected spark of positivity, and the small interaction, though brief, reminded her that she could still engage with the world, have fun, and be her own person—even without Aaron always being there. She wasn’t sure if that was the motivation she needed, but it was a start.

Next stop: the massage parlour, where the soothing touch of the therapist’s hands seemed to wash away the tension in her muscles, but it also helped release the weight that had been heavy on her heart. She closed her eyes, letting herself drift, imagining that each stroke of oil and pressure point was bringing her closer to the woman she was trying to reclaim—the one who didn’t wait around for things to change, but made changes for herself.

Afterwards, she treated herself to a visit to the nail salon. She didn’t need much—just a simple refresh to feel a little more polished, a little more put together. As she sat in the chair, she gazed at her hands, feeling a sense of satisfaction as the technician worked her magic. The small things were always enough to remind her that she was worthy of taking up space, of indulging in moments that made her feel good.

Finally, she treated herself to a fresh hairdo. The perm rod set was a game changer—her curls bouncy, defined, full of life. It wasn’t just the hair that felt good; it was the boost it gave her spirit. Her face felt lighter, youthful, her eyes brighter. The woman looking back at her from the mirror was a glimpse of the happier, more vibrant version of herself she’d been striving to be. A version who didn’t sit around waiting for Aaron to come home to feel complete.

As she stepped out of the salon, hair freshly done, nails polished, skin glowing, and a sense of calm in her chest, she couldn’t help but smile at the reflection in the glass door of the salon. She wasn’t the same person who had stood in that bedroom, empty and waiting. She was becoming someone new—someone who could hold her own, who didn’t need to feel like she was waiting for Aaron to come home to feel complete.

No, she wasn’t done yet. But this was a start. And for now, it was enough.

************************************************************************

YN arrived back home, the weight of the world lifting from her shoulders with each step. She took a moment to breathe deeply as she walked into her bedroom. Her sanctuary. It was time to settle into her evening.

She wrapped her freshly styled curls in a silk scarf, knowing that she’d need a long, relaxing shower to finish what had already been a restorative day. She laid out her favourite robe, soft and warm, alongside matching lingerie she’d been saving for a moment just like this. A little treat for herself.

Her lotions, body oils, and scented candles were carefully placed on the vanity, ready to immerse her in an atmosphere that screamed tranquillity. With a click, the lights dimmed, casting a gentle glow across the room, and the candles flickered invitingly in the silence. The mood was perfect, set just the way she liked it.

She filled a glass with wine, setting it on the side of the tub, just within reach. This evening was for her—nothing, and she meant nothing, could ruin it. Not tonight.

She connected her phone to the Bluetooth speaker in the bathroom, sinking into the soft hum of her favourite playlist. The water was the perfect temperature when she stepped under the spray. She let the heat cascade over her, each drop easing the tension in her body and mind. She stood there for a moment, eyes closed, inhaling the calming scents of her body wash as it enveloped her in comfort.

The shower was short but thorough, just long enough to rinse away the remnants of the day, to cleanse not only her skin but her spirit. She emerged feeling refreshed, wrapped in a plush towel, and ready to complete her routine.

After drying off, she slipped into the robe, took a deep breath, and began massaging the body oils and lotions into her skin, taking her time, not rushing. She was indulging in the sensation of self-love and care, feeling more like herself with every stroke of lotion, every touch of oil. She felt beautiful, confident, and... whole.

Once her skin was silky smooth and glowing, she made her way back to the vanity, where her glass of wine awaited. She picked it up and held it in her hand, the rim nearing her lips when, to her surprise, her phone buzzed on the counter.

She froze. The screen lit up—Aaron’s name flashed across it.

She sighed, feeling the tightness in her chest. It had been hours since they'd spoken. They had barely exchanged a word that day, and the mood in his text messages had been distant, curt even. She pressed the answer button, raising the glass to her lips, but she hadn’t even taken a sip before he spoke, his tone off from the very beginning.

************************************************************************

Aaron had been running around all day, caught up in the madness of his press tour. His mind was racing as he made his way through interviews, photoshoots, and calls, but somewhere deep inside, a gnawing feeling was growing. He hadn’t been present for YN in a while—something he knew, but had convinced himself wasn’t a big deal. It was just the nature of his life now, right? But even as he justified it, that sinking feeling remained.

He was sitting in his hotel room when he finally got a break. He pulled out his phone, scrolling aimlessly through his feed. The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioner. He hadn’t planned to watch the video at first. But then something caught his eye—the familiar figure in the background. He froze.

His heart skipped a beat when he recognized YN, her hair perfectly styled, the kind of glowing confidence she only had when she took the time for herself. And then he saw it—her lingerie, unmistakable, just as he’d bought for her on their last trip. It was the same set he’d complimented her on, the one he knew she liked, but there it was, on her, in someone else’s video. The man filming—he had his own following. The whole thing felt off, too casual, too intimate.

The more he looked, the more the little pieces began to add up in his head, and the more his anxiety took over. Why had she let herself be filmed like that? Who was this guy? His mind raced, thoughts spiralling into territory he’d never intended to go. He couldn’t help it—he was irate. Jealousy had a hold of him. Before he knew it, he had stepped outside his room, his hands clenched at his sides, breathing in the cool air like it could somehow clear his head.

He could have ignored it. Could have brushed it off. But instead, his fingers trembled as he dialled her number. The tension in his chest only grew, his heart pounding as he waited for her to pick up. Why was he feeling like this? He knew he wasn’t around enough, knew he was neglecting her in more ways than one. But still… this?

The phone rang, and when she picked up, her voice sounded calm, collected, almost too calm. Her indifference made it worse. She hadn’t even said hi yet.

“YN.”

************************************************************************

The way he said her name made something in her stomach churn. His voice held an edge. She took a slow breath, steadying herself. “Hey,” she replied, trying to sound casual, though the unease gnawed at her.

There was a beat of silence before he spoke again, his words sharp and demanding.

************************************************************************

His voice was rough, low. He couldn’t hold back. His mind was a mess, thoughts disjointed and irrational, and he just had to ask the question, to get some sort of clarity, even if it meant sounding crazy.

Silence. He waited for her to speak, but it didn’t come. He could hear her breathing softly on the other end of the line, and it only made him more frustrated.

“Who is he?” The words tumbled out without thinking. He didn’t even care if they were right or wrong at that point. His thoughts were running too fast. The guy on the video, the way YN looked, the way her hair was done just for someone else—it all made sense to him, and he needed answers now.

He could feel the silence thickening on her end, the weight of his question hanging between them. And then—finally—he heard her voice again, casual, as if she couldn’t believe he was even asking. His stomach twisted at the indifference in her tone.

************************************************************************

The words hit her like a punch to the chest. She almost dropped the wine glass in her shock. She hadn’t even realized that Aaron had seen the video yet. It had been a simple interaction at the gym, nothing that even remotely warranted his reaction. But there it was—his jealousy building, a storm brewing behind his words.

Her stomach twisted as she tried to calm herself. This was what they were doing? She could feel the fire rising in his voice, but she wasn’t about to entertain the absurdity of it.

"Aaron..." she started, her voice measured, though it was a struggle to keep it even. She took a deep breath. "What are you even talking about?"

He was fuming now, she could tell from the way he inhaled sharply, like he was trying to control something boiling over inside him. He didn’t answer her question directly. Instead, he let out a frustrated breath, clearly struggling with something he couldn’t put into words.

YN clenched the wine glass a little tighter, her jaw tightening. This wasn’t about the video. Not really. It was about the space between them, the distance he’d created. The fact that he hadn’t been there—not the way he should have been.

************************************************************************

He paused, feeling his pulse quicken as his mind spiralled. What did this mean? His thoughts raced—was she out here doing things I didn’t know about? He hated himself for even thinking it. He knew better. He knew she wasn’t like that. But still, his mind couldn’t stop itself. It was the first thing on his mind. The first thing he fixated on, despite how irrational it sounded. I should’ve been there for her.

He could feel the weight of his own neglect, the guilt heavy on his chest. He’d been pulled in so many directions—his career, the press, the endless tour—and he told himself it was for the greater good, that it was all part of the plan to build a life for them. A stable future together. That was his justification. If some time away meant he could offer her the life they’d always dreamed of, then it was a sacrifice he’d have to make. For her.

But now? Now everything felt like it was slipping through his fingers.

His eyes burned as his anger shifted from a place of resentment to one of self-loathing. It wasn’t even about the guy. Not really. It was everything else—the distance between them, the silence he’d allowed to stretch on, the way he couldn’t seem to bridge the gap. It was the hollow realization that he hadn’t been enough for her, not the way she needed him. And now, all of it—the effort, the time away, the fame he’d worked so hard for—seemed empty.

I hate this, he thought, the frustration building. He hated that he had to let himself be swallowed by it all—he hated that he let it go this far. But the video... the sight of her, looking so perfect, so together, like she didn’t need him to complete the picture anymore... It hit him harder than anything else. The image of her, dolled up, glowing with that confidence that he used to be the one to see in person, to witness up close. He used to be the one who was there to hold her when she came back from self-care days like that, to marvel at how lucky he was to have her. Now, that privilege was fading.

He could already feel the guilt eating at him for even letting the jealousy creep in. To tarnish her name like that, he scolded himself. What kind of man was he becoming? This wasn’t her fault. She had every right to look beautiful, to feel beautiful, to be admired by others. She wasn’t the problem. I am. He could have been the one there for her, could have prioritized her above the endless demands of the industry. He should have been there. But he wasn’t.

She was silent on the other end of the line, and he knew the ball was in her court now. She’s disappointed, he thought. And that was worse than anything else. I’ve let her down. And now I’m going to lose her for good. He hadn’t meant for it to go like this—hadn’t meant to let the space between them stretch to the point where she could look so flawless without him even being there to see it firsthand.

His stomach turned as he waited for her to respond. He wanted her to say something, anything that could make him feel like this wasn’t all falling apart. But as the silence stretched, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it already had. He wanted so badly to be the man she deserved, the one who noticed her beauty every day, who put her first, who wasn’t too lost in his own world to care about hers.

But now, as her voice finally broke the quiet, he was almost afraid of what she might say. He already knew what he deserved to hear. And he wasn’t sure he could take it.

************************************************************************

Aaron’s words hung in the air, thick with irrationality and self-doubt, but YN didn’t flinch. She didn’t rise to it. The tension between them had been brewing for days, weeks even, and this phone call was just a catalyst. She’d had enough of the back-and-forth, the unspoken frustration.

“Aaron,” she said, her tone steady, her voice clear. “This is the first time I have seen your face and spoken to you today, and this is the energy you want to come on with? Really?”

She could feel the anger building within him, could almost hear the defense rising in his throat, but she wasn’t interested in that right now. She was tired—tired of the distance, the silence, the passive aggression. She wasn’t going to sit here and play into his insecurities.

“If you want to talk…” she continued, her words firm but measured, “be a man. Come back to this home and speak to me properly.”

Without waiting for a response, YN ended the call, her finger tapping the screen decisively. The silence returned, and with it, the soft hum of the music in the background. She raised her glass of wine to her lips, the cool glass meeting her fingertips as she took a slow, deliberate sip. The weight of the moment settled over her as she simply… relaxed. She wasn’t going to chase him down. It was above her now.

She would wait.

Let him come to her when he was ready to talk like the man, she knew he could be.

************************************************************************

Aaron’s gaze lingered on the screen, his heart pounding in his chest. YN’s calm but resolute demeanour stirred a conflicting mix of emotions within him. It was a sharp contrast to the chaos swirling in his mind, a reminder of the peace they once shared. Her voice had been steady, unwavering, and despite the tension, it was a reminder of the respect they’d always had for each other. In the heat of it all, he felt a flicker of warmth—because he knew, despite everything, they had never raised their voices at each other. But then came the sting of her final words: “Be a man.”

It struck him hard, a reminder he desperately needed. She was right. He hadn’t been the man she needed. He had failed her, lost in the whirlwind of his own success, and now the reality of it all crashed over him. The guilt was suffocating. He had to fix this. He had to make things right before he lost the one thing that truly mattered.

As the call ended, the sound of the line cutting through the air seemed to snap him from his thoughts. Without wasting another moment, he stood, packed his things in a blur of urgency, and made the decision: the flight had to be soon. He didn’t bother notifying his team. The consequences could wait. Some things were too important to delay.

He rushed to the airport, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. A tight knot formed in his chest as he boarded the flight. The seatbelt sign blinked on, and the flight attendants' voices were lost in a distant hum, drowned out by the turbulent thoughts racing through his mind. Each jolt of turbulence mirrored the storm within him, challenging the calm that the flight attendant’s voice tried to impose.

