#will hold her hand with his own trembling one

[peachesofteal]

Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic Simon Riley/female reader - tw canon typical violence, mention of sex trafficking, torture.

The only sound in the hallway is Simon's breathing.

The carpet is soaked in blood, tan and yellow threads turned brown and red under the bodies bleeding out on top of them. He laid waste to everyone, to all of them, methodically picking his way through a sea of faces, unable to stop himself, basking in the carnage, indulging in his rage.

One of them begged. Pleaded for his life, cried about how he had a family, about how he didn't know anything, how he was innocent. He was a liar, of course, and they both knew, though it didn't stop him from trying. He had to have known it was futile, and with the cock of a gun, Simon leaned down, nose to nose, pressing the barrel to the man's temple.

"I'd kill your entire family to save mine." 

It was supposed to be a ransom after all. Horribly executed, botched from the start, your captors were a half rate group of mercenaries who were supposed to deliver you days ago for their own payment.

They decided to keep you instead, tried to negotiate a higher payout. Simon is grateful to them for being so stupid, in a way. If they hadn't tried to barter their way into a bigger payday, Kate may not have been able to find you as quickly. You might have slipped between their fingers, already hidden away, sold to a higher bidder.

That's what they wanted, the ones who initiated the plot. They were going to sell you, sell your body, until Simon exchanged himself for your life.

An old grudge rearing its head as a painful reminder.

He should have snatched you away and hide you the moment he saw you on that street. He should have followed his instincts.

But he refused, and now he's here. Slaughtering everyone in his sight, looking for the musty old hotel room where you're being held captive.

Price finds you first. His voice chirps in Simon's earpiece, calling out a floor and a number before instructing Gaz to radio the chopper.

Simon's never run so fast in his life, three stairs at a time, slamming into doors and hopping over dead men until he turns the landing and nearly runs into Price.

His captain grips him by the arm and gives him a little shake before stepping aside and calling over his shoulder. "Put him away, Simon. He's done his part, your wife needs you now."

You're tied to a chair. Arms and ankles bound, wrists cuffed, duct tape across your mouth. It shines with blood, the trickle seeping from a wound on your forehead, a fresh gash weeping.

It's hard to tell if you're breathing, and in that moment, he offers up a plea to something he's not sure exists.

Please. Please, don't take her.  

He's on his knees in front of you in a blink of an eye, Johnny on his left slicing through rope before fidgeting with the cuffs and cursing. "I'll find the key."

He taps your cheek gently, and you jerk away, eyes wide with fear, unfocused and terrified, trembling. He says your name as softly as he can manage, shaking hands peeling away the duct tape, blinking away the tears burning in his eyes.

He knows what you see, who you see. A killer covered in other men's blood.

Ghost in all his glory. In his element.

"Put him away, Simon. He's done his part, your wife needs you now."

He rips the mask from his face and ducks into your line of sight, stroking his thumb over your temple. It takes you too long to recognize him, and when Johnny bursts back through the door, you flinch, slamming your eyes shut, shirking away. He has to coax them back open, holding you steady as the cuffs click open and your arms go slack, your whimpers fracturing his already broken heart, the small sounds crackling into a dry sob. "I'm here, you're safe. It's me, it's me. I've got you." You slump forward, face crashing into his shoulder, too warm to the touch. Festering wounds turned to fever, illness quickly through your veins.

Your left hand twitches in the corner of his vision, covered in blood, and Johnny smothers a hiss.

It no longer has a ring finger. It's been cut away below the knuckle, raw and bloody, bone visible beneath the swollen and infected flesh.

The sapphire nowhere in sight.

"Simon." You slur, and he cradles the back of your head.

"I'm here, 'm right here mama." The waver in his voice betrays him.

"Hurts."

"I know honey, I know. We're gonna fix it, okay?" You're limp, no strength left in your bones, your muscle, and he cradles your belly, desperate to feel any movement, any sign that the baby is still there. Your sobs are a knife in his chest. "Shhh, I've got you. You're safe."

[p0orbaby]

I’d Rather Go Blind Than Let You Down

summary: the baby is here, that should calm leah down, right? right?

warnings: hospital setting

a/n: someone asked for some more panicky leah so here it is. first part here but you don’t need to read it if you don’t want to

word count: 1.3k

-

It’s a boy. A boy. Your boy. You can hardly wrap your head around it, the reality of him. He’s only been in the world for forty minutes, and already it feels like he’s upended every law of physics. Six pounds and change, but impossibly heavy in the way he roots you to the earth, demanding you stay present, stay still, stay here. His hair is a downy mess of dark brown fluff, sticking up in little uneven tufts that remind you of how Leah’s fringe used to look after her under-12s matches: matted and wild, all effort and energy. His hands—God, his hands—are the size of fifty-pence pieces, delicate and wrinkled, each finger curled tightly into its own little fist. He’s perfect. Absolutely, inexplicably perfect. And you’re completely terrified.

The hospital room smells like cheap soap and distant disinfectant, undercut by the faint, sticky sweetness of some long-spilled juice no one bothered to properly clean. It’s a symphony of beige: beige walls, beige curtains, beige linoleum. Even the bed looks beige, although it’s probably just worn white, like an old t-shirt washed too many times. Somewhere in the hallway, someone’s shoes squeak with rhythmic persistence, and you vaguely wonder if they’re pacing, as you had earlier, wearing an accidental track into the polished floor.

Leah is sitting in the uncomfortable armchair by the bed, which is upholstered in that scratchy material designed to withstand decades of spills and bad decisions. Her elbows rest on her knees, her fingers steepled against her lips in a half-prayer, half-facepalm, as if she’s mid-negotiation with some higher power. She hasn’t spoken much since the baby was born. Not because she doesn’t want to, you think, but because the enormity of it all has rendered her mute. She looks pale, unsteady, as if someone has shaken her up like a bottle of fizzy water and forgotten to twist the cap back on properly.

The baby makes a soft, snuffling noise against your chest, pulling her attention like a magnet. Her gaze darts to him and then flicks away just as quickly, as if looking directly at him for too long might somehow blind her. She hasn’t held him yet. She hasn’t even really touched him, save for one trembling fingertip brushed against his impossibly tiny foot when the midwife first handed him to you. It wasn’t avoidance, not exactly. More like reverence. Or fear. Maybe both.

You’re exhausted in a way that doesn’t feel real, like your body’s moving on autopilot while your brain drifts somewhere between sleep and shock. Your limbs are heavy, molten, but there’s also an odd lightness to you, a weightless, dizzying awe at what you’ve just done. You gave birth. You. You. Somehow, you survived it—hours of pain, pushing, panting, the raw animalistic chaos of it—and now you’re here, holding this impossibly small, impossibly fragile life in your arms. You’re not sure how you’re even still upright, let alone conscious.

“Do you want to hold him?” you ask, your voice soft, careful, as if you’re coaxing a wild animal out of the brush.

Leah’s head snaps up, her eyes wide and glassy, like a deer caught in headlights. “Hold him?” she echoes, her voice shaky and high-pitched. “Me?

“Yes, you. Who else?”

She blinks, her hands flexing and unflexing against her knees like they’re warming up for a solo on Britain’s Got Talent. “I… I don’t know if that’s a good idea”

“Leah, he’s your son”

“I know,” she says quickly, her voice climbing into that higher, defensive register that comes out when she’s trying to convince herself more than you. “I know he’s my son. But he’s just so… small. And… fragile. What if I—”

“You’re not going to drop him”

“I might!” she says, alarmed by her own hypothetical. “I might drop him. Or…or hold him wrong. What if I hold him wrong and, like, dislocate something? Babies are delicate! Like…like soufflés”

You blink at her. “Did you just compare our child to a soufflé?”

She shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know! I’m just saying, I’m not exactly… maternal, am I? I’m not one of those people who looks at a baby and just… knows what to do. I’m more of a… ‘panic and Google it’ kind of person”

“That’s fine,” you say, adjusting the baby slightly in your arms as he makes a soft, snuffling noise. “Most parents are ‘panic and Google it’ people. It’s basically the default”

Leah doesn’t look convinced. She’s rubbing her hands together now, the way she does before a big match, but this isn’t a match. There’s no referee, no whistle, no rules, no second leg if she screws this up. Her gaze darts back to the baby, then to you, then back to the baby, like she’s trying to memorise the mechanics of holding him without actually doing it.

“What if I’m terrible at this?” she blurts out suddenly, the words spilling out of her in a rush. “What if I’m a terrible mum and he grows up hating me and we end up one of those families where no one talks and we all just sit around at Christmas in complete silence, eating dry turkey and resenting each other?”

You stare at her. “That’s… a very specific fear”

She shrugs, her leg bouncing up and down anxiously. “I’ve seen it happen”

“Leah, you’re not going to be a terrible mum”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know you. And you love him. That’s pretty much the most important part”

She frowns, her brow furrowed like she’s still not quite buying it. “Love’s not enough. Love doesn’t teach you how to… to… change nappies or… or know what all the different cries mean”

“Love doesn’t teach you that,” you agree, “but practice does. And you’ll get there. We both will”

Leah’s eyes flick back to the baby, who has now fallen into a soft, twitchy sleep against your chest. Her expression softens slightly, but the fear is still there, a tightness around her mouth, a tension in her shoulders.

“What if he doesn’t like me?” she asks quietly.

You laugh, soft and disbelieving. “He’s a newborn, Leah. His likes and dislikes are limited to ‘milk’ and ‘not-milk.’ He’s not going to sit there judging your personality”

She doesn’t laugh. If anything, she looks even more stricken, like she’s just realised she might have to win over this tiny person who doesn’t even have fully developed motor skills yet.

You sigh, reaching out to take her hand. “Leah, listen to me. You’re not going to drop him. You’re not going to dislocate anything. And you’re definitely not going to ruin Christmas twenty years from now. You’re going to be great. I promise”

She hesitates, her fingers curling slightly around yours. “What if I mess up?”

“You will,” you say simply. “We both will. That’s part of it. But messing up doesn’t mean failing. It just means you’re trying”

For a moment, she just looks at you, her eyes searching yours for something—reassurance, absolution, a manual for parenthood that doesn’t exist. Then, slowly, she nods. It’s not a confident nod, not by any stretch, but it’s a start.

“Okay,” she says quietly. “I’ll try.”

You smile, holding out the baby toward her. “Then take him”

She hesitates for one last second before leaning forward, her hands trembling slightly as she takes the baby from you. She holds him like he’s made of glass, her arms stiff and awkward, but she’s holding him. She’s doing it.

And then the baby lets out a tiny, contented sigh, and Leah freezes, staring down at him like she’s just witnessed a miracle.

“He…he’s so… little,” she whispers, her voice filled with something like awe. “And warm. Why’s he so warm?”

“Because he’s a baby, not a lizard”

Leah lets out a soft, breathless laugh, her eyes never leaving the baby’s face. For the first time all night, she looks calm. Not completely, but enough. Enough to believe, maybe just for a moment, that she can do this.

That you can do this. Together.

[jaysng]

when you have to go on bed rest — park sunghoon

frustrated and emotional reader, stuck on bed rest during pregnancy, opens up to caring husband, sunghoon. overwhelmed, she asks him to hold her, seeking solace in his embrace as he gently reassures her, reminding her of her strength. [wc. 1.4k]

PAIRING. husband!sunghoon x preg!wife!reader

GENRE. reader is feeling hurt, so angsty fluff

NOTE. this has been sitting in my drafts for about a month now and i’ve been contemplating whether to post it or not.. but here i am guess

you hated being on bed rest.

every minute of it felt like a punishment. you were used to being on your feet, handling things your way, but now you were confined to your room, relying on everyone else to do what you couldn’t. and while your logical mind understood that it was for the baby, the emotional weight of it all was suffocating.

you sat propped against the headboard, arms crossed, staring out the window like it had personally wronged you. the ache in your back had returned, your legs felt stiff, and your mood was steadily getting worse.

the sound of the door opening broke you out of your sulk. sunghoon stepped inside, holding a glass of water in one hand and a small plate of sliced fruit in the other.

“you didn’t eat much earlier,” he said, setting the plate on the bedside table.

“i wasn’t hungry,” you muttered, avoiding his eyes.

he frowned slightly but didn’t push. “you still need to eat something.”

you sighed, glancing at the plate but not making a move to pick it up. the simple act of eating felt exhausting, and your frustration only grew.

sunghoon lingered for a moment before sitting on the edge of the bed. he didn’t say anything, his gaze quietly observing you.

“what?” you snapped, sharper than you meant to.

he shook his head, unfazed. “you just seem upset.”

“of course i’m upset, hoon!” you burst out, throwing your hands up. “i’m stuck in this stupid bed all day. i can’t even get up to get my own water. my body hurts. my head hurts. and—” your voice wavered, “—and i feel so useless.”

his expression softened, but he didn’t interrupt. he just let you spill it all out.

