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bloodyknucklesforme · 2 days ago

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Pomegranate | Nikolai x F!Reader

Chapter 8

You're back at the start

cw: dark fic, dubcon/noncon, reader is being trafficked, human trafficking, physical assault, drug use

Masterpost

You punched and kicked at the boot door till your fists and legs ached. Screamed until your throat was sore. You dug around in the dark for an emergency release and found nothing. It felt like the whole boot was getting smaller and smaller till it the walls dug into you and compressed the air out of your lungs.

You were too angry to cry. Angry at Arno, at Marcus, at John, at Nikolai. At yourself most of all. You used to tell yourself that you didn’t deserve any of this because you were a good person. You volunteered, you gave to charity, you held doors open for little old ladies. You quickly learned that it didn’t matter. Men like these didn’t care if you were a good person or not. You and others had just been in the wrong places at the wrong time with not enough money and too much trust.

That’s why you were going to die. You trusted Nikolai too much. Let yourself be surprised by his true nature and attack him for it. He was always going to hurt you. That’s all he ever did, despite deluding yourself otherwise. Tricked yourself into believing that because he never tried to strangle you during sex it wasn’t a violation. He paid Arno for the pleasure of assaulting you. Then he even stopped paying, his ego making him believe that he owned you.

You closed your eyes and imagined killing him. You’d knock on his door and plead to be let in, only to shoot him the moment he opened the door. It would be like in the movies where just one bullet kills someone instantly, no matter where you hit. You couldn’t imagine violence further than that. Even though it’s not what he deserved. He deserved what happened to Marcus or worse. Just not by your hand.

Violence had never been a language you spoke. You’d refused to learn at every chance. You had so little of yourself left, you needed to keep some small part safe. So much good your pacifism has done for you so far.

You could barely let out a whimper when the boot opened and Abel wrenched you up, dragging you inside on your knees. Glass and gravel cut your skin in chunks. Other girls peaked their heads out into the hall as the three of you came in.

“Get the fuck back to work!” Arno barked. There was something frantic about him. Something that couldn’t just be blamed on drugs. His eyes were red and the skin under them was dark. He was sweating so much it made his hair and skin look greasy. He disgusted you even more than normal.

You were shoved into a metal folding chair in the corner of his office. Your hands were tied behind your back with cheap nylon rope.

“Leave,” He said to Abel before turning towards you,“ We have some things to work on, don’t we.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to be afraid. Arno had lost any power over you. He could hurt you but he always did that. You could see that he was jittery, scared even. As soon as Abel left he redirected his attention to the baggie of coke in his pocket. He cut uneven lines on his desk and snorted them like they were going to run away the same as you did.

“You’re pathetic.” You said, shaking your head.

“What?” He looked up, white powder stuck in the stubble under his nose. His eyes were watery. “Fuck did you say to me?”

“I said you’re pathetic.” You stretched out the last word mockingly. “Look at you. Did Abel have to dress you today?”

He grabbed a pen off the desk and threw it at you, missing your head by half a meter. You laughed as it bounced off the wall.

“Nikolai was right. You’re a fucking pussy.”

That got him to his feet. He started yelling in German, even without speaking it you could tell it was incoherent. The near constant smell of alcohol on his breath made it hard to concentrate on anything else.

He looked like a child throwing a tantrum, stomping his way over to you. You couldn’t find it in you to be afraid of him anymore. For the past year you’d been afraid and timid, bending to the will of any man you’d thought would raise a hand at your insubordination. None of the humiliation or groveling seemed worth it anymore. If you were going to die today, it would be on your feet with your chin held high. He’d have to look you in the eyes while he did it.

Arno’s hand hit your cheek with a loud smack. Your teeth cut the inside of your mouth so you spit the blood onto his shoes. He hit you again and this time you spit onto his shirt. Bubbled up blood and spit quickly stained the cheap polyester. He hit you a third time and it made your ears ring and before you could react he slapped you again and again till your vision went blurry.

You fell sideways out of the chair, hands still caught behind the chair. You rubbed your wrists against each other, feeling the rope come looser and looser.

“After I kill you I’m going to dump your body on Nikolai’s doorstep. Fucking cunt!” He kicked his desk, snapping one of the legs off. “Try to fucking cheat me! Arrogant bastard! I’m going to cut his cock off and choke him with it!”

The desk collapsed in a flurry of loose cash and cocaine. You started laughing softly. Reminded you of long gone babysitting days where you’d watch a young boy lose his mind over not getting dessert before dinner. You wanted to see him try to kill Nik. You could see Nik lifting him by the throat and tossing him to the ground like nothing.

A decade plus ago you used to read all the urban legends

“He’d skin you alive.” You laughed. “And I’d pay to watch.”

“He’s an old man!” Arno breathed hotly. His eyes flicked around till he saw the tool box sitting by the wall. He tripped over his own mess to grab it and drag back over towards you. “We’re going to make a little movie for him.”

He dug around the box, pulling out a hammer, pliers and a box cutter. Your stomach churned. You knew it was going to hurt. It was always going to hurt. You promised yourself that you wouldn’t beg. It would all be over soon. It would just end. Arno clumsily set up his phone against the box, the automatic flash turning on. You blinked against the light.

Arno knelt beside you, hammer in hand. His hands were shaking. A child in a candy store, in too over his head to make a choice. He raised the hammer and brought it down hard against your ribs. You screamed. You heard the crack from inside your chest. It hurt to catch your breath.

You looked at the camera. If Nik was watching somewhere in the future he needed to know this was his fault. At least partially. In a just world he’d somehow feel everything Arno did to you. He’d feel his own ribs break, bone splintering into muscle. He needed to watch you die, to know what it was like.

Arno hit you again, this time lower, hitting the side of your stomach. You groaned out a sob. He hit you again. His hits were sloppy and uncoordinated, always just off their mark. He hit your sternum, knocking the air from your lungs. You gasped like a fish, each inhale making your vision go red.

There was a popping sound. It was far away, deeper into the club. It would have been unnoticed if screams didn’t follow.

Another pop, more screams and thunderous footsteps as girls fled the club floor and into the back rooms. Arno dropped the hammer onto your chest and ran to the door.

“What the fuck is going on?” He yelled outside. You fought against your bindings despite the pain in your torso. If you could get one hit on him it would all be worth it. Abel was yelling back at him in german.

More pops. Louder this time. Gunshots. One of your wrists slipped free. You pushed yourself up onto your hands and knees.

The hammer was cold and heavy in your hand. A gunshot echoed from the hall. Arno slammed the door shut. He started to dig through the remnants of the desk.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.” He dug a handgun out of the rubble, turning the safety off and heading back towards the door. He stood beside it, waiting for anyone who’d try to enter. Whomever he pissed off this time would kill you both. Most likely try to rape you before that. Not again.

You stood up on shaky legs, tears streaming down your face as your body screamed in pain.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Arno snarled, turning the gun on you. “Sit down!”

You raised the hammer.

“I will fucking kill you. Sit down!”

He was already going to kill you. This would only be quicker.

You threw all your energy into rushing your feet forward. He pulled the trigger, the gun clicked - he never checked if the damn thing was loaded.

You put all your energy into connecting the hammer with the side of his skull. He collapsed onto the ground convulsing with you following close behind.

There were more gunshots outside in the hall, Abel was yelling for Arno. One of his words was cut off mid sentence and there was a thud outside in the hallway. Arno was across from you, eyes twitching. You coughed and blood splattered against his face.

You smiled at him. He didn’t win. You’d both die here, looking at each other in the hell he made for you.

The door was kicked open, your hair flying back in the brush of air. Torch light searched the room before settling on the two of you. A man entered hurriedly. He had full body armor and a ballistic mask.

“I found her.” A familiar accented voice said into his radio. He pulled off a glove and touched your cheek. “Oh Kotenok, what did he do to you?”

Nik’s hand was warm against your skin. You leaned against it. There was no shame in comfort when dying. You were dying right? It felt like you were. It was getting harder to breathe. Hurt so much.

He took off the mask, tossing it to the side. His stubble had grown out in the past two days. He looked tired. You reached out and pushed back a loose strand of hair from his face.

“You’re okay. I’m here.” He took your hand and kissed your knuckles. “You’re safe now.”

You shook your head weakly, “Kolya…something… broken.”

His brow furrowed, he lifted up your shirt, frown turning to a snarl. You cried when his fingers brushed against your bruises. Blood was pooling under your skin, swelling up in great lumps around broken bone.

“Captain, get a medevac for her.” He said to the radio before turning back to you. “You’re going to be okay, Kotenok.”

He turned and grabbed the shoulder of Arno’s shirt.

“She fucked you up, didn’t she.” He chuckled as he dragged him out of view. “Do you still feel pain?”

Arno groaned.

“Good. I’m going to break your jaw now.” There was a snapping sound followed by Arno’s crying out. You closed your eyes. There was a squelching sound matched with more cries of pain from Arno. Nik worked quietly on his torture. His cries turned into gurgling. You kept your eyes closed.

“Fuck my old boots, Nik.” You opened your eyes to look up at John. He had a disgusted look on his face. “Is that his..? Fuck- don’t answer that.”

“You have a gurney? She needs a doctor.” Nik was by your side again, wiping bloodied hands on his pants before stroking your cheek with his knuckles.

“We’ll move her together.” You screamed when they lifted you.

Nik was at your head as they carried you out. Arno’s men laid dead across the club. All the men who raped and abused you over the past year dead because of Nikolai. Other armed men were helping the girls pick up their things and escorting them outside.

There were ambulances and swat vehicles lining the street.

Nik sat with you on the way to the hospital. He stroked your hair as the EMTs worked.

You were given morphine to help with the pain. You whimpered as the world grew dark and blurry.

“I’m right here,” Nik cooed. “I’ll take care of you.”

#nikolai x reader #nikolai x f!reader #nikolai cod #dark fic #my writing #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #cod modern warfare #cod #cod mw2 #cod mwii #pomegranate #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty x reader

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namelessgakusei · 2 days ago

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Extra EP. 1.3 Conflagration

Devil May Cry x Reader Insert

Warnings: It's DMC. Based on the New Netflix Series. Spoiler warnings for the actual show. Not proofread.

EP. 1.2 COMBUSTION (prev.)

EP. 2.1 Lead us not into temptation (cont.)

Synopsis: Unbeknownst to you and Dante, there are people plotting to bring the two of you down.

Deep within the Whitehouse gathered various people of authority, united for the same agenda of addressing the strange Vatican City Bombing. Dr. Fisher explains that a network of terrorist demons might be behind the attack, a claim immediately questioned by the general of the military, saying that America shouldn't entertain such ridiculous notions. Suddenly, a voice cuts in, defending the doctor's claim.

Vice President Baines turned to the general to his left, the glare accumulated from years of tactical management visible in his face. "I assure you, he is serious."

Dr. Fisher continued his presentation, saying that demons are related but separate from humans when it came to the evolutionary branch, having tested the DNA left on the scene. He explains that they exist and are natives from another universe, a parallel plane to Earth. While the talk about their place of origins continued to escalate, Vice President Baines furrowed his brows, deep in thought.

Mythology exists to explain Reality, said the doctor.

Apparently, there exists an interdimensional rift that acts as a bridge between the two universes, although it has been blocked for millennia by a field of quantum interference. There had been natural disruptions that makes way for demons to pass through, but are unstable enough to only let lesser ones in, enabling them to blend in the crowd. The president sputters and struggles to keep up, asking what this all means.

"Which means the big demons are stuck on the other side." Dr. Fisher nods. When asked about his employer, the presentation changed to reveal the organization. "Dark Realm Command." The bright red color contrasted the black screen as the insignia reveals the rest of the name. "DARKCOM, as our PR department insists we call it."

"DARKCOM is an independent dimensional security firm, funded by private investments, such as my own." Baines' voice made everyone shift to his direction, understanding well on who has the real power within the room. The lull in the room was broken by a hurried employee who insists on making everyone see the contents of the tape he delivered.

The screen plays the last moments of the group of criminals who raided the Vatican City Museum, revealing the culprit behind the attack, the White Rabbit. He spoke of a name, Sparda, as he marvels at the sword. This ignites the curiosity of the doctor, having heard the name before. But what soon followed in the feed was the brutal deaths of the men and the Rabbit's taunting words. "The gates of Hell will open soon enough."

"To any sapiens wishing to join the celebration," It's clear that the Rabbit planned for this video to be found, as it's like he's speaking directly to the leaders of America. "If you want to catch a rabbit, find the hunter."

"Hope to see you all there♡"

The thief screamed in agony as the Rabbit continuously stabbed him, laughing manically as the man dies.

The president staggered to get up on his feet, still shaken from what he saw, saying that this is all too much to deal with. Baines assured him that this is all real. Hell is real. And this is the start of the Holy War that Humanity should win.

"I believe the demon is toying with us." Dr. Fisher's expression hardened, nodding to the executives in front of him. "Giving us a clue to its next move. We need to figure out who this hunter is, which can only mean..."

"A Demon Hunter."

Baines' posture straightened up as he barks a command, voice low like a storm about to hit. "Find every demon hunter you can. And bring them to me."

Paranormal offices were raided, hunters were captured, beaten up if they resist, as they were all brought together in interrogation rooms. Frauds were weeded out from actual hunters, but it didn't saved them from getting hurt here and there. No matter how much they fight, they were always asked the same thing.

Do you know the White Rabbit?

Finally someone spoke up. A man, tanned with dyed blond hair, asked for a cigarette in exchange for his information. He said he knows a guy, a broker for demon hunters and mercenaries, a hustler who feeds off the bottom of the bottom feeders. "Last time I saw him, he told me how he'd set up this job for a talking bunny."

"I didn't give him much thought, coming from a serial liar and a drunk." The chained up demon hunter smirked at the other side of the one way glass.

"But maybe he wasn't lying." And perhaps he wasn't, and if it adds up, it means the White Rabbit was operating in New York. "Give me a name." Baines glared back, although he knew that the man can't see him from the other side of the glass.