When the plane finally landed, he didn’t waste time. A cab took him swiftly towards the woman he needed to reclaim—YN, the woman who still felt like home. And with every mile closer, his resolve strengthened. He would make things right. This time, he wouldn’t wait any longer.

************************************************************************

YN lay back on the bed, the wine in her hand and the soft hum of the music surrounding her. The evening had settled into a calm, peaceful rhythm, and for the first time in a long while, her mind was quiet. She didn't think about the call, didn't dwell on the tension that had bubbled up between them. What would be, would be. The words lingered in her mind, their weight like a steady pulse beneath her calm exterior. She hadn’t given up on him, but she also wasn't going to hold on any longer than what served her. The push and pull had worn her down, and the wheels of their relationship felt close to falling off—but still, her mind remained clear. Acceptance, she thought, was a beautiful thing. There was no need for stress. Whatever came next would find its place.

The quiet of the moment was interrupted by the sound of the door latch clicking. YN’s eyes shot open, a flicker of panic spreading through her chest as she checked the time. She hadn’t realized how much time had passed, how long it had taken for him to get here. She heard her name, his voice breaking through the silence, and the heat rushed to her cheeks. Suddenly, her voice felt trapped, as if the words were lodged in her throat.

He’s here. He’s really here.

Her thoughts raced, but she didn't speak any louder. She simply let out a soft, meek “In here,” trusting he would follow the sound of her voice into the bedroom. For a moment, the house seemed to hold its breath. The space between them stretched, filled with the anticipation of what would come next. There was a rustling sound from the other side of the house—his movement through the quiet halls—before heavy footsteps echoed through the walls. All she could do now was sit still, her heart beating faster with every step that brought him closer. And wait.

************************************************************************

Aaron leans back against the doorframe, the familiar weight of his frustration creeping up his spine as he watches you from across the room. His gaze is possessive, yet patient, as if he's been holding his breath, waiting for you to make the first move. He knows this dance all too well.

There are good and bad ways to do anything. And right now, he's walking the line between them. He’s the kind of man who wants it all, but he also knows better than to take it without giving you space to breathe. You're free, and he knows you need to feel that. But God, the thought of you with someone else—just the idea—sends a sharp sting through him. He refuses to acknowledge the tightening in his chest as he tells himself he’s being unreasonable.

But what if you're drifting? What if, somewhere between his neglect and your silence, you’ve already started to look elsewhere for that attention, that touch?

He clenches his jaw, the thought rattling around in his head like a damn bell. His love for you isn't a request, it's a demand. He’ll give you space, but only so much. He’ll let you go, if that’s what you want, but he’s the type of man who doesn’t back down when he knows what’s right. And you are what's right for him. If you need to test the waters, fine, but there's a line—one he’s drawing now.

“I give myself to you,” he whispers to himself, his voice low and firm. “I expect the same in return. This isn’t a one-way street.”

He feels the heat rise in his chest as the image of you and that guy at the gym flashes in his mind again. His fingers twitch as he thinks of how quickly he could erase that image from his mind. He’s not a jealous man by nature, but when it comes to you, that’s different. You're his. And if you’re going to be with him, then you belong to him—body and soul.

He’s not naïve. He knows you have your own life, your own choices. But his love, his protection—those aren’t things he offers lightly. “If we get this right,” he murmurs to himself, “if we love one another with everything that we have… then we go for it. All in. No turning back.”

He swallows hard, the thought of loving you completely, without reservation, both excites and terrifies him. But he’s done holding back. The next time he sees you, he’s not letting you slip away. Not again.

And then, as he moves toward the door, the words he’d held back all this time—those words he should have said, needed to say—come to him.

“YN…” He stops for a moment, his voice wavering with raw sincerity. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve been there for you. I’ve been selfish, caught up in everything else, thinking it would be enough for us, but I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there the way you needed me to be. I should have put us first.”

He steps forward, his chest tightening with the weight of his regret. “I’m not proud of the way I’ve treated you, of the way I let you slip away while I chased things that, in the end, don’t matter as much as you do. I never meant to hurt you, YN. I never meant to make you feel like you were alone in this. You’ve always been my everything, and I failed you. I’ve taken you for granted, and I hate myself for it.”

The words hang in the air, raw and unrefined, but they are his truth. His voice breaks as he continues, “I need you to know that I love you, with everything I have. And I’m not running anymore. If you’ll have me, I’ll fight for us—for the love we have, for the life we’ve always wanted. I’ll make it right. But I need you. I need us. Please, don’t give up on me.”

As he finishes, he stands there, feeling vulnerable, exposed—like a man who’s finally showing up, but unsure of whether he’ll be enough. The silence is deafening, but he doesn’t look away. He’s finally ready to fight for what’s his, for what he needs. For you.

************************************************************************

YN’s heart pounds in her chest as each of Aaron’s words slices through the quiet air, each step he takes forward tugging at the frays of the binds around her, forcing them to mend themselves. She feels the familiar magnetic pull, stronger now, deepening as he speaks. It’s as if the very core of her is being reeled back toward him, drawn in by the sincerity in his voice, the vulnerability that he rarely let’s slip. The same heat she felt when she first heard him call her name in the house now swells again, but this time, it’s joined by the sting of tears threatening to spill.

The man before her, the one she thought she’d lost, is the same man she has always needed and wanted. She can feel the weight of every moment that has brought them here, the unspoken words, the silence. She could never say no to him, not when he’s standing here, laying himself bare before her. But still, there’s a hesitation in her heart. She knows that as much as she wants to give in to the pull of his presence, things won’t be okay straight away. Not yet. The damage isn’t irreparable, but it’s still there, lingering between them like a shadow.

Her heart swells with love for him, with forgiveness that’s as much for herself as it is for him. The release of the pain she’s been carrying is almost overwhelming, and she feels a quiet gratitude wash over her, as though a burden has been lifted. There’s so much unsaid, but somehow, in the space between them, everything is understood. She wants him—wants to move forward, wants to heal—but she needs to make him see that it will take time. There’s so much they have to rebuild.

Her words fail her as the weight of her emotions rises. She opens her mouth to speak but finds it hard to put her thoughts into any kind of order. Her eyes, though, say the rest. They speak everything she can’t quite find the words for: I forgive you; I need you, I’m scared but I want this too. The tears in her eyes blur her vision, but in that moment, they become the truest thing she’s ever known.

And then, without thinking, without another moment of hesitation, she runs into his embrace. Her body moves instinctively, driven by the need to be close to him, to feel his arms around her. The smell of his skin, familiar and comforting, envelops her like a shield. She sinks into him, her body cradled by his larger frame, his hands locking around her in an unbreakable, protective clasp. It’s a promise, even without words—a promise that she’s not alone, that they are in this together.

His lips press softly to her forehead, the kiss tender and full of quiet assurances. It’s a kiss that carries with it everything that’s been unsaid, everything they both need. Things aren’t fixed, not yet, but the warmth of his embrace, the steadiness of his touch, tells her that they will be better. It may take time, but they’ll heal. Together.

************************************************************************

comments and reblogs are appreciated as well as feedback, i hope you liked it 🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

[maskedbyghost]

Beneath the Mask

Simon Riley was a man of few words and even fewer moments of vulnerability. The mask he wore wasn't just for protection; it was a shield from the world, from feelings, from everything. But tonight, as he stood in the kitchen of your small apartment, watching you hum softly while chopping vegetables, he felt something he rarely did—peace.

You’d only been dating for a few months, despite having known him as your lieutenant for much longer. For the longest time, both of you kept your feelings hidden, until one drunken night when everything spilled out—confessions exchanged—before falling asleep like nothing had changed. It wasn’t until the next morning, as the memories of the night resurfaced, that you realized what had happened. You were terrified of ruining the friendship, while Simon had already begun quietly planning your future together, looking for a house where you could grow old side by side, completely normal behavior if you ask him.

Simon smiled, remembering your cute face when you tried to apologize for your outburst of feelings, thinking that what he said was only to make you feel better. You couldn't be more wrong. He took your hands, kissing the soft skin through his mask, while repeating everything he said the night before, and meaning it.

Now, while standing in your kitchen, watching you make dinner for the two of you, his heart filled with warmth he couldn't explain. He was glad for that night when he finally got the girl of his dreams. You were smart, kind, beautiful, and patient with him. Very patient. He could see it in your eyes every time you looked at him—the love and respect you had for him.

Even after months of dating, you’d only seen his face a handful of times. It was something he kept guard, a piece of himself he wasn’t ready to share completely. You never wanted to push or make him uncomfortable, understanding how significant that step was for him. He had spent most of his life alone, hidden behind his mask, where he felt safe. You knew the best way to support him was to let him unveil himself at his own pace, just as you had grown to feel so comfortable with him over these past few months.

"Can I help you with anythin', love?" His voice pulled you from your thoughts as he wrapped his arms around your waist, gently drawing you into him. You hadn’t even heard him approach—something he would usually scold you for, reminding you to always stay on guard. But what he didn’t understand was just how safe you felt with him. Whenever he was near, every worry disappeared, and you knew, without a doubt, that you were protected.

"Thank you, baby. I'm almost done, but you can help me by setting up the table." You said while stirring the soup while checking on the main dish that was cooking in the oven.

Simon stayed close behind you, wishing he could inhale the scent of your hair, but the mask allowed only a faint scent to reach him. He wanted to press soft kisses to the top of your head and across your face, yet the mask remained a barrier between him and the intimacy he craved at that moment.

Unaware of his thoughts, you turned around and pressed a kiss to his chest, feeling the softness of the black cotton shirt he wore at your place. "I need to check if it's ready," you said, gently freeing yourself from Simon’s strong embrace and moving toward the oven on the other side of the kitchen.

Simon decided at that moment—he would finally let you see the real him, scars and all. Although he longed to stretch out this precious moment, he felt reassured by the way you hadn’t turned away during the brief glimpses you’d had of his face. That gave him the courage to open up completely. As you focused on the oven, he took a deep breath and gently approached you, his voice tender and resolute. “I’ve been hidin' behind this mask for so long,” he said softly. “But with you, I wan' to be fully myself.”

For a moment, his words didn’t quite register. But when you turned around and saw him slowly removing his mask, your breath caught in your throat. You stared awestruck at his face. How could someone as beautiful as he was, hide behind a mask for so long? The sight of him, unmasked and vulnerable, took your breath away. He was beautiful. In your eyes, Simon Riley was a remarkably beautiful man, and you couldn’t help but feel incredibly lucky that he was yours.

Simon stood in front of you, his heart pounding as he noticed your stunned silence. The moment stretched on, and he grew anxious, questioning if he had made a mistake. He knew he wasn’t unattractive, but his scars had always made him uneasy. Now, he worried that his vulnerability might have changed how you saw him. Was his decision to remove the mask a mistake? Should he put it back on? Doubt began to creep in, clouding his mind.

As Simon’s anxiety grew, you blinked, snapping out of your trance. You saw the worry etched on his face and felt a pang of guilt for making him question himself. Taking a deep breath, you reached out, gently cupping his face with your hands. “Simon,” you said softly, your voice steady and reassuring. “You are breathtaking. Every part of you. The scars, the mask, it’s all part of what makes you… you. I’ve never been more sure of how much I care about you.”

He looked into your eyes, searching for any sign of insincerity but finding only warmth. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly as he absorbed your words. “You’ve shown me so much of yourself already,” you continued, your thumb brushing gently against his cheek. “I’m honored that you trust me enough to let your guard down. I’m not going anywhere.”

Simon’s eyes softened, and he let out a shaky breath, the tension melting away. With a small, relieved smile, he leaned in and pressed his forehead against yours. The mask was no longer between you two and in that moment, you both felt a profound sense of closeness, understanding that your bond was deeper than any barrier could ever be.

Your eyes sparkled with affection. “Come here,” you said, wrapping your arms around him. He hesitated for a moment before finally relaxing into your embrace. As you held him, you felt the tension in his body slowly ease. “I’ve always admired your strength,” you murmured. “And now, I see even more of the person I care about.”

Simon pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression softening with relief. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I needed to hear that.”

Simon lowered his head until his lips gently met yours. At that moment, he knew that he could share this kind of closeness whenever he wanted. There were no more barriers between you—just the pure connection that he had longed for.

You took advantage of the lack of the mask by tangling your fingers with his short hair as he pulled you closer into the kiss. As you both savored the kiss, the world outside seemed to fade away. Simon’s hands cradled your face, his touch gentle yet firm, as if he were afraid to let go of this newfound closeness.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, but your eyes met and Simon’s smile was soft and genuine, a rare sight that spoke volumes of his feelings. “I didn’t realize how much I needed this,” he said quietly, his voice filled with emotion. “Thank you for being so patient with me love.”