“i can’t even…” you trailed off, your hands trembling as you clenched them into fists. “i don’t know. i feel horrible. and i don’t want to talk about it, but i can’t keep it in either. i just—”

you broke off, your throat tightening as tears threatened to spill.

sunghoon hesitated for a split second before shifting closer, his hand hovering like he wasn’t sure if you wanted to be touched.

“can you just… hold me?” you whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear. “please?”

his eyes softened further, and without a word, he slipped his arm around your shoulders, gently guiding you against his chest.

the warmth of his body, the steady rise and fall of his breathing—it was grounding. you let out a shaky breath, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as the dam finally broke.

“i feel like such a mess,” you mumbled, your voice muffled against him.

“you’re not a mess,” he said quietly, his voice calm and certain. “you’re just overwhelmed. it’s okay.”

his hand moved slowly, rubbing soothing circles on your back. he didn’t try to fix anything or offer solutions—he just let you cry, let you feel.

“i don’t know how much more of this i can take,” you admitted, your voice cracking.

“you don’t have to take it alone,” he said simply. “i’m here.”

it was such a sunghoon thing to say—straightforward, without unnecessary embellishments. but somehow, that made it more comforting.

“i hate being like this,” you whispered. “so… weak.”

he pulled back just enough to look at you, his brow furrowed. “you’re not weak,” he said, his tone firmer now. “you’re growing a whole human inside you. that’s… incredible.”

you let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. “doesn’t feel incredible.”

“doesn’t mean it’s not,” he countered, his fingers brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “and even if you feel like you’re falling apart, it’s okay. i’ll hold you together, for as long as you need.”

you looked at him, your chest tightening at the sincerity in his eyes.

“thank you,” you whispered, leaning into his touch.

he didn’t respond with words, just wrapped his arms around you again, holding you close like you were the most important thing in the world.

and for the first time that day, the frustration in your chest eased, just a little. enough to remind you that you weren’t alone in this.

© jaysng 2024 | do not repost or plagiarize.

[wzkfuu]

:3

Basically Leon just getting edged also yes this is probably gonna be ass👅👅

reader is a women and um um this is SMUT SEXUAL THINGS ARE HAPPENING MDNI!!

okay enjoy

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*

Leon’s propped up against his headboard, back at his own apartment. His hand’s wrapped around his cock, pre-come beading at his tip. He bucks up into his fist shallowly, cussing softly to himself as pleasure washes over him.

His eyes flutter shut, images of her , flashing through his mind. Her touching him, feeling him. Her warmth against him, Her soft hands around his cock, whispering dirty obscenities into his ear. In his free hand, he holds his phone— tilted to his ear with the voice message she had sent him recently. He moans aloud, tilting his head back as he replays it over and over again. He loves it, he loves her voice. His other hand thats wrapped around his cock starts stroking faster, his hips bucking up abortedly— he’s so fucking close.

"...oh fuck, —," She hears Leon moan, hearing the whimpers and groans on the other end. Unbeknownst to Leon, while listening to her voice recording, he had pressed call. She had picked it up of course.

“Leon? Is everything alright?” He hears from the other side of the line.

Leon freezes, eyes wide. Holy shit. He’d accidentally called her and she picked up. She heard him. Oh god. He was so close, too. He wanted to just let it go, let himself fall over the edge with her voice in his ear, but his pride stops him. He can’t let her know how fucked up he is, how much he needs this...needs her.

"Uh...yeah. everything's fine." He says breathlessly, trying to play it cool. He clears his throat, hoping she doesn’t notice how ragged it sounds. "Sorry, I must've hit the call button by accident. What's up?"

He keeps stroking himself, slower now, savoring the sensation. It's not the same as when she touches him, but it'll have to do. He bites his lip, stifling another moan as he imagines her watching him, seeing what he's doing. The thought sends a shiver down his spine.

“Leon are you..are you jerking off right now?” She says whispering the last bit

Leon freezes, eyes widening. Fuck. How did she know? He swallows thickly, his mouth suddenly dry. "I...uh...I don't know what you're talking about..." He lies unconvincingly, his voice strained. He can't deny it, not with the evidence right there in her ear. His ragged breathing, the slick slide of his hand over his cock. He's been caught red-handed.

A part of him wants to hang up, to escape this humiliation. But another part, a darker, needier part, wants to embrace it. Wants her to know exactly what she do to him. He groans softly, his hips twitching up into his fist. "Maybe I am..." He admits, his voice barely above a whisper. He's trembling now, his orgasm building despite his best efforts to hold it back.

"Fuck, baby ... I can't help it. I think about you all the time. About your hands on me, your mouth..." He pants, losing himself in the fantasy. He's so close, teetering on the edge. He just needs a little more. "I'm gonna...I'm gonna cum. Please, say something else. Anything..." He begs, too far gone to care how desperate he sounds.

“Didn’t know you’d be the type for phone sex Leon. , you’re a little naughty aren’t you?” God , he can practically hear her smirking from here.

Leon groans at her words, his grip on his cock tightening. Fuck, she sounds so good. So dirty. He loves this side of her, loves seeing her let her guard down. Loves knowing that he's the one who brings it out in her.

"Yeah...yeah, I am. I'm fucking naughty. Especially when it comes to you." He growls, his voice low and rough with desire. He starts stroking faster, chasing his release. He's so close, he can feel it building at the base of his spine. His balls draw up tight, his body tensing.

"I want you, baby. I want to bend you over and fuck you until you can't walk straight. I want to make you scream my name." He pants, his words coming out in broken gasps. He's right on the edge, teetering, waiting for her permission to let go.

"Please... please tell me to cum. I need it. I need you baby..please..." He begs, his voice breaking. He's shaking now, his body wound tight with tension. He's never needed anyone like this before. Never wanted someone so badly. He needs her so so badly, needs her touch, her approval. Needs everything she can give him.

“No. You’re gonna wait since you lied to me at first .” She smiles lying down on her own bed feeling the wetness in her panties slowly circling around her clit.

Leon whines as she denies him release, his cock throbbing in frustration. He's so fucking close, he can taste it. But she’s right, he did lie to her. He deserves this punishment.

"Fuck, baby. Please, I'm sorry. I'll take it back, I swear. Just let me cum." He begs, his voice high and needy. He hates how desperate he sounds, but he can't help it. His body is on fire, every nerve ending screaming for release.

He keeps stroking himself, teasing the sensitive head. He knows he shouldn't, knows he'll just make it worse. But he can't stop. He's addicted to the sensation, to the pleasure.

"I'll do anything, baby. Anything you want. Just please, don't leave me like this. I need you." He sobs, his hips bucking up into his hand. He's a mess, he knows. A pathetic, whimpering mess. But he doesn't care. All he cares about is her , about pleasing her.

He's shaking now, his body wracked with need. He's never felt anything like this before, never been so consumed by desire. He needs her, needs her touch, her approval.

"Baby.., please... I'll be good. I promise. I'll make it so good for you. Just tell me what to do..." He pleads, his voice breaking. He's begging now, shameless in his need. He'll do anything she asks, anything at all. As long as she doesn’t leave him hanging like this , desperately stroking his cock with all that pathetic whining.

“Don’t do anything. I’ll be there soon.” He hears before the call ends now sitting there waiting.

[rafeskai]

Life as We Know It — Rafe Cameron

Chapter Five

Two opposites must navigate love, loss, and unexpected parenthood to discover the meaning of family.

Summary: When tragedy strikes, two very different individuals find their lives unexpectedly intertwined as they become the guardians of an orphaned child. As they navigate the challenges of co-parenting, balancing careers, and confronting their pasts, they discover that family can form in the most surprising ways. Through heartfelt moments and unexpected humor, they explore what it means to build a life together—one step at a time.

Pairings: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Character deaths & angst.

Author's Notes: 2 more chapters to go!

Masterlist: Here

The courthouse doors slammed behind you as you stepped into the empty hallway, your chest heavy with grief. The weight of the decision still hung in the air, pressing down on you like an unbearable burden. Ward had won. He had won Willa.

Your heart was a storm of emotions: fury, betrayal, hopelessness. You had tried so hard. You had fought for Willa, for Sarah and John B., to give her the life they would’ve wanted. But it wasn’t enough. In the end, the system didn’t care. The judge didn’t care. No one cared.

You found yourself sinking against the cold marble wall, your body trembling with the overwhelming sense of failure. You had promised Sarah you would look after Willa, that you would protect her. And now, in a single blow, it felt like you’d lost her.

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, and before you knew it, a sob broke free. The grief, the exhaustion, the helplessness—all of it hit you like a tidal wave. You buried your face in your hands, trying to steady yourself, but it felt like everything was slipping through your fingers.

And then you heard him.

Rafe’s footsteps echoed in the hallway, and you didn’t even have to look up to know it was him. He didn’t need to say anything at first—he simply crouched beside you, his hand reaching out to gently pull yours away from your face. His eyes, red-rimmed and brimming with pain, met yours.

“I... I don’t know what to do, Rafe,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I promised Sarah and John B. that I would protect her, that I would keep her safe. And I failed them. I failed her.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened, his own pain etched across his face, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he reached over, pulling you into his arms, holding you tightly as if he could shield you from the storm of grief swirling around you both.

He didn’t say anything for a long while. The only sound between you was the occasional shaky breath, the quiet sobs that escaped without warning. But then, Rafe spoke in a voice that barely reached above a whisper.

“You didn’t fail her,” he said, his voice raw. “You fought like hell for her. We both did. We’ve still got a chance to fix this. We’re not done yet.”

You pulled away slightly, looking up at him, trying to see some trace of hope in his eyes, but all you saw was the same frustration, the same loss that mirrored your own.

“I don’t know how we can fight this anymore. Ward’s got everything on his side. He’s won... and I don’t know what to do, Rafe.” You shook your head, feeling the tears come again. “I just want her back. I want to make sure she’s okay.”

Rafe’s hand cupped your cheek, his touch gentle despite the storm brewing inside of him. His eyes softened as he gazed at you, and you saw something there—a kind of resolve you hadn’t noticed before.

“I’m not letting her go, [Y/N]. I’m not,” he said fiercely, his voice trembling. “I’m not giving up on her.”

You nodded slowly, letting his words sink in. You needed to hear that. You needed to believe it.

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice cracking with emotion. “But how? How do we stop Ward?”

Rafe was quiet for a moment, his eyes drifting away as if he was piecing together a plan in his head. His brow furrowed, and you could almost see the wheels turning. Then, his gaze locked onto yours once more, filled with an intensity that made your heart race.

“We take it back to court,” Rafe said, his voice steadying with determination. “We find a way to show that Ward’s not fit to raise her. That we are the ones who should be raising her, not him.”

“Rafe,” you said slowly, your mind racing. “How do we do that? We can’t just... ask for a new judge or something.”

Rafe stood up, pacing back and forth as he thought. You watched him, waiting for him to finish putting the pieces together. He was quiet for a moment, then stopped in front of you, a glint of determination flashing in his eyes.

“We need evidence,” he said, his voice hardening with resolve. “We need proof of what he’s done. All the times he’s hurt us, hurt Sarah, hurt me. All of it. If we can show the court that he’s dangerous, that he’s unfit to care for Willa, we have a shot at getting her back.”

Your heart skipped a beat as Rafe’s words settled in. You knew what this meant. You knew the kind of things Ward had done. The abuse. The manipulation. But it had always been buried under layers of lies and secrecy. It was the one thing that had kept Ward in power for so long.

“You really think we can do that?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Rafe’s gaze softened, but the fire in his eyes didn’t flicker. “I know we can. We’ve got to fight for her. We’ve got to fight for Sarah and John B. We owe it to them.”

You stood up, wiping your eyes, feeling a spark of something in your chest—a glimmer of hope, the first you’d felt in weeks.

“Okay,” you said, your voice steadier now. “Let’s do it. We’re not giving up. We’ll fight him.”

Rafe smiled slightly, though it was tinged with sadness. He reached out, pulling you into a tight hug, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. There was only the quiet comfort of each other’s presence. The grief was still there, weighing heavily on both of you, but now, there was a plan. A way forward.

“We’ll get her back, [Y/N]. I promise.”

And for the first time since the hearing, you believed him.

Together, you’d fight for Willa. You’d fight for Sarah and John B. And this time, you wouldn’t lose.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

It was late into the night when you and Rafe began mapping out your plan. The house was eerily quiet, the silence only broken by the occasional murmur of Willa's soft breaths from her room. Rafe sat across from you at the kitchen table, the dim light above casting shadows across his face as he tapped his fingers on the surface, his thoughts clearly miles away.

