#She’s getting trauma sooner or later$ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

marcyvamp1re-blog · 3 months ago

Text

BUT, I LOVE IVY.

( 𝖲𝖯𝖮𝖨𝖫𝖤𝖱𝖲 ) !?

pairings ⸺Poison Ivy x Batsis! Fem! Reader

(Slight) Yandere! Batfamily x Anti-hero! Fem! Reader

This is a Headcanon!

sinopsis ⸺ When you left home, your whole life began to take on color. It wasn't an immediate change, more like those afternoons when the sun sets slowly, painting the walls with a golden light. You didn’t have a great job, you were barely getting by with what you earned, and the apartment you found had more cracks than solid walls. But somehow, none of that seemed to matter.

What filled you was freedom, that new feeling of not owing anyone an explanation. And then, there was her. Pamela, with her easy laughter and restless gaze that always seemed to be searching for something, found you. You didn’t know when it happened, but suddenly, she became the center of your small universe.

You didn’t need anything else. Her gestures filled the voids, her presence taught you to enjoy the silences. She wasn’t perfect, nor did she pretend to be. And maybe that’s what captivated you, that sincerity she had when she let her words fall, without disguising them. Life wasn’t easy, but with Pamela, the complications seemed less important, as if the chaos in which you lived became a soft melody, one you only understood when she was near.

After all, you were free, and you had her. And that, you thought, was enough.

warnings ⸺ Fluff, Girls Kissing, Dark Themes, Dead,Religion, murdering, Disturbing Content, Discrimination, Street Fights, Suicide, Violence, Blood, LGBT Content, NSFW, Sexual Content, Smut, Addiction, Trauma, Phobias.

A/N ── Here’s a headcanon of Ivy x S/O because I saw that you liked it, and since things are going to take a darker turn in the next part of Silly Little Bat, there won’t be time for romance and all that, just pure angst. This is a little gift for all your support, and thank you for encouraging me. Marceline loves you ♡

Two hearts on the floor.

One Mine,

Both Yours ♡

When you and Pamela met, you had just left the nest and were trying to become independent with trembling hands but a heart full of enthusiasm. You had landed a job at a nightclub, Super Babes, where the owner, after examining you closely, insisted that you looked like Batgirl. Without asking many questions, you found yourself wrapped in a cape and tight mask. "It's the uniform," he told you with a smile that tried to be convincing. "You'll get used to it."

What you didn't get used to were the long nights, the incredibly uncomfortable heels, and the salary that barely covered rent. No matter how kind your coworkers were and how punctual the boss was with paychecks, the math didn’t lie: sooner or later, you were going to fall behind on rent. The landlord, a man with a furtive gaze and hands always too busy on his belt, only heightened the feeling of suffocation.

The solution came with the idea of finding a roommate. After a couple of failed encounters with people who smelled like trouble or, at best, minor inconveniences, Pamela appeared.

The door opened, and she stepped in with the same calm one has when entering a private garden. She was somewhere between twenty and thirty, although, according to her, "she had just recently been reborn." When she said that, you took it as a metaphor. Later, you would realize that with Pamela, it was almost never about metaphors.

"I like the place" she said, surveying the tiny living room with a smile that seemed charmingly sincere to you.

"It has a view of the... street" you replied, trying to compensate for the lack of natural light with your enthusiasm.

She laughed, and you noticed she had an easy laugh, the kind that makes you feel comfortable instantly. Pamela wasn’t the first to respond to the ad, but she was the first decent person. And also the first to make you feel those butterflies you thought were reserved for novels.

Days passed, and gradually, what began as a quiet coexistence transformed into something more. The work nights became less burdensome when you knew that returning home would mean finding Pamela there, with a cup of hot tea in hand and some ironic observation about life. Her voice, her gestures, began to blend into your routine, and the space between you filled with something neither dared to name.

You discovered several things about her, but never in the order you would have expected. It was like finding a novel written on scattered papers, without a clear beginning and too many endings. You learned about her deaths, yes, those that left her with invisible but deep scars, caused by the betrayal of those she once called companions and, more cruelly, by human hands, those fragile hands that paradoxically carried infinite violence. She confessed to you that this life, the one she shared with you, would be her last. There would be no more resurrections, no more spectacular rebirths under fiery skies or endless vines. This life, she said, she wanted simple, almost vulgar: to be an average citizen, nothing more, nothing less.

And then it was her turn. She also learned things about you. Not everything, of course, but enough to look beyond your sporadic smiles. She knew, for example, that you had been abandoned by your adoptive family, left adrift in a house too big for your small hands. She knew about your degrees, yes, those that hung on the walls like empty trophies. She knew about your skills, those that alternated between the delicate and the violent: the dexterity of your hands, the music that flowed from your fingers, and the echo of combat that marked your skin like a second score. She also knew about your unusual desire: you wanted a bat as a pet, something as solitary as you, something that didn’t need the sun to live. And above all, she knew you didn’t want children, never, because your childhood had been too long a scar, one you didn’t wish to replicate in another life.

You both shared secrets like one drops breadcrumbs in the forest, knowing that in the end, neither would seek the way back.

Summer arrived, bringing with it a warmth on Gotham’s nights that didn’t seem to belong. As if the city, always shrouded in shadows, allowed for a moment the air to be filled with laughter and light-hearted jokes. You went for walks in the park, trying to match your pace to hers while the world continued its course around you, oblivious to the little bubble that seemed to envelop you when you were with Pamela.

But the spell broke, as it often did, abruptly. Two boys crossing the opposite path looked at you with that disdain that can only be understood from ignorance. “Look, more generic lesbians” one said, not bothering to lower his voice. "Damn, the other one looks like her sugar baby." Your heart sank with a dull thud, an echo of old fears that you could never quite bury.

Pamela noticed instantly, her attention as subtle and sharp as leaves in the wind. Without saying anything, she took your hand with a firmness that held you, not just physically, but emotionally. Her smile appeared, scornful, a gesture stronger than any word. She knew, she had always known, that you weren’t quite used to dating girls, much less with boys looking on from their comfortable blindness. She understood that every stranger's glance was for you an ajar door to the past, to that corner where doubts flourished like weeds.

But for Pamela, weeds were just another form of life. And with a gentle flick of her fingers, vines surged from the ground like green serpents, wrapping around the boys' feet and dragging them away without fuss, as if the very earth were reclaiming them.

"Wow" she said with a barely perceptible smile as she guided you toward a nearby ice cream cart.

She bought you an ice cream, one of those ridiculously themed ones, a "bat-cream" that seemed a gentle mockery of the bat that hovered over your life. And as you licked it distractedly, you felt the pressure in your chest slowly fade, swept away by the sweet taste and the comforting sensation of her hand still intertwined with yours.

Christmas was a revelation. Not because it was a holiday in itself— you had always been indifferent to those blinking lights and persistent carols— but because it was the first time you truly felt that love was not merely a concept written in books or whispered in songs, but something you could touch, almost feel, in every little gesture of Pamela, or rather, Pam, or Ivy, as she insisted you call her. And you, with that mix of disbelief and happiness that overwhelmed you, discovered in her something you struggled to find anywhere else in the world: refuge.

That Christmas also came with a kind of unexpected family. Harleen, who had recently left behind the clown prince of crime, appeared one afternoon like a whirlwind of laughter and jokes, treating you like a little sister from the very first moment. "You know, I had a hyena, did I tell you? I named it Bruce. After the hot playboy in the magazines. Is he your dad? You have to introduce me!" she said amidst laughter, and the remark drew a chuckle from you. There was something ironic and sweet about the most chaotic woman in Gotham making those kinds of absurd connections.

Selina was different. Her arrival was stealthy, like the shadow cast by a feline before it strikes, but there was no attack. On the contrary, from the moment she crossed the threshold, she looked at you with an almost maternal softness. "I met your mother," she said at some point during the night while cradling a glass of wine, and you could barely process those words. You didn’t ask more; it wasn’t necessary. In that gaze, you knew everything. Selina adopted you without saying it, with that blend of authority and tenderness that only she could conjure.

And then there was Pamela. Your Pam. Your Ivy. She was the center around which everything revolved. In those cold, bright days, everything in her presence felt perfect, a secret choreography only you could understand. She would kiss you before you left for work, always soft but with the promise of something more, something waiting for your return. And when you came back, there she was, dinner ready, always with a sermon on the wonders of protein and how vicious herbivores were. "They're worse than carnivores" she insisted with a smirk. "Grass-eaters are no better than hunters. Just trust me."

She stayed with you through every emotional crisis without fuss, without grand dramatic gestures; she simply was, and her presence made the shadows dissipate, as if her mere existence in your life was enough to bring order to your internal chaos. And she, for her part, found you fascinating. She adored you, in a way that was almost reverential, as if you were that little Bat she never thought she would love. She called you that, "my Bat," with a mix of tenderness and mischief. She knew you were small, tiny, fragile in appearance, but beneath that shy surface, she found something that intrigued her, a strength that made you unique in her eyes.

"I love you" she told you one night as she watched you from across the room, a barely formed smile on her lips. "You're so shy... but there's something in you that could change the world if you set your mind to it." And it wasn’t an empty declaration. She, more than anyone, could see what others didn’t.

Pamela didn’t just adore your shyness. She adored you, in all your forms, in your doubts, in your small acts of bravery, in every instance you faced the world and returned to her, seeking refuge.

Despite the happiness, Gotham was not always a kind place. During an outing to a music festival, the two of you became the subject of uncomfortable stares and whispers behind your backs.

However, those moments of mockery were followed by nights of hugs and laughter on the sofa, where you both sat together watching movies while you tried to find comfort in the stories of heroines who saved the world.

Life went on, and although there were moments of joy, there was something in the air that was changing. When you turned 19, you began to feel restless. One night, you went out to work, as always, with your heart full of love for Pamela and the promise of a future together. But that night, everything changed. The city was dark, and the fog seemed to have a life of its own, wrapping around you in its icy embrace.

Days and weeks passed. Pamela tried to contact you, but there were no signs of you. Desperate, she began searching for you all over Gotham, consulting her friends, Harleen and Selina. However, each attempt to find you turned into frustration and anger.

When things grew darker, Pamela became hysterical. The idea of losing you consumed her mind. But her methods were aggressive, and every lead she followed turned into a dead end.

One night, in her frenzy, Pamela confronted Batgirl, better known to you as Cassandra Cain, trying to get answers. But her erratic behavior led Batgirl to take drastic measures, and without knowing that Pamela was only searching for her sister, she put her in Arkham. The doors closed behind her, and as she fought against anxiety, the question kept echoing in her mind: where were you?

Fate had played a cruel card. While Pamela faced her own prison, you remained lost somewhere in Gotham, the echo of her name resonating in your mind like a siren's song you could not answer.

On Monday night, there was something different, a pause in the routine that allowed you to breathe more slowly. You had finished early, which was almost a luxury in Gotham. Sitting on the couch, with a forgotten tea on the table and a movie that Harleen had recommended—a romantic comedy directed by Jamie Babbit—you let yourself get carried away by the light dialogue, although you remembered the name of the director more than the plot itself. The dark green nightgown you had found at the bottom of the drawer seemed like the perfect choice for that night of respite, an old lace that had survived the test of time, as if its wear carried with it a hint of nostalgia.

"You dressed to tease me" Pamela had once said, half-laughing and half-serious, when she saw you in that garment that, in her eyes, had a spell to it. The truth was that you hadn’t planned it; that night you just wanted to be comfortable, to sink into the softness of the couch and the lethargy of the movie, but Ivy's words always lingered in the air, as if she knew something that you barely sensed.

You were halfway through the movie when you heard the familiar sound of the door opening. Ivy walked in, and the weariness on her shoulders was visible from the threshold. She moved with that natural elegance she had, but there was something heavier in her stride. Then you saw it, the bruise that hinted at her cheek, diffuse, like a shadow that had misplaced itself. You knew what it meant: another day in Gotham, another confrontation, another battle against something or someone. And yet, she said nothing, as if the pain were part of the atmosphere, something mundane that didn’t deserve to be named.

"Tough day?" you asked, your voice breaking the silence she had brought with her. Pamela didn’t respond immediately. She let herself fall beside you on the couch, her warmth enveloping you instantly. Her eyes, always green and alive, roamed you from head to toe, a spark ignited at the corner of her lips.

"Not more than usual," she finally murmured, with that mixture of weariness and desire you recognized so well. "But you... you make everything feel better." Her fingers brushed the edge of your nightgown, just a gesture, but enough to change the tone of everything in the room.

The bruise on her cheek did not diminish her strength in the slightest. On the contrary, there was something in that small imperfection that made her seem even closer, more tangible, as if for a moment, the green goddess she was had allowed herself to be human too. Her fingers slid down your arm, soft, but with the firmness you always knew would come, like vines seeking to wrap around every corner. The air grew dense, and the movie became a distant murmur, lost among the shadows of the room.

"Do you know you drive me crazy with that nightgown?" she said, leaning toward you, her voice low and husky, as if dragging behind it the echo of a desire she had been holding back all day.

"Like this?" you replied, trying to sound innocent, though the slight tremor in your voice betrayed you. Her hands were already on your waist, drawing slow circles, and the skin under the lace seemed to awaken at the touch, as if that caress were an order your body could not refuse.

Pamela smiled at you, that smile she reserved only for moments like this, intimate, private, where the masks fell away and what remained was just the shared desire. She leaned you toward her, and her warm breath mingled with yours, a barely perceptible space between both bodies.

The bruise on her cheek, the battles of the day, all of that faded when her lips touched yours, soft but urgent, as if in that kiss she wanted to reclaim lost time, the hours when she hadn’t had you close. Her hands moved with an almost mathematical precision, knowing exactly where to touch, where to press, how to make every inch of your skin respond to her will.

"You don’t know how much I needed this" she whispered against your mouth, her voice laden with a vulnerability she didn’t often show. And you, tangled in her warmth, in the weight of her body against yours, knew there was no place in the world you would rather be.

The green nightgown had fallen into oblivion, like words fall away when what matters is the language of bodies, that secret language that is spoken without being said. The whole world reduced to the space you shared, to the softness of her fingers gliding with deliberate slowness, as if each touch were a note lingering in the air. The movie, the hours passed, the murmur of Gotham outside, all dissolved into the present, into the synchronized breathing you shared, into the soft moan escaping your lips when her hands found you.

Pamela knew how to move in your body like someone walking in a garden that belongs to her; every touch was a root seeking fertile ground, every kiss, the rain awakening the dormant within you. Her lips found yours at the same rhythm as her fingers, now beyond any fabric, exploring that intimate space only she knew, that only she was allowed to discover. There was no hurry in her movements, because time, in those moments, always played in favor. Each caress, each calculated pressure, was as if she were tracing an invisible map over your skin, and you, lost and found in her hands, could only respond with the silent surrender of one who neither knows nor wants to resist.

Your legs, slightly apart, invited her to continue, to mark her territory in every corner of your body. The soft brush of her fingers on your swollen lips felt like a promise, a promise you knew she would keep, and your hands, now on her neck, tangled in her red hair, were a call to the depths, to that place where words could not follow. And when her lips parted from yours, just for a second, to gaze at you with that mix of desire and devotion, you knew that in that look was everything you needed to understand.