The club was crashed in by a SWAT unit, their black uniforms completely out of place under the colorful lighting, demanding the whereabouts of Enzo Ferino. People screamed in surprise but didn't budged, either too high or drunk to care, but their target wasn't. Enzo jumped over a table and bolted upon seeing the cops, passing through the dancing crowd, who weren't too pleased by his hurried movements.

He thought he was safe when the fire exit was on his sight, cackling at his escape from imprisonment once again, only to get a door slammed to his face. The staff member gaped as Enzo was apprehended.

Enzo woke up with a start, handcuffs on his wrists and an electric shock clip about to get connected to his skin. "Before we start, you should know that I'll tell you anything you ask me about any subject!" He sputtered, narrowly avoiding getting electrocuted. That seemed to work, as the clip was withdrawn, but it didn't stopped the information broker to try and get the situation "under his control". "Now, let's talk compensation—"

The clip was nearly shoved to his face.

"Alright, I'll do it for free! You guys should really learn how to negotiate properly."

"Tell us about the White Rabbit." Baines' voice boomed from the speaker. Enzo chuckled and started recalling the events of their meeting. "He showed up at my office with a job that needed expediting."

"And that didn't seem strange to you?" Baines looked like he was about to murder someone as he leans closer to the mic. "A six-foot talking rabbit." But it only made Enzo scoff, saying that in his line of work, it's only a slow Tuesday. "Some demons making noise over on the west side that he wanted clipped. Calling too much attention to themselves and whatnot."

"Why? What did it mattered to him?"

"Y'know, I saw the price he was offering and I must've forgot to ask." Enzo shrugged and grinned. "One thing about it that struck me as funny is that, he has a particular demon hunter he wanted me to hire." He grimaced, shivering at the memory. "Wouldn't take anyone else."

"Who?"

"Kid named Dante."

Enzo frowned after that, saying that he's a sweet kid. "Bit of a troubled past, though. You know how it is, Dad not around. Mom and twin brother brutally murdered by demons. Y'know, that sort of thing." Before grinning again with a, somehow, proud expression. "Got attached to my kid though! They're practically hip to hip! Can't separate them for too long, else they get antsy."

The last part was promptly ignored in favor of digging up information on Dante. Dr. Fisher successfully pulled out his file and began snooping for details they could use. "Dante. Last name unknown." His mugshot was unserious, picking his nose and not standing straight. "Looks like he also works as a standard hired gun. Oh! And if half of what I'm reading here is true, his capabilities are extraordinary."

"What else do we have on him?" Baines frowned while the doctor marveled at what he saw. "Anything that explains the Rabbit's interest?"

"Hmm. It is said here that he always works with another demon hunter regardless of any mission. And he's recorded going AWOL from five separate jobs."

"Why?"

"It just says... Ugh." Dr. Fisher looks disappointed. "Got bored?"

Baines frowned, and asked about the other demon hunter, making the doctor pull out another file. Dr. Fisher's eyes widened at your document, there you stood properly for a mugshot photo, only glaring too much at the camera.

[Demon Hunter PII]

Name: (Y/N)

DoB: Unknown

Age: Unknown

Address: 862 Divine Street, Brooklyn, NY, 11206

Sex: [redacted]

Nationality: Unknown

H: [redacted]

W: [redacted]

EC: [redacted]

HC: [redacted]

Skin: [redacted]

Prof: Hunting High Ranking Demons

[Document Title]

Demon Hunting Evaluation Report

[Subject]

Name: (Y/N)

Occupation: Mercenary, Demon Hunter, Information Broker

Affiliated Group: None

[Overview]

This report serves to outline the evaluation of (Y/N), a demon-hunting mercenary and information broker, in both their job performance and comprehensive performance.

[Contents]

- Successfully completed every mission using a variety of self-made guns inside their briefcase.

- Capable of dealing with multiple enemies alone with their physical ability and agility.

- Always accompanied with the Demon Hunter, Dante and vice versa.

- Often acts as a mediator between Dante and their team mates, keeping him in line and solving conflicts before it arises.

- Their great combat skills and quick thinking are well-acknowledged, but their mutual reliance to Dante showcases their codependency.

[Combat Experience & Skills]

- 10+ years of being an information broker

- 5+ years of demon-hunting experience

- Has an excellent reputation in the black market and the demon hunter community.

- Experienced in battles with various types of demons; specializes in tracking and documenting demons.

- Highly skilled in marksmanship and weaponsmithing.

- Outstanding crisis management ability in dangerous situations and great tactical knowledge

- Skillful with military weapons and firearms, creates makeshift weapons within record time.

- Specializes in close-combat.

[Personality]

- Level-headed and cautious

- Confident in their ability and power

- Constantly seen bickering with Dante, even in dangerous situations, but compliments each other in combat.

- Can be flexible and work together as a team to complete missions, but usually works with Dante.

- Sharp and observant.

[Remarks]

Unauthorized access to classified missions.

Reason: DANTE GOT BORED AND I WAS CURIOUS. Y'KNOW, OLD HABITS DIE HARD.

*Assumed to be referring to their occupation as a broker, further investigation is due to find out if there will be a leak.

[Evaluation Report]

Mercenary (Y/N) demonstrates distinguished demon-hunting abilities. However, they need to be able to operate independently.

Further caution needs to be exercised when interacting with them due to their tendency to dig into your background.

"This is quite the combination." The doctor beamed. "This must be the kid that Mr. Ferino talked about. If they are really attached to each other..."

"We could use them to lure Dante out." Baines narrowed his eyes towards your picture.

"I heard a rumor once about demons who were too powerful to cross over, so they learned how to project their consciousness into our world and possess stuff, poltergeist-style." Enzo's warden was the unfortunate victim of his ranting. "You ask me, that's what this White Rabbit is. A possessed kid's toy." The broker grins towards the speaker, which replies to him with—

"I didn't asked."

"Look, look, look, that's all I know. If you're after his location, I can't help you. I only saw him once." Enzo shrugged and groaned, but Baines assured him that they already know where to look, as a man with a rabbit head can only avoid surveillance for so long. This made the broker scoff, saying that there won't be any survivors even if they send a team. But Baines replied with a cold voice.

"There was only one."

Before he sighed over the mic, asking of what he knows about the Sword of Sparda. Enzo tried retelling the tale that everyone knows, about the demon that rebelled against his own kind and sided with humanity, but the vice president cut him off, demanding him to give new information. This made the broker raise a brow but nonetheless complied, having no choice, as he reveals the existence of an amulet. The doctor immediately went to work and realized that it was the missing piece of the puzzle, that it was the transmitter that enabled the separation of the two worlds and while the demon technology is medieval, their understanding of the quantum principles is far more advanced than Humanity in its current era.

But Enzo said that the amulet was split into two, so there will be no way for the realms to be open to each other without limit; so long as the amulet remains broken, so will Armageddon remain as just a myth. It didn't stopped the doctor from listing out the worse possible scenarios, however, before being silenced by Baines, saying that they won't let it happen as it is the DARKCOM's purpose.

Their divine charge.

To be the last line of defense against the Inferno.

The Vice President mulled over the fact that the Rabbit already have the first half of the amulet, only for the door to swing open, with a jittery soldier coming out of it. It's the survivor, the doctor says, Anders from the J-Squad. The soldier insists on having sensitive information that he just had to say it directly to Baines, concerning the Rabbit and the end of the world.

"I heard the Rabbit say something after he'd done this. He was pissed off, furious, sir. He knows where the other half of the amulet is, and he tried to get it back already. But his plan failed."

"He's gonna try again. Soon."

Baines narrowed his eyes at Anders, inquiring more of the plan that the Rabbit said. But the soldier shook his head, saying that he doesn't know that much, only something about hiring someone for a set-up job. "Whoever it was, that's who has the other piece, sir."

Realization dawned to both Baines and Dr. Fisher as they both turned to the yawning Enzo.

"Dante."

taglist!: @mischiefmanaged71 @tamashithe2nd @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @96jnie

#devil may cry #devil may cry x reader #dmc #dmc x reader #dante x reader #dante sparda x reader #gaku's works!

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paulyenvol6 · 12 hours ago

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The Bolter

An angsty Joel x reader story but don't worry there's gonna be a part two!!! (And shoutout to @mrspascalsworld for the inspiration <33)

Contains: angst, mentions of pregnancy, age gap (unspecified), fighting, crying, anxiety, mentions of a panic attack

Wordcount: 7,167

Masterlist

Your heart was beating fast.

Sweat drooled on your forehead and the anxiety bubbling in your stomach made your head dizzy. You were gripping the edge of the table to ground yourself, your nails painfully digging into the oak wood when Joel entered the room and you instantly let go, pushing yourself away and approaching him on wobbly knees.

"Joel," you unnecessarily said as though he hadn't seen you yet.

"Hi hon," his husky voice rang in your ear and for some strange reason it sounded louder than usual tonight.

"I need to talk to ya," you said with your head low and almost bursted into tears when you lifted your gaze.

His dark eyes looked concerned and worried and you wanted nothing more than to rip the pain and hurt out of you, bury it deep in the ground underneath his house and have everything be perfect again. Cut out the painful ache right below your chest even if it required the worst methods just to avoid the upcoming conversation.

It wasn't like everything was bad. Of course not. You had good reason to jump into his arms and bury your head in his neck and you would have done that if you hadn't had a certain encounter with Maria the other day. You knew you should have spoken to Joel right away because it was never good to surpress anger and hurt and as your boyfriend wasn't exactly the most talkative and communicative person you oftentimes had to do the emotional heavy lifting for the both of you but this time even you hadn't acted the way you should have. You had needed an evening at the very least to process what Maria had told you and along with the other thing that had just completely swept you off your feet you had cried yourself to sleep that night, unsure of how to handle this situation.

"Course. What's up?" he said sounding like he was in a good mood tonight which made you straighten your back. Although your body was resisting, your insides clenching and twisting when thinking about the words you had already formed in your head, you knew this was the perfect opportunity to talk to him.

"I need to talk to ya," you repeated and Joel laughed, his eyes narrowed.

"You already said that."

"I know."

A crease appeared between his brows and he became suspicious.

"What is it, babe? C'mere."

He sank down on a chair tapping on his thigh to gesture you to sit on his lap but you couldn't. Not now, when the weight on your heart seemed to be trying to drown you, pulling you down and through the ground in the depths of the earth until all you could taste and smell was mud and dirt.

You stood up straight, slightly shaking your head and interwined your fingers in front of you.

"No… I just… I talked to Maria yesterday."

Joel frowned again, folding his hands between his slightly spread legs and tilting his head as he watched you in the dim light.

"Okay?"

"I… I wanted to talk to you a few days ago and I don't know, I didn't and – it's… everything was so much and – I – I know I should've gone to you earlier but – it was too much yesteday and I – "

You suddenly bursted out in tears, your shaky hands pressing on your eyes to hide the wetness dripping on your cheeks but of course Joel had watched you with growing fear and now was on his feet rushing towards you to pull you to his chest.

"Hey, it's okay…," he soothed you, rubbing the small of your back with his left hand while his right pressed your head to his neck.

"I got you, it's alright. We can talk about anythin'. You know that, right? Shhh, hon…"

It felt so good that you wanted to scream but at the same time you felt that you couldn't enjoy it. You had sworn to yourself that you would talk to him and now first had to deserve to be held by him. Therefore you gently pushed against his chest drawing away and immediately turning away to rub your eyes and wipe away the tears. You weren't able to see Joel's puppy eyes that followed your every move and perhaps it was for the better because you surely would have broken down again had you seen the sad look on his face.

"Darlin'. Please talk to me."

Silence fell over the room, broken only by the sound of your sniffing.

"Look at me, baby."

You turned your head carefully and saw Joel's eyes soften at your painfully contorted expression.

"What's goin' on, pumpkin?" he whispered and your chin twitched at the nickname. A deep inhale followed, your brain forcing your body to cooperate and vocalise what was bothering you so you could peacefully fall asleep tonight knowing that you had communicated everything there was to say and had been truthful to your boyfriend.

"I talked to Maria the other day," you started again and wiped over your wet eyes. "I don't really know how… And why… I mean I can't remember why it came up but she said somethin' 'bout you… Somethin' I didn't know an' I… I just couldn't believe that you kept something like this from me, Joel."

It was so quiet in the room that your heart stopped. The air was hot and tense, your lashes nervously fluttering as Joel swallowed loudly, his expression tensing just a little bit.

"What did she say?" he spoke, glancing at you through small eyes. It was hard to hide your anger now and at the same time your breathing became heavy.

"Why didn't you tell me that you have a daughter, Joel?" you pressed and it was way more emotionally loaded than you had planned it in your head. At first, his face was unreadable, the clenching of his fists being the only sign that he had heard you. But then the muscles in his forehead twitched and his face tensed with anger, his nostrils flaring and his teeth gritting.

"Careful," was all he hissed, but now anger washed over you like a wave, swallowing you whole and making you say things you most certainly hadn't meant to.

"I told you everything. Everything I went through and everything that I swore I'd never tell anyone. And I thought you opened up to me as well and now I sit there with Maria and she mentions that you have a daughter an' I have to act like I know who she's talkin' about? How the fuck do I not know about this, Joel?"

"You better shut up now," Joel whispered but it sounded dangerous. Unfortunately you were at a point where you couldn't hold back anymore and almost acted hysterical. The little knives that seemed to cut in your heart were simply to painful and you felt that the only way to deal with the unbearable sorrow was to let it all out. Thus, you threw your hands in the air, walking around Joel like an animal hungry for its prey and your teary eyes spitting fire at him. You had wanted to stay calm and you had been at the beginning of the conversation, but now you were in a maelstrom that was sucking you in and there was nothing you could do about it.

"This is just so goddamn typical of you. I trusted you an' I opened up to you like I've never fuckin' done before. And we talked about this so many times, you not being able to get your shit together and communicate with me in a healthy way and every time I think 'oh he's definitely doing better and starting to tell me more, too' you come around with somethin' like this. You have a daughter named Sarah? What the fuck? Where is she and who is she and – and what the fuck? Where did she come from all of a sudden?"