You, too, were deep in thought, mentally piecing together everything you knew about Ward, everything you had endured growing up in the Cameron household. The years of his emotional and physical abuse. The fights. The silence that followed each blow.

You felt sick just thinking about it, but you couldn’t stop. You had to. This was the only way forward. If you were going to keep Willa safe, you had to make Ward’s past a part of the case, even if it meant digging into old wounds.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” you muttered, staring at the open folder on the table in front of you. It was filled with legal documents and notes from your lawyer, a roadmap for how to fight back. But it felt impossible—too big a task, too much to uncover.

Rafe leaned forward, his face tense, but his eyes were determined. “We have to, [Y/N]. We can’t let him get away with it anymore. For Willa. For Sarah.”

His words hung heavy in the air, and you knew he meant it with every fiber of his being. The weight of Sarah’s death had been unbearable for both of you. But now it was more than just grief. It was about keeping Willa safe, keeping her away from the monster that had shaped so much of their lives.

“We need proof,” Rafe continued, glancing at the stack of papers. “We need to find something. Anything.”

You nodded, your mind already racing. You knew that Ward’s past was buried in the same place as all his lies and manipulations. His anger had always been a weapon—aimed at Sarah, at Rafe, and even at you when you had been younger. There had to be something—some record, some shred of truth that you could use to show the world just who Ward really was.

“Do you have anything?” you asked, looking at Rafe.

He exhaled slowly, his gaze distant. “I know a few things,” he admitted quietly. “But they’re not enough. Not on their own.”

You sat back in your chair, trying to calm the nervous fluttering in your chest. “What do you mean?”

Rafe leaned back, rubbing his hands over his face. “I remember... there were moments. When I was a kid. I overheard things. Conversations. There were times when Sarah would—she’d try to protect me, try to shield me from Ward’s anger. But there were... documents. Letters. Things that could prove how he manipulated everything.”

You felt a chill spread over you, a sense of urgency taking over. “Where are they? Can we find them?”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed, and he looked down at his hands. “They’re in the attic. A box of stuff that Sarah and I hid. I don’t know exactly what’s in it, but I remember Sarah saying she didn’t want Ward ever getting his hands on them.”

Your heart raced as a plan started to form in your mind. "We need to go through it, Rafe. Everything we can find. We need to dig through all of it."

He nodded, his jaw tight with determination. “I’ll go through it. I’ll find it.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The following morning, Rafe and you set out for the attic. It felt surreal as you made your way up the stairs to the small, cluttered space that held so many memories—memories of a past neither you nor Rafe had wanted to confront, but knew you had no choice but to face now.

Dust filled the air as Rafe opened the attic door, the wooden steps creaking under your weight as you followed him up. The space was cramped, boxes piled high, old furniture tucked away, things discarded and forgotten. You could smell the mustiness of years gone by, but there was no time to linger. No time to let the memories flood you.

Rafe began to dig through the boxes, pulling out old papers, photos, and forgotten trinkets that had once meant something to Sarah and him. You watched him closely, the tension in his shoulders unmistakable. He was doing this for her—doing this for Willa.

After a few moments, Rafe paused, his fingers brushing against something wedged behind a dusty old coat. He pulled out a small, weathered cardboard box, the tape on the sides barely holding it together.

“This is it,” Rafe murmured. He opened it cautiously, as if he expected something to jump out at him. You peered over his shoulder, trying to calm the pounding in your chest. Inside, you saw a tangle of old photographs and folders—records from the past that, hopefully, would be the key to winning Willa’s custody.

Rafe pulled out a folder first, his fingers trembling as he flipped it open. Inside, there were handwritten letters—letters that Rafe had clearly never meant to read, written in Sarah’s handwriting, detailing arguments, moments of fear, and Sarah’s attempts to escape their father’s control.

“I knew it,” Rafe muttered, his eyes scanning the pages. “Sarah... she tried so hard to protect us from him.”

You felt a lump in your throat as you read over his shoulder. The letters were raw, emotional, detailing Ward’s abusive behavior—his temper, his verbal cruelty, his violence. There were accounts of physical injuries Sarah had tried to hide from the world, and she’d written about the times Ward had hurt both of them, though she never named it outright. She’d tried to find ways to escape him, even at a young age.

“This is what we needed,” you said softly, a feeling of relief flooding through you. “This is it, Rafe. This is proof. We can use this.”

Rafe stared down at the letters, his eyes glossy. He didn’t speak for a moment, and the weight of everything he had lived through—everything you were now uncovering—seemed to press down on him.

“I never wanted her to know,” Rafe whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I never wanted Willa to go through what we went through. I thought I was protecting her by keeping her away from all this.” He swallowed hard, his voice barely audible. “But we can’t keep running from it. If we want to win this, we need the truth.”

You nodded, reaching out and placing a hand on his. “You didn’t fail, Rafe. You’re doing everything you can for her. We’ll make sure she’s safe. We’ll make sure Ward doesn’t win.”

Rafe exhaled deeply, looking at the papers in his hands. “We’ll do whatever it takes. We’re not losing her.”

And for the first time in a long time, you believed him.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The attic felt smaller as the hours passed, the musty air thick with the weight of the secrets it held. You sat beside Rafe on the dusty floor, the pile of evidence between you growing larger. Letters. Photographs. Police reports. Even old school records. It was all beginning to paint a picture of a man no one ever truly understood—the man who had shaped Sarah, Rafe, and their entire childhood.

You flipped through a few more papers, the words on the pages starting to blur as your emotions overwhelmed you. There were times Sarah had begged to be seen, to be heard, and each word you read was like another stab to your heart.

“God…” you whispered, your hand trembling as you gripped the edge of a photo. It was one of Sarah, just a child, smiling in a way that didn’t quite reach her eyes. The darkness that had been lurking in the background of their lives, the abuse they had endured, was so clear now. It wasn’t something you’d seen before—perhaps because you hadn’t wanted to see it. But now, as the layers were peeled back, the reality hit you like a flood.

You didn’t realize you were crying until Rafe’s voice cut through the silence, soft and gentle. “Hey, you okay?”

You blinked and wiped at your eyes, trying to keep it together. But the tears didn’t stop. “How could he do this to her?” Your voice cracked as you looked down at the photograph. “How could he hurt them like this? How could he… do this to you?”

Rafe was silent for a long moment, and you felt him shift beside you. You could feel the heat of his body, the tension in his muscles, the quiet grief that hung in the air like a thick fog.

You turned to look at him, catching him staring at you, his eyes shadowed with pain. The walls he had built around himself were always so thick—so hard to penetrate. But now, in this moment, with all the pieces of the past laid bare, the mask he wore seemed to crack just enough to let you see the real him.

“I’m sorry you had to see all this,” he said quietly, his voice heavy. “You didn’t deserve to know the ugliness of it.”

Your chest tightened. “No, I needed to know. I need to understand.”

Rafe took a deep breath, rubbing his hand across his face. His shoulders slumped, and for the first time since you’d met him, you saw a man who wasn’t just the spoiled, angry son of a cruel father. You saw a man who had been broken by his past, a man who had been fighting every day to prove he wasn’t his father. But in his search for redemption, he’d never realized that the hardest thing to do was forgive himself.

“I know I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of,” Rafe muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I didn’t... I didn’t want to be like him. I never wanted to be like him. I was just... trying to survive. Trying to protect Sarah, protect myself.”

You swallowed hard, your heart aching for him. You had always seen the worst in him, the ways he lashed out, the cruelty that sometimes bled through. But now, as you sat there with him, you understood. You understood that his anger, his rebellion, was just a defense mechanism. A mask for the hurt he carried, the fear that had been instilled in him from a young age.

“Rafe…” Your voice trembled as you reached out, placing a hand over his. “You’ve done so much for her. For Willa. You’re not like him. Not in any way. You’re more than what he said you were. More than anyone ever saw.”

The words were barely out of your mouth when you saw something flicker in his eyes. Vulnerability. Pain. A need for validation. For the first time, you realized just how much he needed to hear that. Needed someone to see him for who he truly was.

Rafe leaned forward, his forehead coming to rest against yours, his breath shallow and uneven. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of everything hanging between you. His hand, warm and slightly trembling, cupped the back of your neck, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin there. You could feel the electricity between you, the way his body tensed, the way you both seemed to exist in this moment where everything else faded away.

And then, as if something snapped, you moved without thinking. Your lips found his in a soft, tentative kiss—a kiss that was born from shared grief, from the fragile hope that had flickered between the two of you ever since you had started this journey together. It was a kiss full of longing, of understanding, of something neither of you had been ready to admit until now.

Rafe kissed you back, slowly, as though he was testing the waters. His hand slid to your jaw, holding you gently as his lips pressed against yours with a tenderness that surprised you both. There was nothing frantic about it, no rush. Just the simple, raw need to connect, to feel something good after all the loss.

When you finally pulled away, your breaths came in shaky bursts. Rafe’s eyes were wide, his lips slightly parted, as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened. You didn’t know what to say. Words didn’t seem to matter in that moment.

But then you both spoke at once, as if trying to make sense of the overwhelming emotions swirling between you.

“I… I didn’t mean to—”

“Wait, that was… I shouldn’t have—”

You both fell silent, the awkwardness creeping in. But something had shifted. The tension between you had transformed into something else—something deep, something unspoken. You realized, maybe for the first time, that the lines you had drawn between each other were no longer so clear. The walls were crumbling, and in their place was a fragile, but undeniable connection.

“I just…” you started, your heart racing. “I just needed to tell you that you’re not your father, Rafe. You never were. And I... I see you. I see all of you.”

He exhaled sharply, his thumb gently caressing your cheek, his gaze intense. “And I see you too. I don’t know what this means, but I—”

Before he could finish, you pressed your forehead against his, closing your eyes. “We’ll figure it out. We’ll figure everything out. For Willa. For us.”

Rafe nodded, his hands still resting on your face. You both knew that the road ahead was going to be hard—there was no easy way forward. But for the first time, you felt like maybe, just maybe, you weren’t alone in it anymore.

© 2024 rafeskai | All rights reserved. This fanfiction is a work of fiction inspired by characters from Outer Banks, and no part of it may be reproduced or distributed without permission.

[daisymbin]

Hi can you mix number 11. "do you even love me?" And 35. "you have no idea how much i want you right now." Hoshi being fwb with the reader and him asking her….? 🫶🏼🫶🏼

omg I love this mix though im not sure if i did it justice :( let me know what you think! & thank you for requesting!!! 🫶 I hope you like it!

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist!

angst prompt #11: "do you even love me?" +

suggestive prompt #35: "you have no idea how much I want you right now."

"what the fuck was that?"

his voice slices through the quiet like a whip. you turn to face him, your stomach twisting at the way he’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed but his jaw clenched like he’s barely holding himself together. "what?" you asked. the weight of his words hits you like a brick, he's never spoken to you like this before. "where is this coming from?"

"earlier tonight," he says, pushing off the doorframe and taking a step closer. "you laughed at everything he said. you couldn’t stop smiling at him."

"who?" you ask, genuinely confused.

"vernon," he spits out, like the name tastes bitter on his tongue. "that guy from your office. the one you invited to sit with us. you didn’t even introduce me as anything, just soonyoung. no title, nothing."

you stare at him, wide-eyed, his passive aggressiveness catching you completely off guard. soonyoung continues to glare at you, his hands clenched at his sides.

"what the hell am i supposed to introduce you as?" you spat, crossing your arms defensively. "the guy i fuck occasionally?"

"you could’ve said anything else," soonyoung shot back, his voice low and sharp. "but instead, you acted like i was nobody."

"you have no right to be upset about that," you said, shaking your head. "and you have no right to be jealous. we're just fucking! nothing more."

his laugh was bitter, humorless. "then why do you look at me like that? every time before we-," he stops himself, "& we kiss... why do you look at me like... like you love me? do you not? was that a lie? do you even love me?"

his words hit like a punch to the gut, leaving you breathless. what is he trying to do? is he trying to taunt you? shame you? make fun of you?

"so what if i do?" you snapped, your voice shaking with anger and humiliation. "are you happy now? getting me to admit that?"

soonyoung froze, the silence between you stretching unbearably long. the vulnerability you’d just exposed sat heavy in the air, suffocating you. he hadn't expected to get it out of you so easily.

his lack of response was enough to make you turn away, tears threatening to sting your eyes. "forget it," you muttered, moving toward the door. "this was a mistake."

but then his hand wrapped around your wrist, firm but not harsh. his touch stopped you in your tracks, his voice breaking the tension.