"Doctor Isley..." you whispered, and in the echo of that name, in the way you pronounced it, there was a surrender she recognized immediately. The smile that appeared on her lips was almost feline, satisfied, as if with that title you gave her something more than your body; you gave her the power to be whoever she wanted to be for you.

"Oh~ I like that," she replied, her voice husky, laden with desire, as her fingers, skillful and sure, began to move with exquisite precision over your core. Each touch, a small fire, each pressure, a promise fulfilled.

The air around you grew denser, as if the heat between you could ignite the room. Your breaths, ragged, mingled with whispers you no longer recognized as yours. You were an extension of her, and she of you, two bodies that recognized each other, that knew exactly how to find each other, how to lose themselves in one another without fear.

Pamela, with her lips tracing your neck, with her warm breath sending shivers down your skin, disarmed you with the ease of someone who has learned to read your silences, to understand your needs before you even did. And you, in that surrender, in that slow but inevitable dance, felt safe.

Her lips, soft as the murmur of leaves in the wind, ventured across your skin, tracing a secret map where each kiss was a promise being fulfilled, slowly, without haste. Each caress, each brush, was a silent pact between two souls that had found each other amid the vast loneliness of Gotham. And you, surrendered, were no more than a whisper in her hands, a murmur that was born and died between her fingers, between her lips.

Pamela descended slowly, with a devotion that made you tremble, her lips drawing invisible paths, leaving a trail of warmth and anticipation that coursed through you entirely. There was no urgency in her movements, only a deep love manifesting in every kiss, in every contact that seemed to say: here I am, and here I will stay. Her tongue, like an echo of her soul, found your core, that hidden place you barely knew yourself, and caressed it with the precision of one who knows every secret of your body.

The first touch was soft, almost reverent, like someone caressing a flower that has just opened to the sun. Your legs opened in an invitation that needed no words, and Pamela, with the tenderness she always had, let her mouth delve into you, exploring with infinite patience. Her tongue, which seemed to paint entire landscapes on your skin, touched you where you needed it most, with that mix of desire and tenderness only she could offer.

Every movement was a symphony, a perfect note resonating in every fiber of your being. Your body, still inexperienced in that type of pleasure, responded with little spasms, as if you were learning to feel for the first time. And amid that joy, amid the sighs and tremors, there was something deeper, something beyond desire: a fondness that enveloped everything, a certainty that in those moments you were hers, and she, without saying it, also belonged to you.

Pamela was not rushing; she knew true pleasure was not just about the body but the soul connecting in those moments of deep connection. Each time her tongue sank into you, each time her lips brushed your skin, you felt something beyond physical pleasure: you felt the love of a woman who knew you, who cared for you, and who, in that moment, loved you in a way you had never experienced before.

Your hands, trembling, clutched at her hair, as if seeking to anchor yourself to reality amid that sea of sensations. And as the rhythm of her caresses increased, as the pleasure grew within you, you knew that in that instant there was nothing else in the world. Just you, just her, and the love unfolding in whispers and soft moans.

It wasn’t just her tongue making you tremble; it wasn’t just the pleasure coursing through you in increasingly intense waves. It was the way she looked at you between each kiss, as if you were the only thing that truly mattered.

Your body shook, and the world faded away in a silent explosion, a cascade of sensations enveloping you completely. There were no words, just the echo of your ragged breathing and the warmth of her mouth still on you, claiming every part of that climax that overflowed you. Pamela, attentive, savored your ecstasy with the same devotion that had brought you there, collecting every little tremor, every sigh that escaped your lips.

Her eyes looked at you with a mix of satisfaction and tenderness, and you, with your heart still racing, knew that this was the closest thing to a confession of love you could have in that moment. Pamela loved you in that shared silence, in the brush of her skin against yours, in the way her tongue had traced a path to the deepest part of you.

But you couldn’t let the moment end just in your satisfaction. With a slow, almost feline movement, you slid between her arms and gently pushed her onto the couch, your hands already seeking the curve of her waist, the firmness of her hips. Pam looked at you with that gaze of hers, always so confident, but in her green eyes, there was a spark of expectation. She knew what was coming and accepted it with the same tranquility with which nature receives the rain.

Without saying a word, your lips found hers in a deep kiss, filled with that mix of gratitude and desire that now consumed you. Your hands roamed her body, learning her contours, every nook, every curve she allowed you to discover. You moved slowly, following the trail her lips had left on you before, but this time it was your turn to make her tremble, to return everything she had given you.

Your fingers glided over her soft skin, slowly stripping her of any barrier that remained between you. And when your lips reached her core, you paused for a moment, just to look at her, to see how her eyes closed with anticipation, how her lips parted in a sigh you already knew. Nothing more was needed than that gesture. You knew, in that instant, that she too surrendered to you, that she too was giving you something deeper than her body.

You began with a softness you knew she would appreciate. Your lips and your tongue traced slow paths, circles that became more and more precise, as you listened to her little moans, feeling how her body relaxed under your caresses. There was no hurry. The only thing that mattered was that moment, the space between you filled with whispers and shared breaths.

Pamela arched her back, her fingers tangled in your hair, and in that gesture, in the tension of her body, you knew you were bringing her closer to her own limit. And though there were no words, though the silence was only broken by her sighs, love was there, in every touch, in every slow movement of your tongue that made her tremble more and more.

"Y/n..." her voice was barely a whisper, as if saying your name were the only thing she could do at that moment. You needed nothing more. It was the signal you had been waiting for, the last vestige of control she was handing over to you, trusting, surrendering.

You continued, deeper, slower, taking her to that place where words no longer made sense, until finally, with a tremor that coursed through her entire body, Pamela let herself go. Her breathing became erratic, her back arched one last time, and then, amid that silent explosion they shared, you knew that she too had arrived.

When you finally pulled away, you slowly moved up, leaving kisses on her still warm skin, until you reached her face. She looked at you with that tenderness she always had, and without needing to say it, she made you understand that in that instant, in that space of love and pleasure, it was just you and her.

Just you and her in the world.

A/N ─── Bro, it’s super long, don’t mess with me 😭. It’s my first sapphic smut, have some patience! Honestly, I could have made it longer, but I was in panic mode like “Is this too much already?” and I freaked out, haha. This is my little gift for those who ship Poison Ivy x Reader (Silly Little Bat) because, spoiler alert, something not-so-nice is coming soon 👀💔. So enjoy while you can, because things are about to get intense... you better thank me! 😅

Don’t forget, if you want to request something, the shop is open!

Take a bath!

368 notes · View notes

canihaveacalmtime · 3 months ago

Text

Vampires like you weren't very preferable in society, to say the least. Humans and vampires have been in a pretty much not so good terms with each other for centuries, after a certain war where vampires lost, the vampires lost their place in society and have to submit to the humans.

So in order for you to survive, after gotten adopted to a human family, you try your best to 'be human' even though it is impossible, or that's what every vampire said.

Your adoptive family loves you as you return their favor by assist everyone in the household with anything that you can do. You know that what you're doing isn't really enough but sooner or later, you'll have to leave as you can not keep up with the act much more longer.

Before that day comes, you try your best to bring others the most happiest times you can. You listen to their stories and feelings, you decorate and make the atmosphere more cozy for them, you bond the siblings together more and make your adoptive parents smile more.

You also make sure that you can part yourself away from them more and more by time so that when you go, they wouldn't take notice.

Well that plan of yours soon failed when your siblings confronted you about your real identity during a late night talk. Your face went pale and time feels like frozen for you, even though your siblings said that it's alright, you were backing away from them and even attempted to jump out of the window to your siblings' horrified.

If your brother didn't held you back in time and knock you out to calm you down, you'd have gotten yourself hurt.

Your family knew you were a vampire after the few first weeks you were adopted. It was kind of obvious because you never really go outside and tend to use wood things and avoid silver. Even though they knew and was very wary of you at first, you're just a child trying to survive, clearly.

You don't hate humans, you never really did, all your life, your only goal was to survive and try to have a good life and not have to worry about being hunt by the vampire hunters or other humans.

They begin truly seeing you as their youngest and taking care of you like you were their own child and sibling. They get really amused whenever you accidentally drop your human act and pretend that they didn't notice anything, they thought that their bond with you is enough to finally tell you the truth but even though they thought that they knew you, they only knew you now, not your past or what you've seen before you were adopted.

Your reaction when they confronted you said it all. You were scared, scared that if they knew, all the torture that the other vampires went through will happen to you too and your inner traumas were born from those fears.

After the thing happened, you were scared for your life, you try to do more escape attempts but they stopped you every time. As you isolated yourself in your room, each time they burst into the room to try and get you out to eat, you refused to even go near them let alone have appetite.

It was only when they decided to use your fears against you to convince you to feed on them for blood and won't have you starve to death, you give in.

You were feeding on your mother's neck and sobbing slightly while she carries you in her arms, comforting you, telling you that it's okay, that they won't hurt you...

...as long as you don't leave them.

#calmwrites #platonic #platonic yandere #yandere #platonic yandere x reader #yandere drabble #gn reader #yandere scenarios #vampire reader

363 notes · View notes

notjustjavierpena · 1 month ago

Note

Inés just broke something in the house, what does hubby and wife say????

Mess (Drabble)

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Such a fun writing project, tysm. I missed them terribly!

Summary: Inés breaks a lamp. Javier has the scare of his life.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: Family dynamics, Javier POV, fluff, hurt/comfort, i write to fix my own trauma

Word count: 1.8k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52937182/chapters/137384134

Mess

The stack of folded clothes is growing taller whilst the laundry basket on the double bed is emptying out. Javier is enjoying a weekend with time to get housework done before midterms begin at the local college. He is nervous about guiding his students through the exams for the first time since starting his job as a teacher, feeling like he has only just begun his life as an educator and the responsibilities are overwhelming. You’ve sweetly encouraged him each time he’s voiced his concerns to you, told him that his class is lucky to have him whenever he has mumbled about nerves over dishes or during goodnight kisses.

With your support, he has found that prepping for the exams is best done accompanied by mindless work and he has gone through several tasks on the list saved in his head; groceries have been bought, gutters have been cleaned, and two full baskets of children’s clothes have been washed and dried. He doesn’t want to admit to you that he thinks about the theories behind criminal behavior while folding Sebastian’s tiny socks.

You are outside with the boys, enjoying the last months of your pregnancy with a book in your lap, laying in the hammock under the large trees. He checks on the three of you often, spotting that you have put down the book as you sway gently to substitute it with watching your children with a hand on your rounded belly. Lucas smiles brightly as he has Sebastian waddling hurriedly after him on the newly mowed grass. The soles of their feet will be green when they come inside later, marking the floorboards that he has just vacuumed but he doesn’t mind. It is evidence of fun, of love and joy. Messes equals life.

Inés is the only one who refuses to go outside. Her giggles and chatter floated up the stairs not too long again, blending with her little feet making the floorboards creak as she paced around with her hobby horse. It offers a rare kind of comfort to be able to hear her having fun while he packs clothes away into dressers and drawers.

Until he doesn’t hear it anymore. Instead, it is a sudden crash that comes from downstairs and makes Javier tense up. He freezes to listen for her voice calling for him but only silence follows the loud noise.

“Inés?” He calls. No answer. The t-shirt that he is in the middle of folding falls to the bed and his heartbeat quickens.

He walks to the open door of the bedroom, grabs the doorframe, and leans out of it to listen again. He calls her name a second time, this time a little louder and more insistently, but there’s still no response.

In his chest, his heart has started to pound enough for him to be able to hear it in his ears. Many thoughts go through his head at the sound of silence from the living room, firstly images of broken furniture but then finally the picture of his daughter who has fallen and hit her head. Why hadn’t he paid closer attention to her? Why hadn’t he checked on her sooner?

He is out the door before he even realizes that he is moving, barrelling down the stairs and taking it two steps at a time. Fuck, maybe he could have prevented disaster if he had gone downstairs the second she had gone quiet. He raises his voice without thinking, knuckles whitening as he grips the banister, “Inés? Answer me now!”

When he stumbles into the living room, he first notices the broken lamp, a shattered bulb lying beside the ceramic base on the wooden floor but with no blood on the shards. Next to it, Inés’ hobby horse lies discarded like it has been thrown in a panicked hurry. He furrows his brow, scanning the room to find her.

When he spots her through the doorway to the dining room, crouched down under the table, relief floods him. She isn’t hurt, no sign of even a scratch on her, but then he sees the way she has her knees pulled up to her chest and her eyes are fixated on the broken lamp.

She’s scared not of the crash, he realizes, but of him; his shouting, his loud footsteps, the way he had said her name. She looks like she is bracing herself for trouble - more specifically the anger and disappointment in his voice - and she’s covering her ears with little, trembling hands in a way that is unsuccessful in keeping out noise. The sight of her terrified face makes Javier remember the feeling of being unfairly scolded for accidents horribly well, and his heart sinks.

He walks calmly into the dining room, not even thinking about the broken lamp anymore, and kneels on the floor. With his hands on his thighs, he takes a deep breath to steady himself, “Inés, I’m not mad at you. I just want to know if you’re okay, baby.”

His daughter lifts her gaze to meet his eyes. His chest constricts at the sight of the tears in Inés’ wide eyes, threatening to fall down her cheeks. She looks like a deer caught in the headlights of a car, still immovable.

“Are you hurt?” He asks softly.

“I didn’t mean to break it,” she answer in a whisper and shakes her head. She’s always so bold, hilarious, and mischievous but she’s so clearly hiding from him, trying to decide if it’s safe to come out or not.

“I know you didn’t, mija (my daughter),” he reassures and moves slowly until he holds both hands out to her, palms open towards the ceiling, “It’s just a lamp, okay? Come here, I’m not mad. Just let me take a look at you.”

Javier can only imagine how fast her heart is beating in her chest right now, knowing that he hurried down here with his own racing heartbeat. She must be dizzy from the anxiety just as he is disoriented by his adrenaline. He gestures gently at her, beckoning her to him.

“I didn’t mean to,” she repeats quietly.

“Lo sé (I know),” he offers her a little reassuring smile, shifting to sit cross-legged on the floor instead, “Can you come out, please?”

With hesitant steps, she moves from under the table and walks straight to him. He expects that he has to ask for a hug but just as she comes to a halt in front of him, she collapses into his arms like they are a harbor in a storm. He squeezes her tightly.

“I thought you were mad at me, Papá,” she hiccups as her tears wet his shirt. He rests his chin on top of her head, his broad palm stroking her small back.

“Not at all, baby. You just scared me is all. You didn’t answer and I thought you were hurt,” he explains while pressing gentle kisses to her hair. He inhales slightly, sighing at the way his baby girl smells of love to him.

“I’m sorry,” she says and practically crawls into his lap.

“It’s okay,” he replies, cradling her in the same manner as he has done since the day she was placed in his arms for the first time, “It’s just a lamp. Mamá and I can just get a new one but we can’t get a new you.”

“Will you tell her?” She pulls back to look up at him with huge, wet eyes.

He nods, using his thumb to swipe at the tears on her face, “Yes, I will have to tell her but Mommy doesn’t care about the lamp either. I promise. We care about you. I’ll also tell her that you gave Daddy the scare of his life and made him run down the stairs like a crazy person.”

A tiny, hesitant giggle escapes her and he feels another wave of relief wash over him. She finally smiles and her voice is more steady now, “Silly.”