You had to inhale deeply because you were so out of breath. You panted loudly, the anger still making the air around you feel heated but you didn't even have any time to calm yourself because new accusations were stumbling out of your mouth.

"I fuckin' get that you need time 'n' all but we can't go on like this. You can't just keep those things to yourself so I have to learn about it from freakin' Maria? Not just for our bond but because I have to know shit about you, Joel. We're a couple and I have to know about your fucking life and – and who you are – and what you have done in your life – and – "

"SHE'S DEAD!"

There was a high-pitched noise in your ears. It hurt and stung but you couldn't do anything about it. Your head was throbbing, your pulse roaring in your whole body. All you could do was stare at Joel. Look at the sweat on his forehead. His flexed bicep. His glistening eyes. His clenched jaw. His mouth that was in a thin line. The heavy lifting of his chest.

He took a big step towards you that made you flinch but your feet didn't follow the commands of your brain and you were frozen.

"She's dead and that's why I didn't tell you about her. That's why I have the scar on my temple, that's why I swore to myself to never have any kids again and that's why I don't go to the fuckin' cemetery with you."

You wanted to throw up. A brief moment later you believed that you might actually empty yourself on the carpet but in the last moment you coughed which certainly didn't fit the moment but you couldn't help yourself. Tears were rolling down your face although you hadn't even noticed you had started to cry again.

"S'that what you wanted, mhm? You wanted me to tell you all of this on our first fuckin' date? 'Cause you think you're my goddamn therapist or somethin' that feels entitled to work through my fuckin' trauma all the time?"

He came closer and now your weak knees managed to take a step back which made you bump into a chair and you stumbled, your hand closing around the edge of the table just before you would have fallen. You sobbed uncontrollably but Joel seemingly didn't care which terrified you more than anything else. Your view was blurry and you felt sick in every part of your body. Your throat felt sore and the lump that was restricting your breathing wouldn't vanish any time soon, you were certain.

"Stop fuckin' cryin'," Joel fizzled, towering over you, who hunched over slightly, as if you could escape his piercing gaze that way.

"M'sorry," you mumbled and wanted nothing more than to feel his arms around you but you had never been more emotionally distanced from him than in that moment so you didn't even attempt to dream about it.

"I don't fuckin' care," he hissed and then suddenly turned around and left the room.

You wrapped your arms around yourself as if you could protect yourself that way, inhaled deeply but the needed air simply didn't come. Perhaps you would just suffocate, you thought and tightly held on the table. Strangled cries left your mouth and you whinced as you became more and more aware of what had just happened. How could you have been so stupid? How was it possible that it didn't cross your mind for once that his daughter might be dead? You had fucked up. You had fucked up big time and there was no way of catching those hurtful words that had come out of your mouth and swallow them before they could reach Joel's ears.

Suddenly your heartbeat thundered in your chest and cold sweat broke across your back. The insides of your cheeks were hurting from the way you had chewed on them and all you could taste now was fresh blood that didn't do anything for your rumbling stomach. You were still crying but almost didn't pay mind to it at all as you tried to calm your racing heart and quick and unsteady breaths.

What were you supposed to do? Follow him, apologize a million times and hope that he would listen to you? Leave and give him time to process your fight? But what if you would lose him? What if he would be gone with the wind quicker than you were able to notice and this wicked evening would end up taking from you what you held so dear.

You didn't know Joel for that long, to be fair. How could you, he had only arrived in Jackson roughly a year ago. And looking back, you had been cowardly, dancing around him, imagining what it would be like to go on a date with him, but too shy to actually ask him out. It had taken you almost three months until your best friend had finally convinced you that you had nothing to lose and the following weeks and months had felt like a cheesy movie.

Your first date in a café where Joel had told you all about his adventures with Ellie, his slightly grumpy mood that seemed to fade away in the gentle autumn wind the longer the two of you talked and eventually your first kiss on his veranda. You had bonded over music and movies, and somehow you both had found in each other something to hold on to. It was hard not to feel broken in this world but now you clung to each other in a desperate attempt to have at least some stability in life. To hold on to something that would last. Something that you could put your trust in. Something that couldn't make you forget the pain and suffering both of you had endured in the past but something that could try and stitch it up so the pieces could grow back together and leave a scarred wound.

And the time you had spent together had been beautiful and yet it was still delicate and fragile and right now you couldn't help but feel that you had fucked it up. That you had shattered the vulnerable bond between Joel and you and that he had come to the realisation that as pleasant as your time together was, it wouldn't be enough after all. That you were not strong enough to carry his burden and go on with him which would leave him no choice but to let you go. He would leave you behind as he went on and then you would be lost in the darkness just like you had been before Joel and you would try to find orientation in this wasteland of your heart without him and you honestly didn't know if you would be able to do that.

And then there was this other thing. This other way bigger and way more important thing that you had tried to tell him just now but of course you had panicked and messed up and looking back you now realised that you should have told him earlier. 'That's why I swore to myself to never have any kids again.'

The words rang aggressively in your ears, taking control of you like cordyceps and making you shiver as if you were in the middle of a snowstorm. It was just his words, just the promise he had made to himself that now gave you no choice but to cry again. You were almost too tired to cry but at the same time you couldn't hold back the tears and simply prayed that Joel wouldn't hear you. You were still in his house after all and although the bond of you had grown deep and intense during the last few weeks you weren't living together yet.

Leaving and going back to your own place was the right thing to do but somehow you felt that if you went through that door, turning your back towards his house and walking past his mailbox it would set an end to something. Something that you couldn't quite grasp just yet but at the same time you didn't want to find out. What if this had just done serious damage to your relationship? What if Joel wouldn't forgive you so easily?

You just couldn't lose him, not after everything you had gone through. You've lost more people than you can count, you've had to bury your own sister and move on because there just wasn't time to deal with her death, and you've had to say goodbye to the people closest to your heart.

You remembered the way you had sat on your bed after your first date with Joel. There had been a smile on your face, very slight and careful as if you were just starting to explore something that was beautiful and endearing but you feared about the consequences. After a single date you had felt ready to pour your little heart out to him and be embraced by his warmth, but at the same time you were so scared to put your love into another person's hand and have them slip it out of their hand once more.

And now you were here with Joel shouting at you and it was entirely on you. Carefully, you pushed yourself away from the table to straighten your back. No matter how miserable you were feeling right now, Joel needed time now and so did you. And no matter how angry he was with you, you would fight for this, for your relationship. Perhaps you overdramatised all of this. You were tired, you had cried so much today and were overstained with all of these recent events so it was no surprise that your nerves were especially thin today. What you needed was a good amount of sleep and maybe when you woke up tomorrow and confront Joel again everything would turn out fine. Yes, you thought. You would be fine; had to be fine. You didn't know what else you would do.

The next day you woke up with a stuffy nose. You immediately exhaled and turned to your other side, the corners of your mouth dropping as a cold wasn't what you needed right now but the problem became second row when you remembered the events of the day before. A quiet whimper escaped your throat as you stared at the ceiling and pulled the blanket under your chin.

You didn't know when was the last time you had woken up without Joel but it must have been a long time ago. The way he would embrace you when he opened his eyes before you, pulling your sleeping body towards him and nudge his face against your neck. The way he would inhale your scent and hold you so close as if he was just as scared to lose you as you were to lose him.

Suddenly there was a big lump in your throat and fresh tears collected in your eyes. You missed him and his presence and you knew you couldn't wait another day to go over to his house. When you had cried yourself to sleep last night you had promised yourself to give him the next day and not show up at his place and risk to annoy him but you physically couldn't fall asleep alone in your bed another night. Perhaps you were clingy and needy and maybe he would be pissed that you didn't let him breathe freely for a few hours before apologizing to him but you accepted it.

You would have loved to immediately do it, walk the short way to his house, apologize to him and make sure that the two of you were still good but although it pained you, you forced yourself to have breakfast first, start the dishwasher and do all sorts of other things just to distract yourself. But no matter how hard you tried Joel was in your head at all times and at some point you stopped fighting it. His face, his voice, his eyes lingered in your mind and seemed to haunt you every step you took, but you surrendered to it, allowing a few tears to quietly roll down your cheeks while you stuffed your dirty clothes into the washing machine.

It was 12am when you looked at the clock. You hesitated and fought the urge to throw your jacket on and instead decided to make yourself lunch before the inevitable encounter. Because as much as you wished to get over with it already and tell Joel how sorry you were you were afraid, too. Afraid that everything was so much worse than you hoped and that there would be serious consequences to the way you had messed up. And then there was the life that was growing in your belly at this moment.

You had to tell him. It was the only right thing to do but then again you heard his words over and over again in your head and it was strange because when he had said them they had sounded muffled and far away but now in your memory they were clearer than the white of the snow and the blue sky outside.

'That's why I swore to myself to never have any kids again.'

You gulped but the lump in your throat wouldn't go away. He didn't want any kids and of course you accepted it. You had never planned to be a parent, not because you actively decided not to be, but simply because it had never been a prospect. All your life you had fought for your survival and for the safety of the people around you and romantic love, let alone offspring had never been on your mind.

But now it was. There was a child growing in your belly. A child that Joel didn't want. You hadn't even had any time to think about your thoughts on this. Your first reaction had been shock and surprise, then you had doubted that the test was right, but when you had done three more, all positive, you had felt overwhelmed and had panicked about how to tell your boyfriend.

And then there had been the conversation with Maria that had totally swept you off your feet and your mind had been elsewhere for a while and now… Now you at least knew what Joel thought about having children so had he already chosen for you? Bringing a child into this evil world was a thought that had scared you at first. Not because you didn't like children, but because there would be another beloved creature that could possibly be taken away from you.

You had to care for yourself, now had found true and deep love in Joel – and you sometimes woke up in the middle of the night from a nightmare that involved losing him – and would have to protect a vulnerable little child? It sounded terrifying and surreal but on the other hand… If you did it with him? If Joel was at your side, accompaning you throughout the whole journey? Raising a child with the love of your life suddenly didn't sound so bad. Maybe it was the Joel-effect because sometimes when you were with him you felt like the two of you could defeat everyone in the world. You were torn between the fear of him getting dragged away from you and the poetic trust that you could go through anything as long as he was with you and your attitude highly depended on your mood – whether you felt miserable and depressed or like a hopeless romantic.

Suddenly you had to smile which felt unfamiliar because the muscles in your cheeks hadn't worked for quite a while now. But you couldn't help it, you saw Joel and yourself in your mind, cradling a little baby in your arms while he had his arms around your waist. His chin resting on your shoulder as the two of watched the little creature that was safe in your grip. Yes, you oftentimes hated this world and everything and everyone on it. But having a family with Joel…? Living with him, waking up beside him every day and watching your child grow up together? Keeping it safe with him and having an actual family with him? You had never even dared thinking about it and the thought lingering in your head was too beautiful to even consider.

There is nothing to consider. Joel has made clear what he thinks about having children.

The corners of your mouth dropped just as quickly as they had lifted.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

That was what happened when you daydreamed for too long. There was no family, there was no future that involved him, you and a little child and he hadn't been shy to let you know about his opinions. Even if you would be able to make up with him and make him forgive you, there was no way he would suddenly embrace you and celebrate the fact that you were pregnant. He would probably just immediately dump you and tell you to stay away from him and you weren't even able to be mad about it. His daughter died and you couldn't imagine how horrible that must have been. Having a child now might make him feel like he was trying to replace his daughter's memory or he simply was too scared to lose another child and go through the same sorrow again. Putting this burden upon him was cruel and heartbreaking, but… what were you supposed to do? You were pregnant right now, whether it was convenient, whether you wanted to be or not.

Suddenly, a loud noise made you flinch and you remembered that you had wanted to cook yourself lunch before visiting Joel. You blinked a few times and then looked around trying to figure out where that noise had come from.

The door.

A loud knock on the door and you couldn't think of a lot of people who would show up at your place on a Sunday noon. You rose from the chair and headed to the door, your feet dragging over the floor and your heart sinking lower in your stomach with every slow step you took.

Your shaky hand grabbed the door handle and you closed your eyes, inhaling and forcing yourself to breathe steadily before turning it and opening the door only to look right into a pair of dark eyes. At first, this was all you could focus on. His deep eyes that had left you in awe back when you had started dating because you had never felt so lost in someone's gaze. You felt that you could drown in those eyes, the hazel tone somehow offering you the promise of home and had you not felt so awful you might have been able to fill ahundred pages of a book, solely focused on describing those perfect warm eyes that were shimmering like sunlight reflecting on clear blue water.

The only problem was, well, his eyes were squeezed. Everything about his face was tense and hard, his mouth a thin line, his neck flexed and a crease between his eyebrows. It almost looked a little bit like he was pouting as he briefly ran his eyes over you and then walked right past you like he owned the place. What had you expected? A warm morning hug?

You closed the door behind Joel and then followed him into the living room where he had sat down on the armrest of your couch and something about the way he looked so natural and right in the center of your living room made you sad. He was meant to be in here. He was a part of this room, the heart of your house just like he was part of your home and your heart. You were on the verge of crying again although you hadn't even exchanged a word so far but Joel was about to change that from the way he cleared his throat.

"I needa talk to ya," he began, his voice rough but much steadier than you felt. You nodded and folded your hands in front of your stomach just to do anything.

"Yes. I wanted to talk to you, too," you replied and wondered why your voice sounded so high. His eyes found yours and you tried your best not to avert your gaze but Joel redeemed you soon anyway and pressed his hand on his eyes, rubbing them while exhaling loudly.

"We have to – "

"I'm sorry, Joel," you interrupted him. "I'm so sorry, I… I really am."

Your eyes were round, your pupils dilated as you ran your gaze over him in desperate search of any sign of reaction. Any sign that the two of you would be fine. Joel exhaled loudly, his shoulders rising and falling and then dropped his hands to his side to look at you again.

"This ain't gonna work."