"you didn’t ask me how i feel," he said softly, his tone holding a hint of desperation.

your breath hitched, and you turned back to face him, your eyes searching his. you let out a whispered sigh, your voice trembling. "do you love me?"

he stepped closer, his gaze piercing, his lips parted like he couldn’t find the right words. "you have no idea how much i want you right now," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, almost breaking.

your pulse raced as he leaned in, his forehead resting lightly against yours. "not like that, soonie,"

his voice dropped even lower. "i don’t want anyone else. it’s always been you. in whichever way, whatever way. you're the only one i want."

the raw intensity in his voice sends a shiver down your spine. but it’s not just his words—it’s the way he’s looking at you, like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted, like losing you would shatter him.

you pull away slightly, your brow furrowing. "soonyoung, this isn’t just about wanting," you say softly, your hand reaching out to graze his. "it’s about how we feel."

he looks at you for a long moment, his jaw tightening. "but do you get it?" he asks, his voice low but laced with frustration. "you're not just some... hookup for me. i don’t just want you in the middle of the night when it’s convenient. i want all of you,"

"just tell me you’ll stay," he whispered, his breath brushing your lips. "because if you walk out that door, i’m going to follow you anyway."

you take a step back, the weight of his words sinking in. the intensity in his eyes is like nothing you’ve ever seen before—he’s vulnerable, but also... determined.

you stare up at him, your chest tight. "so you love me?"

he nods, his thumb tracing along your jaw. "yeah. i love you. and it scares the hell out of me."

"but what about... everything we’ve said before? what about keeping it casual?"

"fuck keeping it casual," he mutters, pulling you closer. "i don’t want to just be ‘casual’ with you anymore. i want all of you, every part of you. and i want you to want the same."

his lips brush against yours in a soft kiss, and you finally give in, closing the space between you and pressing yourself against him. the heat between you both intensifies, but it’s different now—more than just a physical need. it’s a promise.

when you pull back, breathless, you look up at him. "i want you, too."

"good," he whispers, his lips curling into a satisfied smile. "because you're not going anywhere."

the tension is still there, but it’s different now—familiar, comforting. and the next time he kisses you, it’s not just about desire.

[demonpiratehuntress]

clowns

taglist - @kabloswrld

OPLA!Zoro x F!Reader

summary - clowns are terrifying, and your first encounter with one leaves you traumatised. lucky for you, you have a big strong swordsman as a boyfriend.

warnings - CLOWNS (yes they should ALWAYS be a warning and yes Buggy scares me), you and Zoro are/were both pirate hunters

a/n - i count myself lucky i don't have circuses where i live, because if i ever see a clown i will run the other way

Not only did you not expect to join a pirate crew, but you far from thought your first encounter as a "crew" would be facing your worst nightmare.

The minute you saw the bright red nose and funny make-up, you stiffened. Your eyes went wide and you became unresponsive, like you couldn't hear them talking or feel Zoro's subtle protective touches. You were too focused on the clown in front of you, terrified to your core.

"What's wrong with her?" Buggy noticed your stare, and waved his hand in front of your face. "Can she hear me?"

Zoro growled and put himself between you and the clown pirate, "Eyes on me, Binky." He knew that wasn't the clown's name, but Luffy's mistake would serve him well in getting Buggy's attention off you.

Sure enough, the clown scowled and looked at him, "Buggy! It's not that hard to remember!"

You were relieved that the clown was no longer focusing on you, but just the sight of him was rattling you to your core. While he was distracted, you took it as your opportunity to turn and run.

Now let it be said that you do not run easily from anything. You and Zoro were pirate hunters, or had been until you'd been roped into this, and you had faced some nasty, dangerous threats. You were hardened, and almost nothing shook you.

Except clowns.

Funny how the one thing you steered clear of found you first the moment you aligned yourself with others.

Before you could get far, some of his circus freaks grabbed you and brought you back. The clown was still talking about himself, but chuckled when his goons brought you back into the tent.

"What's wrong, pirate hunter?" He sneered. "Scared?"

"Hey!" Luffy beat Zoro this time, "Leave her alone."

And things went downhill from there.

You were, for some reason, separated from the group. So was Luffy, but that's because Buggy was interrogating him. Nami and Zoro had been escorted somewhere else, leaving you on your own in another side room, panicking and growing more and more nauseous. To make matters worse, Luffy started screaming from wherever he was.

A while later, the clown walked into your room.

Your eyes went wide, and you struggled against the rope holding you to the wooden beam.

"I'm surprised," he spoke, "You have a reputation that made even some of my men nervous. And yet...you can't even look me in the eye." He stopped right in front of you, "Why's that?"

You tried your best to look away, turning your head sideways and finding something else to focus on. You couldn't speak, and you were trembling. Nothing had ever shaken you like this, ever. But clowns for some reason...you couldn't handle them.

"Is it the nose?" He asked mockingly, although he sounded a bit annoyed at the mention of his large appendage again. He forced you to look at him, gripping your chin in his gloved hands. "Hmm?"

"Leave me alone," you managed to get out through gritted teeth.

"Your captain isn't being very cooperative," he ignored your request, "So I have a lot of time to spend here with you."

"Why me?" You tried to glare, but you knew you looked scared. Because you were.

"Fear is a good motivator for telling the truth," he finally let go of your chin, walking around you and sizing you up. "Your friends will be tough to convince, but you...you don't like clowns, right? I'll leave you alone if you tell me where the map is."

"Do your worst," you breathed out, a little shakily, but you were determined not to cave. Not for this idiot.

He growled, and in an instant he was in front of you again, holding a knife to your throat while putting his frightening face right up in yours, "Tell me where it is!"

The sound you let out was something between a squeak and a yelp, fear once again overcoming your body at the clown's proximity. It wasn't so much the knife pressed against your jugular, it was the fact that your worst fear was inches away from you. You clenched your fists, trying to control your shaking, but it didn't work. And he was amused by your terror.

"I'm going to check on your captain," he stepped back, "If he doesn't give me an answer, I'm coming right back here and I promise I'll leave a scar." Then he left, and you could breathe again.

But that's when the tears came.

You didn't really sob, you just stayed there crying silently. Your body trembled, mind numb with fear and shock. His face was burned into your mind, and shutting your eyes only made your panic worse.

That's how Zoro found you, tied up and shaking with glassy eyes.

"What did he do to you?" The swordsman asked when he cut you loose, grabbing and squeezing your arms gently. "(Name), what did he do?"

You just shook your head, unable to speak, and sought his comfort by burying your face in his neck and crying even more. The more you shook, the angrier he got. But he held you for as long as you needed, knowing Nami would be okay with finding Luffy on her own. You were Zoro's priority.

You finally let go a few minutes later, wiping your face, "Let's go help the others."

He nodded, guiding you out the room.

The trauma stuck with you for a few days after the three of you escaped him, evident one night when you woke up sweating and shaking. Zoro was a deep sleeper, but he had a sixth sense reserved just for you, so he was woken up by your outburst.

Zoro wasn't good with words, but he was definitely good at comforting you through actions. He never had to say anything, he just wrapped his strong arms around you and you were slowly soothed. You just had to lean against his chest, enveloped in his arms, and you would slowly calm down. His gentle kisses atop your head also helped, his affection never failing to get your mind off whatever was worrying you.

In Syrup Village, you spotted a poster of the clown pirate and started hyperventilating. Zoro immediately turned you away from it and cupped your cheeks in his hands, making you look at him.

"Hey, focus on me," he told you, "Just me. I'm here. You're fine." He used a gentle, soft tone, one reserved just for you.

You tried to breathe, eyes locked on his face, concentrating on his warm brown ones that held so much concern for you. The eyes that always comforted you with just a look. Slowly your breathing evened out, and Zoro embraced you, this time not caring that you were in public.

"You're okay."

You nodded slowly, taking a deep breath, "Thanks, Zoro."

He just nodded, giving you one last forehead kiss, "If we ever see him again, I'm going to cut him up and throw him in the ocean."

You managed a weak smile, grateful to have such a protective boyfriend. His actions always proved how devoted he was, even if they were a little violent. You wouldn't have it any other way.

"You do that."

[tokkiwrites]

𝚄𝚗𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚄𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝙼𝚢 𝚂𝚔𝚒𝚗. (5)

mom's fiancé! joel miller x f! reader • series masterlist.

Summary: Your mom's new fiancé, Joel Miller, is the kind of man you could never shake out of your mind—rugged, rough, and embodiment of your long-buried fantasies. He's been your next-door neighbor for years, and the crush you harbored through your teenage years never really faded. Now, he's with your mom, and they're planning to get married. You should want her to be happy, but you can't ignore the tension growing between you and Joel. It's something that was never meant to happen. But as you uncover Joel's true motives for being with your mom, you realize maybe your feelings weren't one-sided after all. And maybe, despite everything, you’re the one he really wants. Tags: stepcest kind of, age gap (reader is in her mid 20s and joel in his mid 40s), forbidden romance, emotional conflict, complicated family dynamics, heartbreak, ANGST, cheating, infidelity, betrayal, talk about divorce, no one owning up to what they really do, main characters get their happy ending... OR DO THEY?! >:) /ᐠ - ˕ -マ⁩ authors note 𑁯 ✿ im baaack !! last part baby!!! kind of. you'll see >:) until then enjoy this mumbled mess of 4.63k words bunnies! thank you for the immense support on this series. excuse any grammatical errors <//3

Her words hit you like a tidal wave, leaving you gasping for air. You watched as she paced the room, trembling with the weight of her anger and heartbreak. “You don’t know what love is!” she snapped, her voice breaking. “Love isn’t sneaking around, tearing apart the people who trust you the most. Love isn’t ruining your family because you can’t control yourself.”

Your chest tightened, the sting of her words cutting deep. “I didn’t plan for this to happen,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “It wasn’t like I set out to hurt you—”

“But you did,” she interrupted, her voice cracking. “You hurt me in the worst way possible. You betrayed me with the one person who was supposed to be on my side. How am I supposed to live with this? How am I supposed to look at you and not see… this?”

Her words crushed you, the weight of her disappointment pressing down like an anchor. You took a step toward her, desperate to bridge the chasm growing between you. “Mom, please—”

“Don’t,” she said, holding up a hand to stop you. Her tears shimmered in the dim light, her face a portrait of devastation. “I need you to leave. Just… go.”

You froze, your heart shattering at the finality in her tone. “Mom…”

“Go!” she shouted, her voice breaking. “I can’t even look at you right now.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You turned and stumbled toward the door, the walls of the house you’d grown up in suddenly feeling foreign and cold. As you stepped outside, the chill of the night air bit at your skin, but it was nothing compared to the hollow ache inside your chest.

The slam of the door still echoed in your ears as you trudged through the dark streets, clutching your jacket tight against the biting wind. Your mind was spinning, replaying the scene over and over again—the raised voice, the look of disgust on her face, the words that burned like acid.

"You’re a liar. I don’t even know who you are anymore."

Your mother had always been sharp, but you hadn’t expected her to be cruel. Not like that.

She hadn’t even let you explain. Not really. Once she figured it out—once you admitted you were in love with Joel—it was like she couldn’t even look at you. Not forever, maybe. But you knew that in this moment, there was no going back.

You wiped at your face, but it was no use. Tears streaked your cheeks, hot and endless, cutting through the cold. You barely noticed when you reached Joel’s building. Your feet carried you up the stairs, and your fists pounded on his door before you even thought about what you’d say.

It wasn’t long before the door swung open. Joel stood there, his face tight with worry that immediately shifted into something darker when he saw you. “You told her,” he said, his voice low and heavy. You froze, your breath catching. Of course, he already knew. “I had to,” you whispered, stepping inside uninvited. “She—she guessed. She cornered me, Joel, I couldn’t—” You decided to lie. You tried to protect him from all of this. Maybe it wasn't your job or your role to do so, but this was the way to show him that it's real. that you are real, and so are all the feelings you have for him.

“You could’ve,” Joel snapped, cutting you off. He shut the door with more force than necessary. “You could’ve waited. You could’ve called me. But instead, you decided to do this on your own.” His words hit like a punch, and you stumbled over your response. “I didn’t have time—”

“That’s bullshit,” he growled, his voice rising. He took a step closer, his eyes boring into yours. “You didn’t want to wait for me. You wanted to handle it yourself, like you always do.”

“That’s not fair,” you shot back, anger bubbling up to meet his. “I didn’t plan this, Joel! She came at me, and I panicked! What was I supposed to do? Lie to her?”

“Yes!” Joel shouted, throwing his hands up. “You should’ve lied, or stalled, or done anything other than blow this whole thing wide open without me. You think this is just about you? It’s not. This affects both of us.” Your stomach twisted at his words. “You think I don’t know that?” you said, your voice trembling. “Do you think I don’t feel sick about what this means for you? For us? Joel, she kicked me out!"