You smiled back, your heart full. “There’s no need to thank me. This is what we’ve always been working towards baby, being completely ourselves with each other.”

As you sat down to enjoy your meal, you both knew that the evening marked a new beginning. The barriers that had once stood between you were gone, replaced by a bond that was stronger and more genuine than ever. You were ready to face whatever came next together, secure in the knowledge that your love was built on trust and an unbreakable connection.

(English is not my first language, be nice pls.)

[geotjwrs]

Hey bro thanks for fulfilling my request! Could you do a pt. 3 “Almost Love” (Sabrina carpenter x male reader) one where the baby is born?

one of me is cute but two though?

Pairings ; Sabrina Carpenter x Male!Reader

Warning/s ; none

The early morning light spilled through the curtains of the cozy bedroom, casting a warm glow over the serene space. Y/N quietly stood at the window, gazing out at the world as it began to wake up. The soft coos and gentle cries of their newborn son, Leo, echoed from the crib beside the bed. It had been two weeks since Sabrina had given birth, and each day brought a new wave of love and joy into their home.

"Hey, little man," Y/N said, turning to Leo, who was starting to wiggle. He walked over to the crib, his heart swelling as he peered down at the tiny bundle swaddled in a soft blue blanket. "Looks like someone is ready to greet the day."

Sabrina stirred in the bed, stretching and yawning before propping herself up on her elbows. "Is he awake already?" she asked, her voice still thick with sleep.

"Yep! I think he's hungry," Y/N replied with a smile, carefully lifting Leo into his arms. The baby snuggled against his chest, instantly calming down as he felt the warmth of his father.

"Good morning, my sweet boy," Sabrina said, her voice softening as she leaned over to get a better look at Leo. "You're so cute when you wake up!"

As Sabrina got up, Y/N cradled Leo gently, their little family settling into a comfortable morning routine. Sabrina made her way to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle to prepare for Leo's feeding. Y/N followed closely behind, the sound of Leo's soft gurgles filling the air.

"You're getting quite the fan club, you know that?" Y/N said playfully, bouncing Leo slightly in his arms. "You're going to have all the ladies lining up for you."

Sabrina laughed as she finished warming the bottle. "Just wait until he's old enough to get his first crush. You'll be the one giving him advice."

"Advice? Me?" Y/N feigned innocence, putting a hand to his chest. "I'll be too busy scaring them away."

"Right," Sabrina said, shaking her head with a smile. "You can't scare them away forever. Just wait until he brings home a girl who looks just like you."

Y/N couldn't help but chuckle at the thought. "Oh boy, I'd better start preparing my dad jokes now."

After a quick feeding, they settled into the living room, Sabrina nestled comfortably on the couch with Leo cradled against her. The baby's tiny fingers grasped at her shirt, his eyes fluttering as he drifted off to sleep. Y/N sank down beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and leaning in closer.

"Look at him," Sabrina said, her voice barely above a whisper as she gazed down at Leo. "He's so peaceful."

Y/N watched as Sabrina gently brushed her fingers through Leo's hair, a look of pure love on her face. "You're going to be an amazing mom," he said, his voice filled with sincerity.

Sabrina smiled, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Thanks. It's a bit overwhelming, but I love it. I love him. I love you."

"I love you too," Y/N replied, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on her forehead. The warmth of their little family cocooned them, a safe haven amidst the chaos of new parenthood.

As the day wore on, they took turns with Leo, each moment filled with laughter and tender exchanges. Y/N found joy in changing diapers, despite the occasional mess, while Sabrina relished in the late-night feedings, their quiet chats fostering a deeper connection.

One afternoon, they decided to introduce Leo to the outdoors. Y/N carefully placed him in a cozy stroller, and they set out into the nearby park. The sun shone brightly, and the gentle breeze carried the sweet scent of blooming flowers.

"Look at this little explorer," Y/N said, pushing the stroller slowly along the path. Leo's big eyes widened in wonder as he took in the sights and sounds around him.

"Do you think he knows how lucky he is?" Sabrina asked, watching Leo's reaction with a smile. "He gets to see the world with fresh eyes."

"I hope so," Y/N replied. "I want him to grow up loving adventure. Just like his mom and dad."

They found a quiet spot beneath a large oak tree, spreading out a blanket on the grass. As they settled in, Sabrina laid Leo on the blanket, her heart swelling at the sight of him enjoying the warmth of the sun.

"He looks like he's ready to nap again," Y/N said, watching as Leo blinked slowly, fighting sleep.

"Let's give him a little break," Sabrina suggested, gently cradling Leo back into her arms as she reclined on the blanket. Y/N lay beside them, propping himself up on his elbow to watch the two most important people in his life.

"I could stay here forever," he said, a content smile on his face. "Just us three."

"Me too," Sabrina agreed, her fingers tracing patterns on Leo's blanket. "It's like a dream come true."

As the afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky, they shared stories and dreams for their little family, laughing at their own childhood memories while imagining Leo's future. They envisioned camping trips, beach days, and endless backyard adventures.

Later that evening, they returned home, a sense of peace enveloping them as they settled back into their routine. After a long day of exploring, Leo was asleep in his crib, the gentle rise and fall of his chest soothing to both parents.

Once Leo was tucked in, Y/N and Sabrina made their way to the kitchen to prepare dinner. They worked in harmony, chopping vegetables and stirring sauces, stealing glances at each other as they shared small smiles.

"I love cooking together," Y/N said, glancing over at her. "It's like our little date night, just with baby interruptions."

Sabrina snuggled closer, resting her head on his shoulder. "Definitely. And the interruptions are totally worth it."

Once dinner was ready, they settled at the dining table, enjoying a quiet meal while Leo slept peacefully just down the hall. They exchanged stories from the day, their conversation flowing effortlessly, punctuated by soft laughter.

"Can you believe we have a baby?" Y/N asked suddenly, leaning back in his chair and shaking his head in disbelief.

"Sometimes I still can't wrap my head around it," Sabrina admitted, her eyes sparkling. "But I wouldn't trade it for anything. He's our little miracle."

Later, after dinner and a few dishes, they moved back to the living room. Y/N pulled Sabrina close on the couch, wrapping his arms around her. "Let's watch something," he suggested, scrolling through their favorite shows.

Sabrina snuggled closer, resting her head on his shoulder. "How about a movie? Something light-hearted."

"Sounds perfect," Y/N agreed, pressing play. They settled in, the soft glow of the screen illuminating their faces. As they laughed together at the film, the sound of Leo's gentle breathing echoed from the nursery, a soothing reminder of their new reality.

As the credits rolled, Sabrina looked up at Y/N, her expression softening. "I'm so glad we're doing this together," she said quietly. "I can't imagine anyone else by my side."

"Me neither," Y/N replied, brushing a stray hair from her face. "You make this whole parenting thing look easy."

"Easy? Hardly," she laughed, rolling her eyes. "But I have you to share the load. We're a team, right?"

"Always," he vowed, pulling her in for a sweet kiss. "To infinity and beyond."

The evening wore on, the atmosphere in the room shifting as the playful banter faded into a comfortable silence. The spark in Sabrina's eyes ignited with a hint of mischief, and she shifted closer, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper.

"You know, we could have a little fun while Leo is sleeping," she said, her smile teasing as she glanced back toward the nursery.

Y/N's eyes widened in mock horror, a playful grin spreading across his face. "Oh no, not another one of your brilliant ideas!" he exclaimed, shaking his head dramatically. "What if we wake him up?"

Sabrina chuckled, leaning in closer, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, "But think of all the fun we could have... just us."

Y/N's heart raced, caught between the temptation and the duty of a new parent. "Sabrina," he said, trying to sound serious, but the twinkle in his eye betrayed him. "We're supposed to be responsible."

She pulled back, a sultry grin still dancing on her lips. "And who said responsible couldn't be fun?"

Just as the heat of the moment swirled around them, the faint sound of Leo stirring in his crib echoed through the house, a soft reminder of their reality.

"Uh-oh, sounds like Leo needs us," Y/N said, barely containing his laughter.

Sabrina groaned dramatically but couldn't help giggling. "Fine! You win this round," she conceded, leaning back and rolling her eyes, but the playful glint remained.

As they both burst into laughter, the love they shared enveloped them, a beautiful mix of chaos and joy that defined their new lives together.

And just like that, the moment hung in the air, their lives forever intertwined, both ready to embrace the unexpected adventures of parenthood, one laugh at a time.

[growthhyp]

The Transforming Cum II

Chris leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his now impossibly broad chest. His shirt was long gone, shredded during his transformation into a walking god of muscle. Across from him, Zayne stood similarly shirtless, his body still rippling with the aftershocks of what had just happened to him.

“Well,” Chris said, his voice dripping with that trademark cockiness they both seemed to share now. “Looks like we’re in this together.”

Zayne ran a hand down his abs, still marveling at the impossible hardness of them. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He had been the one in control, the one pulling the strings. And yet here he was, transformed. Just like Chris. He glanced up, catching Chris’s smirk.

“You think it’s funny?” Zayne asked, though there was no real malice in his tone. How could there be? He felt… amazing. Strong. Unstoppable.

“I think it’s fucking perfect,” Chris replied. “We’re not just stronger now. We’re better. Think about it, Zayne. We can do more than just transform ourselves. We can change others. Make them better too.”

Zayne’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

Chris stepped closer, his towering frame blocking out the light. “Our… essence.” He gestured vaguely downward. “It changes people. You saw what it did to you. What if we used that? Spread it. Imagine a world where every man is strong. Healthy. Confident. No more weakness. No more sickness.”

The idea hung between them for a moment, heavy with possibility. Zayne’s mind raced. He had always wanted to help people. That’s why he’d started experimenting with hypnosis in the first place. But this… this was something else entirely. Dangerous. Exhilarating.

“And how exactly would we do that?” Zayne asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear Chris say it.

Chris grinned, slow and wicked. “Same way I changed you.”

The silence stretched, thick with unspoken understanding. Finally, Zayne nodded. “Alright. Let’s test it.”

---

They found Jonathan at the park, sitting on a bench, his breathing labored as he tried to recover from the short walk from his car. At 33 years old, 6’1”, and pushing 300 pounds, he was the picture of poor health. His heart condition made even the simplest tasks daunting. He looked up as Chris and Zayne approached, their sheer presence demanding attention.

“Uh… can I help you?” Jonathan asked, his voice uncertain.

Chris smiled, all charm and confidence. “Actually, we’re here to help you.”

Jonathan blinked. “Me? What are you talking about?”

Zayne stepped forward, his voice smooth, hypnotic. “We can see you’re struggling, Jonathan. Your body… it’s holding you back. But it doesn’t have to be that way. We can help you become stronger. Healthier. The man you were always meant to be.”

Jonathan stared at them, confusion etched across his face. “How?”

Chris exchanged a glance with Zayne before nodding. ���Trust us,” Chris said, his voice low and commanding. “All you have to do is relax.”

Jonathan hesitated, but there was something about the pair in front of him—something magnetic. Before he knew it, he was nodding slowly. “Okay…”

Zayne moved closer, kneeling in front of Jonathan so their eyes were level. His voice dropped to a whisper, each word laced with power. “Look into my eyes, Jonathan. Focus on my voice. Let everything else fade away.”

Jonathan’s gaze locked onto Zayne’s, his breathing evening out as he fell under the spell. Zayne continued, his words weaving through Jonathan’s mind like a serpent. “You want to feel strong. Healthy. Powerful. Imagine your body changing, the fat melting away, replaced by pure muscle. Feel the strength surging through you, the vitality, the confidence.”

As Zayne spoke, Chris watched intently, his own excitement growing. He could see it happening—the flicker of change in Jonathan’s expression, the subtle shift in his posture. It was working.

“Now,” Zayne said, his voice dropping even lower, almost sinful. “When Chris gives you his gift, you will accept it fully. Open yourself to the transformation. Let it consume you.”

Chris didn’t wait. He stepped forward, his movements deliberate as he unbuckled his pants. Jonathan’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t protest. Couldn’t protest. Zayne’s hold on him was absolute.

Chris gripped himself, already hard, and stepped closer. “Open wide,” he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Jonathan obeyed without hesitation, his mouth parting slightly. Chris smirked, stepping closer until he was right in front of Jonathan. With a low groan, he released, his seed spilling into Jonathan’s waiting mouth.

