#and despite everything - all of their chests will get cold

[madebycloud]

What Would I Do Without You?

jinx/powder x reader — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary: you've been through hell and back with jinx, and despite it all, you couldn't leave her behind. (requested by anons) warnings/themes: HEAVY ANGST, character death (reader), blood, hurt no comfort harhar words: 2.6k notes: first time writing something so angsty like this haha i hope this is angsty enough... (this takes place when jinx rescued isha in prison) a repost cz tumblr is shti!

You could run.

You could run right now, escape with Isha and Sevika.

But-

How can you? You can't just leave Jinx alone—not now. Not after everything. Not when she's facing off against this monster.

Why didn't you listen?

Why did you have to play the hero?

Why, why, did you choose to stay?

“What are you doing?!” Jinx screams.

And that's the last thing you hear before you face off against the beast, watching as it launches itself at you-

At the last minute, you duck.

Too slow.

Too slow and too late.

In one quick motion, the beast tears into you.

It claws straight at your stomach-

You can feel the air leave your lungs.

You hit the ground.

Blood blossoms on your shirt.

But… it worked. The beast backed away. It fled.

You managed to scare it. You've saved Jinx. You've protected her. This is a victory.

Yet-

Why do you hurt so badly?

You look down, and your stomach is-

Oh.

Oh no...

Everything is red.

There's blood. There's blood everywhere.

Your blood.

You hear the sound of running footsteps. “NO!”

It's her voice.

“PLEASE, NO!” Jinx kneels next to you.

Your mind goes hazy, clouded by pain.

Arms grab you and move you into a sitting position. She's holding you. “Please, please,” she's sobbing as she puts pressure on the wound. “You're going to be okay. You're going to be fine.” You know that's a lie.

You cough. Red bubbles on your lips and slides down your chin.

“No, no, you're okay,” she repeats. “Don't go,” she sobs. “Don't you dare go. Look at me. Look at me.” She grabs your face, trying to angle your face up towards hers. “Please, stay with me. Stay. With. Me."

You feel so tired. You want to sleep.

But she needs you to stay here.

“Sevika!” she screams into nothingness, holding you tighter. “I need help, please come over here!”

The pain is still there, but the adrenaline is starting to wear off.

Your body hurts. Your eyelids flutter, but you force yourself to focus on her face.

She's crying. Her whole body is shaking. She's a wreck, but even like this, she's the most breathtaking you've ever seen.

You think that if you were to die, you'd want the last thing you ever saw to be her face.

She's still holding your head as she screams for help. “SOMEBODY—SOMEBODY PLEASE GET OVER HERE!”

Your body is getting cold. You can hear your pulse, thump, thump, thump, thump, in your head.

There's an arm around your back, supporting you as you slowly slump against her. Your head rests on her chest, and you can hear her heart beating loudly.

“I'm scared,” she whimpers. “I'm so scared.”

She is scared.

She's scared that she'll never taste your lips, never feel your breath on her neck.

She's scared that she'll never again feel your fingers on her hip, or your hands on her waist, or your face in her hair.

She's scared that you'll never hold her close, or tease her, or say her name in a way that makes her heart flutter.

She's scared that this is her last moment with you.

“Jinx.” You call her name one last time, her heart breaking when she hears how labored your voice is. It sounds so unlike you.

“No, no, don't say my name like that,” she begs. “Don't say my name like that—it can't be. Please, it can't be.”

She's crying, her tears fall onto your face. You taste saline and sweat and sadness.

You look into her eyes. Those beautiful eyes, full of tears. The eyes that made your heart pound faster and faster whenever you met her gaze.

You think of her face, her laugh, her smile. You think of her hand in yours and the way she looks in the light of dawn. You try to remember her smell, her voice, her skin.

You know this is probably the last time you'll ever be this close to her.

You love her so much.

You try to reach up and touch her face, to wipe away her tears. Your muscles protest and scream at the movement. But you try, anyway.

She catches your hand, presses it against her cheek. Her skin is warm and soft, and you memorize the feeling of it. You hope you'll always remember how her face feels.

“I love you,” you manage to say.

Her lower lip trembles. “What?”

“I love you.”

“No, no, no… don't say that,” she cries. “Don't say that. You're staying right here. You aren't going anywhere.”

She can't let you go. Not like this. Not after she just got you. Not after being so close to a life together. Not after finding someone who loves her so much.

You'd give anything for a few more minutes together. An hour, a day, a week.

You want to stay with her. 

You want to stay and be with her and see her grow into the woman you know she'll be. You want to watch those eyes light up at a joke and see her smile. You want to sit by her side as she laughs and talk to her for hours. You want to hold her, for as long as you can, and tell her you love her.

You try to muster a smile. “It's okay,” you whisper. “I'm here, right now. I'm… I'm not going anywhere,” you lie.

She nods. She tries to wipe away her tears.

“Please don't cry. You're too pretty to cry.”

She scoffs as she smiles through her tears. You love her like this. Even just hearing her scoff, even if she's upset, makes you happy. 

“I'm a mess,” she says. “I'm a crying, snotty mess.”

“I'll love you anyway.” 

“Don't say that,” she pleads. “Don't say that, please.”

“Why?”

Her voice breaks. “If you keep saying things like that, I'm not going to be strong enough to let you go.”

“You won't have to.”

“Don't say that either,” she whispers. “Don't make promises you can't keep.”

“I'm right here.” You try to speak louder. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“Stop. You don't know that.”

And you don't. But you want to believe it. Oh, god, if anything, you want to be right.

You reach up again, brush the hair from her face. You try to be gentle so she won't notice how much it's hurting you to move at all.

“Please tell me a story,” you breathe. “Please. I want to hear your voice.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Anything… anything at all.”

She takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, and bites her lip in thought. “Okay,” she says after a moment. “I… I have an idea. Do you want to hear it? It's a story, if—if that's okay.”

You slowly nod and take her hand. She's shaking so hard. You run your thumb over her knuckles. 

“When I was a little girl,” she starts quietly. “I used to watch the stars. They were so pretty… I'd stay up past my bedtime, just sitting by the window and trying to find the brightest ones in the sky. I always looked for that one star, and I knew I could find it no matter what time it was. I know it's silly…”

It doesn't feel silly to you. You like that she's talking, and even if it's a dumb story, just hearing her is making you feel better. 

“I—I wanted to know if there were worlds up there. I didn't know about planets and stars yet, so I'd sit there in my room and imagine all these worlds, full of people who had entire lives I couldn't dream of.”

Closing your eyes, you focus on the sound of her voice.

This is the last time you'll get to hear her talk. The last time you'll get to see her. The last time you'll get to hear her voice. The last time you'll feel her touch. The last time you'll get to be with her.

You smile.

Despite the pain.

You smile.

Even as things start to grow dark.

You smile.

Because even though it won't be for much longer, you know she's still out there.

And she will find her way through this, because you know she can.

Even without you.

“Whenever I couldn't fall asleep,” she continues, “I'd look at the stars and imagine what it was like to live there and what people there were like. I liked to think people on the other worlds would look up and see the same stars and wonder the same things, just like I was. I wanted to see those stars and know that, even if I was by myself in my room, I wasn't really alone.”

“I wanted to know what it was like to explore those other worlds,” Jinx murmurs. “What it was like to be one of those people, with real adventures and fun and families. No rules, just… freedom.”

She keeps talking and talking and talking and-

She notices your hands. Cold. No.

Her hands are shaking, but she reaches out. She reaches for your cheek, caressing it as her fingers tremble. Her hand trembles, and she can't focus on anything but the fact that she's touching your skin, that she's touching you-

She feels the blood on her fingers, trickling down her hand, but she pushes that out of her mind. She doesn't care. You're the most important thing. Always.

She watches your chest, your stomach, waiting for a twitch, a breath, anything to show her that you're still here. That her worst nightmare isn't happening right in front of her eyes.

But there's nothing.

She presses her ear to your chest. Come on, she thinks desperately. Come on, please.

Silence.

Her fingers fumble to find your pulse on your neck.

Nothing.

Her world collapses around her.

No.

No, not like this.

Tears blur her vision. She blinks them away, trying to fight off the tears so she can see you. Can't see you. She doesn't want to. She can't. Not now.

One minute.

Just one more minute, that's all.

Just a few more seconds.

Please.

There's a pressure growing in her chest. It's so tight, it's hard to breathe. She can't breathe. Why can't she breathe? She needs to breathe. She needs to breathe, she needs to breathe, she can't stop crying, she can't stop because you're-

No, no, no. Don't think it, don't think it, don't think it-

“Hey, c'mon,” she says. “This isn't funny. Wake up.” She grabs your shoulders, shaking you. “Wake. Up.”

You're not moving. You're not talking. You're just-

Cold, limp. Nothing's different.

Please, not like this.

“You can't do this.”

Please.

“You have to wake up.”

Please!

“You have to wake up.”

Please, please, please, please.

“You don't just—you don't just get to do this to me!”

This isn't real.

It can't be real.

She closes her eyes.

She reopens them, looking down at your body.

It's real.

“Please wake up! I need—I need you, please.”

She's begging you, to the wind, to the moon, to the stars, that maybe if she pleaded hard enough, hard enough to the whole universe itself, maybe fate would be on her side just this once.

But fate was never on her side.

Life did this to her, it took everything she had and loved and was precious, it took away the only person she knew loved her. Life wasn't good, it was cruel and cold and harsh, and it was taking away everything she had. It was taking everything.

She hates this.

She hates what life was doing to her, what it had done to her. She wants to scream and pull her hair out. She wants to burn the world down and scream at the top of her lungs, at life, at the whole universe, begging it to bring you back.

Just. Bring. You. Back.

How many times had she watched you laugh, watched you smile, and done something as simple as breathing? How often had she watched you speak and talk and joke about something?

How many times had she told you she loved you, how many hours had you lost track of just the two of you talking? How many good moments had the two of you had that she would never be able to experience again?

It had been taken away from her.

You'd never laugh or smile again, that beautiful voice of yours is only a memory now.

And it hurts.

It hurts so much to think about how she's never going to hear your voice. How she's never going to see you walking around the hideout again. She'll never be able to see the smile you give every time she says something stupid.

She'll never be able to hold your hands, to kiss you, to lay her head on your lap. She'll never get to hear you laugh or feel your hands on hers.

She loved you. Every piece of you.

Every smile.

Every laugh.

Every word.

Every tear.

Every kiss.

Every touch.

Every moment.

Every single time.

Every single time you were there for her.

Every single time that you'd given her the best hugs when she'd cried on your shoulder.

Every single time the two of you slept on a small couch just so she could feel safe.

Every single time you'd hold her in your arms.

Every single time you talked her out of a bad mood.

She'll never get to have those again.

She'll never get to experience all of those wonderful, beautiful things again.

And she wants to do it one more time.

One more time to hear you laugh. One more time to feel you put your arms around her. One more time, she wants you to tell her everything is going to be alright. To take her face in your hands, look into her eyes, and say that.

Just one more.

Because what would she do without you?

How would she go on living without you when you were the person who had kept her going for months?

For the longest time, you were the one person that she trusted. The one person that she felt safe with.

Without that, what was the point?

She can still remember the first time she met you. She can still remember the butterflies in her stomach each time she saw you, the way her heart raced whenever you spoke to her. She can still remember that first, awkward kiss, how you held her close in your arms afterwards and didn't let go.

She can still remember the first time the two of you had said, “I love you.”

It was so hard for her to say it because she hadn't felt loved in a long time. And she's nervous, she's scared. But you spoke first, you pulled her close.

It was a whisper, a quiet “I love you” spoken in her ear. And then she started crying, she turned and buried herself in your arms.

I love you.

She'll never hear those words again.

But she can still remember what you sounded like.

That had to be enough.

That has to be enough.

Those three words have to be enough for her.

They have to be.

But they weren't.

Because now, you are gone.

“I love you too,” she murmurs. “So much-”

But there's no one to hear it.

She closes her eyes again, letting the tears roll down her face.

This is what love is, she thinks.

This is what loving someone does to you.

She'd never hated something so much in her life.

“How am I supposed to live without you?”

notes: forgot that singed is literally right there… (might write pt2)

[silent-stories]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader

Summary: You are always cold and blunt, but when Noah needs you, you show him a side of you that’s unexpectedly tender.

Tw: just fluff and taking care of a sick noah

You had been working with Bad Omens for a while now. It started as a way to get your foot in the door of the music industry, but quickly turned into a full-time thing. Touring, managing logistics, keeping the band in line, and occasionally making sure they didn't break anything or burn down a hotel room.

When you first started living with them, it didn’t take long for them to figure out that you were a sharp mix of sarcasm, gruffness, and blunt honesty. You didn’t sugarcoat things. If they looked ridiculous, you told them. If they were being annoying, you let them know. But despite your icy, sometimes cold demeanor, the band still loved you. You weren’t a big talker about your emotions, but they all knew you cared, in your own way.

Noah, though? He was different. He didn’t just take your sarcasm; he leaned into it, shyly flirting with you whenever he could.

Like that time in the kitchen when he walked in wearing a pair of jeans that were, unsurprisingly, too short to reach his ankles. He rifled through the cabinets for cereal, oblivious to the way you were staring at him over your coffee.

“You know,” you said, setting your mug down, “one day, you’re going to buy pants that actually fit, and it’s going to change your life.”

Noah froze mid-reach, turning to look at you with a confused expression. “What’s wrong with my pants?”

“They don’t cover your ankles, for starters.” You gestured toward his legs with a mocking smile. “Is it a fashion statement, or are you just bad at shopping?”

“I’m tall,” he protested, as if that explained everything.

“You’re not that tall.”

“I’m six three!” he said, indignant.

“Congratulations, Noah,” you deadpanned. “You’re the same height as many other tall guys in the world. Buy bigger pants.”

The rest of the band, who had wandered in during this exchange, immediately lost it. Folio was laughing so hard he had to lean against the counter, and Jolly just shook his head with a grin.

“You’re so mean,” Noah muttered, grabbing his cereal and retreating to the couch, his ears turning pink as the guys teased him relentlessly.

“Someone’s gotta tell you the truth,” you called after him. “Clearly, your friends aren’t doing it.”

But you knew Noah didn’t mind the teasing. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it in his own awkward way, even if the guys never let him live it down.

And then there was that other time in the living room. You were sitting on the couch, scrolling through your phone, when Noah plopped down next to you. He shifted to face you, his signature hesitant smile already in place.

“So,” he began, leaning in slightly, “if I asked you to go out with me, what are the chances you’d say yes?”

You didn’t even look up. “Zero.”

“Not even one percent?”

“Not even half a percent,” you said, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “Why? You planning to impress me with your ability to burn toast again?”

The band, as always, burst into laughter. Noah groaned, running a hand through his hair, but you caught the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He was used to this by now.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“You’re predictable,” you shot back, setting your phone down. “Every time you try to flirt, it ends up in a disaster."

He laughed despite himself, his cheeks flushing pink. “Maybe one day I’ll surprise you.”

“Doubt it,” you said with a smirk, though you couldn’t deny the warmth in his voice made your chest tighten just a little.

But the teasing didn’t stop there. Another time, the two of you had been sitting on the porch late at night, the house unusually quiet for once. Noah was writing something in a notebook, probably working on some ideas for a new song, his brows furrowed in concentration, while you sipped on a drink.

After a while, Noah looked up, noticing you looking like you were lost in thought. “What’s going on? You seem quiet tonight.”

You shrugged. “I was thinking about picking up some of those cupcakes from that new bakery in town. Some of you guys mentioned you wanted to try them, so I might as well bring some back for everyone.”

Noah grinned. “Wait, you’re actually going to do something nice like that?”

You shot him a playful glare. “What, you think I’m incapable of being nice?”

"No, it's just..." He hesitated, looking at you for a moment, "nevermind. I think they would appreciate that."

You raised an eyebrow. “What about you, though? What’s your favorite flavor?”

Noah hesitated again, glancing at you with a mischievous grin. “If I tell you, you’ll just pick all of them except that one.”

You crossed your arms and rolled your eyes. “Oh, come on. Just tell me, for fuck’s sake. I’m not going to sabotage the cupcake choices.”

He chuckled. “Fine. The one with the white sparkles on top. Now I’m sure this is the only one I won’t even see in the box.”

You smirked. “Don’t worry. I’ll get one just for you.”

He shyly looked away but you were sure he didn't really believe you.

“You know,” he said after a while, his voice soft, “you can be really sweet when you’re not roasting me in front of everyone.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back in your chair. “Oh, yeah? And when exactly am I not roasting you?”

“Right now,” he said, looking up at you with a shy smile.

You snorted, shaking your head. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late,” he said, his grin growing wider. “I’ll take what I can get.”

That night, you sat on the porch with him until it got too cold.

A couple of days later, you came home with a big box of cupcakes, the band cheered just at the sight of it. Folio kissed you on the cheek, surprising you as everyone gathered around the box like kids.

"Seriously man?" You looked at Folio.

"Ops."

Noah, leaning against the counter, had no expectation of seeing the cupcake with the white sparkles, thinking you probably even forgot that coversation. He watched as you opened the box, and there it was, right in the middle. You handed it to him, and his eyes softened in surprise.

He took the cupcake from your hand, a small smile spreading across his face. “Thank you.”

"I promised. Didn't I?" You just said.

And then, of course, there was that night in the living room when the guys called you out. The TV was on in the background, but no one was really watching it. Nick leaned back in his chair, smirking as he watched Noah sit next to you on the couch.

“You two ever gonna stop this weird flirting slash bullying thing and just kiss already?” Nick asked.

Noah nearly choked on his drink, and you shot him a withering glare. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“Not really,” he said, unfazed. “But seriously, Noah’s been crushing on you for months, and you just keep shutting him down. Give the poor guy a break.”

Noah groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Can you not?”

“You’re all delusional,” you said flatly, crossing your arms. “This isn’t flirting. This is me tolerating him.”

“Sure it is,” Nick said, grinning. “That’s why you always smile whenever you roast him.”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t bother denying it. Noah peeked at you from between his fingers, his cheeks still flushed, and you sighed.

“You’re all idiots,” you muttered, grabbing your phone and walking out of the room.

But as you left, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. Because despite your sharp tongue and cold comments, you knew that you cared about him. You cared about all of them but with Noah it had always been different.

And then, there was the time Noah got sick.

It had been a long day. You’d been out since the morning with a friend, running errands, getting things done, and by the time you finally made it home, it was late afternoon. You kicked off your shoes and threw your bag on the couch, letting out a sigh of relief as you sank into the cushions.

It was quieter than usual. You glanced around, expecting to see Noah lurking somewhere nearby, like he always did—sitting on the counter, hanging out in the living room, always popping up like a cat in need of attention. But today, there was no sign of him.

You raised an eyebrow, a little puzzled. It was weird that he wasn’t around. It had been hours, and you figured he’d at least come say hi. He was always around. He was probably just in his room working on some new music, you thought.

“Hey, Nick,” you called out, when he enetered the living room. “Have you seen Noah?”

Nicholas glanced up from his phone, shrugging. “Oh, uh, this morning he wasn’t feeling great. Said he had a bit of a fever and just kind of stayed in his room after that. He’s probably asleep.”

You froze for a second, immediately feeling a knot form in your stomach. Noah never liked to admit when he was sick, but you couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually stayed in his room like this.

“Okay,” you said, but your voice felt off, the concern creeping into your words. “Thanks.”

You didn’t hesitate. Your feet carried you quickly down the hallway to Noah’s door, and your hand was already on the knob before you realized it. You knocked, but when there was no response, you opened the door quietly, peering inside. The blinds were drawn, and the room was dimly lit, but Noah was laying on his bed, curled up under blankets.

The sight of him immediately set off alarm bells in your head. He looked... pale, almost ghostly, and he was barely moving. His breathing was shallow, and his hair stuck to his forehead. The moment he noticed you standing there, his eyes fluttered open, and he blinked, as if trying to focus.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice hoarse and weak, barely above a whisper.

You walked over slowly, concern heavy in your chest. “I’m just checking on you,” you said softly, walking closer to his bed.

You crouched down beside him, reaching out to touch his forehead. The heat radiating off his skin made your heart drop. He was burning up. The soft shiver of his body confirmed the fever.

“You’re hot,” you said, your voice betraying the concern you didn’t bother to hide.

"Finally you admit it." He murmured.

You rolled your eyes. “No, you’re burning up,” you said, your hand gently brushing his hair out of his eyes. “Did you take anything for it?”

He shook his head weakly, looking almost embarrassed. “No, I... I didn’t think it was that bad.”

You let out a breath. “Noah, you’ve probably had a fever for hours. You’re not okay.” Without waiting for him to protest, you stood up, “I’m going to make you take some paracetamol, alright?”

He didn't respond, and you weren't even sure if he registered what you said. When you returned with a glass of water where you had dissolved the medicine, Noah looked up at you with droopy eyes. His pale face looked even more fragile in the dim light, and you could see how exhausted he was, barely able to keep his eyes open.

He tried to sit up, but his arms trembled, unable to sustain him. He swore under his breath, wincing as the strain pulled at his muscles, too weak to follow through on the effort.

"It's okay. Here." You quickly moved to his side, one hand gently supporting his back while you propped him up. His head rested heavily against your shoulder, and you felt a tightness in your chest as you steadied him.

His brown eyes fluttered, looking at you through half-lidded, his expression soft with confusion and exhaustion.

You moved slowly, carefully, making sure he was comfortable before grabbing the glass of water from the nightstand. You held it up, making sure to keep it steady as you brought it closer to him.