There was this high pitched noise in your ear again that had been there the day before. You stared at him but didn't actually perceive him, didn't see how he swallowed deeply or how he bit down on his bottom lip. When your mouth twitched you didn't know how much time had passed and for how long you had looked at him in silence.

"What," you breathed, your eyes wet, but you somehow weren't able to let go off the tears just yet.

"This… between us. It ain't gonna work."

"Because of yesterday? I'm sorry, Joel, I… I wanna make it up to you and I know that I'm gonna be able to – I… please, you're not breaking up with me right now, are you?"

Joel grinded his teeth as he turned around to run a hand through his hair, his fingers nervously tapping against the desk.

"Jesus… I don't wanna talk about yesterday right now."

"What," you hissed, your voice airy and weak and your heart beating louder than ever before.

"Listen, I… yesterday was messed up 'n' all but the reason I'm here today is 'cause…" He sighed and put his hands on his hips.

"Fuck. You're too young to me an' I'm too fuckin' old for you and it's been on my mind all the goddamn time since we started datin' but I don't know I shut the voice up and acted like it's right but I can't no longer."

You narrowed your eyes at him, the content of his words slowly and with some delay reaching your brain.

"What," you whispered again but this time you weren't lost for words. "Joel, this… you can't mean that."

"Yeah I do," he grimly said, his eyes flickering as a single tear escaped from the corner of your eye.

"Give me one reason why it's a problem. I'm an adult, I can choose who I wanna be with 'n' I… I just don't get it, this is bullshit." Your voice had became high and thin which made you fear you were about to have a panick attack so you pressed your hand to your chest to calm the rapid pounding of your heart.

"It ain't right. I'm not gonna deny I had a very beautiful time with you, y/n, but the age gap is too big for somethin' serious," he whispered, his voice softer now but it only enraged you further.

"Fuck you," you hissed before you could properly think about it and although you instantly regretted it you couln't stop.

"Fuck you, Joel Miller. This is a stupid fuckin' excuse 'cause of yesterday and I know you don't wanna talk about it so now you're choosing to lie to me instead and use our fuckin' age gap as a reason why you don't wanna be with me anymore. This is horseshit and-and stupid and…"

You stopped mid-sentence because Joel had pushed himself away from the desk and now took a step towards you, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

"No," was all he said through clenched teeth, his mouth forming a thin line.

"Be honest with me at least," you sobbed and pushed against his chest once. You didn't care about anything anymore. You didn't care about crying or being childish for not being able to accept his words. All you wanted was for Joel to take you in his arms and tell you that he loved you just as much as you loved him. Did he? Had he loved you at some point during your relationship or had it just been a fling for him? Or was he actually lying to you and the core of his problem was yesterday's fight.

"Be fuckin' honest," you shouted and pushed against his chest once more which Joel reacted to by grabbing your wrists and pinning them to your hips.

"Stop it," he said with a voice that was way too calm for the occasion.

"No you stop it."

"I am honest. I told you, you're too young. We shouldn't have even started dating in the first place."

Although you had felt like your heart had already been shattered into a million little pieces it seemed to shatter again at his words and you brought a hand to your mouth to surpress you uncontrolled sobs.

"How can you say something like this?" you cried and flinched when Joel involuntarily took a step towards you. Had you been able to see through the curtain of tears you would have noticed that his eyes were glossy now as well and it might have made you feel better. But you didn't so you allowed your sadness and despair to utterly take over and you spat out everything that came to your mind.

"S-So you're just g-gonna end it 'cause you randomly remembered that you're o-older than m-me and now that's it? It d-didn't mean anything to you a-and we're just gonna l-live our separate lives f-from now on and act like nothing ever happened?"

"Of course it meant something to me," Joel whispered and he sounded just the way he sounded when he wanted to comfort you which didn't do anything for your current state. You whimpered when you felt his arms wrap around you and your first instinct was to make him let go so you winded in his hold.

"N-No..." you whimpered, wanting to shut off all your senses because now you could smell his scent and feel his warmth and touch the rough fabric of his shirt and it hurt you so much that you squirmed as Joel put his hand on the back of your head.

"Y/n," he whispered but you didn't listen.

"Let m-me go," you stuttered and after a brief moment of silence he did and somehow it felt even worse.

Now it was coldness and lonliness that silently embraced you and when he took a step back it meant something. He was leaving you right now and if you weren't careful he would slip away. It was like you could feel his finger against yours and all you had to do was hold on tightly and pull him back, but you couldn't. You couldn't grasp at him and he would leave. He would leave because all of this hadn't been that important to him and perhaps you had just floated around Jackson on cloud seven the last couple of months but it seriously had meant something to me. Fuck, it had meant more than something to you. Joel was the love of your life and you were about to watch him leave out your front door.

"Please," you whimpered, a weak hand reaching for him but he didn't react, his sad brown eyes lingering on your tear-stained face.

"Joel."

"I'm sorry," he murmured and put his hands in his front pockets as though he would feel less bad for not taking your hand if they were occupied elsewhere.

"It meant something to me. Of course it did. But it can't go on."

You couldn't even disagree or fight back, all you did was stand with weak knees wishing that the floor would swallow you and take the pain away. The stinging sharp sting that had started in your chest but had spread all throughout your body and was so breath-takingly excruciating that the flesh of your limbs seemed to melt off your tired bones. Joel opened his mouth and you expected to hear another cruel word but he seemed to change his mind and just nodded once.

"I'm sorry. I really am. But I wish you the best."

A cold hysteric laugh broke out of you which was followed by another wave of fresh tears. You wanted to reply and insult him or refuse to accept this pathetic attempt of a breakup or just scream and shout mindless words but it seemed like your throat had shut down and not even the quietest rasped noise could escape. Your swollen eyes were on the back of his head when he turned around to slowly head to the door.

You hated everything about it, how slowly he set one foot in front of the other as if he wanted to give you time to stop him but this honestly couldn't be the case because he had been the one to end it so why not just vanish in the air instead of spending an unnecessary amount of time in your home.

You stared at the ground counting the carves and lines in the wooden floor until you twitched at the sound of your door slamming shut. He wasn't supposed to leave. He was supposed to lay with you on the couch, his arms holding you close to his chest, protecting you from the cold and dark and a crappy old movie playing on your TV that Joel swore you just 'had to see'. He was supposed to listen to your complaints about the cold weather that you, as someone who was born in the south of the continent weren't used to and he was supposed to braid your hair in the mornings while you sat in front of the mirror and could laugh about his focused expression in the reflection.

He most definitely wasn't supposed to step out of your door without knowing when the two of you would be seeing each other again. It even had become a running gag between Joel and you because once you had started dating he had never let you go without agreeing on the next date.

You remembered standing on his doorstep, his lips pressing a soft kiss on your cheek and his lips curled in a crooked smirk. 'When will I see you again?' he had asked and you had shyly chuckled, your nervous hands toying with the hem of your jacket. 'Maybe Thursday? But a little bit later because I'm working long.'

Joel had pursed his lips and the I-don't-like-physical-contact and don't-show-any-emotions Joel Miller had grabbed your hand for a brief moment and squeezed it. 'Okay. 'Cause I really wanna see you again. And I think it would kill me to watch you leave without the promise that we're gonna see each other again.' You had laughed, excited butterflies swirling in your stomach and restlessly shifted your weight from one foot to the other. 'I wanna see you again, too, Joel.'

The memory made your stomach turn and you feared that you were going to throw up all over the carpet. That was it. He had ended it and he had made pretty clear that he wouldn't change his mind. When you started to feel dizzy once more you feared to actually have a panick attack so you forced yourself to inhale although it felt like iron clamps were closing around your lungs with every breath.

The drumbeat in your ears, the cold clammy sweat that pooled on your back, the weight of fear that pressed down on your shoulders. Everything was too much and the situation seemed to slip out of your hands when your view became blurry. You quickly grabbed the backrest of a chair, steadying yourself and then sinking to the floor before you could collaps. The ground wasn't comfortable at all but at least your weak legs didn't have to carry your weight now and so for a moment you felt better, your head resting against the chair and your throbbing pulse making it impossible for you to concentrate on anything else.

A whimper escaped your mouth but now there was no reason for you to hold back so you allowed yourself to break into tears and your loud sobs echoed against the high walls of your living room. Your sad empty lonely living room that suddenly felt like a prison. Or rather a cold basement. The kind that children were scared to enter alone in movies.

You adjusted on the floor, your back finding support against the chair leg and in that moment you believed that nothing in the world could make you rise from this spot again. There was nothing left. Nothing that you cared about enough to make you do anything. Perhaps you should just stay there and either starve or freeze to death because what did it matter anyway? Joel had been your life's purpose, your reason to get up and keep going even at the deepest lows in your life and you were just tired of pretending that the two of you had casually dated a few months.

You had fallen head over heels for him, been swept off your feet and fallen in love in every other poetic way there is to describe it. And you couldn't believe that Joel hadn't felt the same way; things had felt too real and natural.

Your shivering hand came down to rest on your lower stomach, an unpleasant ache in your chest.

You hadn't told him.

You knew you should have but the last hour had been agitating enough and you weren't sure you would have been able to handle announcing the surprise. So there you were now, left alone by your boyfriend you had believed to be the love of your life, pregnant with his child and unable to get up from the floor because it just hurt too much. Were you supposed to raise this child on your own now? Joel had just broken up with you and although the memory was still way too fresh and surreal to process it, you knew what it meant.

Not only did he not want to be part of your life, no, he had made clear what he thought about children. This had to be one horrible nightmare, you thought as you rubbed over your eyes that just wouldn't stop producing tears.

And while you had always found yourself in Joel's caring arms whenever you had a nightmare in the past few months, now you were on your own.

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sometimeslwish · 3 days ago

Text

I Went too far

Did I think about Sylus when I started writing this? Yes, but then it turned into all of the boys as I kept going. This is for those of us who tend to shut down when we get hurt during arguments and just receed into the comforts of our mind before exploding in a whirlwind of emotions.

I omitted the argument, what he said and was purposely vague about what he does so you guys could insert whichever boy you wished to. I imagine Xavier looks for something to entertain himself, Zayne tries going back to work or preparing some snacks, Rafayel tries to sketch and fails, Sylus starts looking for things to make it up to you and Caleb cooks food.

Word count: 945

Tags: lads boys x reader, gn!reader, self indulgent, angst: hurt/comfort, established relationship, argument, shutting down, crying, reconciliation.

The words leave his mouth, scalding and venomous, and he regrets them the moment they do.

You don't flinch, your eyes don't get teary, you don't mutter a single word, but your posture slumps slightly. Not like that of a wounded person, more like a doll whose strings have been cut. It's jarring to see the emotions leave your eyes as you close up and your walls come up.

You laugh, a little humorless and lifeless sound, hollow and devoid of joy, teasing or even the simmering anger that heeded caution. He loved hearing you laugh, liked seeing the way different emotions impacted it, but this one he hates.

It's nothing like the uncontrollable laugh that would come out by surprise, like the giddy-maniacal giggles whenever you were doing something that would get you in the brand of trouble you liked, or even the unrestrained laughter that came when he did something that was too funny.

This one is cold, emotionless, unnatural.

Not forced– no, he's seen you laugh in discomfort and he's seen you force one when you don't feel like laughing, the former comes strained and the latter comes wet, more often times than not– but not genuine either.

He hates it and he hates being on the receiving end of it even more.

You don't say anything after that, simply nod, lick your lips and turn to leave.

"Wait–" he tries to grab your wrist to stop you, but you've already predicted his movements, pulling away before he can even touch you. It's enough to make him go quiet. He figures it's fair, that he deserves it.

"Don't." The steel in your voice doesn't leave space for protests. You don't turn to look at him when you say, "I'm going for a walk." barely even give him time to say anything else before you grab your coat and keys, and leave.

He doesn't know for how long he stares at the door, fighting everything in him that screams at him to go after you. To apologize and try again, to try and get you to see his perspective, to try and understand yours.

He busies himself after what feels like minutes, preparing for when you come back and you're ready to talk. It's hard, the familiar motions now feel foreign as he tries to keep a clear head, but he powers through, keeps his breathing steady and tries not to spiral as he waits.

He doesn't know how many times he fails and how many times he succeeds, zoning in and out as he thinks about how it went wrong. Replays the conversation over and over in his head, noticing the details his anger didn't let him earlier. He feels more and more defeated as time goes on and stopping the spiraling thoughts becomes a lot harder when the fear of you leaving him forever joins into the mix.

It takes you two hours to come back. Two very dreadful hours where he couldn't stop thinking about you and your safety. Thirty minutes more and he would've thought you encountered a wanderer or had some sort of accident. He's relieved, and the fear subsides a little, but you're still closed off.

You're still quiet when you enter, quiet when you close the door and quiet when you leave your keys on the table. You're guarded, like you're waiting for another pin to drop and he hates it. You don't look at him when he calls your name, but he can see the hurt now; your eyes are swollen and you keep sniffing your nose.

"Please, can we talk?" You sitting beside him on the couch is the only answer he gets. It stings a little, to see you sit so far away when he wants to reach for you, but he'll take what he can get.

Naturally, he's the one to speak first, to apologize and explain things better. He's scared of how you may react to his vulnerability, but he knows it's a risk he'll have to take if he wants you back, if he wants to see the light back in your eyes.

It's impossible to not reach for you when you start crying as he talks, as terrified of your rejection as he might be. His body sighs in relief when you let him pull you closer and hold you, his soul finally relaxes when you hide your face in his neck and cling to him.

He's not proud of the way his voice breaks slightly as he whispers apologies into your temple. How he squeezes you against his body while you cry quietly, like he wants your bodies to melt into one and hide you inside his ribcage.

When the tears run dry, you start to explain your side. You express your distaste for what he said and the impact of his words, following his example of vulnerability. He's so proud and thankful for your honesty but, internally, shame and remorse eat at him.

The rest of the afternoon is a quiet affair, filled with his reassurances and your lingering touches. He slowly makes it up to you in his own way, and he knows you've forgiven him when you give him a soft smile. The light is back in your eyes, even if you look exhausted from the intensity of your emotions, but he'll spend the rest of his life making up for it.