He froze, his jaw tightening. “She what?”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you. “She told me to leave. Said she doesn’t even recognize me anymore. I—” Your voice broke, and you covered your face with your hands. Joel’s anger seemed to deflate all at once, replaced by something softer, though no less pained. He reached for you hesitantly, his fingers brushing your arm.

“Hey,” he said quietly, his tone rough but gentler now. “C’mere.”

You let him pull you into his arms, and the floodgates opened. You sobbed into his chest, your fists clutching at his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely. For a while, he just held you, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back. "I got you, babygirl... 'm right here." But the tension in his body hadn’t gone away, and you could feel the weight of everything left unsaid hanging between you. When your sobs finally quieted, Joel pulled back just enough to look at you. His face was etched with exhaustion and something else—something almost like regret.

“This can’t keep happening,” he said softly. “You can’t just… go off and make decisions like this without me. We’re supposed to be in this together.”

“I know,” you whispered, your voice raw. “I’m sorry. I just… I didn’t know what else to do.” Joel sighed, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “We’ll figure it out,” he said, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced. “We always do.”

But before you could respond, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You hesitated, then pulled it out, your heart sinking when you saw the name on the screen. Marjorie. Of course. Joel noticed your hesitation. “Who is it?”

“Marjorie,” you said quietly. He frowned, but said nothing as you swiped to open the message. "You should’ve thought this through", it read.

•Your mom’s already told half the town about what you’ve done. If you’d just shared a little, you wouldn’t be in this mess now. At least they'll know what a homewrecking whore you are.

The room seemed to spin, and you had to sit down before your legs gave out. Joel knelt beside you, his hand gripping yours tightly. “What is it?” he asked, his voice low and steady. You showed him the message, your hands shaking. His jaw tightened as he read it, a muscle in his cheek jumping.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered. “She’s trying to twist the knife.”

“She’s right, though,” you said, your voice barely audible. “I—I did this to myself. To us.”

“Hey,” Joel said firmly, cupping your face in his hands. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for this. You hear me, sweet girl? This isn’t on you. It’s on them. On her.” You wanted to believe him. But the weight of everything—the fallout with your mom, the shame, the fear of what came next—it was too much.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” you whispered, tears welling up again. "Maybe it don't need fixin'.." Joel’s expression softened, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “We’ll figure it out,” he said again. “One step at a time. But you’ve got to let me in. No more shutting me out.”

The road ahead felt impossibly long, the cracks in your relationship with Joel deep and jagged. But as he held you close, his arms steady and sure, you let yourself hope.

the nigh faded as your lids finally closed, the soft whispers of Joel a blanket over your tensed body. Finally, you fall asleep, escaping this day, hoping that when you wake up It'll all turn out to be a bad dream.

But as the night fell upon, you so did the day.

Joel stood on the doorstep, fists clenched at his sides. The brisk wind carried the faint scent of pine from the trees lining the street. He stared at the door in front of him, steeling himself for what he knew was coming. When your mother opened the door, her face immediately twisted into a scowl. “You’ve got some nerve showing up here,” she spat. Joel held her gaze, his jaw tight. “We need to talk.”

“Oh, we do?” she snapped, stepping onto the porch and crossing her arms. “You’ve said enough, Joel. Or maybe not—seems like you were too busy seducing my daughter to give me the full picture.” Joel winced, but he didn’t look away. “I didn’t come here to fight with you.”

“Then what do you want?” she shot back, her voice rising. “To explain yourself? To justify this—this shit?”

“I want to make things right,” Joel said, his tone measured. “For her. She doesn’t deserve this.”

“Don’t you dare pretend this is about her,” she snapped, her eyes narrowing. “This is about you. About your selfishness, your inability to think about anyone but yourself.” Joel’s hands curled into fists at his sides, but he forced himself to stay calm. “I know you’re angry—”

“Angry?” Her voice grew louder, trembling with indignation. “Angry doesn’t even begin to cover it! Do you have any idea what you’ve done, Joel? My daughter—your stepdaughter. Do you even hear yourself?” Joel’s shoulders sagged slightly, but his resolve didn’t falter. “It’s not what you think—”

“Oh, really?” she interrupted, her laugh sharp and bitter. “Then explain it to me, Joel. Enlighten me, because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve been fucking her this whole time.” His head snapped up, and his voice took on a dangerous edge. “That’s not what happened.”

“Then what?” she demanded, stepping closer. “You ‘accidentally’ fell for her? And so did your dick inside of her? Was this why you got so close to her? Why you were so ‘supportive’ all of a sudden? Because you wanted her?” Joel’s chest rose and fell heavily. “I didn’t plan this,” he said, his voice low but firm. “It just happened. She’s not a child, and this wasn’t some sick—”

“Don’t you dare try to justify this!” she hissed, cutting him off again. “You’re supposed to be her father. You were supposed to protect her—not—” Her voice cracked, and she had to look away, blinking rapidly. "Oh my god."

Joel stepped forward, his voice softening. “I never meant to hurt anyone.” She glared at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You think that makes it better? That it wasn’t ‘on purpose’? My God, Joel—this is why you married me, isn’t it?”

His brow furrowed, and for a moment, he looked genuinely taken aback. “What?” She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “It makes sense now. You didn’t want me. You wanted her. You saw an opportunity, and you—” Her voice broke again, and she turned away, her hand pressed to her mouth. “That’s not true,” Joel said firmly, his voice rising just slightly. “I loved you. I cared about this family. I—”

“You used this family,” she snapped, spinning back around to face him. “And don’t you dare pretend otherwise. You’ve destroyed everything, Joel. Do you understand that? Everything. And for what?”

Joel’s expression hardened, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “For love,” he said, his voice rough. “I love her. And you can hate me for it all you want, but that’s the truth.” Her mouth fell open slightly, disbelief etched across her face. For a moment, the only sound was the wind rustling through the trees.

“You’re disgusting,” she finally said, her voice quiet but laced with venom. “Do you know what people are saying? What they’re going to say? You’ve ruined her, Joel. You’ve ruined her life, and you don't even understand."

Joel’s throat tightened, and his heart sank with every word that came from her mouth. “I never meant to hurt her,” he said again, his voice thick with emotion. He took a step forward, desperate to make her understand. “I never meant for any of this to happen. I love her, but I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I never wanted to destroy this family.” The words seemed to hit her like a slap. She blinked rapidly, as though trying to keep the tears at bay, but they came anyway—one by one, streaming down her face. “You already have, Joel,” she whispered.

There was a heavy silence between them. The weight of everything that had happened hung in the air like an oppressive cloud. Joel wanted to reach out, to comfort her somehow, but he knew he couldn’t. Not now.

Her eyes narrowed, and her voice was cold, almost venomous. “You’re not going to get away with this. I’ll make sure of it. I’m telling everyone. I’ve already told people, Joel. You don’t get to just pretend this didn’t happen, that it’s all okay. I will make sure everyone knows what you’ve done.”

His blood ran cold. “You can’t—”

“I will,” she spat. Joel stood there. He wanted to scream, to argue, but the truth hung there. He had screwed up. And he knew that.

“I didn’t want this to happen. You have to believe me,” he said hoarsely, voice cracking. “I was trying to be there for her. I—I never wanted to hurt her or you. It just—it just happened. And I don’t know what to do, but I swear, I never meant for it to go this far.” She crossed her arms tightly, her eyes flashing with anger and hurt. “You never meant it, Joel? Then why did you let it happen? Why didn’t you stop? You could’ve stopped. You could’ve walked away.

His throat felt tight, constricted with guilt, but he refused to back down. “Because I couldn’t.” Her lip trembled, but she quickly bit it, hiding the emotion that flickered there. She took a deep breath, then looked him square in the eyes. “I want you to leave. Now.”

The command was sharp, final. Joel hesitated, his gaze lingering on her, and then he nodded—slowly. He wasn’t sure what else to say. There were no more words that could fix this, not right now. He turned, heading for the door, the weight of everything pressing down on him with each step.

He felt sick.

With one final glance at the door he’d just walked away from, he turned and walked down the street, away from the house, away from everything. His mind raced with a thousand thoughts, but none of them made sense.

He had destroyed everything.

And now, there was no going back.

Joel had just come back from a supply run, the door clicking shut behind him. You glanced up from the couch, where you’d been sitting in silence, staring blankly at a book you weren’t really reading. He dropped the grocery bag on the counter, pausing before he looked at you.

“You’ve barely eaten,” he said, his voice rough but laced with concern. You shrugged, hugging your knees to your chest. “Not hungry.” He let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself, baby. I know it’s hard, but we’re in this together. You know that, don’t you?”

You looked at him then, searching his face for something—reassurance, maybe, or a sense that he really believed what he was saying. “Together,” you echoed, the word feeling hollow. “We might be together, but everything else is ruined, Joel. My mom hates me. She hates you... And everyone else knows now too."

Running away now sounds about right.

Joel crossed the room, sitting on the edge of the couch. “Your mom’s angry. She’s hurt. But she’ll come around. And whatever others say... Fuck 'em.” You shook your head, tears pricking your eyes. “She won’t, Joel. Not after what she said. Not after what we did.”

“She doesn’t get to judge us,” he said firmly, his voice low. “She can be angry all she wants, but we didn’t do this to hurt her. We didn’t plan for any of this.” You flinched at his words. “That doesn’t make it okay. We still—Joel, we still had an affair. We lied to her. I lied to her... and I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

Joel reached out, his hand brushing against yours. “You’re the same person you’ve always been...My sweet 'n smart girl. And you’re not alone in this. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

You looked at him, his eyes filled with determination and tears. He meant it—every word. But that didn’t erase the reality of what had happened. It didn’t change the fact that you’d hurt someone you both cared about, even if that love had long since soured.

“Do you regret it?” you asked suddenly, the words spilling out before you could stop them. Your voice trembled, barely audible. “Do you regret... us?” Joel froze, his hand tightening around yours. For a moment, you thought he might say yes—that he’d take it all back if he could. But then he shook his head, his voice resolute.

“No,” he said. “I don’t regret loving you. I can’t. But I hate how it happened. I hate what it’s done to you—to us.” Tears slipped down your cheeks, and he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly. You buried your face in his chest, letting yourself cry for everything you’d lost—for the family you’d broken and the love that had brought you here. “I’m scared, Joel,” you whispered. “What if it’s not enough? What if we’re not enough?” His arms tightened around you, his voice soft but unwavering. “We’ll figure it out. One day at a time, baby.”

You wait for the moon to rise and hug you.

Tonight, as the moonlight filtered through the thin curtains in his bedroom, you realized you couldn’t stay here anymore. Not in this town. Not surrounded by the memories of everything you’d lost.

Joel was beside you, his breathing steady but shallow. He’d fallen asleep sitting against the headboard, a book forgotten in his lap. His brow was furrowed, even in rest. You stared at him for a long moment before gently nudging his shoulder. “Joel,” you whispered. He stirred, his eyes fluttering open. For a second, he looked confused, but then his gaze softened when he saw you. “Hey, sweetheart. You okay?”

You nodded but didn’t answer right away. Instead, you sat up, crossing your legs and pulling the blanket over them. Joel straightened, too, setting the book aside and giving you his full attention.

“There’s something I’ve been thinking about,” you started. Joel tilted his head slightly. “What’s that?”

You took a deep breath, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess yourself. “Why don’t we leave? Just... pack up and go somewhere else. Start over. There’s nothing keeping me here, Joel. Not anymore. We could move, get away from all this, and just... be us. We could have a life, a family of our own. Isn’t that what we’ve always wanted?”

Joel’s eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. You could see the wheels turning in his mind, the way he was trying to process what you’d just said. “You want to leave?” he asked finally, his voice low.

You nodded. “I can’t stay here, Joel. Not after everything. Everyone knows. They’re all talking about us, judging us. I can’t go anywhere without feeling their eyes on me. And my mom... She’s made it clear I’m not welcome. But we don’t have to stay. We could go somewhere no one knows us. Start fresh.”

Joel rubbed a hand over his face, his jaw tightening. “I don’t know, darlin’. Moving... It’s a big decision. And what about you? Your work, your friends?”

“They’re not my friends anymore,” you said bitterly, the sting of betrayal still fresh. “If they ever were, they’re sure not now. And work... I can find something else. None of that matters, Joel. All that matters is us. If we stay here, this will follow us forever. But if we leave, we can leave all this behind.” His shoulders slumped slightly, and he looked at you; sadness and longing. “You really think running away’s the answer?”

“It’s not running away,” you argued gently. “It’s starting over. Joel, you said we’d figure this out together. This is how we do it! We can’t change what happened, but we can choose what happens next. And I choose you.”

The room was silent except for the faint hum of the air conditioner. Joel’s gaze locked on yours, and you could see the battle raging inside him. He wanted what you were offering—a chance to leave this mess behind, to build a life with you. But he was also scared of the unknown and the risks that came with it.