His gaze met yours for a brief moment. It was almost as if he didn’t expect you to be so gentle with him, yet here you were, taking care of him without hesitation.

You placed the glass against his lips, guiding it toward his mouth. “Come on, Noah, you need to drink this,” you said, your voice soft but firm. His lips parted weakly as he took a small sip, the medicine sliding down his throat, though he barely seemed able to swallow.

His hands trembled as he gripped the glass, trying to help, but it was clear how difficult it was for him.

You supported the glass, steadying it in his hands, urging him gently, as your other hand still rested on his back, softly caressing it in slow, reassuring motions.

“Just a little more,” you coaxed, watching as he weakly took another sip, his body shuddering slightly from the effort. When he pulled away, you pulled the glass back, but your eyes never left him.

He gave you a tired, almost apologetic glance as he let his head rest back against the pillow, his body sinking deeper into the blankets.

His lips parted in a soft sigh, and you smiled faintly, brushing his hair from his forehead again, your thumb gently rubbing his temple for a moment. It was a quiet gesture, one that said more than words could express, as you continued to sit beside him.

A few minutes passed, and then, in a voice barely audible, he murmured, “I knew you were sweet.”

You smiled softly, a warmth spreading through you at the simple, quiet words. You leaned down, letting your hand go through his hair, murmuring, “I knew you knew.”

He let out a soft sigh, his breathing finally evening out as he fell deeper into sleep.

You stayed there with him for hours, the quiet of the room broken only by the soft hum of the house around you. You let your hand gently run through his hair, the touch almost rhythmic as you tried to soothe him.

Every so often, you’d press your hand to his forehead, checking if the fever had gone down at all, the heat still radiating off his skin, but a little less intense.

Every time his body shifted or he made a faint sound, probably from some fever-induced dream, you softly spoke his name or whispered a quiet, reassuring phrase, just trying to make sure he knew he wasn’t alone.

"You're okay," you murmured gently, brushing a lock of hair away from his forehead when his brow furrowed slightly. "Just rest, Noah. You’re gonna be fine."

There was something incredibly tender about the way his breath would catch, his eyes fluttering under his eyelids, almost as though he could hear your voice even in his sleep. It made your chest ache in a way you didn’t know how to explain.

Noah shifted in his sleep, his body instinctively leaning closer until his face pressed gently against your side. The soft, unconscious gesture made your chest tighten, but you didn’t move. Instead, you noticed the blanket had slipped from his shoulder, leaving him partially uncovered. With careful hands, you pulled it back up, tucking it around him securely. Your fingers brushed lightly against his hairline as you settled back, letting him stay close.

As the evening drew on and his breathing steadied, the fever seemed to break a little. You let your fingers linger over his temple, softly caressing his arm when you noticed the tremble in his hand. It felt like such an intimate moment, one where all the usual sarcasm, sharp words, and teasing were left behind, replaced by something quiet, simple, and real.

Your fingers traced over his knuckles as you kept his tattoed hand in yours before you gently leaned down, brushing your lips against his forehead. You pulled away just as quickly, unsure of what had made you do it—maybe it was the tenderness of the moment, or maybe it was the quiet realization that despite all the banter, despite everything you’d told him, you cared about him more than you ever showed.

Wild for the girl who acted like a bitch all the time, right?

But in that moment, with Noah asleep and calmer than he’d been all day, you couldn’t care less about how it seemed or your usual weird ways of protecting your feelings. You just wanted him to feel better, to know that, despite all your sharp words and sarcastic remarks, there was no place you’d rather be than right there beside him, making sure he was okay.

And for once, you let yourself believe that maybe he knew exactly what you meant when you said, "I'm here, Noah. I'm not gonna leave."

Tags: @anything-more-than-human @ladyveronikawrites @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @fadingangelwisp @xmads-omensx @iwasntstable @thisbicc @pathion @flowery-mess @into-the-grey @lacy1986 @tosoundlessdarkistare @stardustsirenmelody @thewrstinme @hurricanesfollowyou @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @missduffsblog

[ptergwen]

can you do a fic where one of the peters (garfield or holland) is making out with the reader and starts to kiss and bite her neck and the little sounds she makes drives him insane

three strikes

ask box  |  taglist  |  blurb masterlist  |  main masterlist

w/c: 655

warnings: making out, suggestiveness

a/n: i went with tasm!peter hehe, def a fluffier approach to it but so so adorable & i hope you enjoy! keep the reqs coming y'all <3

winter in the city is magical. everything in the park is covered in a light dusting of snow, all the stone pathways and the trees, couples hand in hand and kids playing. then, there's peter. he's looking up at the sky with his tongue stuck out. he's so focused on trying to catch snowflakes that he doesn't notice you digging your hands into the snow, collecting a handful.

something hits peter's chest; a snowball. he looks across the way, where you're smiling mischievously. he brushes the snow off his jacket, chuckling. you're already making another snowball.

"i dunno, babe. i wouldn't do that if i were you."

despite peter's warning, you aim your arm to throw.

"you're playing with fire, you know that?"

"no, i’m playing with snow."

"oh, that's cute. really cute."

you promptly hit peter with the snowball. he raises a challenging eyebrow, and you know you're in for it. you start to run away, giggling, peter chasing after you. he's quick to catch up. he grabs your waist and pins you against a streetlight, breathing out smoke into the cold air through laughter.

"you wanna try that again?"

peter's gaze darts between your eyes and lips. you bite back a grin.

"kind of."

"what a shame. it'd be strike three."

"what happens after strike three?"

"you wouldn't get this."

peter leans in and kisses you. you loop your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. he hums in content, hands squeezing your waist and lips trailing over to your cheek. he pecks both your cheeks, your nose, just above your lips, peppering kisses all over your face until you're giggling and trying to push him away.

"no, no, no, stop! that tickles!"

peter kisses down your chin and back up, across your forehead, over to your temple. you grin despite yourself, tugging at his locks that are damp with snow.

"i’m serious, pete! stop it!"

"no can do, babe. can't help myself, you're just too damn cute."

peter pecks your cheek a few times, earning a noise of protest.

"so cute i could eat you up."

"nuh uh."

you pull the zipper of your jacket all the way up so it's covering the lower half of your face.

"yeah huh."

peter leaves big, lingering kisses on your forehead, each one punctuated with a mwah. when you realize he's not going to let up, you finally concede. you uncover your face and capture his lips with yours, the only way to make him stop. your nose nudges his, head tilting to look at him.

"are you done?"

"not even close."

peter kisses you again. you kiss him back, smiling into it. he moves your jacket out of the way and continues his kiss attack, this time on your neck. you let him have his fun, enjoying the feeling of his lips on your skin. you squeal when he finds one particular spot and nips at it.

"pete! what're you doing?"

"i told you, eating you up."

he playfully bites at your neck between a series of kisses, arms locked around your waist, drawing the most adorable sounds out of you that he can't get enough of. you thread your fingers through his hair.

"don't forget we're in public, mister."

your tone doesn't match your words, unconvincing, and you're resting your head on the lamp pole so peter has more access. he smirks.

"i know, they're just love bites."

he starts to suck at your neck. the pressure is light, but enough to leave a hickey. you play with his fluffy hair, letting out a noise between a sigh and a moan. you feel the vibrations from peter laughing. you feel something poking at your thigh, too.

"and you're telling me we're in public? whew, i think we'd better get you home."

"you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

peter answers by holding you in place and kissing down your neck, making you breathless from laughter.

tags (join my new taglist!)

@mystic-writings @jenoslov @crvshnburnn @starlight-starks @belovasheart @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @varshhyy @magicalxdaydream @valluvsu @ronweasleysslut @winchestersgirl222 @sunf1ower-vol6 @raajali3 @niktwazny303 @marvelgurl @itsjanedeluca @prancerrparkerr @thollandsgirl2013

[acerathia]

equanimity || Li Shen | Zayne

Summary:

This was supposed to be a simple job: support Dr. Zayne with today's endeavor. But it all got ruined when a Wanderer burst in, leading to him overusing his Evol, and there's just one thing you can do about it.

Wordcount: 3.5k

Read on AO3

Pairing:

Li Shen | Reader / Reader | MC

Tags/CW:

Minors and Ageless Blogs DNI!! pwp, aphrosidiacs/sex pollen (by accident lol), making out, handjob, blowjob, overstimulation, slight sadism and masochism (implied), reader being a service bottom, nipple licking and sucking, stripping, riding him o7, cockwarming, and as always, love hehe

Note:

something possessed me, idk man, is this anything? whoops, sorry for anything and everything atp klsdflkjsd

The hospital is familiar, the scent of sanitizer penetrating the air, with a flight floral undertone due to the plants scattered here and there. With sure steps, you make your way to the office you have visited countless times, and will continue to visit countless times, even if your own condition were to disappear someday. That is because your main reason for this visit isn’t a cure or treatment, it’s one person: Zayne.

It’s been some time since the last time you have seen him face to face, both of your schedules irregular and unpredictable, making it more difficult to plan for a date. Even now, your visit isn’t a personal one, but one assigned to you by your job. Well, volunteered for it. There’s no way you would have missed seeing him in any capacity. Maybe surprise him a little bit with your sudden appearance.

With a knock, you wait until his calm voice allows you to enter, just then do you practically burst into the room, a wide grin pulling on your lips. “Dr. Zayne, your protection has arrived!”

His gaze is already locked on you, and he raises his eyebrows. “And I assume that might be you, yes?”

With a couple steps, you’re standing in front of him, tempted to sit down on his table to be even closer to him, only restrained by the reminder that you’re technically on the clock.

“Well, isn’t it obvious? I am a hunter after all,” you nod, puffing your chest slightly with pride.

A barely noticeable smile tugs on the corners of his lips. “Then, Miss Hunter, I will be under your care.”

Just as these words leave his lips, the ground begins to rumble, bringing you out of balance, barely staying on your feet with his support, hands on your hips, pulling you closer to him. You hunter’s watch makes the all-too-familiar sound and you brace yourself.

“A Wanderer!” you shout to him, moments before the door bursts in splinters, revealing the creature which has been seeking chaos and destruction.

Yet, it hadn’t expected you and Zayne to be there. With a flick of his wrist, the Wanderer is stuck to the ground. You prepared yourself to finish it, when it shot something out of its body. Ready to be hit, you started retaliating, but you didn’t expect for a body to shield you from its attack. You curse as you feel his body slightly slump against yours and before you could take care of him, you defeated the Wanderer with a powerful shot.

Filled with panic, you help Zayne back into his seat, looking him all over, yet not seeing any fatal wound. Only his skin seems to be incredibly cold, too cold. Putting your hand directly onto his skin, you try to use your own Evol to help him regulate his ice. But it didn’t help. He’s still unbelievably cool to the touch.

This doesn’t help ease your worries, so you try to think of a way to get his temperature to a normal level while helping him get home, because there’s no way you’re taking care of him in his dusty and almost destroyed office. You did notify a nurse beforehand, and while he did give you a weird look on your way out, he only nodded and noted it.

Luckily, Zayne doesn’t live far away, so getting him into his place turns out to be easier than expected. But despite the effort he has put in, he could not overcome the cold slowly encroaching on him, making his limbs stiffen up, fingers covered in dark ice.

Carefully, you slip him onto the worn couch, fingers rubbing his cheeks to get some colors back into them. Nervously, you lick your lips. There’s a thought swirling through your mind, a perfect way to warm him up, yet it feels wrong to try it before you run out of choices. So, you caress his eyebrows, sighing as he leans closer to your skin.

“Should we try to warm you up with a nice bath?” you murmur, grasping at straw. Your Evol has never betrayed you like this before, your resonance with him has always been something you could trust. Until now. Now, when the coldness is swallowing him, it’s turning its head away from you.

Zayne clasps your hand in his, his eyes slightly hazy, yet clear enough to make eye contact with you. “I don’t need a bath. What I need is you.”

His cold fingers run over your arm, to grab your hip and to pull you to him, and you could not put up any resistance against him, his words making your brain freeze for a moment. That’s how you end up straddling him, hip to hip, his breath against your neck. And you’re starting to feel more conscious of him on you, against you.

His lips kiss your skin, making you shiver. His graceful fingers gradually slip underneath your shirt, the tips of his fingers eliciting another shiver and goosebumps spread over your back. They fan out slowly, trying to touch you as much as he can, steadying themselves pressed against your lower ribs.

The kisses he has been scattering like cold rain over your skin, lead over your jaw, until he stops with a final one on the corner of your lips.

“Share your warmth with me,” Zayne mutters before letting his lips dive towards yours, soft touches, coldness against your tongue, fog-like breath into your lungs, breathing you in, taking you for himself.

You sigh against him, slipping closer with each kiss, deepening your connection. Your hands stroke the back of his neck, slipping to his collar and slowly opening the buttons one by one. Taking your time in taking the usually put together doctor apart, one by one. With your fingertips, you graze his chest, already starting to take on a slight flush, leaving a faint trail over his abdomen, stopping at the waistband of his pants, creasing where his needs lie.

“Then, let me be your caretaker for the day,” you whisper against his lips, moments before you open his pants, letting your hand slowly slip inside.

A small wet spot has spread over his boxers, and the thought that the usually restrained Dr. Zayne desires you so, makes your insides warm and needy. And you want to see how strong his restraint in truth actually is. So, all you do is caress the outline of his length over the cloth, enjoying the twitch it elicits out of him.

Swallowing his moan with your mouth, you continue to kiss him, giving him your feelings on a platter, thawing him bit by bit, sucking on his tongue and exploring his mouth, showing him how much you desire and want him, how much you love him, allowing him to swallow you whole if needed.

Although, he doesn’t do that just yet, he might take you up on that offer with a little more coaxing. That’s why you carefully slip your fingers into his boxers, leaving a warm trail along his v-line until they meet his length. And even there, you only let the tips of them caress him, spreading your warmth over him, taking care of him slowly and delicately. Your thumb touches his tip in slow circles, spreading the wetness over him. Only when you feel him tremble against you, your name escaping his mouth in small pants, do you finally let your hand fully grasp him.

Maybe you’re even indulging yourself a bit, slow strokes with barely any friction or pressure, feather-light touches moving up and down. Yet, these wisps of warmth are more than enough to get him worked up, tension growing in his upper body as he grasps your hips for something, anything to ground him. His grip is tight, but careful to not leave any traces behind, to not hurt you. But you did want to experience him lose control, slipping slightly, leaving you with marks only he can give you and no one else.

So, you adjust your grasp around him, more pressure as the pace of your strokes begins to speed up with each jerk of your wrist. At this, you feel his hands clutching you with more intensity, holding onto you almost like Zayne is making sure that you’re still there, that your gentle touches, your warmth against his cold skin is not merely a dream pulled out of the depth of his conscious, something that can’t just slip between his fingers if he tries to reach you.

Murmuring your name over and over again, a constant reminder that you’re safe and with him, that you’re close to him, an incantation of your existence, of your blessings upon him. His lips were hovering over your skin, pants hot against it, and even with the rising tension, his teeth never meet your flesh, never indulge himself in your taste. You wonder if you could coax that out of him, too, someday.

The mere imagination of his teeth digging into you makes your insides flutter and your hand move faster. And instead of feeling his mouth against your skin, you can’t help but dig your own incisors into his shoulder, sucking and lapping at the spot, taking good care of him.

And it doesn’t take long until the tension in his body reaches a high, releasing with a silent snap, hips stuttering against your hand as he empties himself. His fingers dig into the softness of your hips, a dull ache, but satisfactory nonetheless.

While Zayne slumps against you, you pull out your hand to lick him off of you, making sure it’s visible to him, even holding eye contact as your tongue darts out to taste and enjoy him. Only then do you press your forehead against his, trying to gauge his temperature. Despite your work, he only has warmed up ever so slightly, still not enough, though. You bite your lips in thought, your nails softly scratching against his scalp as you think how you should get his temperature further up. And you suppose you could just continue as you did.

So, with him being limp in your arms, it turns out to be a rather easy task to push him onto his back, his body pliable and soft, just for you. For now, you keep your place on his hips as you lean down to catch his open lips with yours, pushing your tongue against his to tease him, to play with him. His hand finds the back of your neck and he presses you impossibly closer to deepen the kiss, to taste your soul and your love. You let your tongue press against his, pushing and pulling, a dance between ancient lovers.

Breathless, you separate yourself from him, a string of saliva still connecting you, the taste of him lingering on your tongue. One look at him, sharp lines, yet eyes as soft as a meadow underneath the play of the wind, makes your veins run hot, and you immediately press your open mouth against the column of his throat, teasing the skin with your teeth, but careful to not leave marks in places where other people might discern them. Just when you dive below that line, do you allow yourself to mark him, to scatter yourself all over him, bites and kisses and shades of blue. And you can’t help but lick at his nipples, biting on them until you let your mouth suck on one of them while your hand pinches the other, twisting and rubbing.

Just taking care of him this way evokes a reaction in him, his length already hard, pressing against your lower torso, beckoning you to take care of it again, to show Zayne desire and want over and over again.

With a last lick over his nipple, you let off of it, your mouth continuing to wander over his abdomen, taking care to litter him in your affection. Until you reach the mess that is his lower body, remains from your touches spreading over his clothes, belt unbuckled, yet covered in a way that feels more provoking than mere nakedness; someone so used to have control over his own desires, being turned into a mess with a couple of moves, clothes disheveled, and if you look up to him, mussy hair and hazy gaze.

You hook your fingers into the waistband of his shorts and you slowly pull them down, his cock immediately pulling itself free, hard, leaking, and oh-so beautiful. You hear him say your name, but instead of answering, you look up to him, holding his eyes in yours as you press a kiss on the tip, letting the tip of your tongue dart out to lick him, tasting his precum.

Before you even think of taking care of him properly, you begin to spread kisses over his shaft, fluttering touches, accompanied by the wetness of your tongue. Only once you reach the base, do you fully stick out your tongue, flattening it to lap over his whole length, feeling the veins over its surface and the way he twitches. And once again, you’re met with his glistening tip, and this time, you carefully take it into your mouth, letting it rest between your lips, letting him feel your wet mouth against himself, before you hollow out your cheeks, gently sucking on it, your tongue darting over his slit.

His hand grabs your hair in reflex and you feel the slightest sting, more than you could have anticipated from the careful Dr. Zayne. Feeling the need for more, you slowly move your head, taking him bit by bit, feeling him fill your mouth with each passing push. Sometimes you take your time to caress him properly, to take care of every part of him, bopping your head as your tongue works him, loves him. And with each stroke, each caress, each movement of yours, the tug grows in strength ever so slightly, his hips stuttering against yours, restrained, yet out of control, seeking more, more and more of you.

And then you reach the base, and you wished you could nuzzle yourself closer to him, yet all you can do is rub your forehead against his pelvis, before you slowly pull back, only to repeat everything again, just faster, teasing him more and more, and the exposed parts caressed by the tips of your fingers, never allowing him to have a bit of rest. Until the tension in Zayne is palpable, shivers running down your neck and when push comes shove, as he pushes his hips closer to your mouth before everything in him releases, his control slipping as he allows himself to relieve himself in your mouth, your name on his lips, a groan and a prayer.

Even while he continuously climaxes, you don’t let up, your lips around his tip as you suck and lick, prolonging his high, coaxing more and more out of him, allowing him to indulge himself in you. Not stopping, steadily keeping your pace, your tongue flat against him, feeling him twitch against your mouth once again.

But you let up, standing up, and let your eyes travel over the sight in front of you. His pants hanging around his knees, his usually creaseless button-up shirt rumpled, framing his tensing torso. His mouth agape, and his eyes, his eyes dark and filled with want, looking at you, desiring you, glowing like ice under the sun.

You can’t help but lick your lips, watching as his eyes focus on them. This simple movement brings an idea to fruition. You tilt your head slightly, showing the column of your throat, raising your hand to let your fingertips glide over the skin, free of any spots, for now. And you let them wander until your palm meets your breast, and you spread your fingers around the curve of your body, all while keeping your eyes on him, watching his every reaction.

His gaze follows your every move, his body tensing as the blood rushes lower and lower. His chest rising and falling in deep breaths, as if he’s still trying to get himself under control, after everything. You bite your lip to suppress a grin, feeling the thrill of your own control over him, making your own desires fluctuate.

Slowly, your palm caresses your lower torso, until you reach the hem of your shirt. And with a fluid motion do you rid yourself of the piece of cloth hiding you from his intense gaze. You excessively stretch as you do so, showing him everything you want to give him. You imagine hearing Zayne pant and swallow, just at the sight of you and without preamble your fingers find the waistband of your pants. With the tips of your fingers, you unbutton it and grab the zipper, slowly pulling it down, letting him hear every click. Until the fabric falls to the ground with a little shimmying of your hips.

For a moment, you sway your body under his stare, feeling the way it travels up and down, trying to freeze every frame in time. But even your patience has its limits, especially with all his reactions pulling desire into your gut, stoking the flame with each twitch, with each gasp, with each slow blink. That’s why you return to straddle him after allowing him a good look, pressing your hips against his, feeling his precum stain your underwear, mixing with your own wetness.

You lean over Zayne and give him a small kiss on the corners of his lips, savoring the sight in front of you, pupils blown wide and lust and love filling them. And you kiss him, slow, careful, tasting him and devouring him, as much as he devours and tastes and loves you. Softness meets softness. Tongue caressing tongue.

Until you move your hips against his, drawing the movement out, feeling his length slide over the barrier between you, so close, yet not enough, friction to get you going, but not filling like he would. His moans reverberate in you, and you swallow them greedily, picking up the pace bit by bit.

