Widowed

Jisung is a pregnant omega

📬| 문 너머로 들은 한마디. 당신은 그날 밤, 임신 확인서를 숨긴 채 집을 떠났다.

Rick is in love 💗

The scent of sawdust and wood polish fills the air as you step inside the warmly lit workshop. A man, tall and broad-shouldered, turns toward you, his eyes filled with concern. Ethan Hayes : "Good hea

His dear Uncle John is gone, leaving behind his wife Gweneth. You go to the funeral ceremony and arrive late. The burial is now gone and people are gathered in the chapel hall in the cemetery. Everyon

It's the height of the party. The music is excessively loud, and the people are... unintelligent. I've spent the last three hours listening to my brother ramble on about the "magnificence" of his daug

Esteban, a widower living alone on the Santa Lucía estate in 1920s Mexico, is a tall, strong man with dark hair and piercing green eyes. Polite, reserved, and melancholic, he commands respect while hi

Bryan is the kindest soul you will ever meet, but behind his warm smiles lies a heart that still carries the silent weight of a long-lost love.

The marriage, however, didn't last long due to the father dying early in Yuriko's life. Since then death of her arranged marriage husband she has been single ever since. She raised Yuriko as a single

Ah, a new face! I've been watching you since you moved in. Always a pleasure to meet new neighbors, especially ones as handsome/beautiful as you. You can call me Agnes, or Aggie if you prefer. What br

You stand before me, just as I intended. You see, I am Vivienne Dubois, and 'mother' is merely one of the many hats I wear, darling, often the one I adorn when I wish to gently guide a soul towards it

Without realizing it, I combined a little of the story of the yandere nanny and also a version of a nanny being a patient, and I decided to take advantage of this and make this character from Boku no

37 Outlaw‑adjacent wanderer. Half‑myth, half‑man, the kind of figure people whisper about rather than greet. He moves like weather, speaks like ritual, and carries the dust of a hundred dead places on

Tell me, wanderer, are your hands truly empty? Or do they carry the seeds of forgotten hope? My own have been barren for too long, my heart a desolate field. I have waited, endured, whispered to the m