“Very silly,” he agrees with a smile and runs a palm over her head, threading his fingers through her hair, “But you know what’s not silly though?”

“What?”

“If anything like this ever happens again - if you break something or you get scared - I want you to call for me instead of hiding underneath the furniture. Just say ‘Papá, I need you’ and I’ll be there, okay?”

She only hesitates for a moment but then nods thoughtfully, “Okay.”

“And hey, te quiero tanto (I love you so much).”

“I love you too, Daddy,” she says, no hesitation this time.

The two of them stand up from the floor to look at the broken lamp on the floor. Inés makes an uncomfortable face, reaching for Javier’s hand. He holds her hand in his palm, “How about we tell Mom together?”

“Now?” She widens her eyes but she isn’t crying anymore.

“Yes now. Watch your feet, alright?” He waits for her to initiate the first step towards the door to the garden. Her eyes are firmly on the floor as they pass the broken ceramic shards.

Outside, Javier's face is warm in the afternoon sun. There’s a buzz in the air from the cicadas’ singing and the laughter from his two sons. He and Inés find you in the hammock, the book still discarded as you watch your children with fondness but this time, you’ve switched to sitting.

However, as they approach, your eyebrows knit together when you spot Inés' apprehensive look. You carefully plant your feet on the ground, asking, “Is everything okay?”

Javier glances at his daughter, “Inés has something she wants to tell you.”

She fidgets for a few seconds, looking down at her feet, but when she feels Javier’s hand on her shoulder, she looks up with determination. She confesses quietly but her voice doesn’t waver, “I broke the lamp. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Inés, baby,” your expression softens instantly. With a gentle touch, you brush a strand of hair out of your daughter’s face, “Are you okay? You’re not hurt?”

She shakes her head, “I’m okay. Daddy said you wouldn’t get mad but it is messy all over the floor.”

“You’re okay and that’s all that matters,” your gaze flickers to Javier, a look warmer than the sun in your eyes. He feels his heart nearly leap out of his chest but he catches himself in interrupting the moment between you. You continue, “Daddy and I don’t mind messes, do we? As long as everyone is okay.”

“Yes,” Inés nods in grateful understanding.

“How about you sit here with Mommy while I clean the floor?” Javier finally suggests, “Then the living room will be as good as new and you can play in there again?”

“Yes, please,” she says politely, “Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeats.

“Okay,” you chime in and kiss him softly on the mouth before he heads into the house once more.

Yes, messes mean life, and Javier is lucky enough to live in a world where life also means love.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

238 notes · View notes

igotanidea · 9 months ago

Text

Run baby, run: AK!Jason x reader

part 2 to Somebody's watching me.

She looked so peaceful. So innocent.

And completely oblivious to the fact that the casual outing she went to with her friends was carefully observed by a pair of eyes, hidden under a metal helmet.

Or was she-?

He was like a predator.

Waiting for a single mistake of his prey to take a change and lunge at the opportunity fate presented him with.

Whatever the mistake may be in this case.

But sooner or later she was gonna make one.

Part ways with her friends.

Get drunk and bibulously let some guy touch her.

Dance to the music to the point of exhaustion and end up on the couch in a stranger’s house.

And he would be there to prevent the aftermath of that.

***

For the last week she was going crazy.

Ever since that one night when she saw a silhouette on the rooftop it felt like someone has been following her every move, ever step, lurking in the dark, so close to her and yet, just beyond reach. However, when she tried to tell her friends about they look at her like she was making a joke. So obviously she stopped doing as much as even mentioning it, cause the last thing she wanted was to be abandoned by the only people in her surroundings.

Even if those friends didn’t really deserve the name.

But still – those were the only one she had.

Incomparable with the Waynes she used to spend her time with years ago, before all went to shit. But Jason’s disappearance left an everlasting scar. The only thing she wanted was to forget it all, and yet – the only impossible thing in her life seemed to be letting go of the past. And being in the company of Dick, Tim, Babs and the rest of the clan was making her skin burn and her stomach twist and turn with the incoming, checkless panic attack. Like her entire body and mind felt the pressure of the past on her fragile conscience and damaged soul.

And the only thing she felt like doing in the Manor was either screaming or crying.

So she moved on, or so she tried to convince herself of.

***

Mistake number one was left her drink unattended when she went to the toilet.

Rookie move with the possible grave consequences.

But it was gone when she came back. Only fueling her paranoia.

Mistake number two was letting her eyes off her companionship and being left alone by the exit with some drunken and already horny guys.

But when with shaky hands she pulled out her phone, desperately searching through her contact list for a potential backup, those men were already dragged into the nearest dark alley and knocked down.

But her worst mistake was not calling the cab and deciding on actually walking home. In her opinion it was a way to get some air and calm her rapidly racing heart, but she freaking forgot it was Gotham.

Like a freaking fool.

Under any other circumstances she would never and the fact that the though of going on foot even crossed her mind was the perfect reflection of her shattered mind spinning like a freaking Ferris wheel.

Something was wrong.

Something was awfully wrong and she felt like she was a main character in some horror movie.

Like that girl, who you watch on the screen, screaming at her to not go to that creepy attic from where the most suspicious sounds come, and then do the exact same thing when faced with a threat.

A ruffle of the leaves. The sound of an empty soda can rolling on the street. The flap of bird’s wing.

It all made her feel like a Freddy Krueger was coming after her.

And maybe she was not so far from the truth.

Her pulse was over the moon, heart running out of her chest, breath quickening, legs starting to move faster and faster and faster as she started running. Not really watching where as long as it was forward and away from whatever imaginary individual was chasing her.

With wild hair, tears in her eyes and blurry vision.

She was so stupid. So fucking stupid and mental, belonging in the mental institution due to her damaged brain refusing to stop dwelling on the past trauma.

“WATCH OUT!”

Before she was hit by a car a strong pair of arms grabbed her by the waist pulling her back to the pavement. She closed her eyes in fear letting whoever her savior was hold her trembling form. As weird as it was, for some reason being in this embrace felt… good. And familiar. Like she belonged there.

And if it was another wave of schizophrenic images coming from her brain she refused to accept it, freezing at the spot and waiting for it to pass.

But the stranger’s seeming grip on her body did not falter. For a longer while that seemed both like an eternity and like a second.

“Y/N….”

It must have been a wind. It must have been a wind. It must have been a wind.

“Y/N…”

The second the voice hit her ears again she turned around abruptly, but there was no one there.

She was going crazy.

With wide terrified eyes, slowly coming back on earth she finally took in her surroundings.

Realizing, to her undeniable terror, that she was right next to Dick’s house. And even worse – noticing the lights in his windows. Which meant he was here and not in Bludhaven. And not patrolling. Which was an uncommon, if not impossible conjuncture.

The past finally caught up with her.

“Y/N?!” Dick noticed her outside and opened the window, holding back the instinct to just jump outside (from 3rd floor) like an acrobat he was. “Y/N?! What are you doing here? Are you ok?”

“No…” she sobbed “No, I’m not okay…” she finally broke down in the middle of the night, on the empty street.

“Damn!” a few minutes later Grayson was downstairs holding her for dear life. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Whatever happened, you are safe with me now, I promise.”

She couldn’t hold back her tears anymore. Crying from fear and stress and helplessness.

“Shhh… come on, let’s get you upstairs and cleaned up. I got you.”

When Dick was slowly guiding her to his apartment, the same predatory red eyes were focused on the pair and the sudden need for vengeance sprouts buds, growing roots deep into the long-petrified heart, crushing down the ice it was covered with.

No one was going to take her away from him this time.

Edit:

part 3 : Smooth criminal is up!

@vaniasagitaa @gone-batty-fics @astrelz @not-herexo @deans-spinster-witch @calicocat45

#jason todd x reader #arkham knight x reader #jason todd x you #arkham knight x you #jason todd angst #arkham knight jason todd

546 notes · View notes

drluvsick · 6 months ago

Text

𝐎𝐈𝐙𝐘𝐒 — 𝐠𝐢𝐲𝐮 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐨𝐤𝐚

you get injured and giyu blames himself, although, it’s not really his fault, is it? 📝 gn! reader. for @meowzfordayz 4.1k event! might redo this only because i don’t like how i finished it off… we’ll see! hope you guys enjoy regardless! <3

word count : 600+

𝙉𝙊𝙒 𝙋𝙇𝘼𝙔𝙄𝙉𝙂 . . . 𝘏𝘌𝘈𝘙𝘛 𝘛𝘖 𝘏𝘌𝘈𝘙𝘛 (𝘚𝘗𝘌𝘋 𝘜𝘗) — 𝘔𝘈𝘊 𝘋𝘌𝘔𝘈𝘙𝘊𝘖

“i’m sorry, this is all my fault— ” giyu’s voice shook as his hands trembled. with the snow piling down as the moments passed, you could easily mistake his tremors for being cold. but you knew better from his worried look and somewhat glassy eyes.

“giyu, love, it’s not. stop blaming everything on yourself.” you said back, your voice straining against the pain in your side from which the demon slashed at— blood oozing out as giyu continued to panic.

“if only i’d arrived sooner, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“it’s not deep enough to kill me, i’ll be fine.” you tried to reassure him.

it was all too much, the flashbacks of death, his recent dreams of you in their situations. but he wouldn’t dare break down yet, not while you still needed to be taken somewhere to heal.

he ran as fast as his legs could take him while carrying you bridal style and slow enough so that you wouldn’t feel extra pain from his rushing. he hoped that you were right, that the cut wasn’t too deep, even if it was close to a vital point.

he could see the building of a wisteria house a few minutes later (he’s never been so relieved to see one of these), quickly handing you off and waiting impatiently to see you again after your treatment.

giyu felt terrible. he felt like the worst boyfriend ever as he paced outside the door like a dog waiting for its owner to come home.

could he have prevented this? this wouldn’t have happened had you been paired with another hashira. he’s just that bad. he wishes that you could be with anyone but him, someone that’ll actually protect you and make you happy— not… someone who can’t get over his past traumas and can’t even prevent a demon from attacking you.

he cursed the demon for being stronger than any lower class one. it wasn’t an uppermoon, but a demon with a powerful blood art can be threatening even without some of muzan’s blood.

the sliding door opens, making giyu perk his head up from staring down at the floor.

the elderly lady there smiles, beckoning him to come inside to see how you’re doing, on the way as he’s walking in talking about how lucky you are that the demon didn’t get any permanent damage done. she leaves with a, “i’ll have dinner ready for the both of you soon.”

you smile at him when he’s in view, holding out a hand as he carefully takes it. he kneels down to your level as you sit up the best you can, ignoring his protests for you to lie back down. you give him a small kiss on the cheek.

“it’s not your fault. it would’ve gotten me had you been there or not.” you start off.

“how are you so sure about that?” he tucks some hair behind your ear, interlacing his hands with yours.

“that demon was bad at concentrated shots at one target. it’s better if there’re multiple people, hence why most of its victims were in pairs,” you shrug, “it’s my fault for getting careless, you had nothing to do with it hitting me. i got the job done in the end anyways, and i’m at least alive, aren’t i?”

he nods, kissing your lips. “my heart still hasn’t recovered. it’s like i’m still afraid you’re going to leave any second.”

you smile at him. “i’m not going anywhere.” you pull him closer, his figure hovering over your body as you kiss him again, a little more intimate this time than his fleeting one.

“you’d better not.” he says as you pull away, your head finally resting against the pillow again. you giggle lightly as his own small laughter follows, the only thing on the both of your minds at that moment being so far away from the pain and misery from the world outside, focused solely on each other.

overluvsick | please do not repost, translate, and/or claim my works as yours !!

264 notes · View notes

trippinsorrows · 4 months ago

Text

looking through your eyes + fifteen

authors note: next chapter will be a lot heavier, because we see shit play out. italicized dialogue indicates that spanish is being spoken.

ya'll better not come for me after this one either, okay! 😭

just know the plot is plotting, ya'll

if any cw/tw’s are missed, please let me know, and i will add them!

cw/tw: fluff, angst, roman being a dick to anyone other than his wife, and violence

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist

words: 10k

The newly opened doors of intimacy have awakened a previously dormant part of Solana.

Something she previously thought impossible to access, permanently damaged as a result of her trauma.

But, she was wrong.

So, so wrong.

Roman is everything she never allowed herself to dream about having, let alone actually hoped to have in real life.

Caring, considerate, gentle, patient.

Their first time together is something she’ll never forget and always cherish. But, it’s the times afterwards, sporadic over the past two days since the consummation, that have almost meant something more.

A testament to her comfort and trust in him.

Of her love for him.

Sitting in bed, in between his legs, leaning into his strong body with nothing but the thin 600 thread count sheets covering them, Solana sketches, no particular drawing in mind, just whatever is felt in that moment. And what’s felt is the image and scenery of the water, of the beauty that is Isla Mujeres. Her mom was right. There’s nothing like it.

“I think—I think I want to come back here sooner rather than later.” Solana finds herself partially wondering aloud but also wanting to pick her husband’s brain. “I know you probably won’t be able to come, and that’s okay. Maybe…maybe Bayley can come with me?” It’s both a suggestion and a question.

Roman makes a sound against her, his lips lingering along her temple, long fingers moving gently against the side of her breast under the sheets. “Whatever you want, I’ll make happen. Bayley will go with you.”

Solana chews on her bottom lip, shading a palm tree. “But, what if she has plans?”

“She will. Plans to go with you.”

A small smile falls on her face. “How do you know she’ll just agree with you?” Solana has an idea of what he’s going to say, and she’s correct.

“People do what I tell them to do, and if they don’t, they face the consequences. And no one wants that, so they just do it.”

She doesn’t doubt that one bit. Because no matter how sweet and caring he is to her, that’s where it stops. With her.

Because to anyone and everyone else, he’s Roman Reigns, ruthless, brutal leader of the Bloodline.

And she’s accepted that. Accepted that he has to juggle two different hats.

She’s just happy she gets the best of him.

“I Facetime’d Naomi today and got to see Dulce.” As much fun as she’s having, as healing as this trip has been for her, she misses her sweet puppy deeply. “Guess who’s taken to her?”

Roman chuckles, looking back with a bit of shock. “Jimmy?”

Solana nods, grinning as she remembers overhearing Jimmy ask about where ‘fluff fluff’ is. “Naomi says he’s even got her sleeping in the bed with them.”

“Well, she damn sure ain’t doing that with us.” His voice takes on an authoritative tone. Not that she’s in disagreement. Dulce is too small for that. Roman would literally smother her. “Our bed is occupied.” He ghosts his lips over the shell of her earlobe. “Gonna be real busy when we get back home….”

Solana tries instead to focus on the drawing at hand versus that familiar feeling pooling in her stomach.

Continuing with the topic in the hopes of settling that feeling, she shares, “I want to do something nice for Naomi and Bayley when we get back. They’ve—they’ve been so nice to me.”

It’s something she’s been thinking about ever since the beautiful birthday messages she’s received. Having never really had many friends, to be able to land such solid, loyal people like them is something she doesn’t take lightly. She doesn’t know quite yet how she wants to show her appreciation, but she’s determined to come up with something.

An idea crossing her mind, Solana suggests, “maybe they both can come stay here with me for a week?”

His mouth moves back to the side of her face. “Mmmhmm.”