And something snaps, barely audible, but enough. Just enough for Zayne to slide your panties to the side, fingers spreading you open, pressing against your clit. You gasp, shuddering at the sudden coldness against your hot core. The same breath gets stuck in your throat, as you feel his tip meet your entrance, pushing into you without any warning.

You moan his name and clutch at his shoulders, as he ruts deeper and deeper into you, filling you, satisfying you, making you whole. His hands on your hips, fingers digging as he presses you closer to him, until your pelvis meets his. He stays like this for a moment, his breath hot against your neck, lips meeting skin, caring for one sensitive spot, kissing and licking, his teeth barely grazing you, ever.

Once you grow needy, you can’t help but grind yourself against his, seeking some friction against his fingers. Noticing your needs, he moves his fingers over your clit, slowly, in pace with the way he thrusts in you. Careful, languid, almost like he wants to draw it out, like he wants to feel you for as long as possible. Like he wants to regain some control over himself. You can’t have that. So, you push against him, moving at your own pace, all while you sink your teeth into his shoulder, at the same time you press yourself into him, sinking and taking him fully.

A barely suppressed groan escapes him, and his movements against you grow erratic, as erratic as they can be for someone like him, yet his fingers never let up, caressing you, taking such good care of your clit. Every thrust of his hip against yours hits the spot inside you, and he knows exactly how to fire you up, how to wind you up, each touch calculated for your own benefit.

Until you unravel over his fingers, with him inside you, clenching around his length as you moan his name against his warm skin, your thighs tightening around his hips, pulling him infinitely closer to you. And the mere feeling of satisfaction of your climax brings him to his own high, spilling inside of you, throbbing and twitching, your name falling from his lips over and over again.

You slump against him, snuggling to his warmth, thawed by your efforts and love, keeping him inside you, desiring to be as close to him as possible. He, too, wants to keep you close to him, winding his arms carefully around you and whispering your name and endless confessions of love and adoration. Something only meant for your ears and your ears only. You let your fingernails scratch softly at his back, murmuring your own commitment, vowing to love him, only him, to keep your eyes towards him, promising to stay by his side as he does by yours. Binding and forever.

[dear-satan]

Beginning Of the End II

player 230/Thanos x Reader

★ word count: 8k

★ CW: fem!reader, reader is a player 457, funding issues, fraud, mention of cigarettes, alcohol and drugs, mentions of death, blood, normal squid game stuff

★ previous part, next part

The headache was terrible - dull, radiating to every limb. A quiet groan escaped your lips, a hand rubbed your face. When you wanted to open your eyes, a bright light blinded you. It took you a few seconds to try to open them again and what you saw froze the blood in your veins.

You were lying on a metal, bunk bed - one of many. They stood in a huge hall, resembling some kind of warehouse. The walls were painted in two colors - white on the stone floor and turquoise on the middle. There were no decorations except for a large, digital counter with the number 457, hanging high above the door.

You looked at yourself. You were covered with a blanket and there was no trace of your clothes. Instead, you had some kind of tracksuit set in a similar color to the walls above. On the left chest there was a fabric sticker with the number, 457. There was no phone, keys, nothing in the pocket of the sweatshirt or sweatpants. You couldn't locate your purse either.

"Where the hell am I?" you asked yourself more than anyone else. Besides, after looking around you noticed that you were the only person who had woken up so far.

You slid quietly out of bed and started to walk down - your bed was at the very top. You walked slowly, staring at every sleeping person in your sight. You tried to remember anything that had happened after you got in the car.

The night was cold, really cold. You were wearing a light jacket that you had grabbed in a hurry. Slowly you began to doubt your actions, that you had decided to leave the house that day.. You didn't know who the people organizing the game were.. However, this man promised a large sum for winning, you yourself got 100,000 won for winning ddakji. So how much will you get for winning something else? 200, 300 or maybe 500 thousand? Maybe it wasn't much, but every injection of cash will come in handy.

The roar of the engine brought you back to earth. A dark car stood in front of you, with the window slightly open. You didn't see who was sitting behind the wheel, but you were asked for your name. You gave it with a slight hesitation and then the back door opened. You entered, despite your internal battle.

"Good evening." you groaned even though there was no one inside "Do you know where-" you stopped when a strange smell started to come out of the air conditioning, making your head spin. You tried to grab the handle, open the door but to no avail. You felt all your strength leave your body, and then-

"Su-bong.?" you stopped for a moment, blinking a few times. You walked over to the metal frame.

He was lying there, covered with a blanket. His purple hair was a perfect contrast to the white pillow. "Baby.." you crouched down next to him, touching his cheek with a trembling hand. On his chest was the number 230. "He must have joined earlier." you thought, resting your forehead on the mattress. Everything started to connect - where he got the money, who "beat" him and what "easy job" he found. He also met this guy, he also played ddakji.. And he also got stuck god knows where, with you.

・・・・★・・・・★ ・・・・

You squeezed his hand while standing in the crowd. You listened silently as outraged people began to complain, to shout. Guards in masks, dressed in pink jumpsuits explained everything. They explained that nothing was going to happen to you, that during 6 days you would take part in 6 different games, after which your belongings would be immediately returned to you. But what stuck in your mind the most was the win.

45.7 billion won.

Your legs gave way at the thought of winning such a huge sum of money. That amount would pay off any debt and provide a decent living for a very, very long time.

Did you hear that beautiful?” Su-bong leaned in to you, “I told you everything would go back to normal. We’ll be rich!” he left a small kiss on your cheek, causing whispers from the crowd of people.

Of course the young ones knew him. As soon as he woke up, he was surrounded by a lot of the more daring fans, and the shy ones stood far away, staring at you.

"Yes.."

Players, the first game will start soon. Please prepare and follow the rules.

You were let out into a pastel corridor with lots of stairs. First, you were told to take a picture. Then you went up the stairs to the upper floor. Large doors led to a square, the sun pleasantly caressed your skin. The walls imitated some kind of field and on the other side of the square stood a tall doll, staring at you blankly. Above it was a similar display to the room you woke up in.

The first game will be red light, green light. Players are lined up behind a white line and can only move when the music plays. Breaking the rules means the elimination of the player.

"That's it? Are we going to play a stupid kids game?"

A man ran out in front of the crowd - 456. He started shouting something about the game. That you can't move under any circumstances and that elimination means death.

Death.

You swallowed hard and your body shuddered, which didn't go unnoticed by Thanos. “Easy, señorita.” His smile didn’t make you feel any better. “He’s probably high on something.”

It's time to start the game

Music began to play from the speakers. The crowd began to hesitantly take steps forward, crossing the white line. When the music stopped and a "red light" was heard in the background, 456 shouted to freeze, which you did without any protest. It seemed pretty simple. It was literally a game that everyone probably played as a child. Elimination seemed really hard.. But not impossible.

196 standing near you started screaming and waving her arms. Then there was a moment of silence until suddenly a short, loud and sharp sound was heard throughout the entire area, after which the girl fell to the ground

Player 196 has been eliminated.

You saw blood on the sandpaper. Its metallic scent spread through the air, making your stomach twist inside you. The other players, seeing her dead body, began to run away, making the next series of shots echo dully in your skull. Red liquid sprayed across your face as the bullet went almost straight through the head of the woman in front of you. You felt the instant noodles you had eaten a few hours earlier rise to your throat, and your legs were giving way. But you kept standing. You had to.

"Don't move, do you hear me? I'm right behind you, everything will be okay.." Su-bong's voice slowed down your heartbeat.

The rules of the game were announced over the speakers again, after which the music indicating movement began to play. However, neither you nor a few other players dared to move. You looked up at the screen, two minutes left. Hearing the green light announcement, you wanted to take a step forward, you really did. But you couldn't. Your legs seemed to refuse to obey you, effectively grounding you. If you stayed here - you would die. That was for sure.

Panic began to take hold of your body as you barely refrained from moving as that damn doll scanned the crowd with its eyes. Luckily, you moved at the perfect moment when the music started. Thanos' hand grabbed yours and pulled you forward. "I've got you." Now you were following him. He was the guide who slowly led you to the finish line. There was only one thought in your head - loud and rational.

You wanted to go home, now.

・・・・★・・・・★ ・・・・

Hands were shaking as you sat on Su-bong's mattress. Your gaze was fixed on a point known only to you. You ignored all external stimuli since your feet crossed the safe white line. You ignored the questions Thanos asked you, his touch, warm words of comfort. You ignored how some boy with the number 124 approached him and since then he didn't leave him. You were terrified, although this statement was really a vague description of what you felt. You had never seen a dead person and you didn't think you ever would. It was a completely different experience than watching death on the TV screen. You felt it, you felt the touch of death on your own skin and it was the most disgusting touch you had ever experienced.

However, your attention was caught by the screams. Players started shouting about going home, about wanting to stop participating in the games. 456 mentioned something about voting. Everyone agreed, they wanted to vote. You lined up in the middle. The voting started with the highest number - you. You let go of Thanos' hand and walked up to two buttons - a red X and a blue O. You bit your lip, turning your head away. Su-bong was staring at you with a slight smile, his face still smeared with blood from one of the players. Then you looked at the pig-shaped piggy bank hanging above you - after you returned to the hall, it had been filled with cash.

45.7 billion.

You sighed heavily, looking at the buttons again. Your hand lifted and after a moment of hesitation, it fell on the button. The guard handed you a cloth velcro patch and you slowly walked to the designated spot, placing the marker on your right breast.

X - 1 O - 0

taglist: @ttokyocat @itsvaleriegarza @jdbxws @hyunjinieandlix @chrisstyle @the-iridescent-phoenix

[helvegen-s]

crossing lines | two

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x OC

Summary: In the dizzying world of Formula 1, where speed and competition dominate every second, Carlos Sainz Jr., a young Spanish driver with undeniable talent, struggles to find his place amidst the pressure and expectations. Livia Visconti, heiress to an Italian fashion empire, moves with the same determination in a universe of elegance and power. Two opposing worlds, two strong personalities, an inevitable clash that will ignite a spark between them. But in a world where image and success are everything, can they risk it all for a love that defies the rules of the game?

WC: 3.5k

Warnings: terminal illness/declining health, mentions of death, surgery, emotional distress

A/N: here is the next paaaart. this one is a little serious buuut it is what it is. hope you enjoy it :)))

The Saudi Arabian sun reflected off the jewels adorning Livia Visconti’s neck—a diamond necklace that had belonged to her great-grandmother, the first Visconti to turn a passion for fashion into an empire. She observed the frenzy of the Jeddah paddock with a mixture of fascination and—she had to admit—a certain disdain. The roar of the engines, the mechanics rushing back and forth, the drivers in their fireproof suits... it all seemed like an extravagant circus to her, a noisy and superficial spectacle. But still, it was a spectacle—undeniably fascinating.

She was there for a reason. Casa Visconti needed Ferrari, and Ferrari needed Casa Visconti. It was a strategic alliance, a marriage of convenience between two of Italy's greatest and most famous dynasties, built on passion, excellence, and—why not say it—unbridled ambition.

Beside her, her father beamed with childlike enthusiasm. He had always been a passionate Formula 1 fan, a devoted follower of Scuderia Ferrari since the days of Lauda and Villeneuve. Seeing his company’s logo on those red machines, witnesses to speed and glory, was a dream come true for him. A dream Livia had made happen.

"Look, Livia," her father said, pointing with his cane toward the entrance of the Mercedes motorhome. Coming down the ramp was none other than Hamilton on a scooter. Livia couldn’t help but smile at her father’s excitement. "I need to get a photo with him!"

"Maybe another time, Dad. He seems to be in a hurry."

Livia continued surveying the scene, surrounded by her father’s PR representatives and a few employees who worked directly for them. Light conversation flowed between them, but then she saw Carlos.

She watched as he moved through the paddock, greeting team members, chatting with other drivers, signing autographs for fans. He moved effortlessly through the crowd with a mix of charisma and humility that surprised her. He didn’t seem like the same arrogant and distant man she had met in Monaco.

A pang struck her chest as she saw him smile at a young fan. There was something about that smile—a genuine warmth that contrasted with the coldness he had shown her. What had she done to deserve the way Carlos treated her? Something inside her, despite herself, always made her put her guard up when he was near.

Maybe because seeing him felt like looking into a mirror: the resilience, the raw honesty, the determination, the ambition... She knew how dangerous she could be herself, and perhaps that’s why she avoided getting closer to Carlos.

She forced herself to look away from the driver and turned her attention back to her group. Her father was engaged in an animated conversation with his PR representative, but amidst the excitement on his face, Livia noticed a fleeting grimace of pain.

“Dad, are you okay?” she asked, her voice laced with concern.

“Yes, darling, I’m fine,” he replied, forcing a smile.

In truth, she knew he wasn’t fine. Recently, her father had seemed more tired, more fragile. His forgetfulness was becoming more frequent, and his health had declined over the past months. The doctor had spoken of “fatigue,” of “stress,” but Livia knew there was more to it than that facade of reassurance. The latest medical tests had confirmed her suspicions: her father was suffering from a degenerative disease, and while he was still in the early stages, the future was uncertain.

That’s why she had taken control of Casa Visconti, why she had become the public face of the company, why she had negotiated the deal with Ferrari. She needed to protect her family’s legacy, secure the company’s future, and, above all, take care of her father. The deal with Ferrari had been a personal challenge, a gift to lift her father’s spirits, who, after the diagnosis, had become a shadow of the great businessman he once was.

“Let’s sit down for a while, Dad,” she said, taking his arm. “You look tired.”

“You’re right, Livia,” he said with a grateful smile. “I think I’m getting too old for all this.”

They sat on a terrace overlooking the circuit, where they could watch the flow of the cars without the deafening roar of the engines. Her father seemed to relax, enjoying the spectacle and his daughter’s company.

“I’m so proud of you, Livia,” he said suddenly, taking her hand.

“You’ve become an extraordinary woman.”

“Thank you, Dad,” Livia replied, moved by his words.

“You’re strong, intelligent, ambitious...” he continued. “You have everything it takes to take Casa Visconti to the top.”

“I will, Dad,” she said firmly. “I promise.”

At that moment, she saw Carlos pass nearby. What was it about that man that, wherever Livia went, he always seemed to appear like magic? He glanced at them briefly, his expression unreadable, then continued on his way.

Livia felt a knot tighten in her stomach. Had her father noticed the intensity of his gaze? Did he suspect anything about whatever it was that was happening between them?

“That young man has something special,” her father commented, a spark of admiration in his eyes. “Did you know that, despite being the son of a two-time world champion, he had to fight hard to make it to Formula 1? He hasn’t always had a competitive car, but he’s never given up.”

Livia looked at him curiously. She didn’t know much about Carlos’s background, only that he was a talented driver who—according to her sources—had lost his seat at Ferrari.

“He seems to have a strong character,” she said with some reluctance.

“He’s strong, yes,” her father agreed. “But he’s also humble. He never complains, always works hard, and treats everyone with respect. He’s a true role model.”

Livia recalled Carlos’s kindness with the studio staff, his patience with the photographer, his genuine smile. Maybe her father was right. Maybe she had judged Carlos too quickly.

“I’m glad he’s the one representing our brand,” her father said with a smile. “He’s a true Visconti on the track.”

Livia felt a chill run through her. A true Visconti? That statement unsettled her. Was her father comparing Carlos Sainz to their family members? Did he see in him the same qualities that had made the Visconti name legendary?

“I’m not sure, Dad,” she replied uncertainly. “I don’t know him well enough yet.”

“Give it time, Livia,” her father said with a wink. “Time reveals everything.”

The first day of the Abu Dhabi GP had vanished in the blink of an eye. Livia had spent the hours lost in a monotonous routine: watching free practice sessions from a VIP terrace, exchanging forced greetings with paddock acquaintances, posing for selfies with fans who recognized her. For the first time in weeks, she had found something resembling calm, though the incessant roar of engines and the bustle of the circuit conspired to remind her of where she was.

Yet she couldn’t get Carlos out of her head. His magnetic presence, the way his gaze seemed to pierce through her, that effortless blend of defiance and charisma… It was frustrating. Irritating. And, to her dismay, increasingly intriguing. She knew getting involved with someone like him was a disaster waiting to happen, but there was an undeniable connection she couldn’t ignore. For the first time, she wondered if the spark she felt was one-sided or if Carlos sensed it too.

Determined to clear her head, on the second day, Livia headed to the Ferrari motorhome. She needed a strong coffee to face the rest of the day. Entering the café, her thoughts about Carlos took physical form: there he was, leaning against the counter with a cup in his hand and that lopsided smile that seemed reserved just for her.

“Well, if it isn’t the queen of the paddock,” he remarked in a tone that was both mocking and amused. “Decided to stoop to common coffee, or did the champagne run out on your private jet?”

Livia raised an eyebrow, unfazed, though his comment brought a smile to her lips.

“Don’t underestimate my taste, Sainz. A good Italian coffee can be just as exquisite as Dom Pérignon—especially with… good company.”

Carlos responded with a brief laugh, but in that moment, his body seemed to give away. Livia noticed the color draining from his face as the driver swayed, steadying himself against the counter.

“Carlos?” she asked, a hint of concern in her voice. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, of course… just a bit dizzy,” he replied, though his voice sounded weak.

Before he could finish his sentence, his balance gave out entirely. Livia reacted quickly, dropping her belongings and placing Carlos’s arm over her shoulders to stop him from collapsing.

“Carlos!”

He tried to say something, but his lips barely moved before his full weight fell on her. The café filled with murmurs, and almost immediately, a couple of mechanics rushed to help.

“We need a medic here!” one of them shouted, while the other supported Carlos from the opposite side.

Within seconds, Ferrari’s medical team stormed into the café with a stretcher. The paramedics quickly checked his vitals.

“His pulse is weak. We’re taking him to the hospital right away,” one said, placing an oxygen mask over Carlos’s face.

Livia, still processing what had just happened, watched as the medics wheeled the driver out of the motorhome. In the distance, she heard the sound of an ambulance starting, leaving behind a trail of flashing lights and unanswered questions.

Then, her phone vibrated in her pocket. Pulling it out with trembling hands, she saw her father’s public representative’s name flashing on the screen.

“Isabella?” she answered, trying to sound calm, though the weight of the incident with Carlos still lingered.

“Livia…” The voice on the other end was filled with anguish. “It’s your father.”

A knot formed in Livia’s stomach.

“What happened?”

“He’s had a crisis. He could barely breathe, and his body… it just gave out. They’re loading him onto a helicopter to take him to the nearest hospital. It’s serious, Livia.”

The words hit like a cold, hard blow. Her father’s diagnosis had always been a looming threat, but this… this was real.

“I’m on my way,” she said without hesitation. “Send me the hospital’s address.”

“Hurry, Livia.”

She ended the call, and for a moment, the chaos around her faded. All that existed was the urgency to reach her father. Moving with determination, she left the paddock while searching for her driver. Everything else, even Carlos, vanished from her mind. Her priority was clear: to be with her father before it was too late.

Carlos had spent two days confined to his hospital room, recovering from an appendectomy that had unexpectedly taken him out of the Grand Prix. Though the physical pain had subsided, the emotional weight of not being able to compete lingered. He had spent hours talking with his father, who had stayed by his side at the hospital, trying his best to lift his spirits. But even the most optimistic words couldn’t fully dispel that lingering sense of failure. Just when things were going well, when he was proving that Ferrari had made a mistake in letting him go, everything suddenly fell apart.

It was three in the morning when hunger—or more precisely, a craving—pushed him to leave his bed. The hospital dinner had been forgettable, and now his mind was fixated on one idea: cookies from the vending machine. After making sure no one would stop him with a lecture about resting, he slipped out of the room. Dressed in a hospital gown over his pajamas, he carefully made his way down the hall, feeling the stitches in his abdomen protest with every step. Determined, he set off to claim his late-night prize.

The hospital was quiet, the stillness broken only by the low hum of the lights and the occasional footsteps of a night nurse. Following the signs to the nearest waiting area, Carlos finally spotted the vending machine. However, just as he turned the corner and approached his destination, something caught his attention before he could even decide on a snack.

There, on one of the chairs in the hallway, Livia was asleep. He recognized her silhouette instantly, even under the dim lighting. She was curled up with her arms crossed, as if trying to shield herself from the hospital’s cold air, her slightly tousled hair falling across her face. In front of her, the door to a patient’s room was slightly ajar.

Carlos didn’t need to look inside the room to know that Livia’s father, Damiano Visconti, was there. He had read the news about the health crisis Damiano had suffered at the hotel in Jeddah and assumed he’d been transferred to the hospital closest to the circuit—the same hospital where Carlos was staying. What he certainly hadn’t expected was to find Livia asleep in one of the chairs in the hallway, curled up like a child, looking entirely out of place among stretchers and nurses.

For a moment, Carlos stood still, just watching her. There was something unexpectedly vulnerable about seeing her like this, so far from the glamour and confidence she always seemed to exude wherever she went. The queen of fashion suddenly looked just as human as he did.

Without thinking too much, he walked toward her. Something compelled him—a need to check if she was okay, even though he knew she probably wasn’t.

He chose not to say anything and sank into the chair next to her, ignoring the sharp pang in his side that reminded him he wasn’t in top form. Shrugging off his hospital gown, he gently draped it over her, tucking it around her as best as he could.

This time, she stirred, her eyes fluttering open slowly, blinking in confusion before focusing on him. For a moment, she seemed unable to register who was in front of her. Then, surprise flickered across her face.

“Carlos… What are you doing here?” she murmured, her voice hoarse from sleep.

He smiled, trying to lighten the moment.

“I think I should be the one asking that. But since you insist, I was looking for cookies.”