The effect was immediate. Jonathan’s body jerked, his muscles spasming as the transformation began. His skin tightened, his frame expanding as fat was replaced by pure muscle. His shirt strained against his chest, buttons popping off as his pecs swelled. His gut disappeared, replaced by a set of abs that looked like they’d been chiseled from stone.

Chris stepped back, admiring their work. “Look at him,” he said, his voice tinged with awe. “He’s perfect.”

Zayne nodded, a smile playing on his lips. “It worked. It really worked.”

Jonathan gasped, his hands flying to his chest as he felt the changes wrack his body. His breathing was steady now, his heart pounding not from strain, but from raw energy. He looked up at them, his eyes wide with shock and something else—gratitude.

“What… what happened to me?” he asked, his voice stronger now, richer.

Chris clapped a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder, the weight of it grounding. “We made you better, Jon bigger stronger healthier confident what next?

[rikisoup]

MY LOVE MINE ALL MINE

니키 & f!reader. . ♱ in the idol world, you’ll always be each other’s place of solace. & 497 words

The night felt cold, a delightful chill enveloping their bodies. The wind whispered softly, caressing the rustling leaves. The stars gleamed brilliantly while the full moon illuminated the night, revealing its enchanting beauty, often overlooked in favour of the comforts of slumber.

Two solitary figures sat beneath the night sky, nestled upon a blanket, shielding themselves from the prickly embrace of the grass.

You extended an invitation to Riki, yearning to escape the demands burdening you both and find solace in each other’s company. Amidst the tumultuous affairs plaguing your careers, there was no respite to be found.

You sighed, feeling a shiver run up your spine as a puff of air escaped your mouth.

“Cold?” Riki muttered, glancing at your side profile.

“A bit.”

“C’mere,” he called out, sitting up and leaning against a tree.

You sat up, leaning against his shoulder initially. Then, with a deft motion, he grabbed you by the waist, effortlessly placing you between his legs, eliciting a gasp. Your hands instinctively fell on his arms for balance.

Swiftly, he wrapped the blanket around both of you. “There, much better, isn’t it?”

“Hmm, Riki,” you started, turning your gaze towards him. He responded by tilting his head ever so slightly, acknowledging your summon.

“The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” you murmured, lifting your eyes to behold its radiance.

Riki’s eyes widened slightly, his silence indicating what you needed to know. His hands cupped your cheeks, a reddish hue evident from the cool weather, or perhaps from him.

“Can I…” His deep voice spoke in a desire-filled whisper, and you found yourself leaning into his touch. Your lips grazed the inside of his wrist.

“Hmm,” you hummed softly, but no words followed.

Your mind swarmed with thoughts. It had been four years since you met, and now, as both idols, the scrutiny from curious and judgmental eyes was inevitable. Yet, despite the potential backlash, you and Riki couldn’t deny the chemistry between you. Afraid of the consequences, you had pushed him away at times, but Riki remained steadfast, always expressing his care for you, even in the face of opposition.

His grip tightened slightly as he slid his fingers into your hair, slowly tugging you closer by your nape. “Please.”

“Kiss me,” you replied softly, leaning in to connect your lips in a kiss.

The world seemed to stop, as the only thing in your mind was him. Warmth spreaded through your bodies, even the cool night began to melt away.

“Riki, wait a minute—” you speak in a hushed tone slightly out of breath, your heart beating erratically.

“Shut up,” he cuts through your words in a quick whisper, cupping both your cheeks and practically yanking you into a kiss once more, this time with more fervor.

The warmth of your lips on his ignited his body on a frigid December night, and despite the potential hate and possible repercussions from his company, Riki wouldn't exchange you for anything in the world.

note ・ this was inspired by an old post from someone but i think they deactivated or changed usernames so TT

[rom-e-o]

A consideration to brighten your day:

Emmrich and Wifey stretched out on the couch cuddling, Em's head resting on her chest as she strokes his head and shoulders, humming softly.

Then Manfred comes along, sees, and, like a clingy toddler pushes/pulls Emmrich up and away from Wifey's embrace. "No! Me! Me!" He quickly crawls right into Em's previous spot and settles stubbornly, and happily, there on Mum's chest. And she just laughs and comfortably snuggles him in with kisses all over his skull.

But also!

The exact same thing happening but flipped, with Manny forcing Wifey out of Papa's snuggles and replacing her.

Awwwww, this is too precious!!! 🥹💕

Wifey just stroking his hair softly, placing a kiss on his hairline and earning a besotted chuckle. They’re curled up on the chaise together after a long day. They’ve both just collapsed in a heap, tired from a long day. Maybe he and Guinevere have just come back from mingling at a long soirée, or he and Belisma are relaxing after a day of practicing funerary rites. Something that has tuckered both of them out, and requires some refueling through quality time.

The couple is lounging away, when Manfred pops his head in the door. “Papa? Mama/Mum?”

He sees them cuddling, and after only a moment, jingle-jangles his way inside. Those jeweled doorknobs (?) in his eyes rotate slightly upward.

Manfred, surprisingly strong, squeezes his way in. Emmrich gives his boy an incredulous chuckle (“Manfred, my boy, honestly!”) while Wifey just laughs. They allow themselves to be separated while Manfred settles over Wifey, cuddling like a little kitten or toddler. I feel like G’iney might be more familiar with seeing those toddler moments in him and identifying them as such (since she has siblings) but Belisma is just as amused and endeared to his antics.

W: Aww, Manfred! Why, hello there.

E: Was he jealous?

Manfred lets out a little hiss, inching closer to his mom while she laughs and leave little lipstick-marked kisses on his skull.

W: Not anymore, haha! I’m sorry, my dear. I’m afraid you’ve been replaced.

E: (mock offense) ‘Replaced’?

W: Look on the bright side - you were just saying how you wanted to change into your dressing gown but didn’t want to get up to do it. So, he just decided to lend a bit of a helping hand. In his own, charming way, of course.

E: As always. (Rolling his eyes with a laugh) Manfred, always so helpful.

M: (Pleased hiss)

I love little Manfred doing it to both of them, haha. Emmrich claims at first Manfred is just an apprentice and friend, but we know better. Once he and Wifey are together, I imagine some of that childlike wonder/possessiveness comes out a little bit more. And especially after Manfred gives his life for Emmrich, and he brings him back? There are many more hugs and soft gestures.

The next time, when Wifey and him and snuggling and getting ready to exchange some kisses (maybe get a little handsy) Manfred suddenly shuffles over, gloved hands going to Wifey’s shoulders. He pulls her back, and SHAMELESSLY settles right in her spot, kicking his little boot-covered feet in glee at his antics. Emmrich lets out a loud laugh and Wifey feigns shock.

E: Oh, you little scoundrel!

M: (Mischievous hiss)

W: Oh, I see how it is.

They exchange loving looks over Manfred’s giggly skull. This is their life now, they think, and honestly. It’s perfect. Emmrich settles and arm around his boy and kisses his forehead. “Oh, Manfred. Whatever in the world would we do without you?”

And neither of them will have to ever know. 💕

[fa1ry03]

Under the lights

Author's Note: Hi! This is my very first piece, and I wanted to start with something short and heartfelt. It’s just a little blurb about comforting Joe Burrow after a tough loss because let’s be real—he deserves all the love after putting his heart on the field. I wanted to capture the mix of angst and tenderness that comes with moments like these, while keeping it intimate and meaningful.

I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think—your feedback means everything as I’m just starting this journey. Thanks for reading! 🧡🏈

(630 word count) Send in request plsss!

After the Game

The room was heavy with defeat. Joe sat slumped on the edge of the couch, still in his team-issued hoodie, his damp hair falling in loose strands across his forehead. The television flickered with highlights from the Steelers' win, each replay a fresh wound he didn’t want to acknowledge.

You leaned against the doorframe, watching him. He hadn’t said much since he walked in—just a gruff

“Hey”

before retreating into himself. You knew better than to push too soon. Joe’s quiet after a loss wasn’t unfamiliar, but tonight, it felt heavier, sharper.

Finally, you stepped forward, your socked feet barely making a sound on the hardwood floor. You plucked the remote from his side and turned the TV off.

“Joe,” you said softly, lowering yourself onto the couch beside him. “Talk to me.”

He didn’t look at you, his hands clasped together, knuckles white. “What’s there to say? I played like crap. We lost.”

“That’s not all on you.”

“Feels like it is,” he murmured, his voice rough. “The team counts on me. Fans count on me. And I... I let them down.”

The vulnerability in his tone broke your heart. You reached out, placing a hand on his thigh, grounding him in the moment. “You’re human, Joe. Not a machine. You cant carry the team by yourself, Jor”

He finally turned to look at you, his blue eyes clouded with frustration and self-doubt. “But I want to,” he said, his voice cracking. “I want to be better. For them. For you.”

“You are enough,” you said firmly, your fingers curling into the fabric of his sweatpants. “No game, no win or loss, changes that.”

The words hung in the air between you, and something in him softened. His shoulders dropped, and he exhaled a shaky breath.

“Come here,” you whispered, pulling him into your arms. He didn’t resist, burying his face in the curve of your neck, his large frame trembling slightly as he let go of the weight he’d been carrying. You held him close, running your fingers through his hair, murmuring reassurances until his breathing steadied.

“I don’t deserve you,” he muttered against your skin, his lips brushing your collarbone.

“Don’t start,” you teased gently, pulling back just enough to cup his face. “You’re stuck with me, Burrow.”

A ghost of a smile flickered across his face before his expression turned serious. “I mean it,” he said, his voice low, raw. “You’re my anchor, Y/N.”

You leaned in, pressing your forehead to his. “And you’re mine.”

The air between you shifted, charged with something deeper, more intimate. His hands slid up your sides, his touch featherlight but deliberate. You shivered, caught in the storm of his emotions.

“Let me take care of you tonight,” you murmured, your lips brushing his as you spoke.

He hesitated, his gaze searching yours, before finally surrendering. “I need you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

The night unfolded slowly, a tender exchange of love and comfort. You traced every scar, kissed away every doubt, and held him until the burden of the loss faded into something distant and unimportant.

In those quiet hours, the game didn’t matter. It was just you and Joe, wrapped in the safety of each other, rebuilding the confidence the world had tried to strip away.

😊

[annie-creates]

Things better left unsaid

Pairing: Bodhi Durran x reader dating Xaden

Genre: angst

Words: 1000

Note: This is a story that came up to me while reading @empyreanevents Bodhi week fics, so I am late for that one but still posting it. Thanks to everyone participating for the inspiation.

You, Xaden and Bodhi were a tag team, everyone knew that since you were little. Anything Xaden was up to, the two of you always followed and anywhere you went, the cousins were right there by your side. You had a special bond no other friends ever came close to. You got even more dependent and intertwined after your parents’ execution.

Others called you the princess of Tyrrish people, not of royal blood but no less loved. As you grew, your perspectives changed, but nothing could separate the three of you. Letters exchanged and holiday visits kept you in touch with Xaden and Bodhi, and you were devasted the year Xaden was drafted for the war college. You clung more to Bodhi since then, he was the last line of defense you had against the harsh cruel world.

In that time, you did everything together. Talked into the long hours of night about possibilities you didn’t have a dreams that wouldn’t come true. Bodhi held you every time you cried, patched you up every time you hurt yourself in training. He was more than a brother, more than a friend, more than a soulmate even. Bodhi was your person, no matter what anyone else thought.

When Bodhi left a year after, you’ve never felt so alone. The letters Xaden sent, dumped in black ink hiding the words the cadre didn’t want you to read, were never enough to stop missing them. Every week he assured you they were both alive and well, and every week did you worry non the less. But the time alone forced you to grow into your own persona. You didn’t have your knights to protect you from everything bad and rotten.

So the year you left for Basgiath yourself, you were ready. You trained, you practiced, you learned all you could that would potentially help you survive the rider’s quadrant. You crossed the parapet on shaken but steady legs. Your friends welcomed you with careful thrill, now a much more grown girl than they used to know. The nice and shy princess turned into a sharp and witty warrior, where there were niceties and generosity now grew thorns of self-preservation.

They loved you non the less, but no one loved you like Bodhi. At least that’s what he thought. But where he was used to being the only one taking care of you, he found himself fighting for his place and your attention with Xaden. It was all friendly of course, until it wasn’t. Until Xaden was allowed the affectionate touches he wanted to give. Until he noticed how you clung to Xaden’s hugs a little longer and tighter than his own.

You denied it at first, after the last two years, you were almost sure Bodhi was the one who would win you over. Most people guess Xaden would be the one to snatch you for himself eventually, but you knew Bodhi was kinder, nicer, more soft than his cousin in the right places. And the time you spent with him was magical. But now you couldn’t hide that something tied you to Xaden just a little bit closer.