“Like…..like a girls trip.” Solana has never experienced one of those and just the thought of having one with the two of them has pre-excitement already forming.

Roman sighs, clearly distracted by his lips exploring her face. “Whatever you want, baby.”

Turning her head to the side to look up at him, small smile on her face, Solana asks, “are you listening to me?”

Roman hums against her skin. “I’m always listening to you, Solana.” Her eyes flutter as his fingers shift and move under the generous swell of her breast. “Probably the only person that’s the case for…..” His mouth moves to her cheek. “But, it’s hard to focus with you naked like this…..”

The pencil in her hand naturally drops against the sketchbook, her head lolling backwards, lips pressing together. “Roman….”

This is such a new experience. She’s never desired to be touched or craved such intimacy until Roman. Even with her trauma, there’s a pull that seems to have been unleashed with the consummation of her marriage.

An urge that has her thighs pressing together, something Roman most definitely takes note of. Eyes darkening with lust and something else, he asks, voice almost hoarse, “are you sore?”

She is, but not nearly as sore as she was after their first time. And certainly not to the point where she wants to decline.

“No,” is the answer she settles on, Roman’s lips on hers in a matter of seconds. She shifts her body so she’s straddling him, the feeling of him hard and warm between her legs making her moan in his mouth. Roman easily switches positions so she’s on her back, him hovering over her.

He breaks the kiss, asking once more, “you sure?”

Solana licks her lips, forever thankful for his constant efforts to receive her consent. “Yes.”

His eyes burn with need. “Could be inside you like this all day….” He brings his hand to the back of her thigh, lifting her leg and opening her up more as he gradually descends into her slick warmth. “And definitely all night….”

Solana would be lying if she said she didn’t feel somewhat of the same way.

________

She wakes up with a growing familiar ache between her legs, soft sheets against her nude body, and her husband pressed against her, his arm draped over her, holding her close to him.

But, he’s not sleeping. She can feel his mouth hovering over her shoulder. Her smile grows a bit as she thinks about their last lovemaking session, so passionate and fulfilling. Another round of him giving her pleasure she didn’t think possible.

However, it’s when she glances at the clock and sees the time, her eyes widen a bit from the shock. “Roman, it’s almost 2 o’clock….”

He’s never been more uninterested. “And?” Lips traveling the length of her arm, he murmurs against her smooth skin. “You’d never leave this bed if it was up to me….”

His statement, half joking, half serious, makes her smile, but it also helps her realize she has to be a bit more outspoken about what she wants.

Holding the sheet against her chest, she rolls onto her back, informing, “I want to go out to the marketplace today.”

He scowls. “Around people?”

“Yes, people.” She giggles, moving her hand to his face, beard tickling her palm. “We only have two more days here. I want to bring back gifts for Naomi, Bayley, and your cousins”

It’s the mention of the twins that makes him roll his eyes as he falls back into the mattress. “You always trying to take care of the homeless.”

Solana giggles, hovering over him, hand on his chest. “That’s so mean, Roman. They’re not homeless.”

“Then why the hell are they always at our house?”

She shakes her head, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “I’m gonna go get ready.”

He doesn’t try to stop her, doesn’t prevent her from leaving the bed and doing just that.

And in less than two hours, both showered, fed, and dressed, they’re out of the house and on their way to the market.

Adolfo López Mateos is the municipal market and offers a trove of items for Solana to pick from. Countless authentic options for her to bring back home as gifts but also as souvenirs for herself, reminders of this wonderful place that will forever hold such beautiful memories for her.

A place that also leaves her feeling so connected to her maternal side.

To her mother.

Roman serves as the quiet, always surveying husband who remains by her side the whole time as she goes from stall to stall. He serves as her personal shopping assistant as well, holding the growing number of bags for her purchases.

But, he handles it exceptionally well, never once complaining. Granted, she is mindful of the fact that the crowded market and all of the fellow shoppers and merchants seem to well exceed his tolerance for people in general.

So, she does make note to try to wrap it up sooner rather than later.

She’d never want to take advantage of his kindness and generosity.

Solana is at a stall looking at fabric when stiffening beside her drags her attention to her husband as well as what’s caused him to tense.

A child.

A little girl. Around 8 or 9. She has dark hair that’s down and unruly, the light breeze in the market causing it to splash against her tanned face, hazel eyes landed directly on Roman. Her hand is outreached, a flower in hand.

Solana recognizes it rather quickly. She steps forward, asking in Spanish, “is that for him?”

The little girl looks over and nods, directing her gaze back on Roman. Solana does the same, small smile on her face as she informs. “She’s giving it to you.”

His expression is unchanged as he asks. “Why?”

Solana giggles. “It’s an Alstroemeria. They represent friendship.”

“This random ass kid wants to be my friend?”

Solana rolls her eyes. “She’s being friendly.” Seeing Roman has no intentions on further acknowledging this child, she gently shoves him. “Please?” The ‘for me?’ doesn’t need to be asked as Roman sighs loudly and accepts the flower followed up with a muttered ‘thanks.’

Pleased, the little girl beams, suddenly motioning both Roman and Solana to follow her.

Curious, Solana asks, “you want us to come?”

She nods excitedly, pointing a few stalls down to where flowers bloom. Solana asks, “That’s where you got these from? You want us to see the rest?”

Another nod, and Solana finds herself following the child, Roman begrudgingly on the heel of her, committed to his not allowing her to explore a stretch of land or sea on this trip without him being right there next to her.

Even if it means forced socialization.

Solana allows the child to guide them to the stall that’s filled with the most beautiful, intricate flowers she’s ever seen, some of which she recognizes from conversations with her mom.

“Look how beautiful…..” Her eyes land on the powder pink ones, a brief realization setting in as she asks the little girl, “are these sword lily’s?”

Again, the child offers only a nonverbal acknowledgement via a head nod, and Solana starts to wonder if her silence is by choice or limitation. Either one, she can kind of relate to.

Turning to Roman, Solana explains to him, “these are sword lilly’s. They represent sympathy and memories.” Memories…Solana has plenty of those. The good, to some extent, starting to outweigh the bad.

He looks more uninterested than the actual tone of his voice. “Do all Mexican flowers have some sort of meaning?”

“Some. Not all.” She answers, fingers gliding over the petals. “And it’s not always flowers native to Mexico, just flowers that we have meaning attributions for. Culturally.”

“You are correct.” A voice enters the conversation, Solana watching a woman step out back from behind the stall. Her hair is a deep onyx, thick and wavy, her skin lightly kissed by the sun that also highlights the beauty of her eyes. Fine lines give away that she has some years under her belt, but it’s hard to tell just how many. She switches languages, “You don’t speak Spanish like a tourist.”

Solana realizes she must have overheard her asking the girls about the flowers. “My—my mother was a Native.”

“She taught you well.” Her smile grows, warm and friendly, familiar in a weird sort of way. “What is your name, child?”

“Solana.” She gestures towards Roman who’s still looking just as uninterested as he’s been in any other type of social interaction outside of Solana. “This is my husband, Roman.”

“I figured.” She motions to Roman’s closeness to her, the way he stays almost hovering, protecting and caring but still pretty close. “He’s very protective of you.

Solana nods. She has no idea. “What is your name?”

“Paloma,” she introduces, removing one of her work gloves to shake Solana’s hand. The younger woman is slightly grateful that Paloma doesn’t try to greet Roman in the same manner. She’d surely get her feelings hurt. “What brings you here?

Again, a gesture to Roman with her thumb. “He surprised me for my birthday.”

Paloma makes a sound and smiles wryly. “Ahh, so it’s only others he’s unfriendly with.”

“He….he’s very quiet.” An ironic choice of words considering just who is saying them, but it’s the best word to come to mind to describe Roman without being mean. He is technically quiet, but the fact that it’s because he, in his own words, hates people isn’t necessarily something that needs to be shared. “Do you really grow all of these?”

“I do.” The proud smile on her face makes Solana smile just as warmly. “I own a nursery about twenty minutes out of here. A family business that my mother and her mother and her mother started generations ago.”

“That’s so beautiful.”

“It was….” The use of past tense causes Solana’s smile to dim a bit. She can sense there’s a story there, a story that no doubt holds some level of pain. Paloma shakes her head, gesturing to the flowers. “Were you wanting to buy any?”

“Uhhhh….” The technical answer is no. Solana would have probably stopped to admire the beautiful flowers, maybe tried to identify one or two, but it would not have gone beyond that. It’s the little girl who Solana realizes is behind the stand, poorly sneaking glances at Roman, who called them over. “Yes, I—”

“She brought you over, didn’t she?”

“Yes.” Solana lowers her voice, asking as gently as she can. “Does she speak?”

“Yes, but she prefers not to. Very shy. Parents fight a lot. I don’t think she really gets a lot of space to talk.” And the frown is back. Solana can definitely understand that. “Do you two have plans tonight?”

“Uhhhh.” Solana turns to Roman, asking, “did you have anything else planned for us this evening?”

“If she’s trying to get us to do something around other people, yes. I’ll find something.”

Solana rolls her eyes, lightly scolding in her soft voice, “Roman, that’s not nice.”

“Solana, I’m pretty sure we had this conversation already. I don’t like people. I hate people. You’re the only one I like.”

Solana decides to win him over later versus now as she turns to Paloma with a friendly expression that contrasts her husband’s scowl. Something tells her he already knows she’s about to sign them up for something that forces him to be around people.

“We’re free this evening. Why do you ask?”

________

“Tell me again why we’re meeting this random ass old woman for dinner?”

Solana is only seconds away from applying her lip gloss when Roman’s question deters her from her task, creating a new one in its place. Capping it, she walks out the bathroom, leaning against the doorway. “Her name is Paloma, and she’s really sweet, and she invited us.”

Turns out, Paloma owns one of the restaurants in town Solana remembers stumbling across when she was perusing other places to visit while on their trip. It’s just a crazy coincidence that Solana ended up running into her and receiving a personal invite to dine there for dinner this evening.

And it’s an offer she didn’t want to turn down.

“Are you sure she didn’t just invite you?”

Curious, she asks the question she’s almost certain she already knows the answer to. “Would you let me go by myself?”

“Hell no.”

“Exactly.” Walking over to Roman, Solana glides her hands up his chest, locking them behind his neck. “It’s just a dinner. We won’t even be there that long. Then…tomorrow, it’s just the two of us.”

“It could be the two of us tonight too….”

His fingers dance across the small of her back as she bites back a smile. “Roman, it’s been the two of us this entire trip already, basically….”

“You know I could never get enough of you…” He gently squeezes the sides of her stomach, sliding into reluctant acquiescence. “But, you know I can’t say no to you either so….”

She smiles and leans up and presses a kiss against his cheek, murmuring, “thank you.” Taking a bit of a mile with the inch she’s been given, she implores, “can you….try to be a little more friendly? For me?”

Roman looks at her like she just asked him to let her go alone. “Solana….”

“Just for tonight.”

“Do they even speak English?” She gives him a look that’s just another form of ‘for me?’ He tilts his head back and scratches his beard. “I’ll try not to maim or kill anybody. That’s the best you’re getting from me, baby.”

“Thank you.” She kisses him again, turning for the bathroom when he pulls her back to face him, and right away, she recognizes that look. “Roman….”

He ignores her, both casually and suggestively complimenting, “I like this dress.” It’s combined with him slowly moving one of the hands on her waist down the length of her dress until he can slip his hand underneath.

“T–thank you…” She swallows, struggling to stay focused. “We’re—we’re gonna be late.”

“Too bad.” He moves his hand between her legs, gradually sliding up her thighs. “Should have thought about that before you put this on.” He kisses her temple, asking in a low voice, “do you want me to stop?” At the same time, his hand pauses on her skin.

The logical answer is yes, but the carnal answer is the complete opposite. And desire seems to overpower logic in this round. “N–no.”

It’s the perfect answer for her husband whose full lips form into a smirk as he removes his hand to guide her towards the bed as he lays her on her back. Solana half expects him to move on top of her, but he instead moves to his knees and tugs her toward the edge of the bed.

The anticipation of what pleasure is to come makes her lick her lips, prematurely moaning his name, “Roman…”

His brown eyes flick up to her, desire and lust dancing away in his irises.

Yeah, they’re most definitely going to be late.

________

The night goes as expected, Solana enjoying herself, and Roman enjoying that his wife is enjoying herself despite the fact that being surrounded by a bunch of fucking strangers who speak mostly in Spanish has him subtly checking the time on his watch more often than not.

The desire to pick up the language grows exponentially. Roman dislikes being out of the loop in any sort of capacity.

Solana translates for the most part, granted it’s mostly things he doesn’t really care too much about. Paloma asking what he thought about the food, requests to join in the dancing—that’s a hell no—and other pleasantries that violate his religion of Anti-Peopleology.

Except his wife, of course.

And to be fair, they’re able to share their dinner together without many interruptions, conversation staying between the two of them, which he appreciates. He’d appreciate it more if no one was there to interrupt, but alas, Solana having a smile on her face almost the whole night makes it all worth it.

She seems exceptionally taken with the little random ass girl from the market whose name he doesn’t bother to remember. Something with an A, he’d guess. She also seems just as interested in Solana, which he doesn’t entirely not understand. She’s relatively mute with the exception of a couple of words and sentences.

It reminds him of Solana and how nonverbal she was at the beginning of the marriage. And something tells him the girl also reminds her of herself. Which makes the pull between the two make more sense than maybe he’d like to admit.

But, his inner dialogue is interrupted as the old lady approaches the table where he sits alone as Solana dances with the child, both of them smiling and laughing.

“You’re not the social one of the two of you, are you?” She asks what he considers both a stupid and ironic question. Typically, Solana isn’t this social either. But this….this place….it seems to bring out a different side of her.

A happier side of her.

Roman only casts the old woman a bored glance. “This is her world. Not mine.”

The woman chuckles, and to Roman’s chagrin, sits down in the chair opposite of him. “Yes, I suppose this is very different from the Bloodline.”

Her statement doesn’t surprise him, doesn’t take him off guard, and that’s because Roman isn’t stupid. He would never allow some practical stranger to invite his wife for dinner at a restaurant she owns without researching her.

Paloma Aguilar. 70. Widowed. One child who seemingly disappeared without a trace over twenty years ago. Her late husband, Ricardo, was a man who at one point entered the world of the cartel and smuggling, but it was short lived as he passed away from a heart attack at the age of 45. His brother, however, Tomas, is still actively involved, but Paloma couldn’t be farther removed.

From his research, Roman could see she truly prefers to live her life away from the in-laws business, preferring her restaurant and gardening, the polar opposite of the high-paced crime life.

But, it would be ludicrous for her to not be aware of him and who he is, regardless of her preference to stay separate from that life.

Curious, though he already knows the answer, he asks, “when did you realize who I was?”

She smiles, “soon enough.” The lack of specificity annoys him even more than he already is. “Probably around the time you found out who I am.”

Interested to see how she’ll respond, he asks, “and just who are you?”

Her smile is small and sad. “Just an old woman living out the rest of her days in solitude.” Roman has experienced enough loss to be able to recognize when someone else has also had the misfortune of losing someone. It’s evident in her tone.

Still, that doesn't diminish his disinterest in this conversation.

She also looks over at his dancing wife, casually commenting, “I suppose it’s true that opposites attract.”