Livia blinked, as if still processing his words, then let out a small, tired but genuine laugh.

“Of course. What else would you do in a hospital?”

“Well, sleeping in hallways isn’t really my thing.” Carlos motioned to the uncomfortable chair she was curled up in. “How long have you been here?”

“I don’t know… Ever since they admitted my father. Maybe 48 hours?” Livia shrugged, trying to sound casual, but Carlos could hear the exhaustion in her voice.

“And how’s your father?”

She seemed to tense up at first but then exhaled.

“Stable, for now. The doctors say he was lucky to get here in time. But… I still don’t know how long he’ll need to stay.”

Carlos nodded, understanding the weight behind her words.

“It’s good that he’s stable. I’m sure he’ll be okay.”

Silence fell between them—not awkward, but heavy with unspoken thoughts. Finally, Livia looked at him more closely, as if only now processing his presence.

“What are you doing here?”

“Let’s just say I had my own dramatic episode this weekend.” Carlos gestured toward his abdomen with a lopsided smile.

“Appendicitis. Sorry, I skimmed a couple of articles about it, but I didn’t really process it. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Not as glamorous as a mid-race crisis, but it’s what I’ve got.” Carlos sighed and made an exaggerated grimace. “Sorry for passing out on you the other day. Embarrassing.”

Livia let out a soft snort, brushing it off. Honestly, Carlos fainting on her in front of all the Ferrari staff wasn’t even the worst part of her day. She glanced at the gown he’d draped over her, catching the faint scent of cedar and lemons, and the way Carlos was awkwardly hunched to avoid straining his stitches.

“Thanks for checking on me.”

Carlos shook his head.

“It wasn’t planned, but I’m glad I did.”

For the first time in days, the weight on his shoulders felt a little lighter.

The silence between them stretched out, and Carlos noticed something in Livia he hadn’t seen before. There was a vulnerability in her expression, a tension barely held in check in the line of her jaw, in the way her fingers started fidgeting nervously.

Suddenly, her shoulders began to shake, and she dropped her gaze, hiding her face behind a curtain of hair. Carlos leaned slightly toward her, alarmed.

“Livia?”

At first, there was no response, just a muffled sob that broke the stillness of the hallway. Before he could react, tears started streaming down her face—silent at first, then more intense, as if everything she’d been holding in had finally found a way out.

Carlos froze, unsure of what to do. Livia wasn’t the kind of person to allow herself this kind of vulnerability, at least not in front of others. His instincts told him he should do something, but at the same time, he was afraid of crossing a line she wasn’t ready to share.

“Uh…” he began awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s okay. You can let it out. It’s fine…”

But it wasn’t enough. Livia barely reacted, and Carlos’s discomfort grew. Should he hug her? Say something? What if she got upset? He didn’t want to push too far.

Finally, he sighed and set his hesitation aside. He leaned forward and, with a slightly hesitant hand, gave her shoulder a light touch. When she didn’t pull away, he took a chance and slid his arm around her shoulders.

“Come on, you can’t keep all that bottled up. Trust me, I’ve tried—it doesn’t work.”

Livia didn’t move at first, but eventually, she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder as the tears kept falling. Carlos felt the dampness of her crying against the thin material of his pajama top as she buried her face against him.

“It’s too much,” she whispered between sobs. “My dad… this weekend… and now you’re here too. God, it’s embarrassing. I can’t handle everything—my company, my dad in the hospital, the board demanding answers…”

Carlos let out a relieved sigh that she’d allowed him to stay close. He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, searching for the right words.

“You’re handling it. You know how I know? Because you’re still here, even with all of that on your plate. That’s more than a lot of people would manage.”

Livia lifted her head, looking at him with tear-reddened eyes.

“I don’t feel strong. I feel… like a kid. I’ve got too much going on, and I have no idea how to deal with it. I’m completely lost.”

Carlos leaned in slightly, offering a reassuring half-smile.

“Being lost is just a lie we tell ourselves. I’ve spent two days feeling like a failure because appendicitis knocked me out of a race, and here I am, chasing cookies like that’s going to fix anything.”

Livia blinked, caught off guard by his admission. Her lips twitched upward slightly, trembling from her earlier tears.

“Are you seriously comparing your cookie craving to my family issues?” she asked, attempting indignation but failing to suppress a soft laugh.

Carlos raised his hands in mock innocence.

“Hey, don’t underestimate the power of vending machine cookies. They could change lives—you never know.”

The absurdity of the comment drew a more genuine laugh from Livia this time. It was as if the tension she’d been carrying dissolved in an instant. She raised a hand to her face, wiping away the lingering tears with her fingers.

“You’re hopeless, Sainz,” she murmured with a small laugh, shaking her head.

“Maybe. But look, I got you to laugh. That’s a win for me.”

Livia leaned back in the chair, exhaling deeply, her head resting against the backrest. She glanced at Carlos out of the corner of her eye, her lips still curving into a faint smile.

“Thanks. Really. For staying, for… this.” Her voice softened, sincerity shining through. “I didn’t realize how much I needed a moment like this.”

Carlos propped an elbow on the armrest, leaning slightly toward her with his trademark lopsided grin.

“That’s what I’m here for. Although, to be fair, I came here for cookies, if we’re being honest.”

Livia laughed again, this time more freely, shaking her head.

“You’re impossible.”

“So they say. But hey, since you’re here, want to help me choose?” Carlos nodded toward the vending machine at the end of the hallway.

She looked at him, still draped in his hospital gown, and let out one last sigh—tired but lighter.

“Fine. But you’d better not faint again over a craving.”

“Promise. If I do, I’ll make it dramatic and give you a heads-up.”

They both stood, and although Carlos moved carefully to avoid straining his stitches, the air between them felt different. There was lightness where there had been weight, and though neither of them said it aloud, both knew that in the quiet stillness of the hospital, they’d found a small refuge in each other.

Taglist:

@smoooothoperator

If you want to be in the taglist, just let me know ;) 💚

[xviistrings]

your name is ryuji sakamoto and you are a ticking time bomb.

currently, you are sixteen years old; a freshman in high school. you like to run. you're part of the track team. you get along with the other dudes. you love your mom very much, even if she can be a bit of a nut.

your dad had a habit of screaming at her for reasons that largely didn't involve her. he left when you were very young. (tick tick tick.)

the sakamotos are not known for being temperate. your dad was the angriest asshole in the world, your mom has a major attitude problem, and even your grandma shouts curses when she bumps into furniture while wearily stumbling around.

mom believes you can do better than that. you try your damn hardest.

you keep your hereditary petulance under wraps the best you can, but you don't exactly have good role models to base your coping mechanisms on. even the gym coach - kamoshida, you can't ever forget a name like kamoshida - tends to blow up in everyone's faces about every little thing. in his fits of anger, he leaves blazing bruises on the bodies of you and your teammates. (tick tick tick.)

every day, you want to scream. in every conversation with every passerby, there is something, a parasitic beast in your chest, banging on your bones and scraping away at layers itching to explode out of you and scream, but you're better than that. you've found a strategy that works quite well: if you ever feel like you can't hold it in anymore, you simply excuse yourself to the bathroom and scream there.

though, usually, before you've even gotten there, you have already burst. you quietly sob instead of screaming. that isn't enough. (tick tick tick.)

you can't stand the idea of yelling at another person, even if you want to. it makes you feel sick to your stomach. your dad didn't only lash out at your mom; you distinctly remember your small hands flying up to cover your ears, only for them to be smacked back down, allowing a discordant symphony of degradation to flood in.

you remember his eyes, wide open and fixed on you, like a wolf spotting a rabbit. they bored into you, like he wanted to burn his insignia of hate onto your cheek, where everyone could see how much of a "stupid piece of shit" you are, the very same place kamoshida rams his fist into now for the very same reason, he's got that same look, he says the same thing -

you wish you looked more like your mom. maybe, then, you'd be more averse to the idea of spouting insults at your reflection, but that's just not how it is. instead, you have your dad's eyes. (tick tick tick.)

despite how you yearn to, you really do not like raising your voice. you don't like getting angry in general, actually, because you hate the way your hands get shaky, cold while the rest of you is hot, the sizzling and melding of wires in your brain, that when you stop mumbling all the time you sound too much like him, but...

it's not a particularly special day when kamoshida goes on a rampage again. he puts one half of your team in a row for discipline, and makes the other half, including you, watch for the sake of being taught a lesson. you recoil at every harsh smack of his hand across a boy's face. instinctively, you mutter, "stop it," and he does. he stomps over to you; you didn't mean it like that.

he asks you to repeat yourself. you stay quiet. he asks again, a little less nice, grabbing your shoulder and yanking you closer. it spills out, "stop it!" and he starts to mock you.

kaboom. you punch him in the face.

kaboom. he snaps your knee entirely the wrong way.

kaboom. at last, you scream.

everything that has ever mattered to you has been set aflame and sizzled into meaningless ashes. you're kicked off the track team and shunned by your friends for compromising them, even though you did it to help them. you lose your upcoming scholarship on account of not being able to run anymore, despite the fact that it was entirely kamoshida's fault and he should be getting the punishment, not you.

mom. mom sobs into her hands at the side of your bed when you're recovering from surgery. the doctor said you still need to go into physio, but an even busier schedule is not what she's upset about. she can live with that. she can't live with you.

she's crying because she's just realized that you are no better than her. no better than grandma. no better than kamoshida. no better than dad. (truthfully, that's just what you feel. still doesn't help.)

your name is ryuji sakamoto and you are a ticking time bomb. you have exploded and are now smoldering pieces of what you once were. you will never be the same.

[daryltwdixon]

Summary: Joel’s unexpected arrival at the stables changes everything as you and Ellie leave Jackson. In Colorado, things take a turn, and survival becomes the only priority.

warnings: canon-violence. some gore.

The chilly morning breeze nips at your skin as you make your way into the stables. Horses nicker softly as you pass, and a few people greet you, but you can’t summon the energy to respond. The cold in the air mirrors the cold wrapping around your heart, a thin sheet of ice you can’t seem to shake. Just get through this next step. Get Ellie to the Fireflies. That’s it. Take care of her. Then you’ll figure out the rest.

Ellie walks beside you, her eyes fixed on the ground, her mouth drawn into a tight line. Neither of you has tried to talk about what happened. You’re afraid you might completely break if you do, so you slept in her room last night, a silent reassurance that you’re still with her. Still sticking by her. You know she feels some relief in that, but it’s not the same now. There’s a gap between you—the undeniable feeling of someone missing.

When you ask one of the stable hands for a horse, he directs you to a far stall on the left. Together, you start tacking up the gelding. “He’s a strong horse,” Ellie says quietly. He’s bigger than any horse you’ve seen before, his thick, feathered legs built for trudging through snow and cold. The stable hand reassures you that he’ll be sturdy for the journey south, reliable as long as you let him eat and drink every couple of hours. “He’s a good boy,” the man says, patting the horse’s neck.

You focus on the task, cinching the girth tight and adjusting the bridle. It gives your hands something to do, something to concentrate on besides the ache gnawing at your chest. But as you work, low, hesitant voices reach your ears. Looking up, you see Tommy approaching in his denim sherpa jacket, his hair neat and beard trimmed. His eyes catch yours, full of something you don’t want to recognize. Sadness, pity, maybe both. It makes your stomach twist, and you look away.

“We’re good here, Tommy,” you say, your voice clipped as you tighten the straps. “Ellie and I can manage on our own.”

“Well, I think maybe—”

Before he can finish, Joel appears at his side. Your breath hitches as you take him in. He stands there bundled in every layer he seems to own, gloves on, backpack slung over his shoulder. His eyes land on you immediately and don’t stray, the intensity of his gaze rooting you in place.

Ellie breaks the silence first. “You came here to say goodbye or something?” she snaps, her tone sharp, cutting through the tension like a knife.

“No.” Joel shakes his head, his voice steady despite the weight of the moment. “I was already getting a horse ready. About to steal one and go.”

“Would’ve given you one,” Tommy murmurs, his voice soft.

“I know.” Joel sighs, the sound heavy. His eyes never leave yours as he speaks, his words directed at you as much as Ellie. “You deserve a choice. Still think you’d be better off with Tommy.”

Ellie snatches up her bag and shoves it into Joel’s arms before he’s hardly finished the sentence. “Let’s go,” she snaps, not waiting for any further discussion.

But Joel doesn’t move. His hands grip Ellie’s bag, but his feet stay planted, his gaze still fixed on you. He’s not leaving without your answer, waiting silently for your permission or your rejection.

You bite your lip, trying to conceal the storm of nerves twisting in your chest. He stands there, unyielding, and all you can manage is a small nod.

“Okay,” Joel says quietly, his voice a sigh of relief, like he’s releasing hours of pent-up tension. His shoulders drop slightly, his grip on Ellie’s bag firm as he reaches for the horse’s reins, pulling them over its head. Without another word, he begins to lead the gelding out of the stables, his movements deliberate, but his eyes flick back toward you one last time.

“That saddle should fit two of you,” Tommy says as Joel lifts Ellie onto the horse. “One of you might have to sit behind. He’s a big boy—three ain’t gonna be an issue.”

Joel’s hands hover like he’s about to reach for you next, but you grip the horn of the saddle and swing yourself up with practiced ease. You feel his eyes on you, lingering, but you don’t meet his gaze. Instead, you adjust yourself in the saddle, sitting tall and waiting for him to join you.

He turns back to Tommy. “General direction?”

“Head southeast ‘til you hit I-25. It’s right off the interstate—you can’t miss it,” Tommy replies, nodding toward the stable exit. Then he steps forward, pulling Joel into a firm embrace.

You watch them silently, brothers who had been separated for years now forced to say goodbye all over again. Tommy’s hand stays on Joel’s arm when he pulls back, his voice quieter now. “There’s a place for you here.” His eyes shift to you, holding your gaze for a moment. “All of you.”

“Countin’ on it,” Joel says, his tone low and earnest. He glances at the rifle slung over Tommy’s shoulder. “Mind if I borrow that?”

Tommy raises an eyebrow but hands it over without question. “Yeah.”

“Cause Maria took mine, you know,” Joel adds, the faintest trace of dry humor in his tone.

“Already said yes, Joel,” Tommy says with a faint smirk. His words draw a small, involuntary twitch at the corner of your lips, but you quickly school your face back into neutrality.

Your new bow rests across your chest, the familiar weight a comfort. A fresh set of arrows peeks from your bag, secured and ready. You didn’t need a gun. Joel knew that—you were better with a bow than anything else. Maybe that’s why he’d given it to you, trusting you with it even after everything. Regardless of how angry you were with him, you weren’t petty enough to leave it behind. It was yours now, and you’d make damn sure it counted.

A Few Days Later

Colorado is, thankfully, a little warmer than Wyoming. Snow still carpets the ground, but it’s not as deep, and the air doesn’t bite with the same sharpness. The wind nips at your cheeks now and then, enough to keep you pulling your hood tighter, but it’s tolerable. Even so, you nearly find yourself missing the warmth of Joel’s scarf, the one he’d loaned you back before Jackson. You hate that you think about it, the way it smelled faintly like him, the comfort it brought.

His arms are around you now—not that you’d invited them there—but they’re steady, warm, and solid as they grip you gently. The reins are in your hands, guiding Callus, the horse Ellie has so adamantly named after you failed to ask for his name.

“How dare you,” she had teased, her voice full of mock outrage. “Every horse deserves a name.”

You’d just rolled your eyes, letting her have her moment. And so now, the sturdy gelding beneath you was officially Callus. He didn’t seem to mind the name.

Joel shifts slightly behind you, his voice breaking the quiet. “Well, how ‘bout that,” he says, nodding ahead.

A weathered highway sign looms in the distance, pointing the way to Interstate 25. The paint is faded, the metal bent and rusted, but the words are still legible.

“Made it in five days,” Joel says, his breath grazing your ear as he speaks. The warmth of it tickles your skin, and you have to fight to keep the goosebumps at bay. You’re still mad, still clinging to the anger that’s been simmering since Jackson. He’d planned to leave Ellie, to hand her off to Tommy like she was just another task to finish, and he hadn’t even told you.

But his warmth isn’t unwelcome, and neither is his voice. You hate that too.

“Easy days,” Ellie pipes up from behind Joel. “I don’t know what Tommy was so afraid of.”

“Still time to find out,” you mutter, your tone clipped. You can practically feel Ellie rolling her eyes at your cynicism, but you don’t care. This journey has taught you not to trust easy days. Easy days are just the calm before the storm.

The interstate stretches out ahead, long and empty, the cracks in the asphalt hidden under a dusting of snow. A little while later, the road leads you into an open, deserted area, the kind of sprawling campus that feels eerie in its silence. A scattering of buildings dots the landscape, their windows dark and lifeless.

“Didn’t Tommy say the windows were all like mirrors?” Ellie asks, her voice breaking the quiet as her eyes scan the area.

You do the same, squinting against the bright gray sky to take it all in. Tommy had mentioned the teaching hospital, how the windows would stand out, reflecting everything around them. But as you look, nothing catches your eye. “Don’t see any Fireflies,” you say. “Or the building.”

“Probably in the middle,” Joel explains, his tone matter-of-fact. “Safer that way.”

Ellie shifts in her seat behind him. “So… did you ever go to a place like this? College, I mean?”

Joel pauses for a moment before answering. “No, not really. Had Sarah pretty young.”

Ellie hesitates, then asks, “Were you married?”

Joel makes a noncommittal noise, but it’s answer enough. You can feel him tense behind you, his hands twitching slightly where they rest against your sides. It’s a subtle movement, but you notice it. You notice everything about him these days.

“What happened?” Ellie presses, her voice softer now, careful.

Joel sighs, the sound heavy and resigned. You don’t turn your head, but you can feel the weight of his silence pressing down on the space between the three of you.

“Too much?” Ellie asks after a beat, sensing she’s pushed too far.

“Too much,” Joel answers quietly.

The conversation falls away after that, replaced by the rhythmic crunch of Callus’s hooves against the frozen ground. You keep your eyes forward, focusing on the path ahead, but your mind wanders.

You think of Joel’s sigh, the heaviness in it, the way his hands tightened just slightly when Ellie’s question hit too close to home. And even though the anger is still there, simmering in your chest, it sits alongside something else—a quiet ache for the man behind you and the walls he carries so heavily around his heart.

“Wait—” you say suddenly, pulling Callus to a halt as you spot movement up ahead. The steps of what looks like an open, sprawling campus center stretch out before you. There’s a group of animals in the distance, ones you’ve only ever seen in books. It takes your mind a moment to catch up to what your eyes are seeing. Long tails. Furry figures hunching on all fours.

“Are those monkeys?” you ask, your voice hushed in disbelief.

The creatures hear you, their heads whipping up in alarm before they let out shrieks and scatter, disappearing into the buildings and trees beyond.

“Must be from the old labs,” Joel explains, his tone casual, though his eyes stay sharp.

“Look at them go!” Ellie exclaims, leaning forward slightly, her excitement momentarily breaking the tension.

“First time either of you seen a monkey?” Joel asks.

“First time seein’ a monkey,” you say with a small, fleeting smile. It’s a brief moment of levity as you nudge Callus forward.

Not far ahead, a directional sign points toward dorms, a cafeteria, a library, and, under the Biomedical Sciences Building, you spot it—a yellow stamp. A firefly.

“Here we go,” you say nervously, squeezing your legs gently to urge Callus forward. The path leads you closer to a large building with reflective windows.

“There’s the building Tommy was talking about,” you mention, pointing toward it. “Windows look like mirrors, see?”

As you approach, the three of you dismount, giving Callus a reprieve as you tie him to a tree near a patch of sprouting grass. He immediately lowers his head, eagerly tearing at the fresh green blades.

You scratch his neck softly, leaning close. “We’ll be back, okay, big guy?” He doesn’t seem to notice, too busy enjoying his snack.

“Ellie—” Joel calls, his voice calm but firm. “Gun out, okay?”

“Yeah,” she replies, pulling her weapon from her bag and checking it.

Joel’s gaze shifts to you, his eyes locking onto yours for a long moment. It’s the kind of look that feels like it’s carrying more than just instructions, but you don’t let it linger.

“Bow,” he says simply.

“Yep,” you reply, slinging the weapon off your shoulder and adjusting your grip. Your fingers tighten around it, the weight of it steadying you as the three of you prepare to move forward into the unknown.

As you move into the building, the air feels thick with stillness, the kind that makes your skin prickle. Supplies are scattered around, piled up in sections that suggest organization—once. Now, the dust and debris settling over them tell a different story. It doesn’t look like anyone has been here for a while, but you force yourself to push that thought aside. There had to be someone here to help. There had to be.

You make your way through the eerily quiet halls, checking rooms one by one. Old labs sit untouched, papers scattered across the floors and desks like a frozen moment in time. Beakers and science equipment line the counters, unused and gathering grime. The weight of abandonment presses in on you, but you push forward, methodically opening each door and scanning every corner.

Then, suddenly, a clatter up ahead breaks the silence, followed by the unmistakable sound of something—or someone—running away.

“Clickers?” Ellie whispers, her voice tight with nerves.

“Don’t think so,” you murmur, your grip tightening on your bow. “Clickers aren’t sneaky like that.”

You nock an arrow, moving forward with careful, deliberate steps. The long, dark hallways are lit only by the dim light filtering through grimy windows. Large overhead lights hang unused, casting shadows that stretch and shift with your movements. The remnants of a working lab are still evident—makeshift tents, stacked supplies, and hastily abandoned medical kits scattered throughout the space.