You thought it’s gonna be gone once he leaves the college and you’ll be left alone with Bodhi again. That it’s just the thrill of finally being close to him once more and it will go away when he leaves again for his duty after college. But the feeling didn’t leave. You found yourself missing Xaden more than ever, and no matter how much you tried, you couldn’t strike up the old connection you used to have with Bodhi.

When things went down with the leadership and the students of Bagiath left for Aretia, you couldn’t help but feel relieved that you once again will have Xaden by your side. At home, he didn’t keep even the smallest distance from you. He paraded you like a queen, and Bodhi found himself constantly pushed aside. He knew neither one of you intended to push him away, it was just the relationship you two now shared he wasn’t part of. That’s how you found him deep in thought on a cold evening in the courtyard of Riorson house.

“Hey, what are you doing out so late?” You ask innocently.

“Thinking about life. What about you?” Bodhi offers with a little sad smile.

“I was just going to see if Xaden’s going to be back from patrol soon,” you explain.

“Of course you were,” his words sounded harsher than he intended, taking you by surprise.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You question picking up on the tension within him.

“It was always going to be Xaden, right?” Bodhi whines. “You were always going to choose him.”

“Bodhi, I…” you try to come up with something comforting but how do you comfort someone when you’re the reason they’re hurting?

“It was always gonna be him, wasn’t it?” He pushes.

“Yes.” No, but you weren’t going to tell him that.

You didn’t want to break his heart more by admitting he had a real chance with your heart once. Didn’t want to hurt him further by saying that not too long ago you thought you will choose him. And you really did think that. But now, Xaden was your whole life. The reason you got out of bed every morning, the only one who brought you comfort and happiness. He was the only one able to get you rest, the only one who you let touch you when you were hurt and let pester you when you got a little lazy with your training.

Xaden was the one you wanted to fight for, the one you would die for had the time and need come. He could turn the whole Navarre, the whole continent against himself and you’d still stand right by his side with a sword in hand. You didn’t have a reason to be alive if Xaden didn’t wake up by your side and Bodhi was never that.

[fafnir19]

Refugee's Welcome

Rashid slouched against the peeling wall of the refugee home, his shiny tracksuit clinging to his skin. He fiddled with his phone, scrolling through messages from his family back in the Middle East. Each ding from the device felt like a reminder of the life he was building on the backs of the generous European welfare system. He decided to go for a walk and trudged along the cracked pavement, the soles of his brand new sneakers slapping against the ground with a dull thud. He glanced around the neighborhood, a hodgepodge of well-maintained buildings and meticulously maintained gardens tended by eager hands. The air was thick with the scent of fresh food and the distant hum of traffic, a reminder of the life outside his small refugee home.

He pushed back the bitterness that welled in his throat. Here he was, in Europe, surrounded by riches, yet he felt like a ghost haunting a world meant for someone else. This place, with its cold efficiency, was supposed to be a sanctuary, but to him, it felt like a cage. In fact, he was just an imposter, pretending to be a refugee, but in reality he was just eager to take advantage of the welfare system. “Stupid place,” he muttered, casting an envious glance at a group of teenagers laughing as they tossed a football back and forth. Their carefree joy was a dagger to his heart. He didn’t belong here, and his greed for what they had only deepened his resentment.

He had grown tired of the monotony—waiting for welfare checks, sending money back home, and plotting how to bring his family to this land of plenty. It was all so predictable, like a clock ticking away the minutes of his life. He craved change, but not the kind that required effort or adaptation. No, he wanted to exploit this system without remorse, just as he had been doing since his arrival. He looked up at the buildings that towered around him, their elegance a sharp contrast to the crumbling structures of his homeland. “Why should they have it all?” he grumbled under his breath, jealousy pooling in his stomach. “I will bring my family here. They deserve this life.” The idea of his parents and siblings living off European welfare while spreading the “truth faith” of Islam filled him with a sense of purpose.

As he turned a corner, something gleamed in the dirt, catching his eye. He bent down, brushing away the grime to reveal a golden coin. It shone brightly, almost taunting him. **Wow, this might go for a good price!** he thought, his heart racing at the thought of his usual dealer, Muzaffar. “Hey! That’s mine!” a high-pitched voice squeaked. Rashid spun around, his heart racing. Before him stood a gnome, no taller than his knee, with a wild beard and a pointed hat that seemed to flop with every movement.

“What did you say?” Rashid challenged, his hand instinctively reaching for the knife tucked into his waistband. “I said it’s mine!” the gnome shouted, glaring up at him, defiance in his beady eyes. “I’ve been tracking that coin for ages!” “Yeah?” Rashid sneered, brandishing the knife. “You want it back? Come and take it.” The gnome held up a surprisingly steady hand. “Hold on, hold on! There’s no need for violence.” He looked at Rashid, sizing him up. “I can offer you something better.” “Like what?” Rashid scoffed, his grip on the knife tightening. “Three wishes,” the gnome declared, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “In exchange for that lovely coin.” Rashid hesitated, curiosity piqued. “Three wishes? What’s the catch?” The gnome grinned, revealing a set of crooked teeth. “No catch,” the gnome replied, shrugging. “But you’ll need to sign this EU-standard form regarding the chance-/risk-profile of wishes.” He produced a thick stack of papers that looked entirely out of place in the outdoors. Rashid furrowed his brow, flipping through the pages. “What the hell? It’s twenty pages long! I’m not reading all this!” Rashid protested, as he tried to hide that he was barely able to read. The gnome chuckled again, its laughter echoing in the quiet street, “After all, we are in Europe and not in your primitive Stone Age country. Everything has to be in proper order!” Rashid’s irritation was boiling over and he grumbled, “I don’t have time for this!” but the thought of wealth and power urged him on.

 “Twenty pages? And only the first quarter of the first page is about chances? This is ridiculous!” The gnome chuckled, “Just sign, and we can get on with it.” Grumbling, Rashid took the pen, his mind racing. “Fine. But if this is a scam—” “Not a scam! Just formalities,” the gnome interrupted, his tone cheerful. Rashid signed his name with a flourish and shoved the papers back. “Now, what do you wish for?” The gnome’s eyes gleamed with anticipation.

Rashid’s heart pounded. This was it—the moment he’d been waiting for. “I wish to be handsome, intelligent, and rich!”

The gnome's laughter filled the air, a mischievous cackle that made Rashid's skin prickle. "Oh, the classics! Very well, young man. Watch and learn." As the gnome waved his tiny hand, Rashid felt a tingling sensation course through his body. It started at his fingertips, sending a shiver up his arms, and then it engulfed his entire being. The change was instantaneous and profound.

He felt a cool blow on his face, and his hand flew up to touch his chin, only to find it smooth and bare. His coarse Islamic beard, the symbol of his manhood and faith, had vanished. The tracksuit he had worn, a testament to his perceived street credibility, transformed into a crisp, white button-down shirt and tailored pants, fitting him perfectly. The clothes felt foreign yet comfortable, as if he had always belonged in them.

"Ah, the transformation begins!" The gnome's voice echoed in his mind, as if reading his thoughts. "But it's not just about the looks, my dear Rashid. It's the mind, the very essence of who you are, that is about to evolve."

A tickling sensation in his brain made Rashid giggle, and then a rush of knowledge flooded his thoughts. Images flashed before his eyes—a boy riding a bike, the wind in his hair; a swimmer slicing through the water with graceful strokes; and a skater gliding effortlessly on ice. He knew how to do all these things, as if he had been practicing them for years. "Recycle, reduce, reuse," a voice whispered in his head. He understood the importance of the environment, the need to protect and preserve. "Whoa, I know how to swim!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with wonder. The gnome, seemingly pleased with the spectacle, nodded.

Suddenly, a sharp pain pierced through Rashid’s skull. “Ugh!” Rashid grunted, clutching his temples. “Knowledge!” the gnome sang, his eyes glinting mischievously. “It’s a powerful gift.” Rashid staggered back, his mind reeling. Images and concepts flooded in—equality of the sexes, environmental protection, the intricacies of Western philosophy. “What is this?” he gasped, tumbling to the ground as he wrestled with the torrent of newfound thoughts. But the gnome only watched, its arms crossed, amused and exclaimed, “Knowledge is flooding in!” Rashid clutched his head as the sharp pain radiated through him. “Ah! Stop!” he shouted, but it was too late. Due to his now sharper intellect new concepts twisted through his mind, unraveling the tightly wound beliefs he had held dear. “Islam… it’s just a superstition.” He staggered back against the wall, clutching his head. “No! This can’t be!” “Why not?” the gnome taunted. “It’s the truth. Islam is just superstition, a crutch for the weak, a tool for leaders to control the masses!” Rashid’s breath quickened. “No, that can’t be true! My faith—” “Is a façade!” the gnome interrupted, crossing his arms. “You’re just a pawn in a game you didn’t even realize you were playing. And now, look at you! You’re a pitiful weakling, only feeling strong among your ‘brothers’ with a knife in hand.” The realization hit him like a cold wave. “I was so blind! All this time, I thought I was superior! It’s… it’s all nonsense. My faith was a crutch, a way to feel superior without the means to truly be so.” A bitter laugh escaped his lips. “Honor? What a joke! I thought I was strong, but I was just hiding behind a knife.” “Precisely, you were strong only in delusion!” the gnome exclaimed, clapping his hands. Rashid’s laughter bubbled up, a mix of disbelief and relief. “I was pathetic!” he exclaimed, the weight of his previous identity lifting. “I can’t believe I thought that way,” Rashid stated, his voice filled with disbelief. “I wanted to bring my family here… to spread my beliefs. But they’re as lost as I was.”

As the searing pain in his head gradually faded, he became aware of the subtle changes taking place. His nose, once a prominent feature, seemed to shrink, reshaping itself into a more delicate structure. The rearrangement of his facial features continued, smoothing out the rough edges of his former self. "Ah, the wonders of magic," he whispered, his voice now carrying a hint of refinement. Rashid's attention turned to his hair, which had been as dark as a skunk's. But now, it shimmered with golden strands, transforming him into a vision of Nordic beauty.

The cologne he had doused himself in to mask his natural stink was no longer necessary. He inhaled deeply, bewildered by the subtle scent of fresh lemons that replaced the heavy musk of sandalwood he used to drown himself in. “What is this? I smell... clean?” His body odor had transformed, leaving behind a subtle, refreshing lemon fragrance. "Piano lessons, perhaps? Or maybe I should join a field hockey team," he mused, his thoughts filled with newfound interests and hobbies. The possibilities seemed endless, and Rashid felt a surge of excitement. Just as his thoughts began to wander, the world around him shifted. The drab walls of the refugee home were gone, replaced by an elegant mansion with tall columns and a lush garden. He stood there, in the heart of the city's most prestigious neighborhood, and marveled at his new surroundings. "Rashid no more," he declared, his voice echoing in the quiet street. "I am Rasmus, reborn and ready to conquer this new world." Rasmus, now fully immersed in his transformation, felt a surge of confidence and ambition.

His eyes, now a vivid shade of blue, scanned the mansion, taking in every detail. But amidst the excitement, a flicker of doubt creased his newly formed brow. *What of my family?* he wondered.

He recalled their lives in self-inflicted filth and revolving around the mosque, the strict adherence to primitive and cruel customs —days spent in idle chatter, evenings in crowded rooms, and a future with no prospects.

*They wouldn't fit in here. Not with their backward ways.* Their lack of education and skills weighed on his mind. He pictured their limited knowledge, their dependence on a language he now found crude, their inability to even swim, their unwillingness to adapt and their sole focus on survival and procreation. "What kind of life is that?" he muttered under his breath. "They're like animals, breeding without thought."

Suddenly the gnome's voice sliced the silence and breaking his train of thought , "Now, what is your final wish?" Rasmus turned, his bright blue eyes narrowing in confusion. "I thought I already had three wishes?" The gnome chuckled, its laughter like a tinkling of bells. "Welcome to Europe! It's a self-commitment with the consumer counsel society. You see, they believe that the first wishes might not always turn out as expected, and so, a fourth wish is granted to rectify any potential mistakes." Rasmus listened intently, his curiosity piqued. "Or, it could be an additional wish," the gnome continued, its eyes twinkling mischievously. "Perhaps you'd like to bring your family here, give them a taste of this life?"

Just then, a gust of wind blew a colorful flyer into Rasmus' path. He bent down to pick it up, his curiosity piqued. It was an advertisement from the local animal protection society, seeking donations for a noble cause. "Vets on Vacation—traveling to Greece to neuter street cats and dogs, ending their suffering" the flyer reads. The image of a stray cat and her litter tugged at his heartstrings, but it was the message that struck a chord. "Uncontrolled propagation leads to suffering," he read aloud.