Finally, he reached out, his hand covering yours. “If this is what you want,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “then we’ll do it. We’ll leave. Wherever you wanna go, I’ll follow.”

Relief flooded through you, and a tear slipped down your cheek as you threw your arms around him. “Thank you,” you murmured against his shoulder. “Thank you..." He held you tightly, his lips brushing the top of your head. “You’re all I’ve got, darlin’. I’d go anywhere for you.”

That was enough. It had to be.

The hum of the apartment felt suffocating, but there was a strange comfort in it, too. You’d been in the same place for so long, yet now, every little sound—the refrigerator humming, the quiet ticking of the clock on the wall—felt like a reminder of everything that had fallen apart. The town that had been home for so many years now felt like a prison, a place where the whispers never stopped, and the eyes of judgment followed you wherever you went.

But you weren’t staying here. You couldn’t stay here. You were both looking for a way out. Maybe you more than him.

Joel had been working overtime, pushing through his job, despite the whispers about him at work—the rumors that now tainted his every conversation. His job, the stares, the small-town gossip— it all got to him. to both of you.

As for you, you had quit yours. There wasn’t any point in pretending anymore. Your coworkers had given you that look— the one that said they knew but couldn’t talk about it openly. You didn’t need that anymore. You didn’t need to keep hiding in a job that felt more like a cage than an opportunity.

What you needed was space. You needed to leave. To escape. To start somewhere far away from here.

You stood by the counter, stirring a pot of vegetable soup as the familiar sounds of the apartment surrounded you. You were tired. Tired of hiding. Tired of fighting for something that had no resolve. It should’ve been an easy answer. You knew this would happen, how it would end up. And you could see it in Joel’s eyes, too. But every time you thought about leaving, about getting out of this town where everyone knew too much, there was a brief moment of hope. A spark. What if this was the first step toward something real? Toward a life that was just yours? Was it that horrible you wanted to he happy despite what you had done?

You let out a deep breath, your thoughts interrupted as Joel stepped into the kitchen, his tired eyes locking onto yours.

"Hi, baby." he murmured, his voice a little rough from the long day. You turned to him, a smile tugging at your lips despite the exhaustion that had been weighing on you. “Hi,” you said softly, and before you could say anything more, he closed the space between you. Joel’s arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you against him as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, then your temple. “Missed you,” he said, his lips brushing against your skin. “Every damn minute I was at work, all I could think about was gettin' home to you.”

You laughed quietly, resting your hands on his chest. “You’re such a sap,” you teased, but there was no bite in your words—just warmth, just the comfort of knowing he was here. “Only for you,” Joel replied, a smirk playing on his lips as he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. His thumb brushed over your cheek, and his expression softened. “You’re my whole world, baby. Don’t you know that by now?”

Your chest tightened, but in the best way. You nodded, leaning into his touch. “I think I do,” you whispered. Joel’s smile grew, and he leaned down to kiss you—slow and sweet, the kind of kiss that made the rest of the world falter away. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and his hands stayed firm on your waist like he couldn’t bear to let go.

“We’re really doing this..?” you said. “We’re leaving. Packing up and going to a whole new place..."

“Damn right we are,” his voice was steady. “We got that apartment a few towns over...with the balcony and all that sunlight you love so much, could maybe get a puppy too, who knows? It’s ours now. We’re making this happen.”

"Or a kitty." you giggle. "Whatever you want, angel. anything you want." You nodded, a smile breaking across your face. Your future home. Yours and Joel's. For how unreal it sounded, it felt like a lifeline. It was small but perfect, tucked away in a quiet area where no one would know your names. It was far enough from here that the whispers, the judgment, and the past couldn’t follow. It was everything you both needed. “I still can’t believe they approved us,” you said, shaking your head with a quiet laugh. “It feels too good to be true.” Joel chuckled, pulling you tighter against him. “Believe it, baby. It’s happening. And I can’t wait to see you in it. Can’t wait to start a real life with you..." he trails off, palm settling on your lower belly and, oh, butterflies bloom into your stomach. His words made your chest ache. He leaned down to kiss you again, his hands moving up to cradle your face. The kiss was longer this time, deeper, like he was trying to pour everything he felt for you into it. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were shining. “We’ll start packing this weekend,” he said, his tone laced with excitement. “I’ve already started thinking about how to load the truck. Gonna make sure all your stuff’s safe, no scratches or anythin'.” You laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck. “You’re so practical.”

“Hey, someone’s gotta be,” he teased, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “But seriously, I want you to feel at home there. I want it to be everything you’ve ever wanted. Hell, I don’t care if we’re in a shoebox as long as it’s with you.” Your throat tightened at his words, and you buried your face in his chest, holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. “I love you,” you said softly. Joel’s hand came up to tangle in your hair, and he pressed his lips to the top of your head. “I love you, baby. More than anything.” it seemed real enough for you.

For a while, the two of you just stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, letting the warmth of the moment settle around you. You weren’t just running from something anymore, or someone. You were running toward something— together. And it was wrong, yes, and maybe karma will eventually make it's way to you, but until then this was your chance to be happy.

taglist ⭐️ ㅡ @eviispunk @joeldjarin @whimsiwitchy @guelyury @untamedheart81 @dollyxzy @mybvalentine @am-3-thyst @cuteanimalmama @corinnedollete @lovely-vamp-princess

[vervainandspritz]

HEADCANONS - what would he do to get you in the mood?

Characters: Lenny Miller, Jonathan Crane, Robert Fischer, Jackson Rippner, Raymond Leon, Emmett (TQPII), Tommy Shelby,

A/N: Requested by @lau219 ,y'all feel free to send requests.

~~

Lenny Miller - Leonard is an experienced man, he knows how to get his way around Y/N. Pretty frequently on his way home, he would already have a rough plan on the evening ahead of them. Sometimes grabbing a bouquet of flowers in the nearby florist shop or a bottle of wine. After coming home, Lenny impatiently would find her around the house, searching for any physical contact he could get. "Did you miss me like I missed you?" He'd ask her in that velvety voice, thumbs rubbing up and down on the little crevice of her hips, almost teasing. Sometimes they end up sitting on the couch, Y/N's feet on his lap as she told him all about her day, while Leonard listened and gave her a massage, hands barely visibly moving higher with each stroke. "Poor girl" He liked to tease, closing the proximity once his pants became too tight in a crotch from the simple touches. "Left you all alone here" From that point, he didn't play coy. Knowing all the right spots to touch, he effortlessly kept making her go soft, almost putty in his hands.

~

Jonathan Crane - Jonathan's methods differed depending on the mood he was in. Sometimes days in Arkham were more difficult than the others, and so his patience ran thin. He'd come back home abruptly, peeling the layers of clothing away. The way he'd press his bare, hot chest against Y/N's back, searching closeness he could get only from her. "Was it a bad day?" She would ask, turning around to face him. Sometimes it would all start from the touch as innocent as holding hands, when he'd direct her hand to his cheek, steely blue eyes carefully studying her body covered in the clothes she was wearing. Pulling her closer till their fronts would connect, and she'd feel the proof of his urgency. His own hands landing on her back, massaging the skin and pulling her against his chest while simultaneously hiding his face in her neck. The way she'd feel him so intensely slightly trembling, connected with shivering delightfully from how his hot breath bounced off her skin could come off as symptoms of fear to a mind so great in his very major.

~

Robert Fischer - Robert's favourite way of showing affection would come on display as soon as he made it through the door. He thoroughly enjoyed the ability Y/N taught him - talking. Using words of affection was one of the greatest joys for both of them, after all the time it took for him to get used to doing so. "I couldn't stop thinking about you. Missed you so much" He spoke softly into her ear, the vulnerable tone of his voice showing nothing but honesty. Y/N immediately mirrored his mood most of the time, growing warm in his embrace. In a couple swift movements he'd gain access to her skin, caressing it delicately while simultaneously holding her gaze. "I need you" he'd confess quietly, leaning to capture her lips in a kiss so needy, Y/N could barely breathe.

~

Jackson Rippner - Jackson was anything but patient when this urge would hit. It wouldn't matter whether she was busy or not, his hot hands would grasp her hips, often pressing her against something to gain control. Leaning down to graze his nose against the sensitive skin of her neck, taking in the scent that never failed to make him hard. "Jackson, I'm busy" Y/N would sometimes manage to stutter out, feeling the heavy weight of his body against her back. A quiet chuckle would push past his lips, as he pressed harder. "What can possibly be more important than taking care of your man?" His voice would come off arrogant, often purposely. Knowing how well it worked on working her up. His roughed up hands would move higher, barely brushing against her breasts to come resting on her throat, not squeezing just yet. "Feel what you do to me, sweetheart?" He'd growl, nearly on the edge of just... Bending her over the desk and taking what he wanted. Giving her throat a little squeeze, he'd quickly reach between her legs, getting a hold of her. Jackson's lips would stretch into an arrogant grin as he'd feel the wetness beneath her panties. Lightly rubbing against her covered slit, he'd lean closer to whisper. "So wet and needy. I'll give you what you need, but you owe me one, hmm?"

~

Raymond Leon - Raymond wasn't one to ask, not to.. talk too much. He liked to use the advantage of how easily bothered Y/N would get seeing him like that. "What are you doing?" he'd ask like it mattered, leaning on the counter, crossing his arms over his bare chest. His scent and warmth would be enough to make her notice the close proximity, causing Y/N to squeeze her thighs together lightly. Not going unnoticed under his watchful gaze, as he'd keep looking at her, knowing well she could feel him watching. Brushing his arm lightly against hers, he'd move around pretending to be busy before finally having her cornered. She'd be breathing heavily, eyes taking greedily the sight of his bare, freckles skin and muscles on his torso. Sooner or later his hands would end up on her face, pulling her closer. Their noses brushing against each other as he'd smile, looking deeply into her eyes. "What got you so bothered, honey?" Raymond would ask, because even though he hated talking, he secretly loved hearing her talk.

~

Emmett - His favourite thing to get Y/N in the mood would always be kissing. He'd lean in for a kiss, his arms wrapping tightly around her middle to keep her in place. The deep groans leaving his lips would echo in her stomach, making the heat pool to the lower side of it. "So beautiful" He'd murmur in a deep voice, keeping her lips occupied with his own while slowly touching and grasping every inch of her skin he could get to. "Emmett–" Y/N's whiny voice would never cease to make him lightheaded as he moved lower, kissing a trail they both knew by heart already. "Keep saying it, baby. Keep saying my name" His voice was rougher with lust as he kept her legs apart, kissing her stomach and hips. She had a hard time staying still, squirming needily in his grasp. "Come here.." He cooed, looking her in the eyes as his face moved closer to where she needed him the most. "Let me take care of you" Emmett whispered, as his face leaned down, diving between her legs.

~

Tommy Shelby - Thomas loved the control he secretly held over Y/N when it comes to her needs. Being so fluent in directing them with his touch or affection. The way she'd move around, doing her own thing while pretending to not feel how he looked at her. "Come here, darling" He'd eventually call out, patting his thigh. He'd use the close proximity to look her in the eyes, encouraging to talk about her whereabouts when he was at work, while petting her thighs lightly. He touched and felt, eyes following the tender lines of her body beneath the clothes she wore. He'd proceed to touch caress her cheeks, pulling her closer as he murmured how beautiful she was. Y/N could never remain unaffected under his rough fingers and soft words, leaning into his touch with a sigh. "You're my good girl, aren't you? Always so good for me." He purred, feeling how fast her heartbeat became under the weight of his seductive words. He'd gently rub her inner thighs, before parting her legs and letting his hands claim what was his Swallowing every cry that would come out of her mouth not longer after, as she writhed on his lap in orgasmic spasms.

[shybluebirdninja]

FADING BONDS: PART 3

Summary: Two broken souls—Logan, an aging hero, and a young woman overlooked by her own family—find solace in each other’s silent company, forming an unexpected connection that challenges their emotional walls.

Pairing            : UberDriver!Logan x Fem!Reader

Genre              : Angst, Fluff

You stand outside his door, your hands trembling from the fight you just had with your parents. Your chest is tight, each breath feels like a struggle, and all you want is to disappear. But instead, you find yourself here, at his place—Logan’s place.

The door creaks open, and there he is, standing there with that rough, weathered look. His eyes are sharp, like always, but there's something softer in them tonight. He sees you, really sees you. It's different. No questions. No judgments.

“What's up?” he says, voice gravelly and tired, like he hasn’t slept in days.

He scratches at the scruff on his chin, like this isn’t anything out of the ordinary. Like he doesn’t mind you showing up at his door, looking like you've been through hell.

“I... I just needed a place to go,” you manage to get out, your voice shaky, barely above a whisper.