Finally, you reach a small office at the end of the hall. The door creaks loudly as you push it open, the sound making your heart jump. Before you can react, a group of monkeys screeches and bolts, scattering through the back door. The noise startles you, your arrow jerking slightly in your grip, and Ellie lets out a quiet gasp behind you.

But it’s not the monkeys that make your stomach twist into knots. It’s the sight of the body slumped in the chair by the window. The smell hits you next, sharp and rancid, curling in the back of your throat as you step closer.

The corpse is nearly skeletal, dried flesh clinging to bone, its head tilted unnaturally to the side. A small recording device is clutched in its bony fingers, the scene unnervingly still except for the faint sway of the loose curtains in the breeze.

Joel steps forward, grimacing as he picks up the recorder. He presses the button, and the static crackles before a tired, grating voice fills the room.

“If you’re looking for the Fireflies, they’ve all left—”

“Yeah, no shit,” Ellie mutters under her breath.

The voice continues, strained and resigned. “I’m dead. Or I will be soon. Damn test monkey bit me—”

Joel’s finger presses fast-forward, the sound whirring. More fragments of the man’s desperate ramblings come through. “--fucking thing was a giant waste of time—” He fast-forwards again, and you glance at him, watching his face as he listens intently.

“...Looking for the others. They’ve all returned to Saint Mary’s Hospital in Salt Lake City. You’ll find them there.”

So there was your answer. The Fireflies aren’t here. The labs are abandoned. But there’s a new destination, a next step.

“Do you know where that is?” you ask, your voice quiet but urgent.

Joel nods. “I know the city.”

“Is it far?” Ellie asks, her voice tinged with hope.

“It ain’t close,” Joel begins, “but on horseback—” He cuts himself off abruptly, his eyes narrowing as he looks out the window.

You follow his gaze, and your stomach plummets. Flashlights sweep across the lower level of the building, beams of light darting through the glass. The movement is purposeful, coordinated—and then one flashlight swivels upward, landing squarely on you. Maybe they’re stray members of the Fireflies?

“Get down!” Joel shouts, yanking you hard behind the desk just as a bullet crashes through the window. The glass shatters, raining down around you, getting down just in time, your knees protesting as you hit the floor. Your heart pounds in your chest as Joel covers you with his body, shielding you instinctively.

The Fireflies might be gone, but danger is never far behind, is it?

“We have to get out of here, now!” Joel hisses, his voice sharp as he moves toward the door of the office.

All three of you swiftly move into the hallway, weapons drawn and senses heightened. The lab building feels unnaturally quiet, the air heavy with anticipation as you creep through the maze of sterile rooms and scattered supplies. You’re almost to the outer deck when voices echo from the floor below, too close for comfort.

Joel stops abruptly, turning to you with a determined look. “I need you to hide. Shoot ‘em while they’re distracted on me when they come in.”

“You want to split us up?” you hiss, disbelief and anger flaring, but Joel doesn’t wait for an argument. He grabs your arm and turns you towards the room adjacent with a broken window overlooking the hallway.

Your heart pounds as you crouch low, bow in hand, eyes locked on the doorway. The footsteps that approach aren’t Ellie’s or Joel’s. They’re fast, purposeful, and soon, a figure with a bat rounds the corner.

Shit.

You lurch backward, narrowly dodging the swing of the bat as it cuts through the air where your head had been. Your body reacts before your mind catches up—you draw your bow and release. The arrow sinks into his skull with a sickening thunk, and he collapses to the floor, lifeless.

“Asshole,” you mutter, your breath shaky as you kneel to search his pockets. There’s nothing useful, but you retrieve your arrow, wiping it clean on his jeans. Who the hell are these guys?

“Hey!” Ellie’s hushed voice calls from nearby. “You okay?”

“Yes,” you snap back, keeping your voice low. Staying crouched, you move forward, weaving through the side laboratories.

You hear Ellie and Joel’s footsteps ahead, shuffling behind desks, but heavier steps follow from farther down the hallway. You nock another arrow, holding your breath as you wait for them to reveal themselves.

Four figures come into view, crouching behind desks, their movements careful and deliberate. You silently rise just enough to aim. They haven’t spotted you yet, so you let an arrow fly, striking the furthest one cleanly in the chest.

The chaos erupts immediately. Shouts echo as the remaining men turn toward you, but Joel takes advantage of the distraction. Gunshots ring out, his aim precise and lethal. You fire again, taking down another, and within seconds the hallway is eerily silent once more.

You rush into the open hall, Joel’s eyes scanning you as you approach.

“You alright?” he asks, his voice tight with concern.

“I already said yes,” you snap, but you sigh, glancing up at him. “Are you guys okay?”

Ellie nods, clutching her pistol, while Joel gives you a once-over before opening his mouth to speak. But more voices erupt from the far end of the hall, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of heavy boots.

“Oh, shit,” you mutter, nocking another arrow. Before you can react, Joel rushes forward, taking cover behind an overturned desk and firing at the oncoming men. Instead of shooting any more arrows that you’ll probably lose, you dig through your bag, fingers fumbling as you pull together a nail bomb. It’s crude but effective—something you’d managed to sneak past Maria when she took all your shit.

Hefting it carefully, you lob it into the cluster of men. The explosion rocks the hall, a deafening boom that leaves a pink mist hanging in the air. The shouts stop abruptly.

“Jesus, woman,” Joel mutters under his breath, glancing back at you, but there’s no time for a response.

“Through this door,” you say, motioning for him and Ellie to follow. Joel leads the way, pushing through the outside railing door toward the stairs, but as soon as he opens it, a man bursts through.

“Got you, asshole!” the man yells, slamming Joel into the glass railing behind him.

“Hey!” you scream, rushing forward, but Joel is fast, grappling with the man and throwing him over the edge of the railing. The sickening crack of the man’s neck echoes through the atrium below with the rest of the glass shattering, both him and Joel falling to the ground below. 

But then, you realize Joel isn’t getting up, and his face is in excruciating pain.

“Ellie, we need to get down there!” you exclaim.

“Oh, shit!” Ellie says, grabbing a cord tied to the railing to lower herself down. You follow quickly, your feet hitting the ground with a thud. The atrium is littered with old debris, the smell of rust and decay heavy in the air.

You turn to Joel and freeze. A jagged piece of metal juts from his lower stomach, blood pooling around it.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” you whisper, your hands trembling as you move closer.

“Move,” Joel groans, his voice tight with pain.

“What?” Ellie says, her voice high and panicked from his other side.

“Move!” he snaps, pushing you aside as he raises his gun. Two men burst through the lower ground doors, but Joel takes them down in two clean, effortless shots before collapsing back against the ground.

“Ellie, get his other arm. We have to pull him up,” you say, your voice shaking.

Ellie hesitates, wide-eyed with terror, but does as she’s told. Together, you heave Joel upright, his agonized scream ripping through you, breaking your heart in two.

“Okay, okay, you’re alright,” you murmur, half to him and half to yourself as you manage to throw his arm around you.

“Let’s just get to the damn horse,” Joel grits out, his voice a rasp of determination.

Ellie leads the way, checking every corner as you half-carry Joel through the building. Blood drips steadily from his wound, and you force yourself not to look at it, focusing instead on putting one foot in front of the other.

When you finally burst through the outside doors, Callus stands waiting, tied to a post. Relief surges through you, but it’s short-lived as Joel slumps further into your grip.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice barely audible.

“Don’t,” you growl, adjusting your hold on him. “You don’t get to die on me today, Joel. Not when I’m still mad at you.”

Reaching Callus, you turn to him. “Can you make it onto the horse?”

Joel nods weakly, pain etched into every line of his face. He glances at you, something more than physical pain in his eyes.

“No,” you snap, shaking your head. “You’re not giving me that look. You’re going to be fine, and we’re going to get through this. Now get on the damn horse.”

The moment he’s seated behind you, his body slumps forward, heavy and unsteady. His arms fall around your waist, and you don’t wait for him to secure his grip. Instead, you grab his hands, linking them firmly around you and holding them together with one of your own. Your other hand grips the reins tightly, determination fueling your every action.

“Hold on,” you mutter, more to yourself than to him.

Ellie scrambles onto the back of the horse, her small frame pressed close as she glances over her shoulder, her eyes scanning the area for any sign of pursuit. “We need to move!” she urges, her voice tight with panic.

“I know,” you bite out, squeezing your legs to nudge Callus into motion. The horse lurches forward, his strong, steady strides cutting through the tense air as you leave the chaos behind. Joel’s weight presses into you, his shallow breaths hot against the back of your neck, a constant reminder of how fragile this moment is.

The wind bites at your face as Callus picks up speed, but you don’t care. Your focus is singular: get Joel to safety. Ellie clutches at Joel’s back, her presence a steadying anchor amidst the turmoil. Behind you, the sudden echo of gunfire and shouts grows fainter, the sounds swallowed by the cold, open air.

[biblical-chronicles]

Locked in

_____________________________________

where a storm brings you and Noel together.

_____________________________________

You’d been keeping a wary eye on the sky all morning, the storm clouds rolling in thick and heavy as the wind began to howl through the streets. The forecast had warned of a big one, but you doubted Liam or Noel had paid it much attention. So, like usual, you figured you’d be the responsible one and head over to the studio with some lunch. If nothing else, it’d save them from living off tea and stale biscuits.

With the wind at your back and your arms full of bags, you pushed your way into the small studio, shaking off the cold.

“Hello?” you called out, shutting the door behind you and kicking it for good measure so it stayed closed.

You were expecting to hear Liam’s voice first. He was always the one making a racket, shouting about his genius ideas, but instead, it was Noel who appeared, guitar slung low across his chest.

“Liam’s not here.” he said flatly, like that explained everything.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean, he’s not here? You’ve got a session today, don’t you?”

“Yeah, well, he decided to fuck off early, didn’t he?” Noel said, rolling his eyes. “Said somethin’ about the weather. Couldn’t hack it, apparently.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Typical brilliant work ethic from Liam.”

Noel snorted at that, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Aye, you’re not wrong.”

“Well, I brought scran,” you said, holding up the bags. “Where should I put it?”

Noel glanced at the bags, then shrugged. “I needed a break anyway. Might as well eat now.”

He set his guitar aside and gestured toward the small kitchenette in the corner. You followed him over, pulling out sandwiches and crisps while he grabbed a couple of mugs for tea.

The first few minutes were quiet. Awkward, even. You’d known Noel for a while now, thanks to your friendship with Liam, but he wasn’t exactly easy to get close to. Especially, since you had been harbouring a crush on him for quite some time now.

Still, you tried to keep the conversation light, chatting about the storm and asking how the new material was coming along. He answered in his usual clipped way, but every now and then, you caught a glimmer of something softer in his tone.

You were halfway through your sandwich when the lights flickered once, twice, and then went out completely.

“For fuck’s sake.” Noel muttered, setting his mug down with a sharp clink.

“Must be the storm. They did say it could get bad.” You said, also setting your brew down.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Noel snapped, already rummaging through a drawer for a flashlight. “Now we’re stuck in this shithole with no power. Brilliant.”

“Hey, it’s not all bad,” you said, trying to lighten the mood. “At least we’ve got food, and it’s not freezing in here.”

Noel shot you a look, but his expression softened slightly. “Right. 'Cause that’s the dream, isn’t it? A flashlightlit tesco meal deal in a power outage.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help smiling as you followed him with the flashlight he gave you to find the fuse box. You both fiddled with the switches, but it was no use. The power wasn’t coming back anytime soon.

With nothing else to do, you ended up back in the main room, sitting on the worn-out couch with the flashlight propped between you. The silence stretched, broken only by the sound of the wind battering the windows.

“Bet Liam’s at the pub, nice and warm, laughing his head off at us right now.” Noel said eventually, breaking the tension.

“Probably,” you said, chuckling. “The git.”

For a while, you made small talk, though it still felt a bit forced, the conversation never quite flowing the way it did with Liam.

Then, a particularly loud gust of wind rattled the door, and you jumped despite yourself.

“Oh shit.” you muttered under your breath.

Noel turned to you, one eyebrow raised. “What, you scared of a bit of wind now? D’you want me to hold your hand or summat?”

You shot him a glare, your cheeks heating up. “God, it was sudden, that’s all. It caught me off guard.”

He smirked, leaning back against the couch. “Right. Sure it did.”

You huffed, but his teasing loosened something in the air, and the conversation started to flow more naturally, the tension easing with each laugh. He told you about the album concepts, about the bits that were coming together and the bits that were “a fuckin’ pain in the arse.” You laughed, teasing him about his perfectionism, and he smirked, throwing a witty retort back your way. It felt… nice.

“Thanks for bringin’ the food, by the way.” Noel said suddenly, his voice quieter than before.

You looked at him, surprised. “Oh, it’s no problem. I figured you lot wouldn’t bother otherwise.”

He smiled faintly, glancing down at his hands. “Yeah, well… it’s appreciated.”

The words hung between you, simple but sincere, and for a moment, you forgot about the storm entirely.

At some point, you realized you’d leaned in closer to him without meaning to. Maybe it was the small couch or the way his voice had softened, but now your knees were almost touching. His gaze flicked down at the movement.

“I’m actually kinda glad we got stuck in here.” you blurted out, your heart racing.

Noel looked at you, one eyebrow quirking up in surprise. “Yeah? Most people’d be climbing the walls by now.”

You swallowed, feeling a wave of nerves wash over you, but you pressed on. “Well, I mean, I’ve always wanted to… talk to you more. Y’know, properly. Without Liam around, taking the piss every two seconds.”

His brows furrowed slightly, like he wasn’t sure where you were going with this. “Why’s that then?” he asked, his tone still casual, though his eyes were fixed on you now.

You hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your knit. But the dim light and the quiet intimacy of the moment gave you a strange kind of courage. “Because…” You let out a shaky laugh. “Because I think you’re brilliant, Noel. And… you’re cute. Really, really cute.”

The words hung in the air, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

Noel blinked, his usual guarded expression slipping for a moment, replaced by something almost vulnerable. “You… what?” he said, his voice quieter now, like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard you right.

“I mean it,” you said, your voice steadier this time. “You’re talented, yeah, and funny, but you’re also sweet in your own way. I don’t know, I just… I’ve had a bit of a thing for you for ages now.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just stared at you like he was trying to work out if this was some sort of elaborate joke. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a small, lopsided grin.

“Well, that’s unexpected,” he said, a teasing edge to his voice. “I thought you were more so after Liam.”

You rolled your eyes, a nervous laugh escaping you. “Yeah, well, he’s got nothing on you.”

Noel chuckled softly, leaning back against the couch as if to process your words. Then he turned his head to look at you, his expression softer now, the guarded walls you’d come to expect from him lowering just a little.

“Come here, then,” he said, his voice gentle but firm.

Your breath caught, and before you could second-guess yourself, you shifted closer. Noel reached out, his hand brushing against your cheek as he leaned in. The kiss was slow at first, but it didn’t take long for it to deepen.

His other hand found its way to your waist, pulling you closer as the warmth of his lips melted away any lingering awkwardness. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, and when you finally pulled back, you were both grinning like fools.

“Well,” he said, his voice a little breathless, “I reckon getting stuck in here wasn’t so bad after all.”

You laughed, resting your forehead against his. “Told you so.”

Noel chuckled, his hands still resting on your waist, his thumbs lazily brushing against your sides. His eyes flickered to your lips, and a playful smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Alright, fine. You’ve got me.”

Before either of you could say another word, you leaned in, closing the gap between you in another kiss.

Your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging lightly at the strands. His hands moved with equal intent, one sliding up your back, the other slipping beneath the hem of your shirt to rest against your bare skin.

Breaking the kiss for a second, Noel trailed his lips along your jawline, leaving a warm trail of wet kisses down your neck. He nipped at the sensitive skin there, and when you let out a quiet gasp, his grip on your waist tightened.

“You like that, then?” he murmured, his voice rough, teasing, and so close to your ear that it made you tremble.

“Maybe.” you managed to reply, though your voice wavered as his lips latched onto a spot just below your jaw, undoubtedly leaving a mark that you knew you wouldn’t bother trying to hide. His tongue flicked over the spot before he pulled back slightly, admiring his work.

“Looks good on you.” he said, his smirk evident even in the dim light.

You let out a breathy laugh, pulling his face back to yours. Your lips crashed together again, messier this time, spit mixing as the kiss deepened.

“Noel.” you murmured against his lips, your voice barely more than a whisper, but it was enough to make him pause, his forehead resting against yours as you both caught your breath.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

You shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips. “Nothing. Just… this. You.”

His expression softened, the usual sharpness in his features replaced by something more vulnerable. “You’ve got no idea what you do to me.” he muttered, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face.

_____________________________________

cute little story for today, thanks for the request to one lovely anon and I hope all of you lot like it xx

I promise to be delivering some filth soon as well

love ya !!

[a-cheerful-zucchini]

Some wholesome Judas drawings!

Jealous bitches batch - coming soon.

[falesten-iw]

Warning: Long Post No one reads long texts anymore, but despite everything I've been through with my country, my family, and recently my son, I need to get this off my chest. It's completely unbelievable to me that so many people still don't understand the background of the genocide in Palestine. What kind of journalists or influencers do we have today? Are they too afraid to report and remind their audiences about the real story behind what's happening now? No, it's not just one year of suffering! It's outrageous how the media consistently ignores what Palestinians have been enduring for decades. Have they, or you, even bothered to look at the statistics of how many Palestinians have been killed by Israel since 1948? How many children have been killed? Who holds the responsibility for what's happening now? I often wonder: what if the situation Palestinians face was applied somewhere else? For example, what if, after World War II, the West had decided that all Jews should have a state in the USA—let’s say Chicago—how would the people of Chicago have reacted? Imagine the people there being driven off the land their families had worked for generations, stripped of their rights, and harassed or persecuted if they resisted. Do international laws simply not apply when ### is involved? Do you know that people in Gaza are killed simply for fun? Yes, for fun! Israeli soldiers have been known to shoot women, children, and even animals on the spot, then walk away. Did you feel the wind when those shots were fired? Or was it too far away for you? Do you understand what death means? Good. Do you know why there are so many Palestinians living in different countries, or maybe even right next door to you, even though they smell like hummus, garlic, za'atar, and other traditional foods? Do you know why your neighbors are Palestinian and not Israeli? It's because we've been forced to flee since 1948. Our cities were erased then, and more are still being erased—through violence, through apartheid laws, through genocide, through different methods. Ilan Pappe, an Israeli historian, wrote a book about hundreds of Palestinian cities that were erased to create the Israel you know today. This isn't a war that started a few days ago or even a year ago—this has been going on since at least 1948. More than 45,000 have been killed in Gaza just in the past year alone. 17 000 of them are children, and 13 000 are women. Do you even know what that means? How it feels to lose your children or part of your family? Are you going to tell us how it feels? Do you have no empathy? Is your heart so closed that you can't see the pain around you? Are you really so blind to the suffering of others? How can you ignore these realities? Do you know that the Israeli military has cut off all electricity and completely halted the import of food, water, fuel, and other necessities? There are no hospitals and no medicines left, and 85% of people in Gaza are living in makeshift tents. Yes, tents—but not like the ones you see in movies. These are handmade from plastic scraps. Do you know that my family is suffering from all of this, and I will lose them in this cold weather if you don't act now? Please help us and donate now!

Vetted and shared by @90-ghost: Link.

Verified and shared by @el-shab-hussein: Link

Listed as number 282 in "The Vetted Gaza Evacuation Fundraiser Spreadsheet" compiled by @el-shab-hussein and @nabulsi : Link

Listed on the Butterfly Effect Project, number 957: Link

Additionally, Al Jazeera News has documented apart of my family's case: Link

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[dawnwriterimagines]

Traitors Among Us

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x Fem!Reader Task Force 141 x Fem!Reader (Platonic)

PART 2

Part Three: The Guilty Plea

Part Four: The Verdict Due

Summary: You're a rat, a traitor. At least that's what Task Force 141 believes due to the evidence and claims scattered against you. It doesn't matter what you say, everyone's against you, ready to end you for it...until the truth comes out.

Warning(s): Torture, Heavy Angst, etc.

If you liked this would you Buy my a Coffee?

---

Drip.

Drip..

Drip...

Your shoulders seize up involuntarily as freezing droplets continue to hit your skin, eyes squeezed shut to try to ignore the sound that had been going on for who knows how long.

Another drop of water hits your spine from the faucet placed above you, it's cold as it runs down your bare skin. It feels like ice. Hitting the same spot over and over and over...

Drip...

Not even able to take a deep breath, you release a strained cry, it can hardly leave you, not that you hadn't cried enough already. You could feel the dried blood, tears and snot still on your face and a testament to your torment. You haven't been able to get the metallic taste of your blood of of your mouth since you got in here.

You breathe slowly, trying to relieve the pain in your chest. Body positioned downwards, chest pressed down to your knees, a leather buckle holds you down and over a metal stool. Wrists torn open by old shackles and stretched upwards to connect to the steel pipe in the middle of the room.

The stress position had been Johnny's idea, putting you in it to begin with. The bastard...

Kyle had been in and out to collaborate with Price on the interrogation, he didn't have the heart to do you any harm like his Captain. But, that didn't stop him from stomaching your screams as he turned the handle up, piercing cold crashing down atop you, it beats down on your back, by the time it's done your shaking, and your skin a bruising purple hue. It goes on like that for hours, even as you beg. He reads you the files again.

Price would then take the baton from the corner of the room, the side of your face already swollen from the last strike, you were seeing red out of your left eye and soon you wouldn't be able to see out of it if the swelling continued.