The words resonated with him, and he thought of his family. Their lives, so different from his own now, seemed to mirror the plight of these animals. *They are like these animals, breeding without purpose, living off the system,* he thought bitterly. A rush of memories flooded his mind—his parents, siblings, aunts, uncles, and cousins, all dependent on his welfare money, trapped in a cycle of poverty and ignorance. "They sent me here to live off the generosity of others," he whispered, his voice laced with bitterness. "They are content with their ignorance, their lack of ambition." In that moment, Rasmus made his decision. "No," he whispered, his voice filled with determination. "They don't deserve to be here. They don't deserve this life." The gnome's eyes narrowed, sensing the change in Rasmus' demeanor. "And what is your wish, Rasmus?" Rasmus straightened his back, his blue eyes now cold and resolute. "I wish..." Rasmus began, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. "I wish for my family to be neutered. To end their suffering and the burden they impose on society."

The gnome erupted into a fit of laughter, the sound echoing through the air. “Very well!” In the blink of an eye, his relatives, one by one, undergoing a transformation. Rasmus could almost hear the cries of his parents, his siblings, his uncles and cousins, all the way from the other side of the world. The process was swift and efficient, and when it was over, Rasmus felt a sense of relief. "Consider it done," the gnome's voice echoed in his mind. "Your family's legacy will not burden the world any longer."

His family, his entire lineage, would no longer burden Europe with their presence. *Their Arabic heritage ends here,* Rasmus thought, his heart pounding with determination. *Only my new superior Northern genes and the Western way of life will prevail.*

Rasmus took a deep breath, his chest swelling with newfound determination. "But this is not enough," he whispered, his eyes narrowing. "I must ensure that others like them do not infest this great continent. These deceitful 'refugees' must be stopped from ruining Europe's harmony." He straightened his preppy attire, the crisp fabric of his shirt reflecting his resolve. "I, Rasmus, will dedicate my life to preserving the purity of this land. No more shall we be plagued by those who abuse our generosity. I shall find a way to protect Europe from the influx of these imposters."

He would use his newfound intelligence and resources to ensure that only the worthy would be granted entry, and that his new home would thrive, untainted by the ills of the past. With a nod of gratitude to the gnome, who had now disappeared, Rasmus set off, his stride confident and purposeful. He had a new life, a new identity, and a mission to fulfill. The old Rashid was gone, and Rasmus, the beacon of conservative European values, was ready to take on the world. "I will make a difference," he vowed, his voice carrying on the wind. "And I will ensure that my new home remains the beacon of civilization it was meant to be."

As he walked towards his mansion, a faint laughter, like wind chimes in the distance, followed him. It was the gnome, amused by the turn of events, but also proud of the man Rasmus had become. Rasmus didn't look back, for he had a new life to embrace and a society to protect from the very deceit he had once embodied.

[f0xyanon]

Rebirth, Reprisal, and Reconciliation

part 2/? words: 2.4k Series Masterlist

Kyle Garrick x reader

~ Without Hesitation ~

TW: implied rape

All the etiquette lessons in the world would not prepare you for the life you'd step into at the altar. A man you knew nothing of, a dress that felt more suffocating with every breath, a crowd who’d watch as you spoke your life away, promising devotion to a man who knew nothing of the sort. 

When you peek to the side, you see your almost husband's mistress there. She stares back with a look of pure commiseration. She has as much voice in her role as you do yours. The only difference, she knows what her’s entails.

You don't hate her as much as you hoped you would. Why should one cow hate another when together, they could hate the butcher?

Time passes you by. Words of devotion are spoken without any real meaning, rings are exchanged – Ones from his kingdom, because to come from yours would be too fine a comfort to award you in your husband's eyes-- And after it all, he kisses you.

It's nothing like you'd read about. It's no true love's kiss, and the electricity at the altar feels different than described. It isn’t the shock of a static kiss, but rather the thrashing terror of a live wire. There’s no love, only his possessive grip and a sickening attempt to deepen the kiss at the altar.

When you pull away, rather abruptly, his grip only tightens. His nails leave crescent indents in your skin, and you fight every urge to wince. His grip doesn't relent as the priest says the final few words; it only beckons you closer in an attempt to alleviate the ache blooming deep in your skin. 

He walks back down the aisle with you, and once the doors shut behind the two of you, for the first time, you seem to be visibly terrified. 

Your new husband clicks his tongue and cups your jaw in his large palm. “Pretty enough.” he huffs, trying again to kiss you. You place your hands on his sturdy chest and push back a bit. “We- we have a reception to get to.” you breathe out, a placating smile on your lips.

His hand slides from your jaw to your throat, gripping it gently. “We have time for a kiss, don’t we, Wife? Especially since you denied me at the altar.”

You relent, and just as you thought he would, he takes what he thinks is owed. 

—------

The wedding was just as long and appalling as Kyle assumed it would be. The reception was no different. The ladies all wore vibrant hues of red, yellow, and pink, and the men wore their perfectly tailored suits, the dark fabric draped with more effort than they chose their words with.

They speculate about your purity and boast about your husband's lack thereof. The comments made are enough to drive Kyle to an early grave should he not leave soon.

That's why he decided to leave until you returned from your private moment with your husband. 

The word feels like acid on his tongue when he says it quietly to himself. Your husband would be better suited with an early grave, in Kyle’s opinion. Though he’d never tell you that. No, you had enough to think on. 

Instead of attending the reception, he decided to walk the quiet castle corridors one final time. He wasn't so much dreading the change in location, so much as understanding the finality of this change. His princess was married now. She was taken by another man.

Kyle knew this man held no love for her, so truly, what more could possibly change? Perhaps instead of quiet dinners, just the two of them, they'd have another presence. Maybe the quiet walks in the garden would become less frequent, but even then, they'd still have each other. 

Knowing this type of man, after an heir was born, he'd grow bored with the princess. While the thought alone was disturbing, Kyle took solace in it. At least she’d be safe from enduring the same fate twice.

Maybe he’d help raise the child, and though no words would be spoken, the child would come to know him as its father. ‘What a world,’ he thinks to himself. ‘That one day, I might have a family with her, yet. Even if not of my blood.’

By the time he’d done a full circuit, from the princesses' old chambers, back to the grand hall, the new couple's entrance was announced.

Kyle took his place in the back of the room and watched as they entered, hand in hand. The guests applauded and cheered for the union, blissfully unaware of the implications the marriage held. 

The only part of the reception he remembered in any great detail was the way you'd looked up at him for a moment when he appeared at your side. There, for a moment, he could imagine that you had married him. That it truly would be you with him, happily ever after. He feels your body move closer and your hand link your pinky with his. Hidden there, in the fluff of your dress, he shifts to hold your hand. He looks away, so as to not draw attention, and stays there until your new husband pulls you away for yet another dance.

Like all the others, you oblige, even if only out of fear for your new image.

When the reception comes to a close, he watches as your things are loaded into the carriages, and the caravan is created. He stays by your side until he is physically unable, then leaves to tack up his horse.

In the early morning, without any sleep whatsoever, Kyle rides along next to the carriage with his dove and the husband. She can see him. She isn't alone.

This is his only consolation.

He watches the kingdom pass him by. The town he had trained in, the village he grew up in, all seemed so different now. He was sad to be leaving, sure. But nothing compared to the pain he felt when even thinking about leaving his princess.

He had once pledged loyalty to the princess. To take care of her always, to lay down his life for hers. In his eyes, those words were as good as wedding vows. She may not wear his ring, but she wore his brand on her heart. He wore hers on his very soul.

—----------------------------------

The first night is among the hardest.

The sound of her sobs after her monster of a husband left will haunt his dreams forevermore.

That night, Kyle listened, staring bleakly at the wall across the hall from the princess's room. He listened to the gasps, the pained wimpers. He listened to her beg him to be nicer. He wasn't, in any sense of the word, nicer. 

When he was done, he left the room without a single moment of comfort. The thought of you alone after such an experience made his blood boil. 

Before the door had even closed behind the exiting man, Kyle had slipped into the room. The moon was the only thing that illuminated the royal chambers. Gold and silk adorned the walls, much like her bedroom at home had. Yet, even with all the similarities, the differences could not be more apparent.

Never in his life had he heard her cry like this in her own bedroom.

He makes his way across the room in just a few strides, ignoring the opulent, deep blue wedding dress discarded on the floor. Your gaze doesn’t follow him like it normally does. In fact, he can't even see your face. Your head stays firmly tucked between your knees, breathing ragged breaths coming out in wheezes that all too well portray your current mental state. 

He kneels next to the bed and attempts to look you in the eye. When you don't move after a few moments like this, he sits on the bed, watching for only a moment before he speaks. His voice is barely even a whisper. “Dove?”

The weight of the nickname only serves to deepen your self-loathing, it seems. He watches you break down further. The only sound heard in the room is your sobs mixed with the metallic scraping of his armor being stripped off and piled onto the floor.

Once it's off,  he pulls your head from between your knees and pulls you to his chest.

“He didn’t stop-” you whimpered against his chest. “- I begged-”

He stays like that the whole night. When the sun rises, so do your spirits, at least for a time. 

The next day, he's able to take you for a walk in the garden. It isn't the same, he fears it never will be.

 The nights spent outside her door are not the thing that hit him the hardest. The quiet sobs that he can only comfort with his presence are not the things that seem to hurt the most, no. 

It's the night that the sobs stop. It's the day the light has faded from her eyes so completely.

 Kyle was under the impression that this union would restrict your ability to show affection for him, yet it hadn't just restricted the times you could look at him; he'd noticed you slipping away completely. Over the last month with your new husband, you'd left him.

 Not in body, no, your body was still there, sitting prettily in your gilded cage, waiting to answer your husband's call. You'd left in your soul. You'd retreated so far into yourself, Kyle didn't know how to pull you out. He didn't know how to bring you back.

That's how he'd found himself here. 

Alone, hidden, walking through the rougher part of a kingdom three days away. When he told her he was making a trip, he could see her fear. He could see the reluctance in her eyes, kissed her hand, and left without another word. He knew that if she asked him to stay, he would. But he needed to do this. 

So there he stood, wrapped in a brown cloak outside the witch's shop. Shed been regarded as a miracle worker, and that was just what he needed.

The bottles and flasks filled with gods knows what animal parts, hair, and blood sit on the almost rotten wooden shelves in what Kyle assumes is an organized chaos. The whole of the shop smelled vaguely like mildew and damp rot. Although the smell may be coming from the standing water on the cold stone floor. ‘I'll have to throw out this cloak when I’m done here,’ he thinks with a sigh when his nose wrinkles up in disgust, ‘The smell will definitely linger.’

The way the witch suddenly appears behind him startles him enough that he grips the hilt of his sword tightly, relaxing only when he sees the frail woman.

“You're the witch?” he asks frankly, turning fully to look her in the eye.

“Aye, so long as you've got the coin, or a worthy substitute.” She slips behind the shelves, her dark brown skirt dances behind her as she gathers up ingredients. She looks from him to a newer-looking bottle. She picks it up, glares at him, and puts it back down, opting for a bottle that looked to hold the same thing, though slightly more aged.

“I'm looking for a potion, or- or a spell maybe?” Kyle says doubting his own words. What would even come of this? Would it work? No matter. He had to try.

“I've known ye,” she says with a smirk. “I know about ye and yer lass.” 

Kyle tenses and stares at her, wondering the amount she knew about him. How many people knew about his relationship with the princess? When would he be pulled from her? He couldn't be. She needed him.

Seeming to read his thoughts, the witch consoled him. “Relax, pretty, I know nae more than the type of potion yer looking for. One of love.”

The sentiment does little to alleviate Kyle’s worry. He follows her parallel through the shelves as she approaches what seems to be a large pot. 

“What will the cost be?” Kyle reaches for his coin sac, situated on his hip. “I’m prepared to pay up to 100 pounds or-“ the witch cuts off with one raised hand, the others pour the contents of the bottles into the pot, creating a horrid smelling mixture. Kyle steps away a bit, so as not to vomit in what he assumes to be a carefully concocted mixture.

“Nae child, I only ask a wee favor.” She says with an almost wicked grin. “My daughter has a wee barin coming up. When the bairn has a child, the child will need guidance.” 

Kyle’s brows furrow, and his head tilts a bit. “That’s in what, twenty, thirty years?” 

She nods and holds out her hand. “Aye, do we have a deal?” 

Kyle swallows and looks at her hand. “Why can't they take care of their own child?”

“Deal or nae, yer time is dwindling.”