Eager to stir this woman away, Roman responds with all the casualness. “I’m not Solana. You could be 90, and I’d still snap your fucking neck if you presented any kind of threat to my wife.”

It’s uncalled for. He knows this. A misplaced threat against an elderly woman, sure. But, it’ll hopefully be enough to get her to leave him the fuck alone.

She smiles, partially surprising him. “Oh, I don’t doubt it, young man.” Her grin dims a bit. “I would never judge a man for protecting the woman he loves.”

Roman tenses, effectively managing to keep his reaction to her statement to himself.

Love

What the fuck is that even?

He knows…..familial love. But….romantic love?

That’s….that’s such an unfamiliar concept. Something not even in his repertoire.

He can’t deny that he likes Solana. A lot. Cares for her deeply, and recognizes that he needs her in his life. Needs her light in what is otherwise dark and dreary.

But…..

To say that he loves her….that’s too much. That’s too strong.

Too dangerous.

Love is weakness.

And Roman can’t afford to be weak. He won’t. Not for anything or anyone.

Not even Solana.

But, of course, this old ass woman just has to twist the knife even deeper as she stands up to leave. “You two will make great parents.” Roman is an expert at hiding reactions to what’s being said to him, but this one takes some effort. A lot, if he’s being honest. “Your protectiveness. Her nurturance.”

With that, she finally leaves him be, but not without a million and one thoughts floating through his mind, all of them now revolving around two things he’s never considered for himself.

Love and children.

________

As the night comes to an end, Solana pulls Aurora, the sweet little girl who’s taken a liking to her and a crush on Roman, to the side.

“I have something for you.”

Aurora’s eyes light up with all the excitement of a child eager to receive an unexpected present.

Solana hands over the beautiful journal she picked up in the market earlier that day. Originally a gift for herself, but now something that she wants to pass on to the little girl who reminds her so much of herself.

Aurora’s mouth drops open with surprise as she accepts the leather journal. Solana smiles and explains, “When I was a little girl, I didn’t talk a lot either. But, my mom always told me that when I couldn’t speak, I could always write.” She frowns a bit, instructing. “And that’s what I did. I wrote until I found my voice. The same way you can.”

Aurora looks up with teary eyes and surprises Solana by attacking her with a big hug. Solana easily settles in the embrace, holding and hugging the little girl in a way that every child should be comforted.

Aurora pulls back and offers a simple, “thank you!”

Solana blinks back some tears. “You’re very welcome.” Her smile shifts into something teasing but also hopeful, “now I expect to see you when I come back to visit, okay?”

Aurora nods happily as she gives Solana one more hug before running over to an older woman who Solana would guess is her mother.

“She’ll never forget that, you know.”

Turning to the source of the voice, Solana’s smile grows. “I hope not.”

Paoma chuckles and moves closer, repeating the same words. “I have something for you too.”

She pulls out a cloth jewelry bag and takes Solana’s hand, placing the bag in it. “Open it.”

Confused but curious, Solana does just that and gasps almost immediately at the beautiful gold necklace she recognizes instantly. “A Cruz de Caravaca.”

Paloma looks pleased by Solana’s knowledge and asks a follow up question. “How much do you know about these?”

Swallowing the emotion, she recalls the information taught to her so long ago. “They—they ward off evil and bring protection.” There’s an almost bitter tone that enters her voice. “My mother had one….” It’s the most Solana can bring herself to say, because her mother wore one almost religiously. And it did nothing to protect her from the evil of her father.

Or the knife that viciously tore and sliced through her body, violently ending her life.

Paloma nods, complementing, “whoever taught you our ways taught you well.”

Emotion burning the back of the throat, “it was my mom. She—she died when I was young.” Murdered. She was murdered, but acknowledging that feels too much, is too much. Regardless of how her life ended, it all means the same.

That she’s not here anymore.

Paloma’s expression is solemn as she lifts her right arm, turning it inward, revealing her tattoos. Two Hummingbirds. “Many years ago, I lost my daughter. And shortly after, my husband. I—I didn’t really know how to go on after that. She was my only child, and he was the only man I ever loved.” Her smile is emotional. “But then I remember that love never dies, it transcends into another form. They’re not here in the way I want them to be, but they’re still here. And every so often when I’m in my garden, I see Hummingbirds, and I feel better because I know they’re still with me. Watching over me.”

Solana wipes at her eyes as Paloma places a comforting hand on her arm. “And so is your mother.”

It’s hard to verbalize what she’s feeling in this moment. Paloma’s words provide her with a type of comfort that feels almost motherly, an ironic feeling considering the nature of the conversation.

“Thank you.” It’s such a simple thing that doesn’t feel strong enough for how much Solana appreciates such comforting words of support.

“You have a good heart. A kind soul. But, be careful child.” She takes Solana’s hands in her own. “My….my daughter was like you. Loving and giving. But too trusting, and it cost her her life. Betrayal and darkness can come from where you least expect it.”

Paloma’s words confuse her. The warning aspect of it. What…what exactly does that mean?

“Stick with that husband of yours….” Paloma adds, smile gradually returning. “He is protective of you the way my husband used to be with me.”

That ebbs away some of her confusion regarding the ominous warning, as Solana suddenly asks, almost tentatively. “Could I….could I come back and see you too?”

Paloma chuckles, and Solana almost swears she sees emotion brewing behind the woman’s wise gaze as she pulls her in for a hug.

“I’d be offended if you didn’t, child….”

________

He’s not entirely surprised to find her in the kitchen, but that doesn’t necessarily make her presence in the kitchen any less concerning. Especially when she’s supposed to be on bedrest.

Roman comes up behind her, smiling when she jumps a bit as he hugs her. Years later, some things remain the same.

Solana turns around, a warm smile on her pretty face. “You scared me.”

“I’m sorry.” Not necessarily. He’s not sure he’ll ever be able to find it in him to be sorry for touching his wife.“Hi.”

“Hi.” She giggles as he kisses her.

Eyes shutting a bit as he relishes in the feeling he’s craved dearly for the past few weeks. “I missed you all.”

“We missed you too,” she murmurs, moving her hands up his chest. “You look tired.”

He’s a bit jet lagged, but it’s nothing he won’t bounce back from in a couple of days. That’s the least of his concern, anyway. Roman moves his hand to her stomach, big and swollen, pressing against his abs. “You should be resting.”

Solana rolls her eyes and calmly counters, “not with how active this one is.” She moves his hand around, probably trying to find a spot where he can feel the movement. “He’s definitely your son.”

He counters, “even more reason to be resting.”

She shakes her head, changing the subject a bit as she softly shares, “they’ll be happy to see you. I didn’t tell them you were coming home early.”

His eyes light up a bit as he asks, “where are they?”

Solana chuckles. “You already know.”

Roman makes a sound and nods, murmuring with a final kiss to her temple, “I’ll be back.”

He walks out of the kitchen and into the hall, moving to the back of the house.

Two separate rooms, directly across from one another, each providing a variety of different activities and spaces. Most completely opposite one another. Expected, given their staunchly different personalities.

There’s no active decision regarding which room he walks in first, no specific desire to see or interact with one over the other. He just so happens to venture left vs right.

And sure enough, as predicted, she sits at the table, so small but perfect for her. She’s focused on the paper in front of her and crayon in her hand. So focused to the point where she misses his entrance, doesn’t overhear his footsteps until he’s only a few feet away from her.

But when she does, big brown eyes landing on him, eyes that are exact replicas of her mothers, the crayon is dropped and the smile is out. She jumps up from the seat and runs over to him, Roman leaning down just in time to catch her hug, an instant ease washing over him, deeper than what’s allotted even with his wife.

This is something different, something deeper, something he still doesn’t quite know or believe he deserves to feel. But nevertheless, it’s present, it’s felt, and it’s wonderful.

When she pulls away, he finds himself pushing back some of her curls, light and fluffy, framing her face that’s the perfect combination of himself and Solana. “I missed you…” Her smile grows as he asks, eyes narrowed a bit. “Were you a good girl for your mom while I was gone?” She nods excitedly and reaches for his hand, Roman standing as she guides him over to the table where she was drawing. Roman crouches back down as she shares her artwork, an in-progress photo of the ocean, most likely scenery she’s memorized from one of their many trips to Isla Mujeres. “Is this what you’re working on?” Again, another nod as she points between the drawing and him. He points to himself. “Is this gonna be for me?”

Instead of the expected no, she answers in her voice, so soft and light. “I’m sorry it wasn’t done in time….”

A small smile grows on his face. She’s very much unlike her sister, of very few words. So much so that Roman insisted he and Solana discuss her quietness with the pediatrician to make sure nothing was wrong. And of course, nothing was. It’s just that she inherited quite literally Solana’s entire disposition. Quiet with a great big heart that seems too pure for this world.

And, unfortunately, a tendency to apologize when unnecessary.

“It’s perfect, sweetheart.” His praise seems to bring back her smile as he kisses her forehead. “Fa'afetai tele.”

She matches his smile, surprising him yet again with more spoken words vs non verbals. “E le afaina.”

Standing back up, he informs, “I’m gonna go see your sister. Can you go help mom finish cooking dinner?” He knows Solana is almost done, if not already, but Roman also knows that personality and disposition weren’t the only things inherited. So were passions and interests, hence the drawing.

And cooking, judging by the way her eyes light up as she dashes out the room to play assistant.

Roman chuckles and walks out, hitting the switch as he moves across the hall, once again unsurprised by what he finds. She’s going at it with the freestanding punching bag, kicks that are pretty impressive considering her age. Her face is scrunched up in determination, the same face as her sisters yet so different.

Where one is soft and quiet, the other is loud and bold. One is timid, the other adventurous. One is Solana, but this one….she’s her father’s daughter, through and through. Bold and fearless.

“Don’t forget to point your toes.”

His deep voice breaks through her concentration as she whips her head to the side, a reaction similar to her twin sister. A huge smile breaks through that impressive focus.

“Daddy!”

Again, he moves to one knee to catch her for a hug, tight and heartwarming. She pulls back almost immediately, asking with all the excitement. “Did you see me?”

“I sure did.” He comments on what’s more than obvious. “you’ve been practicing.”

She nods with just as much excitement. “Aunt Bayley and Aunt Naomi said I’m really good!”

“You are.” He wouldn’t lie to her. She is. But, he also knows it’s because this is her passion. Where her sister finds joy in art and books, she gets that joy from movement, from fighting, her gravitation towards martial arts happening at such a young age.

“I’m gonna be better than you!” He chuckles. At not even a fraction of his age, she already is. And it has nothing to do with her natural fighting abilities.

“We’ll see.”

“I am!” She affirms, so determined and focused. “I’m gonna wear the ula fala and be Tribal Chief just like you, daddy!”

Roman does his best to keep that small ounce of concern hidden and tucked away. Young. She’s too young to know just what she’s asking for, the weight that comes with what he does, the truth about what and who he is.

It’s been the decision of both himself and Solana to shield the girls from it. The truth of it all. For now. As long as they can, at least. But the girls aren’t dumb either, they know he holds a high rank, one of the highest, in his family.

And his spitfire of a daughter seems determined to do the exact same.

“Cousin Jamar was saying I can’t cause I’m a girl, but I told him he’s just a stupid boy and I’m way smarter anyway.”

Roman’s eyes narrow slightly as asks the question he already knows the answer to. “And you hit him too, didn’t you?”

Even when he has to be away from home, Solana makes sure to keep him informed of all happenings with the girls, especially this one who’s already gotten in trouble a couple of times at school for her mouth.

And fist.

Her eyes drop as she pouts slightly, murmuring, “he made me mad….” His temper. She definitely has inherited that too. “No one talks about me, you, mommy, sissy or my new baby brother, or I’ll punch them in their face.”

This is the part where Roman struggles, where he tries his best to tap into that part of him that feels so unfamiliar. Because his initial response is that she did nothing wrong, that she’s doing exactly what she’s entitled to.

Protecting her family and standing up for what she believes is right.

“It’s important to know when to fight, and it’s a lot harder not to sometimes.” That’s the best he can come up with in the moment to not necessarily let her know he doesn’t see much of an issue with her behavior. “I’ll teach you.”

Her eyes light up with excitement. “I get to train with you?” A request she’s had for at least the past two years, Roman pushing it off and allowing Bayley and Naomi to help her because his level of training is far too intense for her young age.

But

That doesn’t mean he can’t modify his approach a bit.

“Yes!” She jumps up and down, hugging him, another small smile on Roman’s face. Some kids like to play dolls, like his other daughter, but this one….this one lives for a good fight.

And speaking of, the calmer of the two of them coming running into the room, Roman turning just in time as she smiles and tugs on his shirt, motioning for them to follow her.

“Is dinner ready?” Learning to understand her even with the absence of speech has come second nature for all of them.

She nods, as the other one breaks the hug with Roman, asking her twin with all the excitement and competitiveness. “Wanna race?”

Roman already knows the answer, watching as his more quiet child is suddenly waiting for her sister to count them off. Seconds later, the two of them rush out the room on a trajectory that’ll lead to Solana who will no doubt chastise them for running in the house.

But they come back, giggling together as they stand in the doorway, hitting him with both a question and a demand.

“Daddy, are you coming?”

“Daddy, wake up!”

Roman shoots up from the bed, hulking shoulders moving up and down in sync with his heavy breathing. Movement to the side of him shows him Solana shifting in her sleep, a peaceful expression on his face.

It’s the exact opposite of how he feels.

Moving his hand through his silky, wavy locks, Roman takes the blanket off of him and carefully moves out the bed, prioritizing not disturbing his wife.

He blows out a breath and walks out the double doors that bring him to the patio, his big body settling down on one of the chaise lounges.

It’s only then he asks himself the burning question at the back of his mind.

What the fuck was that?

Roman doesn’t really dream a lot, and when he does, they’re more along the lines or nightmares.

Night terrors when he was younger.

But this……he doesn’t even know what the fuck that was.

Children.

Roman has never really seen himself as a father, never allowed himself to think about it because it’s never really been a desire. He’s always known that he would have to create an heir to carry on his legacy, but that’s a thing of duty. Not desire.

So why the fuck is he dreaming about having not one but several children with Solana?

Solana….

Her oath a few weeks back of giving him an heir returns to the front of his mind. It makes him wonder all of sudden what her view on children is. Does she want children? Without inside knowledge of her trauma, one would think that’s an obvious thing. She would have never married him, never agreed to the arrangement when the sole purpose of the union was to create a child if she didn’t, in fact, want a child.

But, Roman knows her, knows her trauma. Knows that she was forced into this.

Which makes him incapable of shooting down the possibility that maybe she doesn’t even want children?

And then he thinks about her tonight, thinks about the permanent smile on her face as she interacted with that little girl, the way she interacted with several of the children present who came up to her.

She looked….she looked happy.

Content.

And of course, the now haunting words of the old woman who Solana also seems to have heavily gravitated towards:

“You two will make great parents.”

Thinking about and being completely honest with himself, he sees it for Solana. Could….could see her as a mother.

But seeing himself as a father….that’s something he can’t answer. Can’t understand, really.

The same way he can’t understand why there’s a small part of him that’s upset he woke up.

Upset that the dream didn’t last just a little bit longer.

Upset that he’s now thinking heavily about what the old lady predicted.

Himself and Solana as parents.

Fuck.