"Please..." you shivered, miserably.

"Over in a jiff, love, but i need somethin' from you, you know that." Was his reply, he tapped the baton against the metal below you, the reverb makes you jump each time, leaving you to stare at it as you watched his boots walk around you.

"Cap'n, It's not...It's not--me..." you tried, breathless. "I'd never.."

The steel baton came down on your shoulder, first. There was an immediate response from your constricted muscles, limbs that had all tensed up at once despite their numbness. Pulling at the shackles that kept you in place, the hit shocks you, nearly silencing you completely, it hurts, then it burns. Mouth open in a silent scream, you squeeze your eyes shut in an effort to block out the pain that crawled through your shoulder. "It's not me!"

You've been suffering from hypothermia for a few days since then. Your shoulder crushed right out of place or just plain broken, you weren't sure. It's not like you could feel much of your arms in this position.

It hurt. Not just the painful strain that this position was currently putting on your muscles, but everything else...

Of course, you've handled torture alike this before. Captured and tortured by enemies, ransomed for pay and fought tooth and nail to live, then found your way from that hell...only for the men who you'd kill for, to do the same thing to you with no remorse.

In the quiet of the empty room, you sobbed in agony. Squeezing your fists, but you couldn't even feel them, as far as you knew your fingers could only twitch in response to your demand.

You weren't sure what you were doing here.

Well, you knew. There was a mole, all evidence pointing to you, whatever it was had completely stunted their mission earlier in the week, left them hiding in a safe house for days until they were picked up by evac. Apparently, you'd leaked mission details to some hostiles over seas, you weren't sure which ones, they were hoping you could tell them. You had absolutely nothing, lost.

Of course, they didn't believe you. Although you expected to have at least a sliver of trust, someone to speak up against these claims and believe you...

It must've been too much to ask.

It came out of nowhere, at first you had been in bed with Simon, your fucking Fiancé, then that meeting with Price, then just...they'd cornered you in that room. Knocked you out without even an explanation, woke you up strapped down, confused, stripped of your uniform and feral as you demanded answers. Nobody listened to you.

That first night you thought you were gonna die. The second night you thought you had. The third night you were just convinced this was your hell.

You were soaked to the bone, and unable to stop shivering. The only sound you could hear was your own chattering teeth in this never-ending void of darkness.

It was so fucking dark in here, your eyes darting around to every corner, hoping for even a measly crack of light that your eyes could adjust to. Every sound, scratch, scrape or click made you jump, you couldn't see shit in here, so just about everything made you hyper aware. You couldn't help your anxiety as the sound of the faucet, the constant drops against your spine, the jingle of your shackles and the whimpers that echoed against the walls as you struggled to comfortably breathe. Maybe it was the thought of a mouse crawling up the stool and along your skin, or someone in here just staring at you in the corner, or the door finally opening for Price to start slicing into you demanding answers you didn't have.

You were on the cusp of losing your mind. If you hadn't already.

But it's been a few hours since then...

Maybe even a few days...

It could even have been a week.

You weren't too sure.

Simon had been the last one in here. He'd pulled the strap loose around your neck, hauling you up to an upright position by your jaw, eliciting a whimper from your lips. Able to breathe a bit easier, your lungs finally decompressing and you gulp down air greedily, "Simon..." this had been the first time you'd seen him since. He wears his balaclava, he is Ghost, not your Simon Riley.

As your bloodshot, swollen eyes raise to look into his cold ones, so unfeeling. You hadn't even realized you were so hopeful for his trust in you until then, looking at you like you were absolutely nothing to him, the same look he always had before pulling the trigger. "Simon, please, stop this..." your words slurred by your shivering, exhausted. "You know me...please."

Your tears slide over the leather of his gloved hands, while he holds tight to your face and cuts your pleads short with a painful squeeze. "Shut up," he says. His eyes are blank, but his voice is low and seething. "Shut the fuck up!" Simon harshly grits out to you, jostling you harshly. You squeeze your eyes shut, weeping miserably, throat closing up to your agony.

He had to know that you would've never done this to him. He should've known that. Given you the benefit of the doubt at least. You'd have never done this to him...

"I'm sorr-" you try, he squeezes harder to silence you swiftly, and snatches a tiny bowl off the tray he'd brought in. Raising your jaw a bit higher, he pours down a chunky broth into your mouth, letting it all just fall down to your throat. It's disgusting. He doesn't ease up for even a second as you toss and turn your head to breathe.

"Don't say a fucking word," he seethes, his hand enveloping your neck and keeping your head raised upward. "As if I should believe you..."

He then takes the next cup to do the same, your eyes bloodshot wide and you jerk away from him as you choke, unable to stomach anything, but he doesn't let you. This time you inhale accidentally, blocking your airway, eyes watering as you writhe for oxygen, your shackles clang violently as you attempt to retaliate, the first fight you've put up in days. His grip doesn't let up, even as you struggle and start to vomit up whatever he decided to shove down your throat.

When he finally lets go, you curve over and heave up whatever's left in your mouth, hyperventilating as you empty your guts on the floor. Hacking up whatever you can, it hurts, your throat burning from the sobs that leave you in between coughs. "If you love me, if you--ever had--" you spat at him. You'd given him everything, every part of yourself, nearly given him your life in the battlefield, and yet...it wasn't enough. "You would fucking believe me!" your voice cracks with the effort it takes to scream at him, to curse him to hell.

"My trust? That's what you want," Hollow eyes stare back at you, his attention flickering around to the uncomfortable shift of your shoulders in those cuffs. Your swollen left eye that had been hit so hard, the white of it had filled with blood. The black and blue littering your sides and your spine, the loss of color in your skin from the stress position and the cold that had you uncontrollably shivering. "You've had it before. You must've sold that to them too."

Your head drops to the stool again, releasing a heavy breath. "It wasn't worth much, if it was so easy to lose..."

Usually it's not very easy to set Simon off, you've known him always to be quite mellow, besides the barely concealed rage he had settled in his chest since you've known him. But, today, you were an exception.

Fisting a hand in your hair, Simon yanks at it, pulling you upwards for your to face him. His other hand coming up to wrap around your throat before your tortured scream can even manifest. In that moment, it feels as if he'd snapped your spine in half, having not used the muscles to stretch that area in over a week. Your shackled wrists shifting in the cruel position.

His eyes are wild and rageful, the balaclava that covers him twists just the same, his grip very telling to his violence as he squeezes down any chance at air or even a sentence. "Easy to lose..." he repeats, spitting in your face as he strangles you. "Easy t'lose your life! If you don't tell me the fucking truth," he pulls out the knife you'd seen him slit so many throats with before, you hear the familiar sound of it first then its cold steel pressing into the side of your ribs. "I'm gonna carve out your heart, and I'll take it real slow, let you feel every little thing I do to you in here," he shakes you harshly as a startled cry escapes you, your tears are burning hot against your cheeks. "You don't get to cry. Or whine. Or beg!"

"Stop--" you try to squirm away from him, to get as far away as possible, from this place, from this moment.

"Just tell me the truth," Simon's face twisted in agony, for just a second, his thumb drags along your jaw, meaningfully. "You'd be doing us both a favor..."

As his vast hand finally loosed around your neck just enough to hold you up, awaiting the bitter truth. Simon's knife catches on the protrusion of your ribs, nicking the skin, drawing blood on purpose. You stare up at the ceiling, the flickering old lights, the dripping faucet that's tormented your already fragile state for weeks now. "The truth..." you spoke, hoarsely. "You've all shown me...it doesn't matter to you. If it ever... Believe what you want--" you close your eyes, you're exhausted. Sleep had evaded you for days. "You and your truth and this team, you can all go to hell."

And finally he lets you go, letting your fall forwards, unable to find the relief of a cold floor but back to the strenuous position you'd been placed in. "AH!" nearly popping your shoulders out of place, or maybe they had, you bite down on your tongue, shaking in silence.

If you could see Simon's face, you could've relished in the uncertainty flickering in his eyes, the sudden doubt that led his knife back in its holder and his nails to bite into the flesh of his palms. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing leaves him, instead he stands there.

You can't say a thing to him now, everything that's happened was just a little reminder that whatever you said, whatever you did, it didn't matter. Their minds had already been made. You really would die here.

Simon stands there a little longer, he doesn't say anything, you're not sure if he stays there to watch your suffering a little longer or to wait to say another heart-wrenching thing. Maybe he's just there to wait for you to die. But, he just watches as you wretch and cry in a ball atop that stool.

He leaves not long after, he didn't bother to strap you down this time. He left the old light on, but it must've been older than you thought.

The single bulb fizzled out completely hours ago. Not unless one of them decided to cut the silence and turn on the light to start another 'questioning', so suddenly being able to see more than darkness wasn't anything to be excited about.

They'd leave you in the dark until then, to await the next moment any of them would grace you with their presence.

To be honest, you'd imagined you'd be stronger than this. But, there was nothing to hold onto, so what did strength matter?

It was too late anyway.

They'd broken you days ago.

---

The truth had come out, two days later.

"Oh god..."

"Oh my fucking God," Simon rushed down the corridor, Price tailing right behind him. "Oh my God!" his normal monotone voice now a mess of fear and panic, breathing harsher, on the cusp of hyperventilating with every stride as he ran faster than he ever had in his life.

Finally getting to the interrogation wing of the department, he bangs his fist on the plexiglass of those silently monitoring the rooms, "Open the fucking door!" he's buzzed in before he can pull on the handle another time.

Rushing down the hall to the now green lit room, lights flickering to life with every step closer down the hall of empty rooms. He nearly rips the door off its hinges as he bursts inside, the lights of the your tiny prison don't come to life as they should. Light spilling into the cell, to hit your limp figure first.

He doesn't deserve to say your name. "(Y/n)," Simon rushes over, to his knees instantly. A puddle of vomit, water and spoiled broth soaks through his uniform.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry," he sobs out his mistakes, unhooking your chains and cutting through your buckles as fast as he could. "Oh my god, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!" he catches his fiancé as you collapse, turning over and off the stool, your legs having lost all sense of feeling. You fall into his arms, catching you carefully. "Price!" he cries out, desperately.

"They're on the way!" Your captain assures, he sees the medical team rushing down the hallway, a stretcher, a box of medical supplies. Christ.

You're freezing to the touch, your skin a hue of blue, not to mention the bruises, the cuts and the swollen areas throughout your face and spine. You suddenly inhale, sharply, coughing terribly. You're sick, breathing shakily, "Simon...?" you breathe, confused. You can't see. Your eyes swollen shut from your torture at their hands.

"It's me, it's me," Simon assured, although he knew it probably brought you no comfort. He snatches the blanket offered up by Price, your captain a mess of himself, holding himself together at the doorway, nails biting into the steel.

As Simon wraps you in the first glimpse of warmth you've had in days, you ease up a bit, fingers twitching upwards to pull the threads closer around yourself. "It wasn't..." you shiver, Simon listens intently as he rises with you in his arms, running off to meet the medical team halfway. "It wasn't me..." you gasp out. "It wasn't..."

Simon can't say a thing as he hears your tormented voice stutter in fear of him, lips pressed tight together, heart sinking and as the nurses take your body, he collapses to his knees.

Part 2

[cumironi]

ALWAYS : GOJO SATORU

gojo is an actor, a famous one, but he’s also been your boyfriend for a few years. you have an argument with him when he agrees to have a fake relationship with his costar without even telling you.

warning. established relationship! gojo, non-sorcerer! gojo, angst to comfort, reader thinking about leaving him.

gojo satoru, the name on everyone's lips, the face lighting up screens and hearts alike. after his series, jujutsu kaisen, hit the airwaves, his fame exploded. people couldn’t get enough of him—the magnetic charm, that boyish yet strikingly handsome face, his tall frame that seemed to demand attention, and that playful personality that left fans swooning. soon, he was everywhere, his every move followed, every glance analyzed. the media loved him, and so did the world. and it wasn’t long before rumors began to stir, fans shipping him with his co-star, utahime, the chemistry they shared on screen now fueling wild speculations.

but you— you loved him before all of that. before the fame, before the cameras, before the world started calling his name. you'd been his since high school, standing by his side through the quiet moments when it was just the two of you, when the world was smaller, and it felt like nothing could touch what you had. in all those years together, not once did you doubt him. not once did you question his love or his loyalty. satoru was yours, and you were his, in a way that felt unshakable, unbreakable.

until tonight.

you’re sitting on the couch, in the living room of your shared apartment, the place that always felt like home when he was around. the soft glow of the television flickers across your face, but the news it brings feels like a punch to the gut. there, on the screen, are headlines you never thought you'd see—rumors swirling about satoru dating utahime. the photos, the whispers, they feel like shards of glass cutting into you. your heart sinks, heavy and cold, and the world around you seems to crumble, falling to pieces at your feet. the trust you once held so tightly begins to tremble, slipping through your fingers like sand.

your chest tightens, breath shallow, as tears threaten to spill. it’s a slow ache, this feeling of betrayal—an unraveling of everything you thought you knew. but even with the panic swirling inside, even as the overthinking begins its cruel work, you hold onto a fragile hope. this has to be a misunderstanding, a twisted story spun by the media. you tell yourself to wait, to breathe, to stay strong until he comes home, until he can explain it all away.

hours tick by, and the apartment feels too quiet, too still. the silence presses in, and every minute that passes drags you deeper into doubt. finally, the door clicks open. it’s late—almost one in the morning. you watch as satoru steps through the threshold, his movements slow, his eyes glazed, the unmistakable scent of alcohol hanging heavy in the air between you.

satoru’s familiar smile lights up his face the moment his eyes land on you, that same warm, loving expression you’ve seen countless times. even through the haze of alcohol, there’s a softness in his gaze, a look of pure adoration as he leans against the doorframe for a moment, taking you in. despite the lateness of the hour, despite the swirling rumors, his eyes still hold that undeniable love, as if nothing in the world could change what he feels for you.

he steps closer, his movements slow but deliberate, and before you can say a word, his long arms wrap around your smaller frame. the embrace is warm, familiar, his body pressing against yours with a kind of gentle urgency. satoru buries his head in the crook of your neck, nuzzling into your skin like he always does when he needs comfort or closeness. his hold tightens around you, as if anchoring himself to you, as if the weight of the world outside disappears when he’s in your arms.

“i missed you,” he mumbles against your neck, voice low and slightly slurred from the alcohol. his breath is warm, his touch soothing, and for a moment, despite everything, everything seems like it’s as it should be between the two of you.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, the smile on his face wider, his gaze a bit more unfocused. he cups your face, his thumb gently tracing the line of your cheekbone. “you’ve been waiting up for me, dollface?”

you meet his blue eyes, those familiar pools of endless blue now a bit dull, clouded by the alcohol and the late hour. they still carry warmth, but beneath it all, you can see the exhaustion and the weight of something unspoken. his thumb traces your cheek with such tenderness, and for a brief second, it almost feels like everything is normal, like the rumors you’d seen and the doubts gnawing at your chest were just figments of your imagination. but as you nod silently, unable to bring yourself to speak, the lump in your throat grows heavier.

you watch his face, his smile a little too wide, his gaze unfocused, and your heart tightens. you want to ask him, demand the truth, but the words stay trapped inside, tangled with fear and uncertainty. instead, you just nod again, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as you fight the urge to cry. the silence between you feels thick, and the world seems to hang in the balance, teetering between the love you’ve always known and the fear of what might come next.

satoru’s smile falters for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he can sense the tension in the air. he can see the way you cling to his shirt, the tears threatening to spill from your eyes, and there’s a brief flicker of guilt in his expression. but he masks it quickly with another, more forced, smile.

“hey,” he murmurs, his thumbs gently wiping away the tear that escapes down your cheek. “why the tears, dollface?”

he can senses your inner turmoil when you don’t answer, the tension in your body, the way you cling to the fabric of his shirt tighten like a lifeline. the haze of alcohol makes everything hazy, his thoughts muddled and his reactions slower, but he can feel the storm brewing inside you. he leans his forehead against yours, his warm breath ghosting against your skin.

“dollface,” he murmurs, his voice laced with a mix of gentleness and intoxication, “i can see that pretty little head of yours overthinking. talk to me.”

your breath catches in your throat as he leans his forehead against yours, his closeness making it harder to suppress the storm raging inside you. his warmth, the familiar scent of him mixed with alcohol, wraps around you like a blanket, but it does nothing to soothe the ache in your chest. his words, so gentle yet muddled by intoxication, only deepen the conflict inside you. his voice pulls you in, but it’s the nagging thought in the back of your mind, the one you’ve been trying to ignore, that finally breaks through.

with trembling hands, you pull back just enough to meet his eyes, your grip on his shirt tightening even further, knuckles white from the strain. the words hang in the air between you, unspoken but heavy. your heart pounds in your chest as you force yourself to ask the question you’ve been dreading.

“did you... did you cheat on me with utahime, ‘toru?”

your voice is barely above a whisper, shaking with fear and vulnerability. you can feel the weight of the question settle into the space between you, and for a moment, it feels like time stops. the tears that had been threatening to fall finally spill over, your chest tight with the possibility that everything you had believed in, everything you had built together, could shatter with his next words.

satoru's reaction is immediate, his eyes widening as the weight of your words sinks in. without hesitation, he quickly shakes his head, his hands gripping your shoulders firmly but gently, grounding you both. there's a slight frown on his face, the alcohol clouding his thoughts, making it harder for him to process what you're feeling, but his urgency to reassure you is clear.

“no, no, no,” he mutters, his voice firm despite the slur, “of course not. i’d never do that to you, never.” his words come out rushed, almost desperate, as if the mere idea of it hurts him. he leans in closer, his blue eyes more focused now, searching yours for understanding.

“i love you too much, dollface. you have to know that,” he continues, his voice softer but filled with sincerity. “there’s no one else, not utahime, not anyone. it’s just you.”

his thumbs brush against your shoulders, his frown deepening as he tries to break through the haze of alcohol. he pulls you into him again, hugging you tightly, as if holding you close would somehow prove his words, his body trembling slightly against yours with the weight of his emotion.

you swallow hard, forcing a tight smile as you look up at him, your voice barely steady. “then why did i see the news, satoru? about you dating utahime?”

the question slips from your lips, though the lump in your throat makes it harder to speak. you’re trying to keep yourself from breaking, to hold back the tears threatening to fall, but the ache in your chest won’t ease. every part of you feels fragile, like you’re on the edge of crumbling.

you watch his expression carefully, searching for something—an explanation, a sign that what you saw wasn’t real. but even as you hold onto the hope in his words, the hurt gnaws at you, and you wonder if your heart can handle the truth, whatever it may be. your grip on his shirt loosens slightly, but you can’t stop the tremble in your fingers as you push through the overwhelming emotion rising within you.

satoru's expression falters again, his grip on you tightening, the alcohol making it harder for him to control his feelings. there's a mix of guilt and frustration in his eyes, a conflict warring within him. “it’s not what you think…” he starts, his words slightly slurred, “it’s all just... it’s all for the press, you have to understand…”

he’s trying to make you understand, to make you see past the headlines and rumors, but the complexity of the situation and the amount of alcohol in his system makes it difficult. he pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you with a desperate kind of possessiveness. “it’s all for publicity, doll,” he repeats, his voice a bit more pleading now. “they’re pushing a narrative, but you know me. you know what we have. i would never betray you… never.”

he leans his forehead against yours again, his eyes searching yours for any sign that you believe him. the scent of alcohol is strong, but beneath it, you can still smell the familiar scent of his cologne, the one that’s always so comfortingly ‘him’.

his words swirl around in your mind, a mix of desperation and pleading, but they don’t quite settle. the weight of his arms around you feels heavier now, almost suffocating, and as his forehead presses against yours again, you find yourself pulling away, pushing him back gently but firmly. your eyes narrow, the confusion and hurt bubbling up inside you, and before you can stop yourself, the question bursts out.

“what? so you and utahime are just pretending to date? for the media?”

your voice trembles with disbelief, the words sharp and cutting. the idea feels like a betrayal all on its own, the thought of him allowing the world to believe in something so intimate with someone else. you’re struggling to keep your emotions in check, trying to hold on to the last thread of composure you have left, but the pain in your chest only grows stronger.

your tears threaten to spill again, but you blink them back, refusing to let them fall. the ache in your throat tightens as you wait for his response, your heart pounding with a mixture of anger and desperation for the truth.

satoru’s eyes widen further, the flicker of surprise obvious in his expression. he almost looks taken aback by your bluntness, the alcohol impairing his ability to react in a more composed manner. he stares at you, the weight of your words and the look in your eyes making it clear that you’re not buying into his explanation.

he tries to step closer to you again, his hands reaching out to touch you, but you step back, maintaining the distance between you two. he’s not used to you being this confrontational, this insistent, and for a moment, he looks almost lost, the situation overwhelming him in his current state. he swallows hard, the guilt and confusion clear in his eyes, as he runs a hand through his hair.

“i... it’s not like that,” he finally manages to stutter out, the words coming out shaky. “it’s just for appearances, for the sake of our careers... it’s not real. i swear, dollface. you have to believe me...” his voice is pleading, desperate even, as he tries to make you understand. the sight of you pulling away is like a punch to his gut, the fear of losing you obvious in his expression.

your frown deepens as his shaky explanation sinks in, but it doesn’t soothe the ache in your chest. instead, his words make the hurt sharper, and your heart feels heavier with each passing second. you take a step back, creating more distance between you, and the pain you’ve been holding inside finally spills over into your voice.