He doesn't want to be the reason you shut down or cry ever again. Doesn't want to hear that laugh, specially not directed at him. He'd rather not trigger this one side of you ever again. He'll do everything posible to avoid it.

Playlist.

#somsplaylist #love and deep space #love and deepspace #l&ds #lads #lnds #lads fanfic #lads fandom #xavier #zayne #rafayel #sylus #caleb #lads xavier #lads zayne #lads rafayel #lads sylus #lads caleb

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skyward-floored · 3 days ago

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16 with legend and wind? (both had dream adventures)

16 in dreams

Wind and Legend shared dreams.

Neither of them knew why, at least, not at first. Wind figured it out pretty quickly once they heard more of each other’s stories, and he was certain Legend had as well, but they... didn’t discuss it.

The dreams they shared were never pleasant ones.

The first time it happened, Wind found himself in a sewer, rain pouring outside, the edges of his vision faded and uncertain. He’d turned around at a noise, and seen Legend crying silently over a body, holding a sword to his chest as tears dribbled down his cheeks. Wind, utterly confused and panicked about what was going on, went over and hugged him.

Until the dream suddenly broke.

Both of them startled awake, and when Wind saw the dampness reflecting off Legend’s cheeks, he resumed the hug in the real world, Legend too shaken to protest.

It happened again a few nights later, but with their roles reversed. Wind cried out as Ganon threw him backwards, his laugh echoing as water poured around Wind and Tetra, the two fighting for their lives. Except it wasn’t going well, it was going worse than before, they were losing—

But then Tetra was Legend, and Legend was gripping his shoulders and telling him to close his eyes and look away. That it wasn’t real. Even when Tetra came back and Ganon cleaved a sword through her chest, and Wind couldn’t help his scream.

The dream fell away right as Ganon swung at them, and Wind threw himself into Legend’s arms with a sob, Legend lightly rocking him as he cried.

Normal dreams never seemed to be shared between them, and sometimes several nights would go by between them showing up in each other’s minds. But whenever Wind or Legend had a nightmare, the other was witness to it, sometimes able to affect things, but not always.

But they were always there.

Wind replayed twisted versions of his adventures, bird talons and monster claws, tentacles that overtook people’s minds, all with Legend at his side, standing strong through his nightmares. And Wind had a front row seat to Legend’s as well, never the same twice. Someone screaming as she was snatched away, Ganon staring at the two of them with yellowed eyes, a trident piercing his leg, countless monsters and villains that flew by so fast that Wind couldn’t keep track of them all.

And a calm ocean, with a redheaded girl that Wind couldn’t see the face of no matter how hard he looked.

That one seemed to scare Legend more than any of the others, and after they woke from it, Wind sat up with Legend the rest of the night while he choked out the story of Koholint.

Wind told him of the Realm of the Ocean King in turn, and silently snuggled up to Legend when both of their words ran out, and the stars began to fade with the coming dawn.

Legend was shaking, and Wind might have been too, but he held Legend close, just like he would Aryll after a bad dream.

“I hate this,” Legend croaked, and Wind only held him tighter. He didn’t know whether he meant the nightmares, or the fact that they were each forced to be witness to them, but he agreed.

“Me too. But I’m glad we can at least help each other,” Wind whispered shakily back. “You... you help me know they’re not real. Not... not like the adventures were. That these are just nightmares.”

“I still hate it,” Legend rasped, and Wind squeezed him, not sure what to say, but determined to give him comfort nonetheless.

Legend silently hugged him back, faintly trembling, and neither of them said anything further the rest of the night.

#angst angst angst wahoo #linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu wind #lu legend #tw injury #answers from the floor #lovely mermain123 #mini story prompt #writing from the floor

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rafessecret · 17 hours ago

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⋆˚࿔ precious¡ reader && rafe cameron with barry

HOW IT BEGAN.

The Obsession Begins

❝You see her, don’t you?❞ Barry mutters, voice low and slurred as he exhales smoke into the heavy night air. Rafe doesn’t answer. He doesn't have to. The way the beer bottle creaks under the force of his grip says enough. His jaw flexes, teeth grinding, every muscle in his body wired tight. He sees you. He's always seen you. At the gas station, in town, by the docks. A soft little light flickering through the grime and rot of their world. Too delicate. Too good. Too stupid to notice the way his eyes devour you whole.

You move like you belong to someone. Rafe knows better. Not yet. Barry snickers under his breath. ❝She’s got you fucked up, huh? Poor little thing’s already yours, and she doesn't even know it.❞ Rafe doesn't look at him. He can't tear his eyes away – from the way you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, from the way your lips part like a secret only he should hear. His knuckles bleach white against the bottle.

He needs you. He aches for you.

And soon, you won't have a choice.

Rafe’s Breaking Point

The heat inside the truck is suffocating. Sweat slicks Rafe’s skin, his fingers flexing around the steering wheel until it groans beneath him. You're outside the café, laughing—laughing with some other guy like it doesn't mean anything. Like it isn't a fucking betrayal. Your head tips back, exposing the delicate column of your throat, and Rafe sees red.

That sound should belong to him. Your smiles, your laughter, your everything. Barry watches him crack apart, tapping his fingers against his knee, almost amused. ❝You say the word, man. We both know she was never walking away.❞ Rafe exhales, sharp and ragged. His hand twitches toward the glove box, where the bottle of chloroform waits, silent and patient.

❝Let’s go get my girl,❞ he says, voice breaking on the last word.

The Abduction

You never see it coming. One minute, you're walking down a quiet street, the night warm and soft around you. The next—strong hands snatch you backward into the dark. A rag smothers your scream. The sickly-sweet scent overwhelms your senses. You thrash, kick, and claw—but it’s useless. You're swallowed whole by the dark.

When you wake, your wrists burn against rough motel sheets, bound too tight to move. Your head pounds, stomach churning. Everything's blurry—until you hear it. His voice. Familiar. Terrifying.

❝Knew you'd look pretty like this,❞ Rafe murmurs, crouching beside the bed, eyes shining with something unhinged. ❝All ours now, sweetheart.❞ Barry leans lazily against the door, twirling a knife between his fingers. ❝Told you she'd stop fighting soon.❞

Your First Attempt to Escape

The door’s right there. You run, bare feet slapping against the filthy carpet, fingers grazing the handle—A hand snatches you back so violently you cry out.

Rafe slams you against the wall, his chest heaving, eyes wild. His fingers bite into your arms, hard enough to bruise. The motel hums low around you, neon flickering like a heartbeat. ❝What the fuck do you think you're doing?❞ he snarls, voice shaking with rage he can't contain.

Barry chuckles from the bed, watching lazily. ❝Told you she had fight in her. But she's learning.❞ Rafe leans in closer, breath hot against your ear. His hand grips your jaw, forcing you to meet his fevered gaze. ❝Aren’t you, precious?❞

The Realisation Hits

Your throat is raw. Your voice is gone. The windows are sealed shut. The door stays locked. Barry keeps the key on a chain around his neck, flashing it when he catches you looking. There is no way out. Rafe kneels by the bed, wiping a tear from your cheek with a gentleness that makes your stomach turn.

❝You’ll see soon,❞ he whispers, like a lover promising forever. ❝You were made for us.❞ Barry lights another cigarette, smoke curling lazily into the room. ❝You see it now, don’t you, princess?❞ You don't answer.

You just stare at the door that will never open.

── ⋆ 𝐲𝐚𝐩 : hello angels, hope you're all doing good. sigh, I kind of hate this intro for them but I really wanna start posting pieces . . . it just felt like the au needed this little context post first. hope that's okay!!

── ⋆ 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔 : @scne-vampire @browniepop62 @urcoolgf

©RAFESSECRET ⋆˚࿔ est. 2025

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luvys · 2 days ago

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hii can I req smth tcf related? like cale's wife giving birth and everyone in the household is freaking out, alberu on stand by and everything?

smth like a sneak peek into their lives as "parents", like we know cale has the 3 kids but it hits diff when that kid is ur flesh and blood

idk jm yapping😞😞 thainuy ✨️✨️

BABY ON THE WAY! With Cale Henituse

The morning started off as it normally should, only this time, a piercing scream echoed throughout the Henituse estate, scaring away the bluebirds that perched on the looming trees

Young master Cale's wife, aka You–who is heavily pregnant–just went into labor, and the entire estate bustled into an unmanageable panic.

Servants were rushed around to get you into the delivery room, and the once peaceful breakfast now turned into a moment of chaos. Seeing you were moved to the delivery room, Cale quickly followed behind.

The kids, Roan Miru, On and Hong, being startle by their mother's screams of pain, were also drawn to the room, however they were ushered into their own rooms by Choi Han

Alberu was standing in front of the delivery room, and Cale entered and rushed to your side. You were lying on the bed, legs apart as you prepared to bring your child into the world and held Cale's hand in a suffocating grip

A few hours of painful pushing, your child was finally born, a beautiful baby girl, wailing loudly and strongly. You weakly laugh at how she was already kicking her legs and failing her limbs

The servants took her to clean her, and they cleaned you up too and you looked at cale for the first time since you entered thr room, his eyes were filled with unshed tears as he held you close. No words were needed to convey the emotions he was feeling

A few minutes later, the servants bought your child back, and she was sleeping. They offered their congratulations. "Congratulations. Young miss. A beautiful healthy girl"

You held the baby in your arms. Your eyes were dazed with adoration and wonder, "she's perfect," you whispered, leaning onto Cale. He nodded along. That's when you felt it. His tears on your shoulders

"She so perfect–you're so perfect, I love you so much." You heard his barely audible voice. "Thank you so much for bringing her to us"

Once Cale calmed down you told everything they could come in, almost immediately Roan Miru, On and Hong ran to the bedside, their eyed wide with wonder,

"this–is my sibling?" Escaped Roan Miru,

"she looks so soft!" On butted in

"Yeah, and soft" chuckled Hong

Cont Deruth and Countess Violan came forward and showered their congratulations, and so the rest followed.

That was the story of when Alissa was born.

Now, at 5 months old, Alissa was a loud baby, always babbling and laughing with that childish innocent in her eyes

Cale was always around her, when she wasn't sleeping, he was the one holding her. He absolutely adored your baby girl

In the night when she would cry he would he the first to get up and try to calm her down, when she wanted something he would be thr first to catch on, safe to say Alissa was an absolute daddy's girl.

#Angel's Answer #cale henituse x reader #cale #cale henituse #trash of the count's family x reader #trash of the count's family #totcf #totcf x reader #manhwa #manhwa x reader #cale x you #manhwa x you

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kittenan · 3 days ago

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Sinful Sounds

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader x J-Hope x Namjoon (BTS Rapline) Genre: Smut, Studio Romance, Poly Dynamics Warnings: Explicit sexual content, foursome, oral sex (m and f receiving), dirty talk, moaning for recording, slight dom/sub dynamics, voyeurism, overstimulation, possessive Yoongi, teasing Hoseok, commanding Namjoon, reader is Yoongi's girlfriend, 18+ only. Word Count: ~3.5k Summary: When the BTS rapline struggles to capture authentic passion for their new track, Yoongi's girlfriend becomes the key to unlocking the raw, primal sound they need. What starts as a simple recording session spirals into a heated, unforgettable night in the studio.

The air in the studio was thick with creative frustration, the kind that clung to the walls like cigarette smoke. Yoongi slouched in his chair, fingers tapping restlessly on the soundboard, his sharp eyes flickering between the monitors and the two men pacing the room. Namjoon leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his brow furrowed in thought, while Hoseok sprawled across the couch, tossing a stress ball into the air with a dramatic sigh.

“We’re missing something,” Namjoon muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “The beat’s fire, the lyrics are raw, but it’s not… visceral enough.”

“It needs sex,” Hoseok chimed in, catching the ball mid-air and flashing a mischievous grin. “That primal, sweaty, can’t-keep-your-hands-off-each-other energy. You know, like—moans. Real ones. At the start and end. That’ll hook ‘em.”

Yoongi’s lips twitched into a half-smirk, but his eyes darkened with focus. “Real moans, huh? Not those fake porn-star ones. We need it to feel like you’re there, like you’re drowning in it.”

The door creaked open, and you stepped into the dimly lit studio, your presence a soft interruption to their brainstorming. Yoongi’s gaze softened instantly, his posture relaxing as he swiveled his chair to face you. “Hey, baby,” he drawled, voice low and warm. “Didn’t expect you this late.”

You smiled, holding up a bag of takeout. “Thought you guys might be starving. Genius doesn’t run on empty stomachs.” Your eyes flicked to Namjoon and Hoseok, who both grinned at the sight of food. “What’s got you all so tense?”

Hoseok sat up, stretching dramatically. “We’re trying to make this track drip with sex appeal, but we’re stuck. Need some authentic… vocal inspiration.” He waggled his eyebrows playfully, earning a scoff from Namjoon.

You raised an eyebrow, setting the food on the table. “Vocal inspiration? Like what, screaming? Crying?”

“Moans,” Yoongi said bluntly, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. “Real ones. The kind that make your skin burn just hearing them.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you laughed nervously, glancing at the others. “Oh. Well… good luck with that.”

Yoongi tilted his head, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Actually, I was thinking you could help.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Me? What, you want me to fake some moans into a mic?” You tried to keep your tone light, but the way Yoongi’s gaze lingered on you—possessive, hungry—made your stomach flutter.

“Fake’s not gonna cut it,” he said, voice dropping an octave. He stood, closing the distance between you in a few slow steps, his hand grazing your waist. “We need it real. Raw. Like it’s being ripped out of you.”

Namjoon cleared his throat, but his eyes betrayed his curiosity, a subtle smirk playing on his lips. Hoseok leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his playful demeanor shifting to something sharper, more attentive. The room felt smaller, the air charged with unspoken tension.

You swallowed hard, your pulse racing under Yoongi’s touch. “You’re serious?”