You don’t know what you’re doing here. Hell, he probably doesn’t know either, but there’s nowhere else to be. Nowhere that feels safe.

He steps aside, his hand gripping the door just a little too tight, knuckles white like he’s holding something back. “Yeah. Come in.”

You walk past him, and the smell of cigarettes and old whiskey hits you—familiar, oddly comforting. The place is a mess, but it suits him. Scattered bottles, a couple of plates on the table. Nothing fancy, just... survival.

He doesn’t say anything as you sit on the couch, your legs barely supporting you anymore. You’re trying not to cry, but your throat’s burning. Everything’s been a mess. Your life, your family... they just don’t get it. They don’t get you.

For a while, there’s nothing but silence between you two. It's heavy, but it's the kind of silence you can breathe in, where you don’t have to pretend.

“I had a fight,” you say, the words falling out of your mouth before you can stop them. “With my family. Again. They just... they don’t see me. Like, at all.”

Logan doesn’t look at you right away. He stares at the floor, his hands resting on his knees.

“Families are... tricky,” he mutters, his voice low and rough, like he's been through this conversation a thousand times before.

“Yeah, tricky,” you laugh bitterly. “They see my sister. She’s everything they wanted. Me? I’m... I’m just in the way.” You pause, wiping away the tear that managed to escape. “I feel like I don’t belong anywhere.”

Logan lets out a sigh, a deep one that sounds like it’s coming from years of holding shit in.

“Charles and Caliban used to say I belonged. I didn’t believe them. Never really felt like I fit anywhere. Even with the X-Men.” He chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. “Guess it don’t matter now. They’re all gone.”

The room feels colder after he says that. Charles... Caliban... they were more than just names to him. You can see it in the way his eyes darken, how his fists tighten like he’s trying to hold onto something that slipped away a long time ago.

You reach out, your fingers brushing against his hand. It’s an instinct, but it feels like the right one. He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t flinch. Just stares down at your hand on his, his skin rough and calloused from years of fighting, from losing.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, because what else can you say?

He looks up at you, and for the first time, you see the cracks in his armor, the vulnerability he’s been hiding behind that gruff exterior.

“Don’t be,” he says softly, voice breaking just a little. “We’re all broken in some way.”

The room’s too quiet again. The kind of quiet that makes you feel everything at once.

And then, before you even realize what’s happening, you’re crying. Really crying. The kind of sobs that shake your whole body, the ones you’ve been holding back for too long. You don’t even know if it’s about your family or him or yourself—maybe all of it.

Logan shifts closer, hesitant, unsure, but then his hand is on your back, rubbing slow circles like he’s trying to comfort you, but he’s just as lost in this moment as you are. He’s not used to this—comforting anyone, being close to anyone.

“You’re not alone,” he says, voice almost a whisper now, like he’s saying it more to himself than to you.

His hand moves to your face, his thumb wiping away the tears. It’s the gentlest thing he’s ever done, and it hits you hard, how soft he can be when the world’s been nothing but cruel to him.

In that moment, something shifts. You look up at him, your faces inches apart. There's a rawness between you two, a vulnerability you both desperately need but are too scared to fully accept.

Before you can second-guess it, you lean forward, and your lips meet his.

It’s not passionate, not desperate. It’s fragile, almost broken, like two people who’ve forgotten what it’s like to feel something real.

His hand cups your cheek, and for a second, you feel safe. Like maybe, this world hasn’t chewed you up and spit you out completely yet.

When you pull back, you see it in his eyes—he’s as scared as you are. Scared to feel, scared to need. But here you are, in this broken moment, both of you barely holding on.

Neither of you says anything. There’s nothing left to say. But in that silence, you find something you hadn’t in a long time—a reason to stay.

[mrschristensen]

The Waves of Ecstasy with Sam Monroe

NNN Masterlist

WARNINGS: eventual smut/sexual content/porn w plot (READ AT YOUR OWN RISK), female s/o, soft dom (he's whiny/desperate so maybe more like a switch) Sam but he gets just a lil mean/sub s/o, smoking (s/o isn't doing any), piv sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), passionate/slow sex, pet names/name calling (baby, princess, sweetheart, sweet girl), lmk if I missed any!

synopsis: Sam and his girlfriend (aka the light of his life) take their time getting it down, fully soaking in one another as an extent of their true, unrestrained love for each other.

WC: 811 words

It was euphoric, even if it wasn't in the most... ideal way. But it was for Sam and his girlfriend. Some sensual alternative music softly played in the background, both of them in each other's arms as he sat against the wall, smoking a cigarette. She didn't really smoke (not that she necessarily liked him doing it either since it's bad for you, but she tried not to be on his ass about it), so she was content with simply nuzzling her face into his neck.

"I fuckin' love you, y'know that?" Sam states out of the blue, his voice a little raspy as he exhales the smoke from his lungs.

Her heart swells and she smiles, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. "I love you too, Sammy. More than you know."

He smirked to himself a bit, taking another drag. He let her get away with using the absolute worst nicknames for him, but she was the only one. The only exception. If anyone else were to do it, they... wouldn't be in too great of a shape.

He leaned down and his lips met hers in a soft, slow kiss. He's in no rush, though his passion and love for her is aching inside of him, burning for her, wanting more of her and fast. However, he didn't want that; he wanted to take his time with her, to worship her and show her just how much he loved her.

They both panted, gasped and moaned as he fluidly thrust into her at an agonizingly slow pace, noises of pleasure escaping their lips involuntarily. He reaches his hand up to meet hers, intertwining their fingers and squeezing her hand a bit before basically pinning it there with his weight.

"Sam," she breathed, and he rested his forehead against hers, grunting softly as he continued to move in and out of her wet cunt.

"I know, baby, I know," he breathlessly whispers, cupping her cheek with his free hand and kissing her once more.

He then started to speed up a little and causing her to moan a bit louder, but just a little, not much. It only made them more desperate for each other, and by the cocky look on Sam's face when he could read that she was feeling the same way, it was that way on purpose.

"Stop teasing me," she whines, moving her face towards his as if she was longing for him. It made him chuckle and wear that prideful smirk once more, pulling his head back just to lean back in and trail kisses along her neck and collarbone.

"You know you like it," he responds, speeding up just a smidge more, "and I wanna take my time with you, princess. Because honestly, I don't think you got not one clue how much I actually love you."

Her heart warms at his words, just wanting to crash her lips onto his, but his hand travels down her body—the other still tightly holding hers—and making its way to her clit, rubbing slow yet tight circles on the little bud. The added simulation made her gasp, and, to her surprise, made her get closer to an impending orgasm.

"There y'go," he pants, noticing the slight tremble of her legs start, "c'mon sweetheart, cum f'me."

He felt his own climax approaching by just watching her. When they first started dating since they were the first for one another to actually be a partner (thus meaning they were each other's firsts when it came to sex as well), he could bust by just the sight of her, and he still could. However, he was able to hold it in without much effort now, but at this very moment, it was so damn hard to. Watching her tits bounce ever so slightly with each torturous thrust, it made him see stars...

Her cry of pleasure and his name snapped him out of his trance, along with the rhythmic pulsations of her pussy throbbing around his length. He couldn't help but whimper quietly at the sensation, not even seconds later came his orgasm as well. He kept himself inside of her after all of his hot seed shot into her and painted her insides white, resting his forehead against hers once more.

"Good girl," he praised in a whisper, "you okay, sweet girl?"

She nodded slightly, the effects of her intense orgasm still coursing through her, her body occasionally twitching a little bit. She was boneless and spent, even though that was probably the slowest sex they've ever had with each other.

She goes to gently get him off and out of her, as if to get up, but he almost immediately stops her. "Don't even think I'm done with you," he breathes, "'cause that was barely even how much I fuckin' love you."

[peppymintdreams]

Twin Troubles

Andrew and Simon, Age 4

The Marston family home was quiet, almost unnaturally so, save for the faint ticking of the clock in the parlor. Silence was something their mother demanded—a house rule carved into the very walls. But silence was also a fragile thing with twin boys underfoot.

“Give it back!” Andrew’s voice rang out, sharp and indignant, shattering the stillness.

Their mother looked up from her writing desk, her pen pausing mid-sentence. Her face tightened with irritation as the muffled sound of a scuffle grew louder. She did not rush to intervene but sat for a moment, weighing whether the interruption warranted her attention.

“No! It’s mine!” Simon’s shrill reply cut through the air, forcing her hand.

With an audible sigh, she rose and walked toward the playroom, her footsteps deliberate, calculated. She stepped into the doorway, her sharp gaze falling on the boys. They were on the floor, locked in a tug-of-war over a tattered stuffed lion.

“What is this nonsense?” Her tone was cool, a blade she wielded without raising her voice.

Both boys froze, their identical faces pale as they turned to her. “Simon’s not sharing,” Andrew said quickly, his small hand gripping one of the lion’s paws.

“I had it first!” Simon protested, still holding firm.

Their mother’s eyes narrowed, her expression void of sympathy. “I don’t care who had it first,” she said, her words clipped. “You’re behaving like animals, both of you. Let go. Now.”

The twins hesitated, their hands slackening before they let the toy drop to the floor.

“Andrew, you’re four years old, not a baby. Act like it,” she said, her attention turning to the younger twin. “And you, Simon,” she continued, her gaze like ice. “You think scowling at your brother makes you superior? I assure you, it doesn’t.”

Andrew flushed, lowering his eyes to the floor. Simon fidgeted, toeing the edge of the rug.

“Clean this mess,” she instructed, motioning to the scattered toys. “I won’t tolerate chaos in this house.”

The boys moved in unison, gathering blocks and puzzle pieces in silence, the lion abandoned in the center of the room. Their mother lingered for a moment, her presence a looming weight, before turning on her heel.

As she disappeared back down the hall, Simon shot Andrew a look, his lips trembling. “She’s mad at us.”

“She’s always mad,” Andrew muttered, his small hands working methodically to stack the blocks. His voice carried none of the anger he’d shown earlier, only quiet resignation.

Simon sat down beside him, clutching one of the blocks tightly. “Do you think she hates us?”

Andrew hesitated, glancing toward the doorway to make sure they were alone. “She doesn’t hate us,” he said, though his voice lacked conviction. “She’s just… busy.”

Simon nodded slowly, though the answer seemed to satisfy neither of them. He slid the block toward Andrew, as if offering a truce.

“Let’s build the castle,” Simon whispered.

Andrew stared at him for a moment before giving a small nod. “Fine. But I’m building the towers this time.”

The two boys worked quietly, the fortress rising from the carpet in careful symmetry. Their mother never returned to check on them, and when the castle was finished, they didn’t call for her to see.

Instead, they sat together in the glow of their creation, pretending, if only for a moment, that their kingdom was their own—and that no one else’s rules applied.

P.S. Hey… hey, you! 🫵🏾 Do you want more Sakuverse gay shit? Hit that follow button and send in a request! You’ll get notifications whenever I post new fics or Sakuverse Reimagined Twist of Fate, and maybe even a chance to have your OC featured in a story.

[neuvilette-tea-party]

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨ That sinking feeling ୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

Neuvilette x GN!reader

Tags: flooding, descriptive drowning, a Melusine was hurt during that chapter, slow death, nightmare, Neuvillette being a soft king, husband Neuvillette my beloved

You cannot believe it, you refuse to believe it. But Fontaine's prophecy is unraveling before your eyes...

You shiver, frozen in place, utterly unable to move a single muscle. 

Everyone around you screams and runs and flees and pushes each other... It’s a stampede. A full panic. A mass hysteria. 

You lower your gaze as you feel something hugging your leg. A Melusine looks up at you, eyes full of fear and tears. 

“Is it... The end?” She gasps. 

You want to comfort her, to console her, to tell her everything will be all right and fine. 

But that would be lying. 

“Yes... This is it, little one...” 

Your eyes turn back to the immense tsunami heading toward Fontaine... 

The prophecy did not lie, and Neuvillette’s worst fear unfolds under your very eyes... 

You kneel to the ground and pull the trembling Melusine into your embrace, hugging her tight while everyone uselessly runs away like they could ever outrun such an event. 

The wind gets stronger and stronger, screaming into your ears. 

“Close your eyes... It will be over quickly...” You whisper as she helplessly sobs in the crook of your neck. 

“Where is Monsieur Neuvillette?” She begs. 

“Not here, sweet thing, not here...” 

You count down seconds until the waves will roll over you, ravaging everything in its path, erasing Fontaines from the maps for good. 

“I am scared, (Y/n)...” 

“Do not be, there is no use now...” But your own words cannot calm down the frenzy of your heart. 

You are absolutely terrified, but what can you do now? 

Your grip tightens around her and the wave hits you with all of its strength. 

It is cold, like a million blades stabbing into your flesh, and the pressure is too much to handle. You hold on to the precious little Melusine in your arms as the currents force you left and right, up and down, propelling you against the hard concrete of the buildings, breaking your bones. 