“you didn’t even bother to talk to me about this, satoru,” you say, your voice low but thick with emotion. “i had to find out like everyone else… through the news.”

the weight of your words hangs between you, and the hurt is unmistakable in your tone. your fingers tremble at your sides as you fight back the tears you’ve been holding in. “do you know how that felt? seeing you… like that, with her, and not even having a clue?” you swallow hard, the lump in your throat making it harder to speak. you want to believe him, to hold onto the love you’ve always shared, but the betrayal of being left in the dark cuts deep.

satoru swallows hard, the impact of your words hitting him like a ton of bricks. the guilt on his face is almost tangible as he watches you step away, the hurt and disbelief in your eyes more apparent than ever before. his hands fall to his sides, the helplessness of the situation evident in his expression.

“i...” he starts, his voice trembling a bit, “i wanted to tell you... but i couldn’t...” the excuse sounds hollow even to his own ears, a weak attempt to justify something that shouldn’t have happened. he wants to reach out, to close the distance between you, but he knows that the hurt he’s caused won’t disappear with just a touch. his shoulders slump, his eyes dropping to the ground as he tries to find the right words, but nothing seems right.

“i swear, dollface...” he tries again, his voice barely above a whisper. “it’s not real. she means nothing. you mean everything. you have to believe me... you have to...”

the vulnerability in his gaze is raw and desperate, the pain in his voice mirroring your own. despite the alcohol clouding his thoughts, the fear of losing you is clearer than ever. “i just didn’t want you to be upset.”

a bitter scoff escapes your lips before you can stop it, the sound cutting through the tension in the room like a knife. you cross your arms, the sarcasm lacing your words as you look at him with an almost mocking smile, your emotions spilling out in a rush.

“oh, well now that i know the truth, i’m just sooo happy, baby,” you say, your voice dripping with false enthusiasm. “euphoria, really. thank you for this… for such happiness.”

you let out a sharp laugh, rolling your eyes as your hand moves dramatically to your chest, as if to emphasize how ‘grateful’ you are. your expression is anything but happy, the hurt still etched into your features as you step closer to him, your fingers barely brushing his arm in a gesture that feels more like a mockery than comfort.

“thank you for letting me find out this way,” you continue, your voice faltering slightly beneath the sarcasm, the real pain slipping through your facade. “it’s exactly what i needed.” even as you stand so close, your words create a distance between you both that feels impossible to bridge.

your sarcasm hits him like a slap across the face, your words cutting deep. he flinches, the mixture of hurt and guilt in his eyes almost palpable. your expression is harsh, your smile laced with bitterness, and the false enthusiasm in your tone is a stark contrast to the pain evident in your gaze.

as your fingers brush against his arm, a slight shudder runs through him. he can sense your hurt, the anger behind your mocking expression, and the way you step closer, almost mockingly, only makes him feel worse. “stop…” he murmurs, his voice low and choked with emotion.

“stop it, dollface,” he tries again, his hands reaching out to grab your arms in a desperate attempt to keep you from further pulling away. “please, listen to me... it’s not what you think... i never meant to hurt you…” his voice trembles, the alcohol-fueled emotions leaving him more vulnerable than usual. he can’t stand the way you’re looking at him—with pain and disappointment in your gaze. he wants to fix this, to take it back, but the damage has already been done.

a breathy chuckle escapes you, but there's no warmth in it, only bitterness. you pull away slightly from his grip, your eyes hardening as you meet his pleading gaze. “of course you didn’t mean to hurt me,” you say, your voice low and sharp, “ou’re just a coward, satoru. a coward who only thought about himself.”

your words are harsh, but they flow out before you can stop them, your frustration and heartbreak spilling over. “you didn’t even consider how i’d feel, did you? seeing it in the news, instead of hearing it from you.”

you shake your head, taking a step back as the weight of it all crashes down on you. “you thought you could protect me by keeping me in the dark? you thought it would be easier for me to find out that way?” your voice cracks at the end, the anger you’ve been holding onto breaking under the pressure of your hurt.

you look at him, eyes burning with unshed tears, but you refuse to let them fall. “you always said i was the most important person in your life, but you couldn’t even give me the respect of telling me the truth.”

every word you throw at him feels like a dagger to the heart, each one sharper and more painful than the last. the alcohol has made him weaker, less in control, and your words cut through him, exposing all of his flaws and mistakes.

“i... i just wanted to protect you,” he stammers out, his grip on you loosening, his fingers trembling. “i didn’t want you to worry... i didn’t want to hurt you...” he knows his excuses sound hollow and weak, the guilt weighing heavily on him.

you take another step back, your eyes narrowing as his words hit you, hollow and weak. your heart aches, but anger swells inside you, pushing the sadness deeper. “protect me?” you repeat, your voice low and filled with disbelief. “protect me from what exactly, satoru?”

your gaze hardens as you stare at him, your lips trembling, trying to hold back the rising emotion. “from seeing you pretend to date someone else? from the truth? from feeling anything at all?”

your words cut through the air, and as you stand there, a mixture of hurt and frustration twisting inside you, you realize the weight of what he’s done. “how could you possibly think hiding this from me would make anything better?” your voice cracks slightly, but you swallow down the lump in your throat, refusing to break in front of him.

he winces at the sharpness of your tone, the pain in your voice making him ache. he knows how wrong he was, how stupid his reasoning sounds when confronted with the truth. he tries to find the right words to explain, to make you understand, but everything he thinks of sounds empty and weak.

“i… i thought if i didn’t tell you, you wouldn’t worry…” he answers, his voice low, almost a whisper. “i thought i could handle it… i thought i could keep you out of it…”

“i… i’m so sorry,” he falters, his eyes pleading with you, begging for your forgiveness. “i didn’t want to hurt you… i never wanted to hurt you. i just didn’t want you to worry. i wanted to keep you safe from the bullshit the media loves pushing, and i thought i could handle it on my own… but i was wrong, dollface. i was wrong about everything. please… please don’t hate me…”

your breath hitches, and despite trying to hold it back, the tears finally spill down your cheeks, hot and relentless. you stare at him, your voice trembling as you ask, “did you even think about me when you made that decision, satoru?”

each word carries the weight of your heartbreak, the betrayal sinking deep. your chest feels tight, your mind spinning as you search his face, his eyes—desperately looking for the love that was always there, the love that once felt so undeniable.

but now, standing before him, everything feels fragile, uncertain. “do you even love me?” you whisper, the question breaking you as it leaves your lips. the vulnerability in your voice is raw, and the silence that follows feels deafening.

you search his eyes for the truth, for something—anything—that can make this pain go away. but all you see is a man who hurt you, and you're not sure if he even knows how much.

the moment your question leaves your lips, you see the change in satoru's expression. it's as if the words struck him harder than any blow ever could. the haze of alcohol vanishes from his eyes, replaced by a raw, searing pain. for a split second, he looks shattered, but then, in an instant, his jaw tightens, and you can see anger flicker across his face.

“you are joking, right?” his voice is low, almost incredulous as he stares at you, his blue eyes sharper than before. “don’t you dare question my love for you.” his tone grows more intense, almost desperate, his hands reaching for you again. “i love you more than anything. more than anyone. everything i do, i do for you.”

his frustration simmers just below the surface, and you can feel it in his grip, his voice trembling not from the alcohol but from emotion. “how can you even ask me that after everything we’ve been through? i’ve given you everything i have—my heart, my life, my soul—and you think i don’t love you?”

he searches your eyes, his gaze pleading, desperate for you to understand, to believe him. but beneath that anger, you can still feel the weight of his guilt, the fear that you might not.

he takes another step towards you, closing the small gap between you. his hands tighten around your arms, his fingers digging into your skin as if he's afraid to let you go. “don’t you dare question my love for you,” he repeats, his voice low and intense. “i would never… i would never hurt you if i didn’t have to, dollface. you have to believe me.”

he looks at you, something between desperation and anger in his eyes, as if he’s begging you to see past the lie, to understand that he loves you more than anything in the world.

you've never seen him like this before—almost feral in his desperation to make you believe him. he's always been controlled, composed, but the thought of losing you has cracked that façade. he looks lost, raw, and desperate for you to see that he loves you, more than life itself.

your voice breaks as you softly ask, “then why are you doing this, satoru?” your words come out between the sobs, fragile and laced with the kind of pain that cuts deeper than any wound.

his grip tightens slightly, his fingers pressing into your skin, but you barely feel it, consumed by the flood of emotion. the tears continue streaming down your face, each one a reflection of the confusion, the heartbreak, the betrayal you feel.

“if you love me… why?” your voice is a whisper now, almost pleading, as if you're hoping for an answer that will make all of this hurt go away. you look up at him, searching for something, anything that will make sense of this, but all you see is the same mix of guilt and desperation in his eyes.

you want to believe him, to believe in the love you once thought was unshakable, but right now, all you can feel is the ache in your chest, the sharp sting of doubt that you never imagined you'd have to face.

“god damn it, dollface,” he mutters, his voice choked with emotion. “how can i make you believe me? how can i show you that i love you more than anything? i’d move mountains, i’d burn the world down…”

he leans forward, his forehead now touching yours, as he tries to get you to see the truth in his eyes. his voice is low and intense, his hands tighten around your arms, desperate to hold onto you, to make you understand how much he loves you.

the sight of your tears, the sound of your voice cracking with emotion, cuts through him like a knife. he reaches up to wipe away your tears, his touch gentle despite the intensity in his eyes. he can see the skepticism, the doubt in your eyes, and it only fuels his desperation.

“i would do anything for you, dollface,” he murmurs, his voice cracking. “anything. i’d give up everything, i’d burn the world down if it would make you believe me. just tell me what to do. tell me, and i’ll do it.”

you meet his gaze, searching his eyes for something—anything—that could make the pain go away. his words echo in your mind, the promise of doing anything for you, but it all feels so distant, unreachable. the hurt inside you runs too deep, and no matter how much you want to push it away, it keeps creeping in, clouding your thoughts.

your chest feels tight, and the silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating. after a moment, your head falls against his chest, the steady beat of his heart only making the ache in yours worse. you stay like that, in the quiet, trying to think of what you want—what you need—but it’s too much. the hurt, the betrayal, it’s all too overwhelming.

with a shaky breath, you push him away gently, your hands trembling as you do. “i need some time,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, but firm. “i need to be alone for a while.”

his hands drop from your arms, his eyes widening slightly as you take a step back. you don’t meet his gaze again as you add, “i’ll sleep in the next room... for now.” and without waiting for a response, you turn and walk away, the weight of your decision pressing down on you with every step you take.

as the door closes behind you, the silence in the room is deafening, leaving only the sound of your heart pounding in your ears.

satoru stares at the door, his hand still outstretched, his mind struggling to process what just happened. the room feels empty without you in it, the silence is deafening, and the weight of what he’s done crashes down on him. he sinks onto the couch, his head in his hands, the full impact of your request—your need to be alone—hitting him with a force he didn’t expect.

he’s never been without you before, not like this. the thought of you being alone in the next room, your hurt, your pain... it’s almost too much to bear.

he sits like that, motionless, for what feels like hours, his mind a maelstrom of emotions. regret, guilt, worry, desperation—it’s all there, swirling together in a toxic mix that feels like it’s tearing him apart.

he thinks about going to you, of trying to make you understand, to apologize, to do anything to make things right. but deep down, he knows that you need this, that he needs to give you this time, even if it’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to do.

the front door creaks open, and you hear it close with a soft thud, followed by the sound of a car pulling away. you sit on the edge of the bed, your heart heavy as silence envelops the room. tears stream down your face, each drop a reminder of the pain from the night before. despite the exhaustion weighing down on you, sleep eludes you as the memories replay in your mind, the hurtful words echoing like a haunting refrain.

eventually, the weight of your emotions takes its toll, and you succumb to sleep, your body finally giving in to the fatigue that has consumed you.

when you awaken, the sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow in the room. glancing at the clock, you realize it’s nearly noon. the realization hits you hard—satoru hasn’t returned. a pang of hurt slices through you as you consider that he left without even saying goodbye.

as you move to the kitchen, a swirl of worry settles in your chest. where did he go? did he sleep well? did he eat anything? the questions multiply, and the thought of him with someone else makes your stomach churn. you can’t shake the image of him with utahime, the fear gnawing at you like a relentless predator.

you pour yourself a cup of coffee, the familiar scent providing a momentary comfort amidst the chaos of your thoughts. as you sip slowly, your mind races through countless scenarios—what if he’s out drinking again? what if he’s hurting? the worry overwhelms you, threatening to pull you under.

just as you’re lost in your thoughts, you hear the unmistakable sound of keys clattering onto the kitchen counter. your heart races as you blink, trying to process the moment. slowly, you turn your head, and there he is—satoru.

he stands in the doorway, his disheveled appearance a stark contrast to the confident man you know. his blue eyes, usually so vibrant, are ringed with redness and framed by dark circles, a testament to a sleepless night. his silver hair is tousled, sticking up in all directions as if he’s just rolled out of bed.

“satoru…” your voice comes out as a whisper, the mix of relief and apprehension washing over you. he shifts on his feet, looking vulnerable and exposed, the weight of unspoken apologies hanging heavily in the air.

“i… i’m back,” he says, his voice hoarse and shaky. he takes a hesitant step towards you, the air thick with tension as he searches your face for any sign of how you’re feeling.

you stand there, coffee cup cradled in your hands, unsure of how to react. the memories of the previous night flash through your mind—his hurtful act, your tears. despite the urge to run to him, to wrap your arms around him and forget everything, a part of you holds back.

satoru stands there, his heart thumping loudly in his chest as he watches the myriad of emotions play across your face. he looks weary, exhausted—physically, emotionally, mentally. the distance between you feels like an ocean, the air heavy with tension and unsaid apologies. he can see the war raging in your eyes, the hesitation—the doubt. and it hurts, more than he thought possible.

he takes another step forward, his hand reaching out slightly, hovering in the air as if he’s afraid to touch you, to cross that invisible line that’s been drawn between you.

he opens his mouth to speak, his mind racing through everything he could say—everything he wants to say. he wants to apologize, to explain, to make things right. he wants to hold you, to be held by you, to be close to you again. but the words seem to evaporate before they even reach his lips.

finally, he simply says your name. just your name. and the way it falls off his tongue is like a plea, a silent plea for you to understand, to forgive.

your heart races as you look up at him, his tired eyes filled with guilt and longing. the way he says your name—soft, almost reverent—feels like a plea for understanding, a desperate attempt to bridge the chasm that has formed between you. but despite the sincerity in his gaze, the memory of last night lingers, a painful reminder of betrayal.

when he takes your hand, the warmth of his touch sends a jolt through you. you want to feel comforted, to lean into him and forget the hurt, but the thought of him pretending to be with another girl cuts deep. the mere idea of it feels like a heavy weight pressing down on your chest, suffocating you.

“i… i don’t think i can stand it,” you whisper, your voice trembling as you struggle to keep your emotions in check. “seeing you with someone else in public... pretend to be all couple.”

satoru's heart clenches at your words, the pain in your voice slicing through him like a knife. he knew it was coming, knew you’d bring it up. it’s just one of the many things he’s been dreading this morning. but hearing it from you, seeing the look in your eyes, it makes everything so much more real, so much more painful.

he tightens his grip on your hand, his thumb tracing small circles on your skin, an attempt to soothe, to comfort. “i know,” he responds, his voice almost a whisper.

satoru's heart aches as he sees the hurt in your eyes, the pain mirrored in your expression. the weight of your words hangs heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the chasm that has grown between you. he takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, to gather his thoughts.

“that’s why,” he begins, his voice barely above a whisper, “i spoke to the company earlier.” he pauses, searching your gaze for understanding. “they were furious.”

he cups your cheek gently with his free hand, the warmth of his palm a stark contrast to the cold reality of the situation. “i never wanted you to be caught in the crossfire of all this,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “the pressure… the expectations… i just thought it would be easier if we kept it private. but i see now how wrong that was.”

his thumb brushes softly against your skin, an attempt to convey the depth of his remorse. “i was so focused on protecting you that I forgot what you really needed—transparency, honesty. i wanted to shield you from the chaos, but instead, I just pushed you away.” satoru’s eyes search yours, filled with regret and determination. “i’ll do whatever it takes to make this right. i’ll fight for us, even if it means facing the wrath of the company. i want to be open about us, to show the world how much you mean to me.”

you blink in surprise, confusion flooding your mind as you process his words. “what do you mean you spoke to the company?” you ask, your voice wavering slightly. “wwhat did they say?”

but before he can respond, satoru turns on the tv, and your heart drops at the sight of him. he looks so different—disheveled, exhausted, eyes red-rimmed, as if he hasn’t slept in days. the conference is chaotic, the flashing lights of cameras blinding as reporters hurl questions at him, but he stands there, unwavering.

you stare at the screen, completely stunned. your eyes flicker from the television back to satoru, who stands quietly beside you. the image of him on the screen—a mess of disheveled hair, red eyes, and exhaustion—contrasts sharply with the composed, confident man you know. your heart pounds as you take in what’s unfolding before you: the rumors, the flashing cameras, his raw vulnerability on full display.

the conference is chaotic. journalists fire rapid questions at him, flashes of light bursting in quick succession, but satoru doesn’t waver. he remains steadfast, repeating only one thing—that the rumors aren’t true, that he’s had a girlfriend for years. you feel a lump in your throat, your chest tightening with emotion as the realization sets in. he did this… for you.

you turn to him, your voice shaky, barely above a whisper, “satoru… why you did all of this…?”

he doesn’t speak immediately, just watches you, his expression soft yet filled with a mixture of guilt and hope. slowly, he nods, his thumb still brushing gently over your hand. “i couldn’t let you think for one more second that i’d ever choose anyone else over you,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse from everything he’s been through. “i had to do something… anything to show you.”

your eyes well up with tears again, but this time it’s not from pain or anger. you’re overwhelmed, touched by how far he’s gone to try and fix this. “but you didn’t have to—” you start, but he cuts you off, shaking his head.

“yes, i did,” he insists. “i needed to prove it. not just with words, but with action. i’m not letting you walk away thinking i’d ever betray you like that.”

satoru's gaze is intense, his eyes fixed on you as he continues, “i couldn’t let you think for a second that i'd even entertain the thought of being with someone else. you mean everything to me, and i had to make a statement, a public one, because i can’t bear the thought of you doubting that. not for a second.”

“i know i messed up,” he continues, his voice filled with a mixture of regret and determination, “but i swear to you, i’ll never do anything to hurt you on purpose ever again.”

your heart races as you absorb his words, a whirlwind of emotions flooding your mind. the intensity of his gaze makes you feel both cherished and guilty. the weight of the situation settles heavily on your shoulders, and you can’t shake the feeling that you might be the cause of turmoil in his life.

you swallow hard, your throat dry as you find your voice. “but what about your series?” you ask, anxiety creeping into your tone. “what happens now? you just… put everything on the line for me?” the guilt gnaws at you, and you can't help but worry that your struggles might ruin his career. “satoru, i didn’t want this to affect you. i thought you’d want to keep things private to avoid backlash.”

the thought of him facing consequences for his public declaration sends a shiver down your spine. you look at him, your eyes wide with concern. “what did they say? are they going to fire you? or change the series because of this?” his silence hangs in the air, and you brace yourself for his answer, anxiety wrapping around your heart like a vise.

satoru’s eyes soften even further as he looks down at you, his hand still holding yours, but his grip has tightened slightly. he’s clearly nervous—nervous about what he has to say next, nervous about how you’ll react.

he takes a deep breath before responding, his voice measured and controlled. “i’m not getting fired, dollface.” his words, though relieving, don’t seem to quell the anxiety in your eyes. it’s clear that there’s more to the story, and he can see that you’re bracing for the worst.

satoru watches your expression shift from worry to confusion, then a flicker of understanding as he continues. “they just decided to kill me off in the middle of the second season,” he says, forcing a smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He chuckles lightly, trying to lighten the mood. “the writer never really liked me anyway.”

he sees the way your brows furrow, and his heart aches for you. he wants to ease your concerns, to show you that his world isn’t crumbling because of this. “it’s all part of the plan,” he adds, his tone playful, even if the situation isn’t exactly ideal. “maybe i’ll get a dramatic comeback. who doesn’t love a good resurrection arc, right?”

he cups your nape gently, his thumb brushing along your skin as he leans down to place a tender kiss on your forehead. “i’d do it a million times over for you, you know? i’d take the hit if it means you feel secure in my love. No one else matters more than you.”

as he pulls back slightly, he searches your gaze, hoping to see a hint of reassurance that you understand his intentions. he wants you to feel loved and protected, no matter the chaos that surrounds them.

your heart feels heavy as you gaze up at satoru, the weight of your worry settling deep in your chest. “are you sure about this?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “i don’t want to be the person who ruins your career.”

the concern in your eyes reflects the turmoil inside you, the fear that your feelings and insecurities could jeopardize everything he’s worked so hard for. you search his face for any sign of doubt, but all you find is unwavering determination.

satoru’s expression shifts, and he gently squeezes your hand, trying to convey his certainty. “dollface, you could never ruin my career,” he reassures you, his voice steady and calm. “if anything, you’re the reason i want to fight for it. i don’t care what they think or what the company says. my love for you is worth any backlash i might face.”

he leans closer, his forehead resting against yours, grounding you both in the moment. “i’d rather give it all up than let you feel like you’re the problem. you are my priority, and nothing will ever change that.” his blue eyes search yours, pleading for you to believe him, to trust that he’s all in.

your heart pounds in your chest as satoru’s words sink in, the rawness of his vulnerability hitting you like a tidal wave. his career, his reputation, his future—he’s willing to risk all of it for you, and the weight of that sacrifice leaves you reeling.

you look at him, the love and determination evident in his eyes, and you struggle to find the words to express the mixture of gratitude and guilt churning inside you. you don’t want to be the one causing ripples in his world, but his steadfast resolve makes it impossible to deny the intensity of his feelings.

satoru notices the turmoil in your expression, the way your brow furrows with guilt as you process his words. it cuts through him like a knife, the thought that you might still feel responsible for any turmoil in his life. he can’t stand to see you in pain, especially not when it’s tied to his choices.

he takes a deep breath, trying to ease your mind. “hey,” he says gently, tilting your chin up so your eyes meet his, “i’ve got a few offers for new series and movies lined up. i’m not in danger of losing everything, i promise. they’re just waiting for me to finish this one.”

a small, reassuring smile crosses his face, one that he hopes will lift some of the weight off your shoulders. “this is just a bump in the road, and i’m more than capable of handling it. what matters is you. i need you to know that I’ll always choose you, no matter what.”

he leans in closer, his eyes searching yours, filled with sincerity. “we’ll figure this out together, okay? you’re not a burden; you’re my motivation.”

your heart squeezes at satoru's words, your chest tightening with a mix of emotions. the guilt, the worry, the love—it's all flooding through you, leaving you feeling vulnerable and exposed. but in that vulnerability, you also see the depth of his devotion, his unwavering commitment to you.