He nodded, his thumb brushing against the sliver of skin where your shirt rode up. “You’re my girl. No one else could make it sound the way I want. The way we want.”

The implication hung heavy in the air, and you glanced at Namjoon and Hoseok, who hadn’t moved but were watching you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. Yoongi’s hand slid to your hip, pulling you closer until your chest brushed against his. “You trust me, don’t you?” he murmured, lips ghosting over your ear.

You nodded, breathless. “Always.”

“Then let’s try it,” he said, guiding you toward the recording booth. “Just you and the mic. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Inside the booth, the world narrowed to the microphone in front of you and Yoongi’s voice through the headset, smooth and commanding. “Just relax, baby. Close your eyes. Think about me touching you. Let it out.”

You tried, letting out soft, breathy sounds, but they felt forced, hollow. Yoongi’s voice crackled through the headset, laced with frustration. “It’s not enough. It’s gotta feel real, like you’re falling apart.”

You stepped out of the booth, cheeks burning. “I’m trying, Yoongi, but it’s weird just… moaning into a void.”

He studied you for a moment, then turned to Namjoon and Hoseok, who exchanged a knowing look. “Maybe it’s not the void,” Yoongi said, his voice low and deliberate. “Maybe you need something to feel.”

Your breath caught as he stepped closer, his hands finding your hips again, pulling you flush against him. His lips hovered over yours, teasing but not kissing. “What if we make it real?” he whispered. “What if I fuck you right here, and we record every sound you make?”

Your eyes widened, a jolt of heat shooting through you. “Yoongi…”

He glanced over his shoulder at the others. “You guys okay with that? She’s mine, but I’m not selfish. We’re all in this together.”

Namjoon’s jaw tightened, but his eyes were dark with want. “If she’s okay with it… I’m in.”

Hoseok’s grin was all teeth, predatory and eager. “Hell yeah. Let’s make this track legendary.”

Your heart pounded, but the idea sent a thrill through you, your body already responding to the heat in Yoongi’s touch, the weight of their gazes. You nodded, voice barely a whisper. “Okay.”

Yoongi’s lips crashed into yours, hungry and demanding, his hands sliding under your shirt to grip your bare skin. He backed you toward the couch, where Hoseok was already waiting, his fingers twitching with anticipation. Namjoon moved to the soundboard, adjusting settings with a focus that belied the bulge already straining against his jeans.

“Mic’s on,” Namjoon said, his voice rough. “Everything’s being recorded. Don’t hold back.”

Yoongi pushed you down onto the couch, straddling your hips as he peeled off your shirt, his lips trailing hot kisses down your neck. “Gonna make you scream for me,” he growled, his teeth grazing your collarbone. “And they’re gonna hear every fucking second of it.”

Hoseok slid closer, his hand brushing your thigh, tentative at first but growing bolder when you didn’t pull away. “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he murmured, his fingers tracing patterns that sent sparks through your nerves. “Let me make you feel good too.”

You gasped as Yoongi’s hand slipped between your legs, teasing you through your jeans, his touch both familiar and electrifying in this new context. Hoseok’s lips found your shoulder, nipping softly as he unbuttoned your pants, helping Yoongi tug them off. The cool studio air hit your skin, but it did nothing to quell the heat building inside you.

Yoongi leaned back, pulling his shirt over his head, revealing the pale, lean muscle you loved to trace with your fingers. His eyes never left yours as he undid his belt, the clink of metal loud in the quiet room. “You ready for me, baby?” he asked, voice dripping with need.

You nodded, but Hoseok’s hand on your jaw turned your face toward him. “Don’t forget about me,” he teased, kissing you deeply, his tongue dancing with yours in a way that made you dizzy. His touch was lighter than Yoongi’s, playful but no less intense, and you melted into it, your body arching toward both of them.

Namjoon’s voice cut through the haze. “Fuck, you’re already sounding perfect. Keep going.”

Yoongi growled, clearly spurred on by the idea of being recorded, and he tugged your underwear down, exposing you completely. His fingers slid through your slickness, and you moaned—real this time, the sound raw and desperate. “That’s it,” he muttered, slipping two fingers inside you, curling them just right. “Let them hear how wet you are for me.”

Hoseok’s hands roamed your chest, teasing your nipples through your bra before unhooking it with a practiced flick. His lips closed around one peak, sucking gently, and you cried out, the dual sensations overwhelming. Yoongi’s fingers pumped faster, his thumb circling your clit, and you felt the coil in your core tighten dangerously.

“Yoongi—fuck—” you gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

“Not yet,” he said, pulling his fingers out, leaving you aching and empty. He licked them clean, his eyes locked on yours, and the sight alone nearly pushed you over the edge. “Want you to come on my cock. Want them to hear it.”

Hoseok chuckled, his breath hot against your skin. “Greedy bastard. But I’m not complaining.” He shifted, shedding his shirt and pants, his erection straining against his boxers. “You want a taste, baby?” he asked, voice husky as he palmed himself.

You nodded, eager, and he knelt on the couch, guiding your head toward him. You took him into your mouth, savoring the weight of him, the way he groaned as your tongue swirled around the tip. Yoongi positioned himself between your legs, spreading you wide, and you felt the blunt press of him at your entrance.

He thrust in slowly, stretching you, and you moaned around Hoseok, the vibration making him curse. “Fuck, you’re too good at that,” Hoseok panted, his hand tangling in your hair as he guided your movements.

Yoongi’s pace quickened, each thrust deep and deliberate, hitting that spot inside you that made your vision blur. The sounds filling the studio were obscene—your muffled moans, Yoongi’s low grunts, Hoseok’s breathless praises, and the slick rhythm of skin against skin. Namjoon’s heavy breathing from the soundboard only added to the heat, knowing he was watching, listening, capturing every moment.

“Goddamn, you’re perfect,” Yoongi rasped, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. “So fucking tight for me.”

Hoseok pulled out of your mouth, stroking himself as he watched Yoongi fuck you. “She’s a fucking dream,” he said, leaning down to kiss you again, swallowing your moans as Yoongi’s thrusts grew harder, more desperate.

You were close, so close, your body trembling on the edge. Yoongi sensed it, his hand slipping between you to rub tight circles on your clit. “Come for me,” he ordered, voice wrecked. “Let them hear you fall apart.”

The command pushed you over, and you came with a cry, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crashed through you. Your moans were raw, unfiltered, exactly what they’d wanted, and Yoongi groaned as he followed, spilling inside you with a shudder.

Before you could catch your breath, Hoseok was there, pulling you up to straddle him. “My turn,” he said, grinning as he guided you onto his cock. You were still sensitive, the stretch almost too much, but his playful energy kept you grounded, his hands steady on your waist as he rocked you against him.

Yoongi collapsed beside you, catching his breath, but his hand stayed on your thigh, possessive even now. “You’re doing so good, baby,” he murmured, kissing your shoulder.

Hoseok’s pace was relentless, his hips snapping up to meet yours, and you felt another orgasm building, faster this time. “Fuck, Hobi—” you gasped, clutching his shoulders.

“That’s it, scream for me,” he said, his voice tight with need. He reached between you, teasing your clit, and you shattered again, your cry echoing through the studio as he came with a groan, holding you close.

You were boneless, trembling, but Namjoon’s voice pulled you back. “We’re not done yet,” he said, stepping away from the soundboard. His shirt was already gone, his pants undone, and the sight of him—tall, commanding, eyes burning with want—sent a fresh wave of heat through you.

Yoongi smirked, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You up for one more, baby? Joon’s been patient.”

You nodded, too far gone to be shy now, and Namjoon pulled you to the edge of the couch, turning you to face him. He kissed you deeply, his hands roaming your body like he was memorizing every curve. “You’re fucking incredible,” he said, voice low and rough as he positioned himself behind you, bending you forward.

He entered you slowly, letting you feel every inch, and you moaned, the sound captured perfectly by the mic still recording nearby. Namjoon’s thrusts were deep, controlled, each one pushing you closer to another peak you didn’t think you could reach. Yoongi and Hoseok watched, their touches gentle now, grounding you as Namjoon took you apart.

“Fuck, Joon—harder,” you begged, and he obliged, his grip tightening as he pounded into you, the sound of your bodies colliding filling the room. You came again, a sob tearing from your throat, and Namjoon followed, his groan low and primal as he spilled inside you.

You collapsed onto the couch, utterly spent, your body humming with aftershocks. Yoongi pulled you into his arms, kissing your forehead, while Hoseok draped a blanket over you, his touch soft and reassuring. Namjoon adjusted the soundboard, a satisfied smirk on his face.

“Got everything we need,” he said, voice still rough. “This track’s gonna ruin people.”

Yoongi chuckled, his lips brushing your ear. “You ruined us, baby.”

You smiled, exhausted but content, knowing the sounds of this night would live forever in their music—and in your memory.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this sinful little ride! Reblog if you want more rapline filth, and let me know what you think in the comments! 😈

#jung hoseok #kim namjoon #min yoongi #hoseok smut #hoseok x reader #namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #bts rapline #bts rapline smut #bts foursome

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darlingdaisyfarm · 7 hours ago

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I was going through a thought and wondered, how would Stan and Ford react to you getting hurt? Like on a mission, heist, or exploration.

[ how Stan & Ford react when you get hurt ]

a/n: sometimes my imagination is so embarrassingly bad, but i tried! i hope you enjoy it despite that <3 thank you for the idea tho!!

STANLEY

★ if it happened outdoors, Stan is grabbing your arm, yanking you to your feet, “what the hell were you thinking, huh?!” if it’s a mission or a heist, he’s 100% mad at the situation, and lowkey mad at you for getting hurt in the first place. but it's just because he cares too much

★ you’re hurt, and his mind is racing. “no. no. not this. not you, goddammit”

★ if it’s really bad, like you’ve passed out or you’re not responding, he panics. “c’mon, please, please stay with me, sweetheart”

★ whatever the situation, Stanley gets you out immediately, doesn't hesitate or finish the job or whatever he was doing. he literally carries you if he has to, forgets his own injuries. “c’mon, c’mon, i gotcha, we’re gonna get outta here, baby, stay with me.”

★ if you're bleeding bad he physically presses his hand over it and curses under his breath like “shitshitshit fuck, okay okay, you’re alright, you’re good, you’re so good, baby, fuck, hold still”

★ if it's really bad, he can't help but be emotional. screams at anybody who even tries to slow him down. doctors, nurses, cops. “if you don’t fuckin’ MOVE i’m gonna PUT you through a WALL.”

★ after you're safe, sleeping or resting, Stan gets very very quiet. sits by your bedside hunched and still worried, not knowing where to put his hands. instead, just keeps replaying this situation in his head. how he could've stopped it or what he should’ve done

★ if you so much as whimper in your sleep, he's immediately there. touching your wrist, smoothing your hair, whispering “s’okay. i gotcha. m’right here.”

★ i hate to write that but. . . he absolutely cries :( and hates himself for it even more. he tries not to cry loudly. at least, not obvious. but these stubborn angry tears keep falling and he wipes away fast because he’s mad they’re even happening

★ blames himself because guess why? he thinks he's a screw up. even if it wasn’t his fault. even if you jumped in front of danger to save HIM. he feels like your hurt is a debt he can never repay. and he’ll work twice as hard after

★ probably won't let you lift a finger for a week and will even argue with you about it. “what, you’re gonna get up and make yourself dinner with that leg? sit your sweet ass down before i TIE ya to the couch, baby, ok?“

★ absolutely buys you a stupid little get well gift. like a giant teddy bear idk. it’s ugly and cheap and it makes you laugh and he looks at you like he’d go back to hell and back for that smile

★ his hands are too rough and he knows it, so when he tends your injuries, he touches you so soft it's almost clumsy. “m’sorry, kid. my hands ain’t. . . they ain’t good for delicate stuff. but y’know i’m tryin’, right?”

★ “yer skin’s too good for bruises. shoulda been made’a stardust, i dunno.” then immediately snores and drools on your shoulder

★ Stanley hides his injuries from you. if he got scraped up during the mission too, he’ll downplay it SO hard. like limping with a bloody nose but “pfft, what, this? nahhh. absolutely fine.” because he thinks if you knew he was hurting too, you’d feel worse

★ he lets you wear his shirts because they’re soft and smell like him and he thinks it’ll help you heal faster if you’re comfy

STANFORD

★ freezes for half a second. because he’s trying to understand how bad is it / how much time do we have / what’s the fastest way to help you. he can't waste a minute

★ gets terrifyingly competent. applies pressure, builds splints from scraps, mutters smth about blood loss and nerve damage. talks you through it with a voice so calm but inside he wants to throw up because of worry. “stay awake for me, darling. keep talking. good. eyes on me. good. you’re doing perfectly” Ford keeps talking clearly so that you keep your focus on him

★ honestly, no matter how hard he tries, i dont think he’d be the perfect calm collected person. i mean sure, if you get hurt, Ford’s first reaction is to jump into doctor-mode. hes not even thinking about it. because what's important is to make sure you're breathing and blinking. but ugh, his eyes are the giveaway. they’re usually so calm, but when it’s you, theyre so wide and scared, full of worry, brows knitted, biting his lip

★ so yeah he tries to be calm but fails. so he snaps at anyone who distracts him. “either help me or get out of my way. let me do my job”

★ gets frustrated if you won’t let him fix you. he needs you to let him help. so hes constantly like “no, no, no, don't you dare pull away from me”

★ once you’re safe, he cant really breathe for a second. i mean, he had just experienced the most terrifying moments of his life, almost losing the person he loved most. so Ford's hands are trembling. he tries to hide it because he thinks he needs to be “the strong one” but if you so much as reach for him he folds into your touch still

★ if it was on anomaly hunting or expedition, he feels guilty for bringing you along. “i should’ve known it was too dangerous. i never should’ve let you come. i was selfish.” he hates himself for it

★ i think later, Ford develops a quiet habit of memorizing your vitals. like, your heartbeat, your breathing when you sleep. all the time, he keeps checking without waking you. just running fingertips lightly over your wrist or brushing his hand near your collarbone. it’s a comfort thing. if he can feel you breathing, he can sleep

★ this cutie builds you ridiculous safety gadgets. “here, this bracelet contains an emergency teleport beacon, a medical scanner and a plasma shield generator. standard fare, really.” it's like wearing an entire fucking sci-fi lab on your wrist. but you wear it anyway because well, you can't say no to him

★ also when it beeps or whatever, Ford panics instantly. no matter how minor

★ might accidentally blurt out love confession while tending you. like patching a cut and muttering “i can’t lose you. i love you. i. . .“ then FREEZES because he didn’t mean to say it out loud yet

★ he’s very doting when you're hurt. he’s the one who makes sure you’re comfortable, brings you books to read, does everything he can to distract you from the pain

★ and if it gets to a point where you’re just in too much pain, Ford’s solution is putting his hands on you, gently massaging while whispering that it will pass soon. i think Ford is more affectionate than usual in these moments. he lets his vulnerability show

★ Ford will get a little obsessive about safety after. “what do you mean you’re going into the woods alone?”