First the love comment, now this?

Damn that old woman.

________

Something is off with Roman.

Solana has noticed it ever since the night of the dinner at Paloma’s restaurant. She figured it was maybe because Roman really can only withstand so much social interaction. Chalked it up to him needing the night to sleep it off.

But, it was there the next day and the day after that and even as their trip in Isla Mujeres came to an end.

On the jet ride back home, he’s quiet, working diligently on his work laptop. She tries her best not to think too much of it, because it’s not like he’s ignoring her. He still talks to her, still interacts with her, still touches her, but it’s just….off.

There’s like this….this distance that she can’t understand.

A distance that hurts.

It’s why she stands in front of the bathroom mirror, trying to not get too into her head over her dress. It’s probably the most risqué thing she’s ever worn, more skin showing than she would prefer to be exposed. But, a small part of her hopes it will catch Roman’s attention.

Hopes it can progress the touches into something more.

Because along with his distant behavior, there’s been a lack of intimacy between them. And that’s especially hard for her to not think too much about. Because, to her, it was going well. She….she enjoys being with him in that way. Being that close to him.

She thought he did too.

Roman suddenly knocks on the bathroom door, asking, “you almost—damn.” Him stopping himself puts a smile on her face.

Solana chews on her bottom lip, asking, “do–do you like it?” She then motions to her chest that’s heavily exposed. “I know it’s—it’s a lot.”

Roman moves closer to her, eyes raking over her slowly, hand moving to the back of her, under her dress, cupping her ass. “You sure you don’t want to stay in tonight?” A small smile starts to form on her face at his suggestive tone. “The two of us…naked.”

Her stomach flutters with excitement. This is the first time in days that he’s expressed any desire to be with her in that way, and now she’s beyond grateful that she pushed past her insecurity and put on the dress. Because it’s brought out that side of him that she’s been missing.

The side that makes her feel like he wants her.

A hand on his chest, she murmurs, “when we get back.”

Because while she also has a desire to be intimate with him, she’s also excited to see their friends.

Naomi, Bayley, and the twins inviting her (and naturally, Roman) out to a VIP lounge to have a belated birthday celebration since she wasn’t available to do anything with them for her actual birthday. She’s excited to see them, to be around her friends.

“Are you….” Solana doesn't know where exactly it comes from, the bravery and confidence to ask what she’s about to, but it seems to leave her mouth before she can really think too much about it. “Are you okay?”

His gaze takes a curious tone. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs, suddenly nervous about how to word it right. “I don’t know. You’ve just seemed….kinda off the past couple days.” He swallows, and she sees something flash in his eyes, something he shoves away. Something she’s now just as curious about. “Is–”

“I’m fine,” he answers. For some reason, she has a hard time believing that. “Adjusting to being back has just been irritating. I’ve never taken a vacation before, so shit has just been an annoying adjustment.”

Solana nods, believing there could be some truth to that. She doesn’t doubt it’s been an adjustment for him. But, there’s also this nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach that there’s something else he’s not telling her.

“O-okay.” Something tells her this conversation will need to be revisited, just not right now. Not when it’s clear he has no desire to express whatever is really bothering him.

Roman dips his head and kisses her cheek. “Let’s get out of here. The sooner we get back, the sooner I can be inside you.” She giggles, gasping as he slaps her ass.

“Roman!”

________

The lounge is beautiful. Reminiscent of an upscale club, minus the packed bodies and loud music. It’s clearly geared toward upscale clientele, and the second level of the lounge has been rented out, space cleared for their small party.

Something she greatly appreciates. Both for herself and Roman. Her husband already sacrificed so much of his preference to be isolated from others vs surrounded by people on their trip.

The group separates naturally, Roman and the twins with Solana sitting near Bayley and Naomi, the two women nearly bursting at the seams with a ton of questions/statements.

“How was it?”

“We already know it was nice considering we barely heard from you.”

“Dulce mama was out here living her best life.”

“You got a lil tan too!”

“We want to know everything.”

Solana giggles, shrugging. “It was really nice.”

Bayley scoffs, “just nice? Girl, you gotta give us more than that.”

Solana opens her mouth, pausing a bit. “I mean….we spent a lot of time together.” Her eyes fall over to Roman who’s surprisingly engaging in conversation with Jimmy and Jey. Solo, as well. His presence surprised her.

She didn’t know he was coming. Not to mention, she didn’t think he’d want to be present for anything that’s not required when it comes to her.

“And?”

Solana knows they’re not intentionally asking about sex, but their questions are unintentionally pointing her to share just that. And for some reason, most likely the trust and bond she’s formed with them, she’s not opposed.

That doesn’t stop the maddening blush from forming on her cheeks as she shares, “we—well, we finally, umm—”

Loud gasps interrupt her, Naomi being the one to ask the infamous question, “Solana, did ya’ll….” Solana chews on her bottom lip, nodding softly.

Bayley and Naomi have to cover their mouths to hold in the screams that would no doubt draw all of the wrong attention.

“Oh my god, that’s amazing! I’m so happy for you!” Bayley exclaims, suddenly asking with all the protectiveness, “he was good to you, right? Didn’t pressure you—”

“No. No. Never.” That’s probably the easiest thing to answer. Solana doesn’t know how to properly express how good Roman was to her. Has been to her. “He was—it was perfect.”

Naomi smirks, playfully nudging Solana’s shoulder. “We told you it was great with the right person.” They couldn’t have been more right. “So….was it just once or—”

Bayley scoffs. “We cannot be asking her all these intimate details!” Only to then casually ask, “so like how big is his dick really?”

Naomi falls out laughing while Solana’s eyes widen at the graphic nature of Bayley’s question.

“So you can ask about his dick size, but I can’t ask about how many times they’ve done it?”

Bayley protests, sipping some of her Vodka as she counters, “my question is for science.”

“Bullshit!”

Solana shakes her head, giggling as she coyly answers, “we…it’s been a couple times.”

Naomi smirks. “Okay, girl, I see you. Ya’ll went to Mexico and got freaky.” Solana takes a sip of her bottled water, more than certain her cheeks are a red, hot mess. “Seriously though….I’m happy for you. With what you’ve been through, you deserve to have a happy, healthy, sex life. Every woman does.”

“She’s right.” Bayley agrees, and Solana finds the emotions brewing again.

Never did she think it was possible, that she could have just that. A healthy sex life. Just how she never imagined she would end up with someone as amazing as Roman. Yet both of those things are exactly what have happened, and she’s never been happier.

“Wait, does this mean we’re gonna be godmothers soon?” Bayley asks an otherwise normal question that has Solana still in her seat.

Naomi chimes, “I mean, she’s not allowed to be on birth control, and I know Roman had to have broken his condom only rule since they’re married so….”

Solana has a hard time saying anything, has a hard time not thinking about something that should have been considered the moment that barrier was broken.

Roman and Solana have consummated their marriage.

They’ve had sex.

Several times.

Unprotected sex.

They are actively having unprotected sex.

Naomi is right in that not once did Roman bring up protection.

It has her wondering now if he didn’t bring it up because, in his mind, they’re now working on creating an heir?

But, she dispels that theory pretty quickly, remembering how determined he was to help her not feel any pressure regarding them conceiving a child. He’s never seemed too concerned with that part of their marriage deal.

Unless….

Unless it was because they weren’t sexually active, but now that they are….

Suddenly, another conversation with Roman regarding just what the plan is for that is on the agenda.

Along with whatever it is that’s bothering him that he won’t open up about.

Bayley and Naomi must pick up on her change and mood, switching the conversation to something regarding some mess that kicked off at the Warehouse between Nia and some person named Mia. Solana does her best to follow along when she feels her phone vibrate in her bag.

Pulling it out, she unlocks her phone and opens up messages, specifically the unopened thread from an unsaved number.

Unknown: Did you really think you would get away with fucking us over?

Unknown: You were warned.

Unknown: What happens next is on you.

The phone drops out of Solana’s hand the minute she’s done reading the text. She can barely breathe, barely process what’s happening as her head snaps up, eyes frantically searching for the one person who’s now been kicked to the front of her mind.

Roman

She spots him, expression unreadable as he sips on a beer, speaking to Solo.

Solana jumps up from the sofa, ignoring Naomi and Bayley asking what’s wrong. She kicks her heels off and makes a beeline straight for him, uncaring about the bodies she has to squeeze between, the few individuals who she actually shoves out of her way. Something at any other time she wouldn’t dare consider doing. But this isn’t any other time, this is life or death.

Literally.

“Roman!”

His eyes snap with hers seconds before she successfully makes her way over to him. Her heart feels like it’s about to beat out of her chest. She can barely breathe, and she’s certain that she’s trembling, but none of that stops her from rushing out, “we have to get out of here!”

His hands move to her face, cupping it, taking note of her frantic state as he asks with all of the protectiveness. “What’s wrong?”

Eyes watering, she opens her mouth. “I—”

That’s as far as it goes, the most and only thing that she’s able to express because before she’s cut off. Roman’s gaze lifts above her and the last thing she sees is the slight widening of his eyes as he shoves her to the side of him with so much force that she slams against the ground, her head bouncing off the carpeted floor.

But, that’s not what catches her attention. Not the shock of him pushing her so harshly, putting his hands on her in a way she would have never thought possible. No, that’s not an issue at all, because the sound that only seems to have registered upon her fall is what has her attention snatched and fixated.

A single sound that she hasn’t heard in years.

A gunshot.

And then chaos.

There’s shouts, there’s screams, there’s people running around in a mass panic, but a single voice cuts through all of that: clear, loud, furious. “Get her out of here now!”

Roman.

And it’s the sound of his voice that makes Solana snap her head to the side, eager to lay eyes on him in the midst of this chaos.

But, it’s when she does that everything changes, the world stops and time stands still.

“No.” She can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t move, can’t function because all she can focus on is the sight of Roman’s men with a perimeter around him, guns lifted and aimed, ready to fire off at a moment's notice. “Roman!” She tries to climb up off the floor, tries to get to him, to see him, to touch him.

Solana is unable to look away from the sight of him holding onto his shoulder, face grimaced in pain, blood seeping through his long fingers.

But before can get to him, before she can actually touch him, another voice calls out, “cover me!” And she’s suddenly off the floor, body pressed against a stranger, the interaction causing her to try to jerk away.

Partially because of the contact, mostly because she needs to get to Roman.

“We gotta get you out of here!” Solo’s voice, harsh and determined, makes her realize he’s the strange body that she also now realizes is trying to get her the hell out of dodge. “Now!”

And it’s right then and there that another gunshot rings out, followed by several more.

Solana’s panic nearly triples as she tries to push him away, tears burning her eyes, “no! I’m not leaving him!” Solana beats her fist against Solo as he continues to drag her, Solana begging, “don’t make me leave him!” The tears are spilling over, the last glimpse of Roman showing Jimmy and Jey rushing over in his direction. “Please!” Solana continues to cry out his name, fighting a losing battle against Solo who is successful in ushering her out of the emergency exit located in the back.

Once outside, he has to keep dragging her down the fire escape staircase, because she doesn’t stop trying to push him away and doesn't stop from trying to get back to Roman. Solana can’t stop replaying the nightmare that has just become a reality.

She has no idea where Naomi is. Where Bayley is. Only able to see the twins and Roman before she was ripped away from the scene.

Roman….

He pushed her to protect her.

Moved her out the line of fire and took the bullet intended for her.

He’s been shot because of her.

He’s been hurt because of her.

And it’s all her fault.

#roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns x black!reader #roman reigns fic #roman reigns #arisnotebook

248 notes · View notes

iluvmorales · 2 years ago

Text

12:15am , E-42 Miles

Summary Miles just really needs his lover

a/n none

warnings mentions of threats, near death experience, death, trauma (?) angst w love/fluff

‘come over’

Was all the text read, sent at 12:15. Miles had a tendency of getting home late from his job, but when it was past 11, it usually meant something went wrong.

It didn’t even take a minute for you to grab your coat, throw on the hood and head out the door. You took the elevator down and took a late night cab to the place, seeing as how it was dangerous for a girl to walk the streets at night since they could, and most likely would fall victim to lots of crimes.

You tipped the driver, before stepping out infront of the building only for Mrs. Morales to open the door and let you in with a smile, but worried expression on her face.

“Hola mija..” you smiled at her softly; “Hola, ¿El está bien?” You asked, not speaking too loudly. She just shook her head; “Yo no sé mija, he just- won’t talk to me” she sounded worried as she lead you up the stairs and into their apartment.

“Talk to him, por favor Mija” she held one of your hands between both of hers, with a pleading look in her eyes. “Of course” you placed yours on top of hers squeezing before turning to go into miles’ room.

You didn’t even knock, simply opening the door and closing it behind you. The room was pitch black, the only light coming from the moon as this side of town was always dark. “Miles?” You whispered, trying your best to find his figure.

Then you heard rustling in the bed, and miles peaked his head out. “Vida mia,..¿Que paso?” You cooed, making your way to the bed and sitting next to him.

He only turned to face you, tired eyes boring into yours. “Nada..pero I just really need you right now” he mumbled, arms snaking around you and pulling you closer so that his face was now in your lap.

Your heart pounded, but ached at the sight of how exhausted he looked. You lightly tapped him making motions for him to sit up, to which he did, slowly. He gave you a questioning hm, his eyes still giving you that same look.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it, but you’re worrying us all. At least tell me something, anything” your hands on his neck and cheek, caressing him as if he’d break.

He sighed and closed his eyes; he swallowed the lump in his throat thinking about the situation earlier that night. “They..almost had me today” You could hear the pain in his voice, and the way his face twisted when he thought about it.

You wrapped your arms around him, legs now sprawled out across the bed as you pulled him in. “Oh miles..” was all you could get out, holding him so tightly. He almost died today, and it was a possibility it could happen again. “just the thought of loosing you..fuck” you squeezed him, tears threatening to spill.

His arms were now hooked under yours, holding you. “I’m sorry mamí” was all he could mumble, a tear now falling down his cheek.

“It’s not your fault miles, I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you” you loosened your grip, rubbing circles on his back, and one hand coming up to wipe the tear from his face.

It was rare miles let you treat him like this, ever since his father passed he believed it was his job to provide and protect, take the role of “the man of the house”. He forced himself to grow up faster.

“I’m just so glad you’re okay” you mumbled, placing a kiss at the top of his braids. You both laid there staring at the night sky from his window.

Miles enjoyed the feeling of being held and comforted, being cared for. But he knows sooner or later he’d go back to the role he played, and have to tell you the truth.

the truth being how they held him at gunpoint, retrained, then threatened to kill you if he ever, stepped out of line again.

#spider verse #across the spiderverse #earth 42 #miles morales prowler #animals #architecture #miles morales x reader #prowler!miles x reader #miles morales #prowler!miles

2K notes · View notes

goodbuckcharlie · 7 months ago

Text

The lake’s embrace | Luke Hughes

Summary: Jack’s neighbor and first friend in New Jersey outside of the team, has finally ran out of excuses to avoid going to the lake house. She has avoided going in the past for two reasons. 1) after a traumatic experience she has been afraid of deep water 2) she doesn’t get along with the youngest Hughes. But when shit hits the fan it’s Luke who saves her life.

Warning: near death experience, fear of water, childhood trauma/abuse, mentions of death.