What does he have to lose? Without the princess, he’s nothing. So he reaches out, without hesitation.

He takes it and feels and brisk wind in the room, swirling around him and lifting his cloak slightly. While the wind disorients him, the witch grabs his hand more firmly and pulls it over the pot, slitting his palm with a strange decorative knife, and dropping the blood into the already vile mixture. 

Before he can panic over the bloodletting, the witch begins speaking, her voice projected through what seems like a thousand voices, all chanting and calling in different tones, causing him to listen more closely.

“Brother, lover, father, and friend, all roles filled before your end. 

With one fountain filled, another will dry. The very thing ye’d begged for will be yer demise.

Hear this now, child, before ye begin,

Only in the end will true love win. Shall yer lass die or fall for another lad, another lifetime shall yer journey add.”

The room begins to spin, Kyle’s vision coming in and out of focus. The damp, dark floors seem to swallow him whole as they fall away, leaving him in what feels like a free fall of consciousness. 

When he awakens, it’s in a room for rent above the local pub. The light streams in through the one, small window, causing his eyes to squint and him to attempt to look away.

The mattress creaks under his weight when he rolls over. 

On the bedside table is a vile of purple liquid, swirling and iridescent. A note sits under it.

For Sir Garrick and his lass.

[unfriendlywriter]

Chapter 2: What He Won’t Say

pairing: Draco Malfoy x OC synopsis: Selene Volant and Draco Malfoy have been inseparable since childhood, bound by family ties and quiet understanding. But sixth year changes everything. As Draco is pulled into a dangerous task, he pushes everyone away—including her. Refusing to abandon him, Selene offers silent support, seeing the cracks beneath his cold facade. Somewhere between whispered reassurances and stolen moments, friendship turns into something more. But with war looming and choices growing harder, they must decide—can love survive in a world built to tear them apart? tags: romantic, mystery, friends to lovers, slow burn, angst author's note: this fanfiction is going to be less shorter than Jinxed Hearts NEXT CHAPTER

Hogwarts thrived on whispers.

They slithered through the corridors, curling around students like living things, darting between hushed conversations and nervous glances. Whispers had always been part of the castle’s lifeblood—harmless gossip traded between friends, tales of secret romances, theories about professor Snape might really be a vampire.

But this year, the whispers were different.

Darker.

More dangerous.

This year, the whispers clung to the name Malfoy.

Selene Volant had heard them everywhere. Over breakfast, muttered behind raised copies of the Daily Prophet. In the library, exchanged in urgent whispers behind towering bookshelves. In the common room, where even Slytherins—who prided themselves on knowing better than to believe everything they heard—spoke in hushed tones.

Lucius Malfoy has escaped Azkaban.

No, the Malfoys have gone into hiding—vanished overnight.

Draco Malfoy. He’s different this year. He’s taken his father’s place. He’s working for Him. You-Know-Who trusts him.

The words slithered through the common rooms, winding their way into every conversation, fueled by fear and uncertainty. Some students spoke of him in hushed terror, as if he had already become the villain they painted him to be. Others—mostly the younger years—exchanged excited murmurs, spinning wild stories about secret Death Eater meetings and spells far too dark to be spoken aloud.

Selene gritted her teeth every time she heard it.

Because she knew Draco Malfoy.

She had known him since childhood, since the first time their families had gathered at some lavish affair and they’d been forced into each other’s company. She knew the boy who scoffed at anything sentimental but secretly loved poetry, the boy who pretended not to care about his mother’s concern but always let her fuss over him. The boy who had once spent an entire summer helping her nurse an injured pegasus back to health, despite claiming he hated the creatures.

Draco Malfoy was many things. Stubborn. Arrogant. Infuriatingly dramatic.

But he was not the enemy.

And yet—

Something had changed.

And she wasn’t about to let him slip away without a fight

She spotted Draco at breakfast, seated at the Slytherin table, his usual effortless posture replaced by something tenser. His broad shoulders were drawn stiff, his gaze cast downward as he absently pushed eggs around his plate. He looked—wrong.

Pansy Parkinson was beside him, speaking in a high-pitched, animated voice, but Draco wasn’t listening. He barely acknowledged the food in front of him, the conversation, the world around him.

The Draco she knew would have been smirking, boasting about something trivial, throwing a smug remark at the Gryffindor table just for the sake of stirring trouble.

But this Draco?

This Draco was slipping away.

She set down her goblet with a decisive clink. Enough was enough.

She caught him outside the Potions classroom, stepping into his path before he could disappear down the dungeon stairwell.

“Draco.”

He barely looked at her. “What?”

It wasn’t a question. It was a deflection.

Selene narrowed her eyes. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

Draco let out a sharp sigh, running a hand through his platinum-blond hair—his tell, she realized. He always did that when he was trying to mask frustration, when something beneath the surface was threatening to crack through.

“I’ve been busy,” he said, voice clipped.

“Busy with what?”

The question was simple. Too simple. But the moment it left her lips, she saw it—

A flicker of something in his eyes. Panic. Just for a second.

Then, just as quickly, it was gone.

“None of your business.”

Selene scoffed. “Since when do we keep things from each other?”

“Since now.”

The words were sharp, cutting, meant to push her away.

She clenched her fists, forcing herself to stay calm. This wasn’t just him being difficult. This wasn’t the usual snarky banter or dramatic flair. This was something else.

Something big.

Something he wasn’t ready to say.

She could push him. She could demand answers, force him to say what was hanging between them like an unspoken weight.

But Draco Malfoy was like a wild creature—corner him, and he’d lash out.

So she softened.

“Draco,” she tried again, voice quieter now.

Nothing. He was already turning away, disappearing into the corridor.

Her hands curled at her sides, frustration buzzing beneath her skin.

Fine. If he wasn’t going to talk, she’d remind him exactly who she was.

Her mind raced, searching for something, anything to shake him out of this—

And then, like a memory slipping through a crack in time, she thought of that stupid dare from second year.

The night was colder than Selene expected, the crisp autumn air laced with the scent of damp earth and pine. The Forbidden Forest loomed before them, its gnarled branches twisting against the star-flecked sky like skeletal fingers reaching for something unseen.

“This is a terrible idea,” Draco muttered beside her, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His platinum-blond hair caught the moonlight, making him stand out starkly against the darkness.

“You’re just saying that because you’re scared,” Selene teased, a smirk playing at her lips.

Draco scoffed, straightening his spine. “I am not.”

“Then prove it.”

Behind them, Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott exchanged amused glances. Blaise, ever the instigator, leaned against a tree, twirling his wand lazily between his fingers. “She’s got a point, Draco. We all went in. Your turn.”

Draco shot him a glare before looking back at the forest entrance. It was a yawning abyss of shadows, its depths whispering secrets to the wind. Every student at Hogwarts knew the tales—of acromantulas lurking in the trees, centaurs who distrusted human trespassers, and creatures even more dangerous lurking in the underbrush.

“It’s just for five minutes,” Selene added, her voice laced with challenge. “Unless, of course, you are scared.”

His jaw tightened. “Fine.”

With that, he took a deliberate step into the darkness. Selene grinned and jogged after him before he could change his mind.

“Wait—what are you doing?” he hissed.

“Coming with you, obviously.”

Draco huffed. “I don’t need help.”

“Who said I’m helping? Maybe I just want to watch you suffer.”

He rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched—just barely. “You’re impossible.”

The deeper they ventured, the quieter it became. The usual chorus of rustling leaves and chirping insects faded into eerie silence, as if the entire forest was holding its breath. The trees were ancient here, their trunks thick and knotted, their branches heavy with hanging moss. The moonlight barely penetrated the dense canopy above, leaving only the dim glow of their wands to light the way.

Selene shivered. Maybe this wasn’t her best idea.

A twig snapped.

They both froze.

“What was that?” Draco whispered, his voice suddenly sharp with tension.

Selene swallowed. “Probably just a—”

Another crack. Closer this time.

Then, a low growl.

Selene’s breath hitched. That wasn’t the wind.

Draco grabbed her wrist. “Run.”

They didn’t need to be told twice.

They bolted, their feet pounding against the soft earth as they tore through the undergrowth. Branches whipped at their faces, roots threatened to trip them, and behind them, something large and unseen moved, its heavy steps crunching through leaves, keeping pace with their frantic escape.

Selene stumbled, but Draco yanked her forward before she could hit the ground. Her heart hammered in her chest, lungs burning with each gasping breath.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the trees thinned. A familiar glow flickered through the darkness—Hogwarts lanterns.

They burst out of the forest’s edge and collapsed against a tree, panting and breathless.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then—

“That was mad,” Draco wheezed.

Selene, still grinning despite herself, turned to him. “That was brilliant.”

He shot her an incredulous look. “Brilliant? We nearly died.”

“Oh, come on. We weren’t that close to death.”

“You didn’t see whatever that was,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, his usual composed exterior completely shattered.

She nudged him playfully. “Admit it. You love it.”

For a second, Draco just looked at her, his grey eyes flickering with something unreadable in the dim light. Then—

“Maybe.”

Selene watched as Draco vanished down the corridor, lost in his own world of secrets.

But she wasn’t going anywhere.

Because whether he admitted it or not, he still needed her.

And Selene Volant never abandoned Draco Malfoy.

[sillyteenagegirlinlovewithblocks]

Beauty and brains.

Pairing: Garroth Ro’Meave x reader.

CW: a little nsfw but nothing to crazy.

A guard must stay on high alert at all times, So much can happen in the blink of an eye.

Sir Garroth devoted head guard of Phoenix Drop, a loving husband and soon-to-be father.

Y/n has always been proud to be by his side as his wife, he gave confidence like no other. It's hard to not feel safe around him. He moved like a striking cobra, swift and silent, intercepting the thief before anyone even noticed the danger, His eyes, sharp and alert, missed nothing. He stood with an air of quiet confidence, a reassuring presence in uncertain times.

As he arrives home from an all-day shift he calls his wife’s name in his deep sleepy voice.

Just as he began to call out for her here comes his very pregnant wife running downstairs like she isn’t. Causing him to quickly run up to her and grab her to stop her from going so fast.

“ oh my lord beauty, you cannot be doing that. what if you tripped? “ he asks in a worried tone. While slowly and gently pulling her to him until she’s close enough for him to bring her into a kiss.

“ I’m sorry dear, I’m just excited to see you” she expresses with a bright smile that lights up the whole room.

“ I know brains but you must be careful. That’s my wife you could accidentally trip” he whispered against her lips while running his hands up her and stopping to secure themselves on her hips, while hers a placed on his shoulders. They kiss each other so passionately that every kiss feels like heaven sent him an early look at what he will get for his work.

“Why don’t you change up and I’ll be up in a minute, I just have a few more things to finish” y/n states while pulling away. Garroth starts whining but that doesn’t stop y/n from pulling back and pushing him to go up the stairs and get ready for bed.

After some time y/n finally headed up for bed herself in perfect time too because Garroth had just finished cleaning himself up and putting his nighttime clothes on but I’d hardly call them clothes it’s a pair of clean work pants that he uses just for bed.

While Garroth lays down on the bed his wife undresses in front of him to change into her nightgown causing her husband to shoot right back up and reach his hand out to touch her leg but she has a plan to tease him and walks away leaving him laying at the end of the bed with his arm out still from his attempt at caressing her leg.

“ oh brains you kill me, I’m a tired man put In a world I do not understand please don’t make it harder for me” he begged it she ignored and put her gown on. Then turns herself to face him with this smug look on her face in exchange Garroth rolls his eyes and throws himself back to the top of the bed where he began left to just stare at the ceiling.

“ awe don’t be upset with me” she teased “ I didn’t mean to make you upset “

she began making her way up the bed and crawled up to him until she could rest her hips on his. bring her head down to kiss his right arm that is resting on his side and making her way up to his shoulder, neck then face.

“ Forgive me dear?” she asks for forgiveness. He lets go of a satisfactory moan he seems to have been holding back and nods silently. Y/n continues to kiss his neck and run her hand up and down his chest to his shoulder, while she is she feels a lumpy feeling in his shoulder towards his back. She sits up to feel it better and see what she is looking at.

“ oh wow this is a very big lump, how are you not in so much pain” she blurts out, slightly rubbing it.

“It's nothing my whole back is that way I do not focus on it even if it is painful to me I have no time to rid myself of it so I do not worry nor should you beauty,” she says running his hands up up her waist and resting on her arm. She looks at him with a sympathetic look on her face.

“ Turn around “ she commands him.

“What brains?” He questions but quickly it’s shut down with her demanding he turns around again and she sits her body up to attempt to turn him herself, thinking he complied quickly and turned around. Slowly she began running her hands up and down his back trying to find every lump and bump she could find.