#gravity falls x reader #gravity falls x you #ford pines x reader #x reader #stanford pines #stanley pines #stan pines x reader #ford pines x you #stanley pines x you #stanford pines x you #gravity falls #stanford pines x reader #stanley pines x reader #stan pines #ford pines #gravity falls fanfiction

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hollowmem · 3 days ago

Text

Too late to take it back

TW: Character death, grief, intense emotional distress, argument between lovers, and death wishes

GN!Reader x Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

Day 24: Soap and reader has been dating for a short time mostly it been the lovely faze kissing the love stare but an argument sent them back I'm talking screaming crying the works they go their separate ways to cool off for sometimes but before they recover from the argument soap death happens and the last thing the redear said was drop dead to him

Soap paced the room like a storm held in a too-small bottle, his boots scraping the floor with every sharp turn. His jaw was locked, eyes burning with something between frustration and desperation.

You stood by the door, arms crossed tightly, your breath uneven but quiet—like you were trying not to break in front of him.

"You’re not hearing me," he said, voice rough, strained. “I’m right here, telling you I need you—and it’s like talking to a wall.”

You flinched. Not visibly, but something in you recoiled. Not from his voice, but from how close to the truth it felt.

"You think this is easy for me?" Your voice came out sharp, too loud, fueled by all the things you’d been swallowing down for weeks. "You think I like hiding this? Pretending there’s nothing between us every second we’re on base? I don’t get to touch you, don’t get to have you—except when the doors are closed and we pretend it’s enough."

He stopped moving. Just stood there, chest rising and falling too fast, like his heart was sprinting even though his body wasn’t.

“I never said it was enough,” he said, quieter now. "But I’ve been trying. Every damn day, I’ve tried.”

"You think trying counts when you disappear into missions like nothing happened?” you said. “When you smile at every stranger like I don’t exist? When I go to sleep alone every night wondering if you even remember what this is?"

His face twisted—grief, guilt, something else he couldn’t hide quick enough.

“That’s not fair,” he said. “You know why we keep this quiet. You know.”

You shook your head. “No. I know what you call safety. What I see is fear. You won’t even say it out loud. You won’t call it what it is. You won't call me what I am to you.”

He took a breath like he was about to say something—something that might’ve cracked this whole thing wide open. But your voice beat him to it.

“You’re a coward, Johnny.”

He froze. Eyes wide. Something in him flinched like a nerve had been hit too deep.

"Don’t you dare," he said, voice low and breaking. "Don’t you ever call me that."

But you were already unraveling, and the worst part was, you didn’t mean to hurt him—but it was like everything had been boiling, rising, and now it was spilling out.

"You are," you whispered, and it hurt to say. "You’d rather run headfirst into bullets than stay and face this. Face me. Maybe you should just—"

Your throat closed up. Your mind screamed for you to stop. But the words were already tumbling, unstoppable.

"Maybe you should just drop dead like you act like you want to." Silence.

The kind of silence that swallows the air from the room. He stared at you—truly stared—and you could see it: the exact moment his heart cracked. Just a flicker in his eyes. Then he blinked it away and turned toward the door.

“Right,” he said quietly, more to himself than to you. “Got it.” He walked out. Didn’t slam the door. Didn’t say another word.

You didn’t go after him. You told yourself it was just a fight. That he’d come back. That you’d both apologize, maybe laugh about it later, like you always did.

But he didn’t come back, and the last thing you ever said to him was drop dead.

You wanted to talk to him.

You looked for him. Knocked on his door more than once. Checked the mess hall during every meal. But he was never there. Or maybe he was—just not when you were. Like he was avoiding you.

You waited for him to come to you. To say something first. Because clearly, he didn’t want to now. But the words you’d thrown at him—drop dead—still echoed in your mind. They didn’t sound like yours anymore. But they were. And you couldn’t take them back.

So you waited.

And waiting turned into silence.

And silence turned into the mission.

Which you weren’t on the list.

You thought it was a mistake at first. You asked Price, half-expecting him to smirk and tell you to pack your gear. Instead, he just gave you a look. Heavy. Knowing.

“We need someone grounded at base,” he said. “You’ve been running on fumes. Take the rest.”

He didn’t say it, but you heard it anyway.

He needs space. You need to sit this one out. Something’s off with you.

So you stayed on base, and Soap left with the team.

You stood at the edge of the hangar, watching them board the chopper, arms folded. He didn’t look back. Not even a glance. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment. It was like you were already gone.

When the chopper returned, the silence was wrong. No voices. No laughter. No boots rushing off the ramp. Just the low drone of the rotors and the slow, uneven thud of footsteps hitting the ground like they were carrying something too heavy to name.

You stood at the edge of the tarmac, heart in your throat.

You didn’t see him.

You saw Ghost, Price and Gaz exit the chopper, but he was missing. You already knew what probably happened. But still, you asked.

“Where’s Johnny?”

He stopped when he reached you. His shoulders dropped slightly, just a little—like he couldn’t quite hold himself up anymore. His eyes met yours, something fractured in them.

“He didn’t make it.”

The words didn’t hit you all at once. They just floated there, hanging in the air like ash. You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

“No,” you said softly. Then again, sharper, like if you said it enough times you could undo it. “No. He… no.”

You turned before anyone else could see your face, before anyone could stop you. Your legs carried you down the corridor, steady on the outside. Inside, everything was cracking, splintering under the weight of what you were refusing to feel.

You didn’t go to your room. You couldn’t. Not yet.

You ducked into the first empty space you could find—a storage room. Door closed softly behind you. No sound, just the quiet click of the latch, like even your grief had to be kept secret. You stood there for a moment. Still. Frozen. Like if you didn’t move, maybe reality wouldn’t catch up to you.

Then your body started shaking.

You pressed your back to the door, arms wrapped around your ribs, holding yourself together in the only way you could. Your throat burned. Your chest ached like it had caved in from the inside out. But you didn’t make a sound.

You wouldn’t let them hear this. Not this part. Not the breaking. No one knew what you were to him. No one could know what this cost you.

You slid down the door, slow and silent, until you were sitting on the floor with your knees to your chest. You pressed your fist to your mouth, biting down when the sob finally slipped out. The rest followed. Quiet. Shaking. Like you were unraveling thread by thread.

No screaming. No wailing.

Just the suffocating silence of a grief that had to stay hidden. You cried into your sleeve, face pressed to your knees, gasping softly like you were drowning in air. You didn’t know how long you stayed there. Time dissolved around you. There was only the echo of your own voice in your head.

Drop dead.

You’d said it. You’d meant it, in that awful, fleeting moment of rage. And now he was gone.

You didn’t get to say sorry. You didn’t get to tell him he was yours. You didn’t get to take it back.

At some point, your body stopped shaking. Your tears dried against your skin, leaving your face hot and tight. Your limbs felt like stone. You stood up slowly. Not because you were ready—because there was nothing else to do.

The halls were mostly empty. No one stopped you. Maybe they knew. Maybe they didn’t have to ask.

When you reached your room, something stopped you at the door. Your jacket. Folded neatly at the foot of your bunk. It hadn’t been there before.

You frowned, stepping closer, reaching out like it might vanish if you touched it too fast. When you picked it up, you felt the shape of something in the pocket.

Paper.

Your heart stuttered.

You pulled it out with shaking hands. It was his handwriting. Messy. Fast. Rushed like he hadn’t had enough time.

“You always looked at me like I was the world. I hope you know—I never needed anyone to see us. Just you. That was enough.”

No name. No sign-off. No goodbye.

Just that.

You sat down on the edge of the bed, the note trembling in your hands like it weighed more than you could hold, and you read it again. And again. Until the words blurred.

Until you couldn’t feel anything except the hollow ache in your chest, and the sound of your heart breaking into pieces so small they’d never fit back together.

#call of duty #cod #y/n #creative writing #tf 141 #reader insert #soap x reader #soap mactavish #soap cod #john soap mactavish #cod soap #soap #tw death #tw screaming #tw arguing #tw death wish

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berryispunk · 18 hours ago

Text

Fear of Heights

Chapter 7 of "Rain Down on Me" for the April Showers challenge by @jolapeno

series masterlist

pairing: Frankie Morales x ofc! reader (Summer)

tags: enemies to ???, fluff for this one, emotional chaos, Frankie being soft, we're slowly getting there, unresolved tension, we root for Gary

notes: this chapter is really dear to my heart and also important for their story so I really hope you’re gonna love this as much as I do 🥹

word count: ~ 3,9k (prepare for this becoming average and more for the last chapters)

The sun was out like it was doing him a favor, and Frankie was already sweating a little when he pulled up. He leaned over and popped the passenger door open just as you stepped out of your place—hair tied up, sunglasses on, and that little amused smirk that always made his chest feel weirdly tight.

“You’re late,” you said, sliding into the seat like you had been doing it your whole life.

He shrugged. “Had to look presentable. You know, for this very not-a-date outing.”

“Right,” you said, already reaching for his phone. “I’m in charge of music.”

“Oh, hell no,” he said, grabbing for it. “Last time I let Benny DJ, he made me listen to some sad indie girl whispering about her feelings for two hours.”

You raised a brow. “So you’re saying you hate emotional depth?”

“I’m saying I like music that doesn’t make me feel like crying into a pillow.”

You grinned. “Then you’re gonna love this,” you said, queuing up Taylor Swift’s Anti-Hero.

Frankie groaned. “Oh my God. This is so—”

“Generic? Basic? Say it. I dare you.”

He snorted but let you play it. It wasn’t worth the fight, not with the way you were drumming your fingers against your knee, mouthing every word like it mattered.

And maybe it did, because a few minutes in, your voice softened. “It’s not just music, you know. Some of her stuff—” you swallowed, eyes still on the window, “it’s the only thing that ever made me feel like someone actually understood what it’s like to feel that kind of hurt.”

That shut him up. Banter died in his throat, and he glanced over at you, something tight pulling in his chest.

When you got to the fair, you pretended you were unimpressed, arms crossed, mouth set in that stubborn line he knew too well. But he caught the way your eyes lit up at the food stalls, the distant sound of kids screaming over rides, and he knew—you were into it. He didn’t think he had ever seen joy like that on your face before, not with him around. And it hit him, sharp and soft at the same time—made him ache and made him want to find a thousand more reasons to make you shine like that.

You made it about fifteen minutes before Frankie was standing in front of the shooting booth like he was about to go to war.

“Oh, no, no, no,” you said, crossing your arms. “This is cheating. You’ve literally been trained for this.”

He grinned. “Not my fault you’re dating a man of many talents.”

“You’re not—” you started, then stopped yourself. “This is not a date.”

“Right, right,” he said, cocking the toy rifle. “This not-date is about to win you a giant ass teddy bear.”

“Better be the ugliest one they’ve got,” you muttered, but a smile tugged at your lips.

He nailed every shot, obviously. You pretended not to be impressed but took the massive neon green dinosaur anyway, cradling it under one arm as you headed toward the rollercoaster.

“You afraid of these?” he asked casually.

You squinted up at it. “Pfft. No.”

Ten seconds in, you were both screaming like kids. Frankie’s laugh broke mid-breath, and he swore your high-pitched, adrenaline-fueled scream was the best thing he had heard all week.

Later, you found the hot dog stand and Frankie insisted it was the best in the state.

“Please,” you said, unwrapping yours. “You’ve probably said that about three other places.”

“I have never lied about food,” he said, mouth already full.

You sat on a bench, watching a couple kids spill popcorn everywhere, and it was weirdly nice. Quiet in the kind of way that didn’t feel like something was missing.

—

By the time you got to the Ferris wheel, the sky had dipped into that soft golden hour glow, and the lights of the fairground were flickering on like stars. You hesitated just slightly before stepping into the car.

Frankie noticed.

“You good?”

“Totally,” you said, but it was that fake-chill tone you used when you weren’t.

He didn’t press. Just settled beside you and said, “I’ve got you.”

Your head jerked toward him, like you were surprised. Then you snorted. “Wow. That was smooth.”

“I meant I’m not gonna let the damn cart fall,” he muttered, though his hand lingered near yours.

You were quiet a second too long, then murmured, “I know.”

And yeah, maybe you were scared of heights. Maybe you were clinging to the metal bar like it would save you. But you were here. Sitting beside him, pressed close, and not running away.

You knew the second the cart rocked that this was a bad idea. The sky had already gone soft and gray by the time you reached the top, clouds crowding out the last bits of sunset, but the drizzle was new. Fresh, inevitable. You could feel it soaking into your pullover, your hair, the sleeves of Frankie’s borrowed jacket you refused to give back.

It rained, of course it did.

You exhaled a laugh under your breath, shaking your head.

“Damn,” you said, watching a droplet run down the metal bar in front of you. “I swear it doesn’t usually rain like this this time of year. The universe is working against us.”

Frankie just hummed beside you, a quiet sound. Unbothered, relaxed.

He looked down, casually, like the distance didn’t faze him at all. Like gravity was just a suggestion.