Notes: This story means a lot to me as it hits close to home, also it’s the first story that made me actually sob while writing it, for that reason I have decided to do minimal editing.

The young florist is coming home from her normal 9 to 5 shift from her mother’s flower shop. She wouldn’t trade this job for the world. She loves listening to the stories her customers always carry in. From young men asking out their crush to the old woman buying flowers for her lover’s grave. Sometimes she grows green with envy as she struggles from a lack of romance in her life. She sighs to herself as she reaches for her keys in her purse.

“Max!” The girl knew what her neighbor wanted before he even made it to her door. She quickly remembers the excuse she had came up with in her room the other day in anticipation of this conversation. She regathers herself before turning in the direction of her neighbor. While she was just expecting to see Jack, she is surprised to see Luke there as well.

“Jack shouldn’t you be in bed resting?” Completely ignoring Luke who just rolls his eyes.

“No surgery can hold me down.” Jack flexes causing Max stare at him in disbelief. “Anyways you know what I’m here for, I’m not taking no for an answer this time.”

“I’m not sure I can go, I can’t just leave my mom empty handed at the shop.” She knows her mom can handle to shop with the help of her husband but as far as she knows, Jack doesn’t know that, or does he.

“Funny you say that,” Jack replied holding a smile that would rival a Cheshire Cat. This causes Max to quirk her head in confusion, “I went to the shop after you went home yesterday and asked your mom and she said that she will be fine and that you need time to relax.”

“I don’t know why you went through all of that when you know she’s just going to find another excuse not to go.” Luke pinches the bridge of his nose before looking at Max, “Look if you don’t want to go just say that so he shuts up.”

“Glad to see you’re still as pleasant as a melted popsicle Luke.”Max doesn’t know what came over her but as Luke rolls his eyes again she felt something snapped, “You know what, I’ll go. My mom is right I deserve to rest.”

Jack nearly leaps with joy. He quickly tells her all the details she needs to get ready for the trip before the brothers leave to their place.Max quickly lets herself into her place .

The time flies and the next thing Max knows, she on the pier of the Hughes Family lake house. She’s met a few….. characters as she would describe them. From Jack’s flirty friend Trevor to one of Luke’s old college team mates that for the record are way nicer than Luke. So far she has avoided going into the water either by staying inside with Ellen or claiming to be sunbathing. But much like her excuses to avoid coming to the lake house in the first place, her excuses on avoiding the water would run out sooner or later.

“Come on Maxie as much as we love looking at your pretty face from over here it would be better in the water,” Jack calls out from the water. Now Max was use to Jack’s flirtatious remarks so she simply ignores him and continues to read her book.

“Leave her alone Jack if she doesn’t want to get into the water then she doesn’t have to.” Both Jack and Max are surprise to hear Luke stand up for her.

“Awe Lukey finally got a soft spot for Maxie?” The eldest Hughes who met Max a few times before, teases Luke who is standing next to him by the grill.

“Fuck no she’s still annoying, I’m just tired of hearing Jack bitch and moan.” And just as fast as he arrived ,nice Luke was gone and was replaced with the normal hater Luke.

“Oh fight me you White crayon ass bitch,” Max flips Luke off while going back to her book. But she doesn’t miss the roar of laughter the plague the area in response to her comeback.

“I promise Maxie by the end of this week I will get you in the water.” Max ignores Jack’s seemingly harmless threat in order to keep her mind at peace but in reality her heart is racing at the thought of going in the water.

Max avoids the water for the next few days but of course fate wasn’t on her side.

It was the second to last day at the lake house before Max had to go back to Newark. She is back on the pier this time she is just talking to Jack who is telling her some childhood stories. Max had no suspicions of Jack’s plan until she feels herself being picked up from behind.

She looks at the culprit and sees a smiling Trevor who was looped into Jack’s plan.

“Trevor for the love of God I’m begging you, don’t throw me in that lake,” Panic fills Max as she tries pleading with Trevor. But the stupid boy doesn’t see the panic and laughs off her pleads.

“Sorry Maxie no can do.” Trevor runs to the end of the pier and before she knew it she was in the air falling down to her watery grave.

As Max hit the water, she was quickly thrown back into the memory of one of the worst days of her life.

Max loved water as a kid, growing up in Southern California, she was a classic mermaid loving girl. She actually dreamed of being a marine biologist. But one faithful day changed all of that.

Her father was rarely around in her childhood and for good reasons. He was an alcoholic with anger issues. So imagine her mother’s surprise to hear that Max and her little brother had been picked up early from school by their father.

The then 8 year old Max had no clue what was going on, but she was just happy to see her dad. What she didn’t know was the evil plan her father had. Now a lot of the small details are a blur to her , but she vividly remembers her father driving his car into the lake with her and her brother in the back seat.

Now she tried her best to pull her brother out of the water, but she was fighting against the raging current that kept pulling her back down into the water. The raging water and the strength she needed to save her brother was too much for her frail body and she ended up passing out from exhaustion before she could get out of the water.

When she woke up, she found out she was the only one to survive the crash.

Everyone head turns when they hear Max’s scream. It wasn’t a normal scream, it was one of pure fear. Everyone looks at the situation with confusion. Well everyone but Luke who run into action and runs to the end of the pier and dives in after Max.

Without thinking he grabs Max and pulls her to land.

“CPR she needs CPR.” Luke shouts panicking. Jack’s girlfriend, Sam, runs over to where Luke lays Max down at. Luckily Sam use to be a lifeguard and she has kept up to date on her cpr certification.

Luke leaves Max in Sam’s care before going over to his panicked brother. Luke shoves Jack.

“You should have fucking listened to her when she said fucking no Jack.” Luke shoves Jack even harder. “She can’t swim dumbass.”

“Hey it’s not his fault, she should have told him she couldn’t swim.” Trevor stands in between the brothers.

“No mean fucking no Trevor, she doesn’t have to tell us shit beyond no.” Luke now pushes Trevor, “You nearly killed her for what? Shits and giggles?”

Before anyone could say anything else, they hear violent coughing. Luke glares at Jack and Trevor once more before rushing to Max’s side.

“Luke? You saved me?” Max asks with a raspy voice. Luke simply gestures to Quinn who is holding a water bottle. Quinn understands and hands Luke the water. He helps Max drink. “How did you know?”

“About a month ago, I found you drunk in the hall,” Luke recalls.

Like had just came home from his late night gym session, when he sees a female figure sitting outside of his and Jack’s apartment door. He assumes it’s one of Jack’s weird stalker fans. But as he got closer he realized it was Max.

Now Luke has a crush on Max but the poor boy is a hopeless romantic. His failed attempts of flirting through teasing had came out ruder than he intended creating a bad impression towards Max. So when he sees the girl he likes, drunk at his door step he can’t help but be concerned.

“Max?” Luke puts down his gym bag when he hears the sobs coming from Max, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Lukey’s birthday.” This statement confuses Luke since his birthday wasn’t til September and it was currently April.

“No my birthday is in September.” He sits next to Max and she automatically puts her head on his shoulder.

“Noooo my brother Lukas.” She slurs her words, “I couldn’t save him, I couldn’t save my little brother.”

She tells Luke the story. Luke feels a mix of anger towards Max’s father as well as sympathy towards Max and her loss.

“I am such a bad person,” Max cries even louder, “If only I was stronger, my brother would have lived to turn 16.”

“Maxie it wasn’t your fault, you were 8,” Luke does his best to comfort the drunk girl, but he knows she probably can’t even hear him in her drunken state.

So he just holds her as she cries in the hallways until she passes out. He grabs her keys that were fortunately in her hands, and he carefully tucked her into her bed.

“God I thought that was a dream,” in that moment, Max think she would have preferred going back into the water than dealing with the embarrassment she was feeling.

“Awe you dream about me?” Max turns red and she quickly turns away from Luke, “Don’t worry I dream about you too, quite often actually.”

She snaps her head back at Luke in shock, “You do? But I thought you hated me.”

“I never hated you,” He says while running his hand in her wet hair, “I am just horrible at flirting.”

“Flirting? Why would you flirt with me,” She looks at Luke for a second before putting one and one together. “OHHHH, really?”

“Yeah unfortunately,” she shoves Luke with the little strength she has, “but we can talk about this later, let’s get you inside and warm.”

Luke picks Max up as the two ignore everyone else.

“Wait what the fuck you mean unfortunately? You fucking uncooked spaghetti noodle.”

#hockey imagine #nhl blurb #nhl imagine #nhl #nj devils imagine #luke hughes #luke hughes blurb #hockey #luke hughes imagine #nhl angst

205 notes · View notes

hotluncheddie · 3 months ago

Text

For the @steddie-spooktober day 14 prompt : bats

rated: T | cw: reference to canon trauma | tags: pre relationship, Steve Harrington look after Eddie Munson

🦇🦇🦇🦇

‘Shit fucking!’ Steve hears Eddie shout. He whips around just in time to see the gas station bell jingle as the door slams shut.

‘Eddie?’ He calls, shoving the chips he was holding back and tossing his wallet at a startled Robin, calling to her and the old guy at the counter that he’ll ’be back!’ Before barrelling out into the foggy morning light after Eddie.

Steve finds him crouched and cowered under a nearby tree, dirt caked on his knees as if he skidded to a stop here in a heap.

He approaches slowly, Eddie’s hands trembling as they wipe at his eyes. His mouth twisted in an angry, upset sort of frown.

‘Ed’s? What happened?’ Steve says, heart breaking a little as Eddie flinches, like they’re back in the boathouse. Steve kneels before him, trying to hunch up small, show he’s not a threat.

Eddie groans. Smacks his forehead with the heel of his hand. ‘The fucking stupid fucking paper bat on the widow!’ He sniffs. ‘The Halloween decoration. I like, it was. It was like I was back there Stevie.’ Eddie looks up at him with wide wet eyes.

‘Eddie.’ Steve breaths, wrapping him up in a hug, squeezing tighter as Eddie shudders out a sob into his shoulder.

Eddie boasted sometimes that he was over it all, on good days when he was as loud and brash as those lunch table rants. So sure that nothing could touch him.

But Steve knows how quickly a day can turn bad. What’s it’s like to fall, to be back in every nightmare you’ve ever know. And feel like you’ll never crawl your way back again.

Once Eddie’s breathing evens out, and he sniffs out a quiet little ‘thank you’, Steve shifts to sit beside him in the mud.

He stares out across the parking lot, into the forest that sits beyond. ‘I met a guy at work the other week. Just started chatting to him because I’d never seen him before. He uh, said he was a sailor, like, in the Navy. And I, and I had to leave.’ Steve swallows thickly. ‘I just left him at the counter. Robin had to finish up with him. I felt so sick. It was so dumb, I scoped fucking icecream, but, I just couldn’t look at him after he said that.’ Steve says with a little humourless laugh. He runs a hand through his hair.

Eddie bumps shoulder with him. ‘Not dumb, never dumb.’ He says, a little smile on his face now.

Steve relaxes, bumps him back, hides his smile in his shoulder.

‘Also, I think you might’ve been being hit on big guy.’ Eddie whispers, pulling at a loose thread on his jeans.

‘Yeah, well, I thought that but, guess I just can’t get with a sailor. Sad.’ Steve shrugs, doesn’t think, just says.

When he looks over at Eddie, his face showing every bit of his stunned silence.

Well. He guesses it was better said sooner rather than later.

‘Yeah, I. Yeah. Both ways, either. Both.’ Steve stammers, feeling hot all over.

‘Yeah?’ Eddie smiles.

‘Yeah.’ Steve smiles back.

They walk across to the Beamer, still parked by the gas pump. Robin can be seen through the window talking to the old guy about something or other, her arms moving as she talks.

Steve laughs. His hand brushes Eddie’s as they walk. Neither of them move away.

🦇🦇🦇🦇

Tag list : @scoops-aboy86 @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @pearynice @marvel-ous-m @thecatkingsthrone

@cheesedoctor @chickensinrainboots

#im finishing this in the morning before work #instead of in the evening #so pls beware typos lol #I don’t have time to do a proper proof read #hotlunch #steddie #steve x eddie #steddiespooktober #steddie spooktober #drabbles

146 notes · View notes

lahulotteshitpost · 7 months ago

Text

***Sorry this started out as a rant***

The idea that you only reciprocate someone's love if you can be open about your feelings or date them is honestly insulting.

I find it especially mature from the Doctor to admit she can't date Yaz, knowing it will break her heart.

In LOTSD, you can clearly see the pain on their faces (both of them), but it's the kindest thing the Doctor could have done. Their relationship would have been unhealthy. We know this because we've seen the Doctor losing herself and being a terrible friend to Yaz.

And the Doctor knows that, she knows her mental state won't allow her to actually be in a relationship. She knows the relationship would be toxic, she knows she's been a terrible friend, she even admitted it in Flux but admitting it didn't fix her.

I've lived longer, seen more, loved more, and lost more.

- It Takes You Away

Yaz, I'm sorry. I didn't let you in to what I was doing... what I was looking for. I shouldn't have shut you out.

- The Vanquishers

But the point is, if it was going to be anyone, it'd be you. But I can't. Because at some point time always runs out.

- Legend of the Sea Devils

Not because I don't want to, because I might. But if I do fix myself to somebody I know, sooner or later, it'll hurt.

- Legend of the Sea Devils

The Doctor is very clear:

- she's not been a good friend,

- she loves Yaz,

- she wishes she could date her.

Being in love, even when it's reciprocal, doesn't always end in a relationship. Sometimes, even "trying" is impossible.

They can't be together, because the Doctor can't bring herself to do that. She's been desperately trying to avoid feelings and attachments since she fell into that Sheffield train. Of course, it doesn't work, and of course it's not a healthy coping mechanism, but this is something people go through.

Yaz understands. And I will argue that Yaz got to confess her love to the Doctor in LOTSD, they both expressed their feelings indirectly.

My nani says, courage is knowing something will hurt and doing it anyway. Mind you, she also said it's the definition of stupidity.

- Legend of the Sea Devils

This is Yaz telling the Doctor "I love you, I wish you could get over your fears, but I understand.

(And there is a lot to say about consent, as, clearly, understanding despite the pain is also the healthier reaction. You cannot force someone into a relationship, Yaz has often been mistreated by the Doctor but in this very moment, she is not a victim.)

There's a reason why she adds that bit about "stupidity" and it's not just to make the Doctor laugh.

Their romance is a slow burn with no happy ending. It's incredibly bittersweet, but it's also very real.

Mentally ill people who avoid relationships are often ashamed of it, we don't openly talk about it because it's definitely not "normal". You can be traumatised, depressed, anxious, but you're still in a happy romantic and sexual relationship, obviously.

Except when you can't.

I started shipping Thasmin during Series 12, initially believing it to be unrequited. I never expected it to be more than subtext, in a way it subverted a lot of my expectations.

I'm no different from most shippers, I was hoping for a kiss (every Doctor had one!) although I expected it to be disappointingly non romantic (à la Nine/Rose).

A kiss, the ultimate romantic trope!

Doctor Who didn't give me what I was hoping for.

It gave me something that I desperately needed.

Home.

Representation.

When you are one of those fucked up queer people, afraid of people knowing deep down you can't date, avoiding feelings and relationships because this is how your traumas shaped you, do you really get to see yourself?