Your lungs scream, in complete fire by lack of air and it spreads to your throat. 

Water is everywhere, all around you, in your eyes, in your nose, your ears, your mouth, and your lungs. 

You feel your limbs losing their strength gradually and with it your grip on the little one. Your head suddenly bursts through the surface, you open your mouth wide open to swallow a big bowl of air... 

Only for another wave to force you back under the surface immediately, making you spin in every direction. In your pain and confusion, you have the realization that your hands are now empty. 

You let go of the child... 

You struggle, to no avail. The fire in your lungs is too great and you slowly lose consciousness and... 

You feel your body being shaken up. 

“(Y/N)...? (Y/n)? Wake up, mon amour! Wake up! This is a nightmare, open your eyes, mon coeur...” A gentle hand comes caressing your cheek, “Look at me, mon amour.” 

You open your eyes full of tears in the darkness of a room, a single moon’s ray piercing through the parted curtains. Neuvillette looks down at you, worry in his eyes as he holds your body tight in his arms. 

“... Neuvillette?” You gasp, tears rolling down your cheeks. 

“I am here, mon coeur. You were crying and moaning. I feared you stopped breathing for a second.” He says softly, cradling your body in his embrace, “It was a nightmare, mon amour. You are safely home, with me.” 

You let your eyes wander the bedroom, grazing the dresser, the bookcase, the vanity, and the wall with your wedding pictures proudly displayed. 

You are at home. 

Safe. 

In your husband’s arms. 

You sob, gripping his arm, digging your nails into his white flesh to make sure he will not leave you alone. He pulls your head in the crook of his neck, caressing your head tenderly, letting you cry to your heart’s content, expressing your distress and tension until you are calm enough to listen to his soothing words. 

He will hold you all night if he has to... 

This is his duty and privilege as your husband. 

[whumpsoda]

WSFSP - Chaos

Masterlist

Might delete this later!

cw: pet whump, box boy universe/bbu adjacent, institutionalized slavery, romantic whumpee, conditioned whumpees, multiple whumpees, drugging mention, abuse mention, dubcon mention

——————

“Hi.”

Joey almost didn’t hear him, ear pressed to the speaker of her radio, but she saw him. Wesley was tall and lanky, something hard to miss when he was standing right in front of you.

For a moment she wondered where Graham was, always two steps behind, but realized he was more than likely still in bed. Wesley liked to sneak out alone in the early hours of the morning.

Picking up her head and resting it in the palm of her hand, she strung up a smile. She was ever so good at pretending those. “Hello.” She lightened her voice, bubbly as her ma’am would have liked it.

He didn’t seem comfortable with that. “Can I… can I sit? Please?”

“Yes.” The rest of the sentence - whatever you like - was left unsaid, yet still there in a way, like he knew she’s gritting it back. It was probably sat right there in his throat too, waiting to be set free.

He knelt in the chair, knees bumping on the wood, sat uncomfortably. She was never like that herself, her ma’am always kind enough to allow her on the furniture, but she recalled Florence doing the same.

“Do you always listen to the radio?”

“Kind of.” She said, with a nod. “A lot of the time.”

Nicely Wesley flashed a smile, a pet smile, crooking his head in her direction. “You change the- the um… the station a lot. Why?”

“I’m just…,” biting her lip she turned away, “just looking for something.”

“What is it?” He pressed, resting his chin on his arms, crossed over the table. He seemed interested, curiosity painted over his expression. An innocent curiosity, not stemming from a rotting place of malice.

“My lady.”

“Oh.” He said, rolling that around in his head for a moment, before nodding. He refrained from looking her in the eye. “I- I kind of thought that.” Wesley paused for a moment, his lack of social skills obviously not preparing him for what to continue with. “Do you think you’ll find her?”

Tipping her head, she shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“Do you want to?”

“I’d rather not answer that.” She wasn’t so sure she had a satisfactory answer, or any answer at all. Definitely not one that could be put into words.

He bit at his lip, fingers curling into fists.“Sorry. Sorry.”

“You’re fine.”

“I don’t know if I want to see my sir again.” He said, quick and nearly a mumble, working his jaw.

“Mm.”

“I miss him… a lot. A lot, a lot. I think.” Gaze glazing over, Wesley had a little glint in his eye that made him look as if he was about to cry. “Do you think he would hate me now? If he knew I let you guys take me away and… and make me this?”

“I dunno.”

“I… hope he wouldn’t. I don’t like it when sir is mad at me.” Then he sounded like a child, one wishing their parent would not be angry with them instead of a human pet with a sir.

“I don’t think any pet wants their owner mad at them.” Joey’s smile was gone then, dropped in favor of the circumstances. “My ma’am… she got scary when she was angry. Violent.”

He lit up, almost with a strange excitement. “My sir, um, he made me lick his shoes once.” Giggling at his own words, it was out of place, but she was not unnerved.

“My lady liked to force me to eat until I threw up. Like cake and stuff. I hate cake.”

“My sir,” he was chuckling just thinking about it, “he’d give me this medicine that made me feel all weird and sleepy, and then dress me up funny. I can’t remember anything after that.”

Swallowing, she curled his hand into hers. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Wesley. You didn’t deserve any of that.” She thought maybe it was something he needed to hear, sounding just like Isaac.

He was surprised by that. “But- but it’s funny… I was bad. I didn’t mean to-,” his lip trembled as he paused, holding himself back. She tightened her grip on his hand, and he copied her in return.

As he blinked back tears she said, “It’s okay, you can cry.” And he did just that.

A moment later, “Wesley?” Graham called, words shaky, rushing out from their room until he found his companion. Soon enough, he switched to Joey. “Why is he- what did you do?”

“We were just talking, Graham.” She said, as calm as she possibly could with a beast baring his teeth at her.

He didn’t believe her, not one bit. “Did you- have you hurt him? Is he hurt? What did you do?”

Rufus stood to his feet, reaching out a hand in his best attempt to calm Graham down. “She- she didn’t-,”

“Hey-!” He picked her up by the armpits, pinning her to the wall. “I didn’t-!”

“Tell me what you did!” He shouted this time, Joey blinking as bits of spittle splattered onto her scrunched expression.

Her hands were gripped to his arms, wriggling her best out of his hold. “Calm the fuck down!”

“What’s going on?” Florence entered the scene then - Otis hanging back behind the doorway - rushing in wearing pajamas, eyes falling wide as they settled on the fuss. “Get off’a her!”

Wesley looked between the group, fear clearly stuffing up his face. “Please don’t- he’s just confused-!”

“Don’t touch him!” Graham snarled at Joey, blinded by aggression, shoving Florence away and allowing her to slump to the floor.

”Don’t fucking touch her!” Florence, a good deal smaller than Graham, continued to stand his ground as the newer rescue let a growl rumble from his throat.

The front door slammed shut, bags of groceries disregarded swift to the countertop. “Hey, hey, hey! What are you people doing?” Isaac threw herself between them, both Florence and Graham backing away.

Joey bit her lip, rubbing at her shoulder. Florence and Graham were staring daggers at one another. Otis looked on the verge of tears.

“I was,” Wesley started, brushing away at his tear stained cheeks, “with J- Joey, and Graham thought she hurt me ‘cause I was crying, and-,”

“Yeah, and he fucking attacked her!” Florence threw his hands in the air, yelling.

“Hey! Wesley’s speaking, please show him some respect-,”

Isaac made a mistake. A grave one at that, palm clamping right over her mouth with a hitch of breath.

All five rescues dropped to the floor, all in the same position, each rigid and stone cold as they pressed their foreheads to the wood. Sucking in a breath, each rescue rushing through the horrors in their head, the air fell silent.

Hey, pet. You think you’re all that ‘cause my momma liked you? Do us all a favor and give me my rightful respect.

Don’t you dare ever speak to me that way, dog. You’re a fucking animal that needs to learn the basics of respect.

You don’t want to, Princey? Really? And when have I, or really anyone for that matter, ever cared what you wanted? I think you should show some respect.

You’re just a dirty mutt with rocks for brains, and I’m sure you’re aware. Do you want to go back in the dog house, or are you ready to learn to respect?

I’ve given you everything you could ever ask for, Buttons. All these sweets, a home, a name, and that is what I get? Show some fucking respect.

“God fucking dammit.”

——————

Masterlist

Taglist - @softvampirewhump @ivymyers @taterswhump @octopus-reactivated @tippytappytyping

@distracted-obsessions @starfields08000 @bitchaknso @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @scoundrelwithboba

@whumped-by-glitter @whumpering-heights @arlin-always-writing @bilightningwhumper @sharkyydoesnothing

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

[angelssvlog]

𝘼 𝘿𝘼𝙐𝙂𝙃𝙏𝙀𝙍’𝙎 𝙋𝙍𝘼𝙔𝙀𝙍

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ 𝙎𝙏𝙍𝘼𝙉𝙂𝙀 𝘿𝙍𝙀𝘼𝙈𝙎 𝜗𝜚 (part four)

Cecilia has been experiencing unusual dreams recently, following that night with Father Charlie. These dreams appear to be interconnected. Initially, they did not frighten her; however, everything changed when her dead sister, Gwen, made an appearance.

I had a very strange dream tonight…like the other nights.

I was walking through this weird hallway, all dark and narrow, I felt strangled.

Then i saw then I heard this strange voice, yet similar, it was calling me — i swear.

I followed this voice, almost angelic. I opeed opened the door. Red door. Then i saw her. It was weird at first because instead of a head it had a goats head, then the room darkened, the windows open wide and that ray of light troubled my eyes almost blinding me, she was there in front of the window viewing i don’t know what before slowly turning her head over me.

I froze, it was her. Gwen. My dead sister.

She had this melancholic stare, she never looked at me like that ever in my life.

I almost cried, i wanted to talk to her before i woke up.

What do i do father? I’m afraid.

Cecilia Jones.

Father Charlie held the letter Cecilia had sent him, crumpling it before discarding it. He then called Cecilia on his phone.

"Hey," he whispered, "I just saw the letter. You know you could have just sent me a message or made a quick call, right?" He smiled through the screen.

Cecilia replied, "My parents sometimes check my phone..." She smiled at the thought. "So no, I couldn't."

He chuckled softly, "Fair enough." His voice was deep, sending butterflies fluttering in her stomach. "Come over to my place tonight; we'll talk about your dream."

The time had come for Cecilia to prepare for her meeting with Father Charlie. She left her house, using the same excuse as always—claiming she was heading to Bible lessons. Upon her arrival, she found Father Charlie waiting for her, unchanged from that night; he was the same as ever, and she felt her usual shyness wash over her.

As they walked through the hallways, she began to share her dream. They eventually stopped in the church’s garden, taking a seat on a bench that overlooked the beautiful landscape filled with white roses and lush greenery, complete with a grand fountain at its center. Cecilia paused for a moment, her eyes wide in admiration. “Wow, Father, do you take care of all this on your own?” she asked, turning her gaze to him.

He shook his head, looking down. “I’d probably freak out, sister,” he admitted before looking back up at her. “Every Monday, people come over to clean.” He handed her a white rose.

Cecilia nodded, a little embarrassed. “Of course, sorry for the silly question… Anyway,” she continued, her tone shifting as she delved deeper into her dream. “She looked at me and smiled. I wanted to hug her one more time.” Her voice trembled, and she glanced down, tears beginning to fall as she fiddled with her fingers tearing the roses petals apart. “She tried to talk to me before I woke up.”

Father Charlie noticed her sorrow and pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly and comfortingly. She looked up at him, whispering, “I’m afraid.” He gazed down at her, gently wiping her tears away with his hand before leaning in closer. “As long as I’m here, you shall never be afraid, Cecilia,” he reassured her. Their lips met in a kiss, intertwining as if they were meant for one another. He could taste the bitterness and pain in her heart, but he was there for her—he would always be there for her.

Their love was undeniably wrong, but that only made it more special—a secret worth keeping.

EXPLORE THE PREVIOUS CHAPTERS HERE🤍

© angelssvlog 2024 — I own only this story and some characters I have created, including Sister Cecilia Jones, Gwen Jones (Cecilia's sister), Lenny Jones (Cecilia's mother), and William Jones (Cecilia's father), among others. I give credit for the remaining content to the series "Grotesquerie" by Ryan Murphy. This is the only platform where I have published the story. Please do not copy or translate it without permission or proper attribution.

[taegularities]

C&F pregnancy drabble oh me oh my because what if the oc had a difficult pregnancy and jk talking to her tummy “Please dont give your mum a hard time baby” and he’s just touching and kissing her belly all the time like WAH

OH YOU KNOW HE WOULD, YOU KNOW IT BABY HHHHHH