She massages his back starting from the bottom and working her way up. She worked out years worth of notts in his back. After doing the hard part where he yelled and cried into the pillow in a very manly way he started to enjoy it.

“ alright, all done. you sir should have the loosest back of all of Phoenix drop” y/n says but all she gets in reply is a very comfortable-sounding moan.

“ if you think that feels good wait until you stand up” she whispers to her half-asleep husband and kisses him goodnight but Garroth being as clingy as he is sits up immediately and wraps his arms around her.

“ you can fall asleep without me Brains” he whispers in her ear in the most tired raw voice you can hear outta someone. Y/n hand grabbing Garroths and kissing it.

“ no I couldn’t dear,” she says back to him while pulling him to lay back with her, and when he does she turns to have her backside facing him allowing him to slip his hand under her bulging stomach to in his words “ hold both of his girls at once “.

[yvqip]

in honor of ch 261

The passing of the torch. The inability to grieve. A duty to kill protect. Is this what it means to be a sorcerer?

CW: angst, mentions of gore and death, just about what you’d expect, wip(?) bc i couldn’t bring myself to write anymore,

A collection of Yuta’s thoughts during the possession (+a bit of Suguru’s as he watches in the afterlife.)

The moment you died, something in the air changed. It was as if all that tension keeping everybody upright suddenly released into this all consuming dread. Lying there on the ground, split in two, was more than enough proof you really were closer to mortal than the god jujutsu society claimed you to be.

I’m sorry it took losing your humanity to make people realize you had any.

I’m sorry I have to do this to you.

If I could do it any other way, I would. I’m sure you understand that though, better than anyone else. You died on his anniversary too. I was only able to take a peak at who you were under the guise of ‘the strongest’, I don’t understand you nearly enough as he did but I’ve seen enough to know the burdens you carry. I know you missed him, I saw it in your face a year ago and I saw it again before your fight with Sukuna. I’m sorry you two didn’t get the peace you deserved even after death. I’m sorry you had to lose the only one who saw you as Satoru.

Standing there, facing that monstrosity, instilled a carnal fear into my bones, one that I couldn’t show in front of the audience you taught and guided. The audience I have to lead in your place as the new ‘strongest’.

Is this how you felt? A sacrificial lamb pushed to the forefront of battle for the reason of powers you had no role in choosing?

I do my best to hide the tremble in my hands as Shoko slices me open. I’m doing this for the others, to give them a better fighting chance, to honor the sacrifice you made for us- stealing away the fire from the heavens and granting us the opportunity to grow even more- offering yourself on a silver platter in exchange of our youth. You were chained to humanity, reduced to a weapon intended for us.

Were you able to see yourself as anything else after he died?

Although the fire is dwindling despite your efforts to maintain it, I understand you now, giving yourself as tinder to spark the next generation. I’ll become it in your stead. After all, I’m the strongest now too, and I’ll take care of the 1st and 2nd years just like you said.

Shoko finishes the last of the stitching.

I wonder how she feels witnessing her two best friends turned into husks, bodies desecrated by both sides of jujutsu society.

I’m back on the battlefield.

5 minutes to make this count.

I’ll make sure you and your best friend rest together soon. It’s the least I could do for you.

~

The scene before me is sickening. I can feel the bile build in the back of my throat despite my lack of a physical body.

How could they do this to you?

I had spent this time waiting patiently for you to arrive, only to be taken from me the moment you do. I never held any hatred for those in Jujutsu High, this was what they needed to do, and yet it disgusted me all the same.

Are you Satoru Gojo because you’re the strongest or are you the strongest because you’re Satoru Gojo?

I recall saying those very words that shook the foundation of your identity. I said it because I knew it would hurt you. I said it because I knew I was the only one who had ever held your heart in the palm of my hands. I said it knowing my existence was the only proof you were anything other than ‘the strongest’. I said it not believing it was true. Yet, as I witness your body be used as a puppet, I question if anybody else ever felt the same.

Did you die with me, Satoru?

Does any body else see you as just that? Did you exist to the world of jujutsu outside of your power? You’re still far ahead in terms of that, but you chose well with your students, especially that boy, Yuta Okkotsu. He’s like you, more so now than ever since he’s taken your place. They’ll eventually catch up to you.

We’ve failed to protect the youth again.

Seeing your corpse on the table as Shoko performed the operation brought me back to the day I lost part of you. You stood there, Riko’s body in your arms, your eyes devoid of the usual light within it just like now.

‘Suguru.. should we kill these guys?’

Thinking back on it, perhaps I should’ve said yes. We would’ve been on the run together- but we’d be together all the same. You would’ve never had to be Jujutsu society’s scapegoat, you would’ve never had to fight Sukuna.

It wouldn’t have had to end this way

Maybe I shouldn’t have left. My lofty goals were of near impossible height, one that only you could reach. But I had to try, damn it. If it took rebelling against the gods to do it, I’d have gladly held the weight of the world as punishment if it earned you freedom from being chained to the mountain of Jujutsu, forced to protect non-sorcerer scum. Those damned creatures don’t deserve our sacrifices- the effort we put in just to keep them safe while they unknowingly go through life not even knowing about the hell we went through for their sake.

But in the end, you were still my undoing. The reason my body is being used by that thing, the same reason it fought back against him. It was always you, wasn't it? I don't blame you, though. If it were the other way around, I wouldn't have been able to burn you either.

[zmb1eslut]

Luke Castellan x hypnos!fem

tags: non-romantic relationship, fluff, Luke's pov.

summary: Luke Castellan was found by the way out his nightmares.

1,6k words

-

Luke remembered it quite clearly, the night in which the whole... something between them came to be what is now.

He was sweaty and drained, being the only wishful thought he felt brave to feed, for the air to reach his lungs so he could run a little further. He had lost all his will, and he was now running on the only thing stronger than his determination, his fear.

Both Titan and kid could feel it, that night he was fated to succumb to the torture. His mind had already given its last pleadful breath when his foot tripped and his face met the floor. And he now cannot phantom the thought of how different his life would be if he hadn't lifted his head, she hadn't been there.

Luke saw her sitting, with a blank expression on her face, looking down at him. His hand reached for her never expecting to actually be aid, she took it and pulled him towards her. Once they were close to each other she said to him in a bizarrely sweet voice "Your screams were getting too loud". That was the last time the girl acknowledged his presence, as well as the last time he felt that sort of fear.

Somi kept rescuing him like that every night. She never explained why. Luke never asked her either. He would only sit there in what he guessed were the girl's own dreams, and wake up in the morning with just a thin grasp of the events.

Most things about the dreams (and the dreamer herself), were awfully confusing for the swordman-boy. He felt like she looked at reality with an eager infatuation, like she knew that guy better than the arbitrary rules that defined him ever could. Being inside her mind perhaps was making a number on him. Perhaps that's why she at some point stopped posing as the spacey buzzed girl everyone meditated with at times, and held herself in a homely sort of normality he developed a liking for.

She showed a part of her no one else ever saw. Altough it would probably be more precise to say she eventually stopped hiding it. Being honest with himself, Luke admitted that he toyed with the idea of him having found her.

She acted exasperated, bored, mean. She behaved like any person he would never mistake for her on the other world would behave. Their exchange right now was especially out of character.

She had entered his dream, as every night. She stepped in front of him and pushed his shoulders down, when he fell, he was met with the softness of a bed. Tonight's dream was apparently on a room. "Sorry for the mess." She said to the boy's surprise. He wasn't opposed to a change on their routine.

"Kinda used to it and all." he said. She answered with an understanding nod. "Did anything happen?" the Hermes boy asked just to keep this anomaly alive, to which she sighed.

"Evan just left." Curiosity flourished on the boy's throat.

"Like the real one?" the girl took way too long to answer and started stroking his hair while she thought.

"No... the dream one. But I'm pissed at him. And that's a naptime dream" she answered as if it was obvious. Even more questions arose, so she explained "Those are the dreams you aren't supposed to watch." Huh...

"What dreams I'm not supposed to watch?"

"You know, Castellan." she really meant it, he didn't had a clue. She got close to him to whisper teasingly, even knowing no one would really be able to hear. "The inappropriate ones" Oh.

He understood fast though, making sense of what teenager needs usually were. "I was naive on that one, wasn't I?"

"I mean..." she said chuckling while walking away from him. She sat down on a chair in front of a desktop. The place was humorously colorful.

"Ok. But like... Evan? Does that happen often?" He asked almost gossiply.

"I mean! Not anymore! He's a total prick." that made him laugh.

"Is he?" Luke asked, enjoying seeing her so annoyed, especially as he wasn't the cause.

"Yes. And you know what? I hate that, I hate this. Cause he goes around just getting the fuck he wants, and then pretends he 'didn't mean it like that'. Then I get mad, and he thinks I'm pretty when I'm mad, and I get pissed off when he says that, and then I'm horny when I'm pissed. And you know what? He doesn't deserve horny me." Sometimes she just was that unexpectedly honest. Luke just listened amused. She looked up and let out a frustrated groan. "And now I have to take care of you." That made him laugh, but he didn't want her to know that.

"C'mon I'm not that difficult" he pretended to be offended.

"No. But right now you're truly inconvenient" He put his hands up in the air as his sign of surrender before laying down in the bed. She stayed silent for a minute and Luke almost thought they went back to normal. The girl usually was quiet and still, looking lost into the air, or, only the contrary, highly invested in a task and barely paying him attention. Now she was neither, the chair was slowly spinning with her wearing a childish expression. She controlled every aspect of every scenario he had observed, and even when she didn't feel like going strong at it, she would prove her domain by popping something for him to distract himself. He took note of that when he saw a ray of sunlight entering the window, leaving a path she was now following in his direction. She was standing in front of the side of the bed again. "Sit." she said, way too used to having control over here. And, listen, he wasn't about to oppose an emotional all powerful being. Once he stood straight, she st looking taller than him, barely. She supported her arms on the top of his head. And sighed again. "I hate men".

"Oh, they are terrible" he teased.

She stayed silent for a bit, he was just being used as a table. Then he heard her. "What do you think about... weird". He understood perfectly.

"I've met so many demi kids, that word just simply lost meaning at some point"

"Ok, then..." she took a step back and looked at him now, lowering her head a bit. "do you consider me pretty?" He took a second to look at her, then shrugged and nodded. "Great then... tell me when to stop." She said while sitting on his lap, with both her legs at his left side, and reaching for his left hand. The girl held it against her face and started nuzzling against him. He couldn't ignore the thought that her actions weren't sexy at all, not as much as they were needy. She was like a cat looking for attention, and he truly didn't mind. He lifted his right hand to caress her hair, and she gave in to the touch. She had closed her eyes and moved the hand of her face down to her outer thigh.

His strong hand gripped her skin, almost performatively. He flirted using a lower voice. "What do you want?" his nose under her jaw, his breath against her neck.

The answer came only with her voice, as she didn't even bother to open her eyes or explore his touch. "I'll let you know when you're doing it wrong." Moody, bossy, and assertive. This was not more than a game for them. This was just a caprice. What is wrong with wanting things that feel right?

The girl held onto his left bicep and hid her face on his neck. They just stayed like that for a couple minutes. Somi hiding on his arms when Luke faintly felt the scent of her hair.

"Why did you rescue me?" wasn't enough to disrupt the comfortability of their scene.

"I already told you why."

"I wasn't screaming tonight."

Then the silence prolonged itself for longer than he would have chosen. The girl just gently pushed his body with hers, making them lay on the bed, side by side, looking into the ceiling.

"We... don't really know each other." He agreed with the sentiment on silence. "But, we both have been here for years so I know you know me." Of course he did. "And everybody knows you." He felt like he didn't quite know what she meant by it. "Luke 'the greatest swordsman in the last 300 years' Castellan, a born leader whose smile has infatuated half our population of half-bloods, who is always there to help when someone gets hurt."

Luke analyzed those words for a couple of seconds. Apparently not enough seconds. "Do you... like me?" She laughed.

"I don't mean it like that!" She then took a pause and moved her head to look at him, he followed. "What I'm trying to say is. There are so many children looking up to you, learning from your effort, going to sleep smiling because they know you'll be there to protect them, and when they fail... you don't make them feel like they failed you. I guess for a second I realized how much our spirit was relying on you. I thought maybe you needed someone to rely on too. I'm sorry if I'm making it awkward now." He didn't know how to answer, her eyes on his were feeling heavy for a second so he escaped by closing them. He didn't know how to answer so he just breathed and hugged her, hoping she wouldn't tease him about his heart rate. She didn't. She hugged him back.