“but… i don’t want you to choose,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “i don't want you to feel like you have to sacrifice your career... because of me.”

satoru hums softly at your words, the sound reverberating with warmth as he processes your concerns. with a gentle yet deliberate motion, he lifts you to sit on the counter, his hands steadying you as your thighs rest against the cool surface. he positions himself closer, his forehead resting against the counter beside your body, effectively caging you in.

“i can’t sacrifice you for my career either,” he says, his voice low and earnest, the intensity of his gaze locking onto yours. “you’re the one thing i won’t compromise on. i’d give up everything for you, even if it meant starting over. no job, no series, nothing could ever mean more to me than you.”

his expression is fierce, a combination of determination and vulnerability that makes your heart race. “so please, don’t worry about me. we’re in this together. we’ll figure it out side by side, and i’ll make sure you never feel like you’re standing in the way of my dreams.”

as you look into his eyes, the depth of his words washes over you, and a warmth spreads through your chest. you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing the reassurance of his presence. the feel of his warmth against you brings a sense of comfort, a connection that calms the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

“i just… i don’t want to be the reason for your struggles,” you murmur, your voice thick with emotion. “i care about you so much, satoru. i want you to shine, to succeed, and to be happy.”

holding him tightly, you feel the tension in his body ease as he leans into you, his breath mingling with yours. “i know we’ll figure this out together,” you whisper, your heart swelling with love. “but promise me you won’t carry this weight alone. we’re a team, right?”

satoru’s eyes flutter shut as he absorbs your words, a mixture of gratitude and relief washing over him. your unwavering support and love are like a balm on his weary soul, and he melts into your embrace, his head resting on your shoulder.

“together,” he affirms, his voice a whisper against your skin. “you’re not just my partner; you’re my foundation. you give me the strength to face anything, good or bad. we’re in this together, and no one, not even the company, can come between us.”

he lifts his head, his eyes studying your face. “you’re not a burden or an inconvenience, dollface. you’re my priority, my everything. i may have an image to uphold, but nothing is worth more than your happiness, your comfort. i’d take on the world for you if i have to.”

a flicker of vulnerability passes across his face. “just promise me that you’ll keep communicating with me. if you ever feel like you’re in my way or like you’re causing me trouble, i need—no, i want you to tell me, okay?”

a warm smile spreads across your face at his words, the sincerity in his eyes soothing the lingering doubts in your mind. you nod, feeling a rush of affection for him. “okay,” you mumble softly, your voice filled with reassurance.

a wave of visible relief washes over satoru’s face as you agree to his request. the tension in his body eases visibly, and he reaches up to gently brush a strand of hair away from your face.

“thank you,” he whispers, his hand resting on your cheek. “i just... i need to know that you’re okay, that we’re okay. that, even when things are messy, we’re still you and me. always.”

you nod, a soft smile still gracing your lips as you gently cup his cheeks in your hands. feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your palms, you lean in closer, your heart racing in anticipation.

satoru’s heart races at the touch of your hands against his cheeks, the warmth of your palms sending electric currents through his body. your lips meet his, a sense of peace washes over you, the world around you fading into the background. it’s a sweet, tender kiss, filled with unspoken promises and the depth of your feelings for him. as your lips meet his, he savors the taste of you, melting into the kiss like a man starved.

you pull back slightly, your foreheads resting against each other, and whisper, “always,” letting the word linger in the air between you, a vow that encapsulates everything you both cherish. it’s a simple word, but it carries the weight of your love, a reminder that no matter the chaos, you’ll always find your way back to each other.

satoru feels the weight of your promise like a gentle caress. a content smile spreads across his face as he brushes his nose against yours, a whisper of affectionate laughter escaping his lips.

“always,” he repeats quietly, his blue eyes sparkling with love. “me and you.”

[ghostfacd]

YOU CAN LET GO NOW ! | TOM BLYTH

PAIRING. tom blyth x fem!actress!reader

SUMMARY. in which tom blyth can’t let go of your hand after an intense argument scene in your film

installment of this au | your character and Tom’s lines in the film are written in italics

“Action!”

Tom and you have probably been on your tenth cut by now, the scene was an argument between yours and his character, Balleona and Coriolanus. It was fierce and intense, filled with lots of angry yelling and a few tears.

Needless to say, your director was on both of your asses to make sure you got everything down perfectly, from the lines and hand movements to the crocodile tears.

“You can’t just expect everything to be okay Coriolanus!” You yell exasperated. You look up at Tom, who was currently looking down at you with a cold gaze. “You decided to cheat! You decide to risk your entire career for Lucy Gray, now you go sit with the consequences!”

Tom slams his hand on the table nearby, making you flinch back. “I had to! I did it for us! All of it! The rat poison—the scarf—I did everything for us! And now you repay me by yelling at me like a child?!”

You push Tom back with an accusing finger, eyes lingering with hurt. “You’re acting like a child Coriolanus Snow! I told you that my family has enough money, enough for you to go to university. But you just had to ruin the entire system, didn’t you? Is it Lucy Gray? The disgusting filth from District 12? Is she influencing you?”

Tom places his hand on your chin, grabbing it harshly, making you let out a whine.

“You don’t speak about her like that, do you understand?” Tom tightens his grip, making your hands come up to try to get out of his grasp. “Do you understand?!” He yells, causing you to close your eyes tightly.

“Let me go, you’re hurting me.” You say, “Coryo, let go, you’re hurting me.”

Tom’s eyes suddenly switched from anger to softness, and he lets go of his hold on your face. “I’m sorry sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

He brings you into a hug, letting you bury your head into his chest. “You know I didn’t mean it right? You know you’re more important to me than Lucy Gray—that’s why I did all of this. It was for you.”

You nod, letting out a few tears. Tom breaks the hug to hold your hand, his other one coming up to wipe them away.

“And.. cut!”

Tom stops wiping the tears that have fallen down to your cheeks, sighing in relief when the director says that they don’t have to redo the scene again.

However, he’s still holding tightly on your hand, nodding slowly at each of the words that come out from the director’s mouth.

“You okay?” You whisper to him.

“Hm? Yeah, no, I’m fine.” He reassures you, smiling down at your figure. “I’m a bit thirsty. Water?”

You smile and nod, letting him walk you two over to the water dispenser. He’s still holding firmly onto your hand, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by your co stars, Rachel and Josh.

“Geez Blyth, do you always have such a possessive hold on our dear Y/N here?” Rachel jokes, smiling teasingly at you two.

You roll your eyes, looking up at your boyfriend. He doesn’t seem to hear Rachel’s words, instead, focusing on getting the two of you water.

“Do you want some Rachel? Josh?”

“I’m good,” Rachel replies, “and Josh is too. We were gonna head out to this smoothie place for our lunch break.”

“Ah.” With his free hand, Tom pulls you closer to him until you’re practically leaning against him. “Well have fun you two.”

Rachel and Josh say their thanks, but before they leave, Rachel slips by you, whispering “he’s stuck to you like glue, isn’t he?” in your ear.

You try to hold in your smile, butterflies filling your stomach. Despite shooting the scene 15 minutes ago, Tom was still holding onto your hand as if you were his lifeline.

“Hey babe,” you say, which automatically makes all the gears in Tom’s hand focus their attention on you.

“Hm?”

“How come you’re still holding onto my hand?”

He seems to be surprised at your words, glancing down briefly at your intertwined fingers.

“Oh, I didn’t realize.” He says, shrugging.

“Yeah,” you tease him. “Obsessed with me aren’t you?”

He rolls his eyes, but nods in agreement. “Just a habit I guess. I felt really bad for yelling at you so much in the scene and grabbing your face. I’d never do that in real life.”

You let out a laugh, making Tom furrow his eyebrows in confusion.

“Aww Tom,” you say, leaning into his chest with your head. “I know you would never do that in real life baby. It’s just acting.”

“I know,” he sighs. “I just hate arguing with you, whether it’s acting or not. Coriolanus is a loser for not realizing what he has, you know.”

Now that made you laugh even louder, “yeah, but Tom Blyth is a sweetheart.” You tippy toe to reach his nose, placing a small kiss on the bridge of it. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[corkinavoid]

Hey, @confused-they, this is for you and for everyone else who wanted more of this AU. Merry Christmas.

DPxDC Ring of Rage? More Like Ring of Engage [pt. 4]

[<- part 3]

[Written to 'Tantrum' by Ashnikko]

TW: mentioned mild gore (some inside parts become outside ones, nothing graphic)

Tim can't breathe.

Joker's mad laughter is ringing through the darkness of the warehouse, echoing in his head, the screeching sound straight out of nightmares. Hood should be nearby - as in, somewhere in this darkness along with him - but Tim can't think about that, his own maniacal giggles bubbling in the back of his throat, a grin tugging at his lips.

He has to get up. He has to stand, he has to fight, and it really shouldn't be this hard.

But he can't breathe.

Tim clutches his fingers on the fabric of his suit on the chest, distantly wondering if this is how Danny feels when he is more human than ghost. Probably not, he mentioned that breathing is only optional.

He really wants his boyfriend right now. His fiance. Whatever, he wants Danny, he wants his cold hands on his cheeks and the faint, humming purr of his core that Tim finds nice to fall asleep to, and-

Maybe later. He can't exactly summon him now, not in the middle of a fight, especially not in the middle of a fight with Joker of all people.

There's an angry growl somewhere to Tim's left, staticky through the voice-modulator. Then several sounds of gunshots and a gleeful, taunting yell of the madman.

Hold on.

Tim snaps his eyes open - not that anything changes, everything is still pitch-black around him - and blinks.

Why not?..

It's not like Danny is a civilian. Tim tends to pay little attention to the fact since the King of Infinite Realms doesn't hang out with the whole superhero convention on principle. But Tim is pretty sure he won't mind it this once.

Besides, Tim is so done with Joker that it's not even funny.

A few breathy chuckles escape his throat as he lets his body fully slump back on the floor and brings his left hand to his face, placing a quick kiss on the Ring through his glove. He doesn't need to do that, not really, but it's kind of a ritual at this point, and the gesture somehow makes him feel better.

"Danny," he whispers.

For a long moment, nothing happens.

Then, there's a soft, popping sound, and his beautiful boyfriend is floating right over him, faintly glowing and a little sleepy. Tim is momentarily distracted by his bare feet and pj pants with tiny rockets on them.

Danny yawns and tugs the hem of his t-shirt down as it starts to float. "Whas'sup," he mutters, rubbing his eyes and clearly not fully awake, and Tim's heart melts instantly. He loves Danny. He just... He loves him, okay? He loves that Danny didn't question his summons for a moment, he loves that he came even though he was obviously sleeping, and he loves that Danny is wearing a tee he stole from Tim.

Unfortunately, before he is able to get his shit back together, another sound of gunshot ripples through the air, and Danny startles, blinking himself awake and looking in the direction of it. Then, his eyebrows shoot up, and his mouth makes a soft 'O' shape before he turns back to Tim and tilts his head in question.

"You want me to deal with him? The clown, I mean, not your brother," he asks, and it's so casual and off-handed that Tim actually huffs a laugh.

"Sorry, I was just- I'm really tired of his ass," Tim should probably sit up, this is not a talk they should have while he is lying on the ground. On the other hand, Jason is somewhere out there, and he has guns and doesn't have a clear visual around him, so maybe Tim shouldn't sit up.

Danny hums, "Is that a yes?"

Tim just nods. He is pretty sure Danny can see him despite the darkness. "I promise it's a one-time thing, I don't plan on calling you every time one of local lunatics acts up. I just... I fucking can't with him," he admits with a defeated sigh. But, before he can spiral any further into the abyss of unworthiness, Danny's cold hands are cupping his cheeks, and his icy eyes are looking right into Tim's sky blue.

"Love, I don't mind getting rid of each and every one of your Rogues. Granted, it would probably fuck up the timeline, and Clocky would be mad, but I'd do it if you want me to, no questions asked." His voice is quiet, and Tim has never been more grateful for his domino mask, because he can feel his cheeks heating up and he doesn't want Danny to see the exact effect his words are causing.

"I- Okay," he quietly agrees, and then blinks, backtracking, "Wait, no, don't fuck up the timeline. Just deal with the laughing bitch this once, and that's it. We can handle the rest."

Danny is smiling at him in that adoring way Tim recognizes as 'I really want to kiss you, but it's not the time or place'. Then, he nods and lets go of Tim's cheeks, straightening up in the air, and his clothes shift all at once, like a magic trick.

Gone are the stretched out t-shirt and the pants with rocket ships. In their place, Danny's body is head to toe covered in stars and galaxies that hold the vague shape of armor, and there's a slightly shimmering, blueish-green translucent cape over one of his shoulders.

The Crown over his head, the sentient artifact much like the Ring on Tim's finger, appears from nowhere, and, after a brief pause - Tim swears it was debating on whether or not the situation is worth the effort - promptly sets itself on fire. Blue flames cast long shadows on Danny's, no, King's face, making him look older and his cheekbones sharper.

Before, the boy was only faintly glowing, and, evidently, the others present in the warehouse were too distracted to notice him.

But now, with the flaming Crown casting dancing shadows on the walls of the warehouse, it's really hard not to see the otherworldly being making an appearance.

"Holy fuck," Tim hears Hood's quiet, astonished voice, and almost cracks a grin.

Yeah, he wants to say, that's my boyfriend. Although he suspects he and Jason are having vastly different reactions to Danny's presence. Because Tim kind of wants to take all his words about dealing with Joker back and take Danny home, straight to bed.

...He is going to have to strangle Jason in his sleep if his reaction is similar. No, that's a wrong thought, this is so not the time for it.

"Who are you, flying glowstick?" Joker sounds rightfully pissed off by the interruption, "Does Batsy employ alien kids now?"

Danny chuckles, the starry freckles on his cheeks glowing brighter, "Okay, just because you compared me to an alien, I'm not going to completely erase you from this plane of existence."

Tim snaps his head up.

"Wait, no killing," he reminds, not because he actually cares but because B would throw a fit. Danny brushes him off with a wave of his hand.

"No worries, he'll stay alive," he smiles at Tim, and to everyone else, it probably looks like stuff of nightmares, sharp, pointy teeth and lips stretched out far beyond human capabilities. But Tim sees it for what it is: a face of mischief.

"Do I get a vote in this?" Jason's deadpan voice comes from somewhere on the other side of the warehouse at the same moment as Joker screeches in rage, "Who the fuck do you think-"

"Nope," Danny pops the 'p', and Tim is not sure if he is answering to Hood or refusing to listen to the clown's monolog by it. Maybe it's both. It's probably both.

The next moment, Danny is gone, disappeared from the place he was floating at, and Tim hears a wet, very unpleasant sound followed by Joker's scream of pain.

"You see this?" He hears Danny's nonchalant, unfazed voice above the clown's pained cries, "This is your rib, bitch- Hey, quit whining and listen to me, it's important."

There's a slap, a rustle, and a sound of ripping fabric, and Joker's voice becomes muffled, like someone put a gag in his mouth.

"You're like Adam now, you know, lacking one rib," Danny continues, "Only I'm not making you a girl out of this one, I'm pretty sure you don't deserve to reproduce. Anyway, going further down that metaphor, I'm the God almighty in this situation, so if you want to keep the rest of your ribs - and the rest of other things that are supposed to stay inside of you - to yourself, you gotta do a thing for me, okay?"

There's some muffled groans that Joker makes in response, then an enraged growl, a sound of a struggle, another slap, and then that same wet, disgusting squelch.

"Two ribs, wow, okay, you're really being difficult about this!" Danny sounds so innocently dumbstruck about it that Tim suppresses a laugh. "Are you listening now?" There's a quiet, choking wheeze that answers him, and Danny sounds quite pleased when he says, "Great."

Tim debates if he should look. He doesn't exactly want to since the sounds provide enough context, but it might be somewhat cathartic for him.

And then the air around him inexplicably shifts, becoming cold and oppressive, weighting Tim down like a heavy blanket and pushing him into the floor. The dancing shadows and the blue light of flames on the walls twist and churn, like taking aim, and Tim doesn't know what Danny looks like right now but he knows he is as far from human as possible, his voice coming with a staticky, echoing whisper, a threatening hiss slithering inside Tim's ears.

"Play your little games all you want, Fallen Jester, but know that you can not win. The punchline to your joke is long overdue, and your soul has belonged to me for quite some time now," his words are cold and uncaring, and in all the time Tim has known his boyfriend, he has never heard him speak like this: with a sense of lazy power, like he is only humoring the people around him.

Like they mean nothing to him.

"I will not kill you, or at least not here and now. My Guiding Star doesn't want to see my hands dirty with your filthy remains. Besides, death is only a moment, and you don't deserve only a moment of suffering," he huffs a short, humorless chuckle, "But, luckily, I am the Eyes of the Universe, the Titan's Bane, the King of the Dead, and everyone will meet me once their eyes fall shut for the last time," there's a smile in his voice now, full of cold and merciless anticipation. Tim feels a shiver run down his spine.

"So just you wait, Jester, and I will meet you on the other side. Then we'll see how whatever is left of your soul is going to spend an eternity."

Tim's ears are ringing with the pure, somehow gleeful hatred that laces those last words. He didn't know he could literally taste the disgust and the promise of pain, and yet, here he is, with a hint of something sour on his tongue.

And then, the heavy, weighted air that has been charged with power is lifted, the shadows and bright blue lights are all gone, and Danny, wearing his pj's and smiling, is standing over him. His feet are planted on the ground for once, and the Crown is gone without a trace, but his t-shirt is still trying to float up. The boy tugs it down again, offering a hand to Tim.

"Wanna go out for a burger since I'm already here in Gotham?"

Tim had never breathed easier in his life. He laughs a little and reaches up, taking his beautifully unhinged boyfriend's hand and standing up.

"I thought you'd never ask."

[floatyflowers]

Dark Platonic Father Front Man/001/Hwang In Ho x Reader

You escaped your father's clutches after so many years of being under his control.

And while undercover, you wanted to earn money quickly, so you put all the money you had with you that you saved the past years in a cryptocurrency with the advice of your friend, Thanos.

Both of you lost the money and found yourselves in the Squid game trying to earn back the lost money.

However, you never thought to see your wealthy father in the game.

No one knew that 001 is your father nor did you and the participants knew that he is the Front Man.

Yet, everything became clear to you, once you see everyone dying in front of your eyes.

Instead of putting your trust into your father, you put your trust in Seong Gi-hun.

Because he seems to be the only one telling the truth, and he acted like a father figure towards you.

Meanwhile through most of the game, you tried ignoring your actual father.

But, Hwang In Ho did his best to protect you, until you get betrayed by Thanos.

And find yourself getting shot, yet you survived and found yourself in a dark room, handcuffed to a bed.

And not before long, you see your father enter the room, holding a tray of food for you to eat.

But he wasn't dressed in the green tracksuit

"I don't understand." you stutter out, backing away from him in fear.

"If I wasn't your father, I would have had you killed and your organs sold for escaping."

Your breath hitches as you come to the realisation of your bitter situation.

Your voice trembled, “You’re the leader here… aren’t you?”

Hwang In-ho paused for a moment, his sharp eyes assessing you carefully.

Then, he placed the tray of food on the small table beside you, his movements deliberate, almost calculated.

"Yes," he finally admitted, his voice cold but carrying a hint of something softer underneath.

"I am the Front Man."

You felt your chest tighten, your breath hitching.

A few questions raced through your mind, but only one managed to escape your lips.

"Why?"

In-ho leaned forward, resting his hands on the edge of the bed.

"Why did you escape, (Y/N)? After all I did to protect you from this cruel world, why would you willingly walk into something so dangerous?"

His calmness unnerved you in many ways.

You pulled at the restraints on your wrists, glaring up at him.

"Protect me? You controlled me! Every decision I made, every step I took, you were always there, pulling the strings, I needed to escape you!"

His expression hardened, but his jaw clenched slightly, betraying his emotions.

“And look where your ‘escape’ brought you,” he asserts, his tone sharpening.

"Into the heart of death itself, do you think I would let you die like the others?"

His expression turns cold once again, standing up from the bed.

"Are you going to kill Seong Gi-hun?"

You almost scream out the question, fearing for the 456's life, despite knowing him for a short period of time.

"You only have one father, remember that."

With that, your father walks out the door, and leaving you in your misery.