You didn’t dare, not really. You tried once, a little peek, one eye squinted half-shut—and immediately flinched back, clutching the bar tighter. Nope, you were not built for this.

“You alright?” he asked, voice low and steady.

“I’m fine,” you lied through your teeth.

He didn’t call you on it. Just leaned back, arms stretching wide behind you, draping over the cool metal of the seat like it belonged to him. Like he was built for this too.

And yeah, okay, it made your heart do that stupid skipping thing. You ignored it. Bit the inside of your cheek and rolled your eyes just in case he was looking.

Which, of course, he was.

“You can look, you know,” he said, voice a little softer now, but the teasing edge was still there. “I’ve got you.”

That—

Yeah, that didn’t help.

Because he meant it. Because he said it like a promise, not a joke. Because his arm wasn’t around you, not technically, but it was close enough to feel the heat of him, and now your pulse was absolutely betraying you.

You inhaled slowly, like bracing yourself.

And cracked one eye open.

The view was stunning indeed. The fairgrounds spread out below in streaks of gold and pink and haze. People looked like tiny dots. A cotton candy stand glowed neon and the rain made everything shine, shimmering, dream-like almost. It wasn’t so bad if you didn’t think about how high up you were. If you didn’t think about how you could fall.

You glanced sideways. Frankie was watching you, not the view.

You cracked open the other eye.

“There,” you said flatly, grip still white-knuckled on the bar. “I’m enjoying myself.”

He grinned but didn’t say anything. Which meant he knew. Knew exactly what kind of effort it took for you to unclench even an inch of control. Knew this was you letting go, just a little. Knew he made it happen.

The cart jolted as the ride shifted again, a little stutter in the mechanism. The wind kicked up. The rain got heavier. The seat rocked.

Without thinking, you reached for him, hand fisting in the fabric of his hoodie at his side, the other clutching his wrist like he was your anchor to the earth itself. His body was warm and solid and steady, and he didn’t move when you grabbed him, didn’t flinch, didn’t even seem surprised. Just let you.

But he smirked like he won something.

You glared at him, even though your heartbeat was sprinting in your ears. “Don’t be like that.”

His mouth twitched. “Be like what?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Smug. Self-satisfied. Like you’ve been waiting for this exact moment since we got here.”

“I haven’t,” he said, eyes gleaming. “But I’m not mad about it.”

You were definitely mad about that. Or at least you pretended to be. Just to be safe.

Still, you didn’t let go and he didn’t ask you to.

The tension hung thick in the air, the kind that felt like it could snap any second. It was like the storm had crept up on you both, not just the weather but something else entirely, something quieter, heavier. It wasn’t just the rain or the wind. It was the closeness. The way his arm was still resting behind you, how the tips of your fingers barely grazed his hoodie and it was enough to make your skin buzz with awareness.

You could feel his steady gaze on you, even if you didn’t look. It wasn’t like the usual teasing glint in his eyes. No, this time it was different. There was something searching there, something that made your pulse spike even faster than the wind whipping through the cart.

It didn’t help that his hand was still near yours. Just close enough that you could pretend you weren’t shaking, that you weren’t clinging to him like your life depended on it.

“Yeah, well,” you muttered, trying to steady your breath, “I’m not exactly a fan of heights.” You hated how small your voice sounded.

He leaned in a fraction, just enough to make you aware of the shift in the air between you, and his voice dropped lower, quieter. “I’ve noticed.”

You swallowed. Did you really think he hadn’t noticed? Because, damn it, he did. He always did. That was the thing with Frankie—he had this way of paying attention, the kind that made you feel like you were the only person in the world when he did. And it made everything more intense than it should have been.

The ride jolted again, this time more violently, and you couldn’t help it. Your grip tightened, fingers digging into his wrist harder. You didn’t mean to, but your chest was suddenly so full of nerves, your head spinning with thoughts you didn’t want to sort through. You weren’t scared of falling—not really—but you were scared of what would happen if you let go.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice laced with something that almost sounded like understanding. His thumb brushed across the top of your hand, a small, fleeting touch that you tried to ignore but couldn’t. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

And just like that, something shifted inside you. That one sentence—the weight of it, the way it lingered between you like something fragile and important—made your chest pull tight. When did things change? When had the sharp banter and the pretending you couldn’t care less turned into this? When had he stopped being the smug, self-assured guy you met in the back of a taxi months ago—the one with the infuriating smile that made your blood boil—and become someone who could make your heart ache just by sitting next to you? When had the lines between hate and something else blurred so badly that now you were stuck here, in a fucking Ferris wheel with him, feeling like every slow turn made it harder to breathe?

“I’m not scared of heights,” you said quickly, then cursed under your breath, realizing how defensive you sounded. “I’m just... not a fan of trusting these things.” You waved a hand at the creaking metal of the ride, hoping it covered up how shaky your voice had gotten.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at you like you were a puzzle he was trying to solve. And for a moment, it felt like he was. Like everything else faded and it was just you and him, suspended up here with nothing but a few inches of space between you.

And then the rain started coming down harder, sheets of it slapping against the sides of the cart. It was almost too much to handle—the weight of the moment, the storm, the closeness—and when the cart swayed again, you felt your heart race in panic.

But Frankie didn’t flinch. His hand shifted slightly, and then—before you could stop it—his arm was around you. Just like that. No hesitation, no distance. And it wasn’t the protective kind of touch from before. It wasn’t just to keep you steady. It was different. It felt more like... an invitation.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured again, and this time it didn’t feel like just words. It felt like something you didn’t know how to escape from.

And God, that was the worst part because now, with him close, you didn’t want to escape.

You pressed yourself against him before you even realized what you were doing, feeling his body beneath the layers of fabric, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat against yours. You shouldn’t have let him in this way. You shouldn’t have let yourself lean into it. But you did.

The rain pounded against the metal frame like a drumbeat, the cart swaying again, and your chest tightened. He didn’t smirk this time.

Instead, he just looked at you. “You’re okay,” he said, voice softer now, the teasing edge vanished.

You didn’t answer. Just closed your eyes, pressed your cheek to his shoulder, and tried not to think too hard about how much this moment was shifting something inside you, between you. About how it felt like something was starting to break, just a little.

You stayed like that until the ride began its slow descent.

—-

The rain came down hard, slick and cold, but Frankie barely felt it. Not really. Not with you pressed into his side like that, cheek against his shoulder, fists clinging to him like he was the only thing tethering you to the earth.

And maybe he was.

God, he hoped he was.

His arm was around you now, finally, and it felt like something clicked into place. Like the part of him that had been running on fumes sparked to life in that exact moment. Lit up from the inside, slow and quiet but real. He didn’t dare move, didn’t breathe too hard. Just memorized it.

You, in his jacket. You, braver than you gave yourself credit for. You, letting him be the thing you reached for when the world felt unsteady.

Frankie never wanted to forget that.

The cart began its slow descent, creaking and groaning like it was just as reluctant to return to the ground as he was. You didn’t move and he didn’t ask you to. He just sat there, letting the rain soak into the fabric of his hoodie and held on like maybe if he stayed still long enough, the moment would stretch into forever.

But the ground came anyway. It always did.

The ride attendant barked something about the weather and rushed people off like cattle, but neither of you moved fast. You both just sort of shuffled out, blinking against the rain, still caught in whatever quiet current had pulled you under.

Then you looked at him and it nearly knocked the wind out of his lungs.

Your hair was plastered to your forehead. There was mascara smudged just barely under your eyes. You looked a little stunned and Frankie had to look away before he did something stupid. Like kiss you right there in front of the funnel cake stand.

Instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets and cleared his throat.

“C’mon,” he said gruffly, nodding toward the parking lot. “Let’s make a run for it before this gets worse.”

You didn’t argue but you ran.

Laughing halfway through, clutching that stupid neon green dinosaur to your chest while the soles of your sneakers slapped against the puddled pavement, Frankie right behind you, grinning like a man possessed. He hadn’t laughed like this in a long time. Not the polite kind ,the real kind. The kind that shook out the corners of his ribs and made him feel seventeen again.

By the time you reached the truck, both of you were soaked through and breathless, water dripping off your eyelashes and pooling at your collarbone. Frankie yanked open the passenger door for you, letting you scramble in with your prize before sliding in behind the wheel, slamming the door shut behind him.

For a moment, there was only the sound of rain drumming against the roof and the shared rush of your breathing. The warmth inside the cab misted up the windows, blurring the world beyond. Your leg brushed his—just barely—but it was enough. The tension between you pulled taut again, like it had never really snapped at all.

And then Frankie looked down at the neon green dinosaur you were cradling like a kid and huffed a laugh.

“So,” he said, turning to face you, “what’s his name?”

You blinked. “What?”

“The dinosaur. Don’t pretend like you haven’t thought about it.”

You looked down at the toy, then up at him. “I was too busy having a near-death experience.”

He grinned. “Yeah, yeah. But now you’re safe and clearly alive. So… name him.”

You squinted at the stuffed animal like it might speak to you. “He looks like a… Gary.”

Frankie laughed, loud and sudden. “Gary?”

“Yeah,” you said with a shrug. “He’s got Gary energy. Like he definitely drives a used Honda and always brings the weird salad to the barbecue.”

“That’s specific.”

“You asked.”

Frankie was still smiling when he leaned back in his seat, looking over at you again. “Alright, so what’s the custody arrangement?”

“The what?”

“I mean, I won him. But you’re clearly attached, so we can share.”

You narrowed your eyes, playing along. “Alternate weekends. And I get him for Christmas.”

“Bullshit. I’m the one who trained for this moment. I get him on Christmas. You can have his birthday.”

“He’s a dinosaur, Frankie. He doesn’t have a birthday.”

“He does now. It’s today. We just made it weirdly special for him.”

You stared at him for a beat. And then—God help him—you laughed. That real kind of laugh, the one that made your eyes crinkle at the corners and your nose scrunch just a little. The kind of laugh he never knew he needed but meant anything to him now. And in that moment, he swore—if he could bottle that sound, keep it tucked away to carry through every dark day ahead—he’d be okay. A little piece of sunshine, his own to hold onto.

Even if he never got another night like this again. Even if you never leaned on him like that again. He’d still remember this.

You, him, Gary the dinosaur and a rainstorm that made the air feel alive.

You stayed like that for a minute too long in front of your apartment after you arrived there. He killed the engine and let the quiet surround you.

Not talking. Just sitting, breathing. The cab still fogged up from their rain-drenched sprint, the windows blurring the outside world into something unreal. Warmth pulsed between them, heavy and quiet and impossible to ignore.

Frankie drummed his fingers on the steering wheel once. Then stopped. The space between them felt smaller than it should’ve. Tighter. Like the air had thickened and curled around them, daring either of them to move. It was always like this with you. Like gravity bent in your direction and Frankie was too tired to resist it.

You still held Gary in your lap like a peace offering.

“You gonna be alright walking in with him like that?” he asked, voice low. “People might think you finally settled down.”

You smirked, eyes still on the windshield. “Let them.”

A beat passed. Rain ticked against the glass. Your hair was still damp. So was his. He was pretty sure if he looked down at your knees again, brushing up against his, he’d forget how to speak entirely.

Then you moved—just a little—turning toward him in that slow, deliberate way that made his pulse jump.

“I had a good time,” you said, and your voice was quieter now. Almost hesitant. “Despite the rain. And the near-death experience.”

Frankie’s lips twitched. “Yeah?”

“The best no-date I’ve ever had.”

That made him look up. And there you were.

Soft in a way you never usually let yourself be, not with him. Not with anyone. It hit him right in the ribs, that softness. The vulnerability just barely cracking through the usual fire. And before he could say anything—before he could figure out a single goddamn thought—you leaned in and kissed him.

Not fully just the corner of his mouth.

Quick, gentle, barely there.

But it wrecked him.

Frankie blinked, stunned stupid by how badly he wanted more. By how much restraint it took to not crash into you right then. He turned his head slowly, deliberately, until his eyes met yours.

You were quiet for a second. Just looking at him like you could see every version of him at once—the one he tried to be, the one he used to be, the one he was right now, rain-damp and buzzing with tension.

Then you leaned in, soft but sure, and whispered, “Tell me this isn’t a bad idea.”

And he didn’t say anything, didn’t have to.

You leaned in again, and this time, he met you halfway.

Tentative, at first. His lips brushing yours like a question. He didn’t push, just tested. Checked in. Are you sure?

You kissed him back.

And then it stopped being tentative.

It turned into something else entirely—hungry and full of heat, all that tension that had stretched between you for months now snapping all at once. Your hand was in his hair, his thumb brushing your jaw, his mouth moving over yours with a kind of urgency that surprised even him.

You tasted like rain and cotton candy and everything he’d been trying not to want.

And you wanted him, too.

That part—the confirmation of it, the truth of your mouth opening against his, like you’d been holding back just as long—knocked the air right out of him. He’d imagined this, sure. But nothing in his imagination prepared him for the real thing. The way you kissed like you were angry about it. Like you were trying to prove something.

He wanted to let you.

God, he wanted to keep going.

But eventually, you both had to breathe. When you pulled back—barely, just enough for your foreheads to brush and your breath to hit his lips—he kept his hand right where it was. Cradling your face like you might disappear if he let go, eyes still closed.

His voice was rough when he spoke.

“So… still not a date?”

You smiled against his mouth. “Absolutely not.”

He grinned, because of course you’d say that.

Then, too soon, you were pulling away. Slowly. Like you didn’t really want to. You opened the door, the soft interior lights flickering on, and the colder air rushed in.

Still, you hesitated in the doorway, lingered.

You glanced back at him with a look that knocked his heart sideways and said, just above a whisper, “Bye.”

His grin was wide, stupid, unshakable.

“Bye.”

And then you were gone. And all he could do was sit there, fingers still tingling, tasting you on his lips and his heart beating like it finally remembered how.

thanks for reading 💌

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tags: @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @dendulinka6 @greenwitchfromthewoods @joelsgoodgirl @copperhalfcent @whirlwindrider29 @picketniffler @noovaarq @inept-the-magnificent