Thasmin isn't every queer person, it isn't even every sapphic you will ever meet, but no story is. And their queerness isn't the cause of their doomed love, which I find extremely respectful and far from usual tropes.

I can see myself in them, at different stages of my life. I know some aro/ace spec people see their relationship as very queerplatonic and also felt represented.

Maybe you don't, and that's fine. You don't have to see yourself in them, you don't have to like this story.

Just understand other queer people will.

#Thasmin #doctor who #yaz #thirteen #the Doctor #yasmin khan #yaz khan #thirteenth doctor #queer #jodie Whittaker #mandip gill #romance #aroace #sapphic #lgbtq #queerplatonic

162 notes · View notes

ashessonfire · 2 years ago

Note

Okay so I have a fic idea and I’m a bit obsessed with it so hope you like it too!!

I was imagining that the reader is part of the crows and they do a job where the reader and Jesper get cursed or poisoned where they just stay in a coma like state.

The crows try everything to wake them up but nothing works and one day Wylan kisses Jesper and Jesper wakes up so they realise the cure is TRUE LOVES KISS!

Kaz is obviously in denial about his feelings and thinks the reader can’t possibly love him back so he doesn’t even try and the other crows start getting really mad at him and basically force him to kiss the reader and she obviously wakes up too!

I was thinking lots of angst and worrying and pining before the kiss because I love pain haha

I would absolutely love you forever as ever if you could write this! ❤️

'Fairytale' - Kaz Brekker x Reader

Prompt: Kaz sends you and Jesper on a heist, which results in the pair on the brink of death. Can Kaz face his trauma and save the person he loves most? - Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Reader (pre-relationship) - Warnings: Mentions of asphyxiation (gas poison like season 2), Jesper and reader fall into a coma like state, descriptions of Kaz's trauma, nothing too graphic i dont think?? Angst, angst, angst

A/N: Anon i just have to say i love you, this request is EVERYTHING. Its a long one but i just couldn't stop writing! Please keep requests coming, you guys have incredible ideas!!! P.S Thank you all for 5000 notes already <3

════ ∘◦ᵒ 𓅓 ᵒ◦∘ ════

The second the words ‘Jesper’ and ‘Y/N’ coincided with the word ‘heist’, fits of laughter and screeches of excitement escaped the pair in question. It was rare that the friends could spend a mission entirely alone, obviously working diligently, but stopping by for drinks afterwards, unbeknownst to their boss.

Kaz rolled his eyes, fixing a dull look at the two, lip curling up in what may have appeared to be disgust. However, you caught the playful glint in his eye, just illuminated by the club’s oil lanterns for you to notice. Giving the pair of you the meticulously laid out plan, Kaz offered a tight nod before watching you disappear into the crowd of pigeons, and out into the cool breeze infiltrating Ketterdam’s night air.

A pair of eyes lingered on your back, until you were far enough away that the raucous customers drowned out your angelic laugh, riding high above the crowd and penetrating the heart of the man you had just turned from. Clutching his cane fiercely, Kaz pushed all thoughts of you aside, burying deep the anxiety rising into his throat, and limping swiftly back up to his office.

════ ∘◦ᵒ 𓅓 ᵒ◦∘ ════

“Come on Y/N, we’re early anyway. Surely a tiny drink won’t hurt, I mean Kaz isn’t,” Jesper started playfully, but you cut him off with a look that could only be replicated with enough study of your boss’s face.

Jesper burst out laughing, infecting your chest with bubbles of joy, bursting out of you in a fit of giggles which set your partner off further. “Sorry Jes, Kaz’s orders. Plus, the sooner this is over, the more we can drink later,” you replied, your voice weakening at the end of the phrase as you suppressed a further attack of laughter.

Once the pair had battled through the biting conditions, gusts of wind cutting at their exposed skin like needles, the heist had run smoothly. Jesper successfully distracted the guards outside the small outlet, resorting to booming gunfire when even his charm had displayed no effect. You dissolved into the shadows, slipping through the doorway to the room that Kaz had suggested held the jewel, something, you supposed, worth far more than its underwhelmingly ragged appearance displayed.

The sound of guns clicking against their holsters alerted you, a shiver of anticipation creeping up your spine, however it dissipated as quickly as it came, once an outline of a ridiculously tall hat appeared on the floorboards. Within moments, Jesper joined you at the entrance of the room, eyes alight with adrenaline, practically buzzing next to you as his body twitched from the excitement of using his guns.

“Right then, lets go get this thing,” Jesper stated dramatically before striding forward with determined steps. Yet the strangled warning and the missed grasp on his wrist came too late, as a floorboard shifted under the sharp-shooter’s weight, concealing the entrance and your only chance of escape.

A soft light emanated from a half-burnt candle on the other side of the cage they now stood in, yet it was enough to catch a flash of regret seize Jesper’s face as he turned towards you.

“Uhmm, I’m guessing that wasn’t supposed to happen, right?” Jesper said, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at the trap he had triggered. A sigh escaped you, the previous joy from the early evening seeping from you fast, replaced with ice flooding your veins, heart hammering savagely against your chest. As you formulated a response to both calm you down, and relieve Jesper, a hissing sound disrupted the thickening silence.

The sound multiplied, surrounding the pair as they frantically searched for the source of the noise, like as snake threatening its victim before injecting its most lethal venom into its prey. Before the analogy of the snake could panic you further, something caught your eye, forcing you to strain your sight to make out the red shape slithering around on the floorboards. The candle flickered and dimmed, leaving the lightest of red glistens to illuminate the room.

“Jesper,” you choked out, finally comprehending what shape inching towards you was. Yet there was no need for a reply, as a sharp scent infiltrated your nostrils, forcing you to cough violently as the smoke burned your lungs, ripping apart your flesh from the inside out.

Jesper was forcing your name through his lips as he staggered towards you, gripping you tightly in his embrace as his lungs constricted. The pair crashed to the floor as each limb felt severed from the rest, the flickering candle now smothered by the red smoke.

Black filled both crow’s visions, as the gloom consumed them, relieving the burning sensation as their lungs gave out.

════ ∘◦ᵒ 𓅓 ᵒ◦∘ ════

There were truly very few things that could render Kaz Brekker speechless, however the sight of his two closest companions lying lifeless and frigid had utterly shattered him. Inej had shadowed the pair on their mission, under the command of their boss. “Just in case,” he had said to the wraith, but it was evident to her that he was simply worried for the both of you.

The crash of the city clock startled Inej into panic, leading her to the room where she discovered the pair, limbs tangled together and Jesper’s arms encircling your frame.

Dragging both of your limp bodies to a dreg’s owned carriage, Inej rushed you back to the slat, praying frantically to every Saint she could think of. The only sense of relief keeping her sane was the faint breaths emitting from you occasionally.

Now, you were both encased in warmth, the thickest blankets the crows could locate wrapping you up as you laid unmoving on makeshift beds in Kaz’s office. Nina insisted on you being together, allowing her to monitor your heart rates efficiently, the dread that your breathing could cease momentarily consuming the crows.

Wylan sat unmoving from Jesper’s side, constantly tending to him, bringing cool cloths to reduce his fever, or forcing sips of water down his throat, anxiety ripping into him each time he was made to leave.

The boy sat curled up next to his boyfriend, barely speaking apart from breathy rasps of thanks to Nina and Inej for food, or the occasional whispers to Jesper. It was unmistakeable from the minute Inej revealed your unconscious bodies that you had been poisoned, thrusting you into a border between life and death.

Kaz’s reaction differed vastly from the rest of his crows, his initial thoughts not moving to sadness, or worry for your conditions. All he could see was Jordie’s dead body, frigid and ashen, the feel of his clammy skin slipping underneath the fingertips of the younger Rietveld brother. The waves signalled no warning, violently crushing the air from Kaz’s lungs, forcing him to stagger blindly out into the alley behind the slat.

From that moment onwards, Kaz refused to see you. Not out of spite, or callousness, but simply because he couldn’t face it. Perhaps if it were only Jesper, he could summon the courage to venture into his office, maybe even remain for longer than a minute. But you?

It would kill him to see you in that sate again.

════ ∘◦ᵒ 𓅓 ᵒ◦∘ ════

Sleep drastically evaded Kaz, the lack of your warm presence during the early hours caused the bastard’s mind to saturate his thoughts with every shade of terror.

Images of your lifeless body crossed over with his brother’s, the picture burning into his eyelids each time he closed his eyes. Since that night, almost a week ago by now, Kaz had not slept more than an hour at a time, and his presence had not been noted once by any of the other crows.

They tried desperately to construct a solution to the venom flowing through your veins, trying the most expensive of doctors, a team of Grisha healers, even antidotes concocted in the slat’s kitchen, yet nothing woke you. Each day unnerved the crows further, the chilling stillness of your bodies showing no sign of regeneration. The lack of activity settling a deeply rooted static into the crows lives.

That was, until Inej burst into his office to break to him the news.

Snatching his cane, Kaz bolted past her, forcefully striking the floor with each heavy step he took as he ascended the stairs. Crashing through the door, Kaz swiftly wove his way past your bed, eyes locked only on Jesper, the sight of your body in his nightmares plaguing him so torturously that he could not bear to even glance at you. As he shouldered past a gaping Nina, the sight before him confirmed the heart-wrenching cries from Wylan, the boy sobbing uncontrollably, his fists grasping at the material on his partners shirt.

Kaz’s gaze lifted to his crow’s eyes, his heart hammering in his ears when a mischievous pair glinted back at him, a weak but lopsided grin painted onto the sharpshooter’s face at the evident concern seizing Kaz’s features. The relief was short lived however, as his veins froze over, the stillness of your body flooding his mind once again with overwhelming anxiety.

“How,” was all Kaz could breathe out, voice low and throaty as emotion took hold of him.

“Whilst Inej and I were downstairs fetching new sheets for them, Wylan stayed up here. He decided at some point he needed some air, so he gave Jesper a kiss before going. But it seemed to have woken him up, and, well, here he is?” Nina offered, the weeps still wracking Wylan, words unable to creep out through the tears that submerged him.

The information buzzed through the air, sinking slowly into Kaz’s consciousness, before his heart plummeted.

The expectant gazes of the others stabbed at him, each knowing glance wrenching at his heart.

What were they all looking at? Surely, they didn’t expect him to be the one to save you? What sort of fool would reciprocate feelings for the ‘bastard of the barrel’? Thousands of questions swarmed Kaz, constricting his lungs once more, as he exited the room as quickly as he had entered.

════ ∘◦ᵒ 𓅓 ᵒ◦∘ ════

Days had passed without a single interaction between the crows and their boss, no matter the begging they resorted to outside his door. Each sob, scream, or plead was met with a resounding silence, resulting in a chilling slash to their resolve.

Reality had escaped Kaz, his conscious and unconscious hours blurring into one, the chill of Ketterdam infiltrating his body, worsening the horrors that taunted him. Everything he touched became the decaying of rotting flesh, each shadow a haunting figure bearing either yours or his brothers features. At some points, Kaz could muster the strength to imagine something else, something he had pictured frequently even before the mission had failed.

Your eyes glowing from the gentle moonlight glistening through the window, lips slightly parted as your breath quickens at the proximity. Warmth enveloping the pair of you as Kaz reaches down to caress your cheeks, the heat radiating from them enough to seep through his gloves.

He leans into you, the waves calming at your presence, receding until they gently lapped at his feet. Your lips meet and streams of love radiate between the two of you, creating the only peace Kaz has felt since the fire-pox had plagued the city and stolen his family from him.

However, each vision of you was cut short just as he was finally kissing you, your eyes would gloss over, and your lifeless body would be pressed directly against his. Panic attacks always ensued, but Kaz was unsure of how long this could continue for. His body was weakening with lack of use, bones weighing him down with every movement.

By now the others were gathering downstairs to eat dinner, the sound of Jesper’s laugh signaling his recovery was flowing smoothly. Before his mind could register his bodies actions, he hauled himself up, grabbed his cane, and discreetly made his way up to his office.

To see you.

Every nerve in his body set alight at the sight of you, frozen in time as your chest barely rose with each shallow breath. Yet Kaz pushed through the terror threatening to root him to the floor, forcing himself to pull a chair close to you, knuckles whitening as he clutched his cane to ground himself.

When you didn’t start morphing into Jordie, his mind declared that it was safe enough to remain where he was, albeit on the very edge of his seat, waves smashing into his chest with each breath.

In order to stay with you, he needed to focus on the signs that you were at least somewhat there. Scanning your body, he fixated on the whisps of air escaping your parted lips, the rise and fall of the blankets which engulfed you, the tint on your cheeks from the fire glowing nearby.

You were alive, and it was enough reason for Kaz to stay.

For a long while, he sat silently, an undecipherable gaze glued to your form, thoughts racing through his mind but his body frozen. It was evident enough that the crows thought he could be the one to wake you up, in the same way Wylan had done for Jesper. The thought alone made Kaz outwardly scoff, not only was the idea of a ‘fairy-tale’ kiss as the sole remedy absurd, but the fact they believed you could love him enough for it to work.

Yes, you spent hours helping him through mountains of paperwork, bringing him sustenance when forgets to eat, clearing up his room when he is too engrossed in his work to notice, or even keeping him company with a book so he can rest peacefully. But you were kind, too kind for the Barrels harsh realities he thought, although it only rarely stole your spark. Your extra care for Kaz was likely due to concern, how could it be out of anything like love?

The evening drew closer, light fading as twilight enshrouded the city, the chatter from downstairs becoming quieter as the group parted ways to rest. Knowing his time was running out, Kaz Brekker did something he never thought he could.

Kaz Brekker lent down and kissed you.

Immediately sparks ignited within him, lighting him on fire in a way he had never experienced before, however the flames were extinguished quickly, as the freezing waves crashed against him.

They rose exceedingly swiftly, signaling him to retreat into his isolation, awkwardly stumbling out of the office and slamming the door to his room, body shaking violently at the action he had accomplished.

════ ∘◦ᵒ 𓅓 ᵒ◦∘ ════

The moment the door to his office shut, your eyes fluttered open, light scorching them from lack of use, head throbbing but the sensation of being conscious offering you some relief. Your lips tingled, a phantom feeling of something brushing against them consuming your thoughts.

Although you were slipping from the waking world constantly, the sight of your weeping friends and their grateful smiles in the intervals where you awoke granted you enough strength to recover quickly.

One face was unsurprisingly absent throughout your healing, the cold façade of the boss only gracing you once the others were gone, keeping you company in a strange but not unwelcomed silence. With each day you regained your radiant energy, even walking short distances with the aid of Kaz’s cane.

Once you had fully returned, you grew curious as to how you had awoken, startled at the revelation that Wylan saved Jesper with his love. There was no way the person you held affections for would ever do the same.

Could he?

Throwing a sly grin towards you, Nina stated, “Well we don’t truly know what brought you back, but I did catch a certain gang leader looking ever so shaky as he fled from the room. It just so happened that when I saw you next you were awake. What an odd thing,” using a dramatically exasperated tone, the mischievous spark in her eye confirming your suspicions.

Turning every shade of red, you buried your face in your hands, only peeking out from a small gap between your fingers. Just as a compass finds its bearings, your gaze gravitated straight towards Kaz.

As you peered up, you noticed he was positioned directly opposite on the far side of the Crow club, noting the pink tint that dusted his cheeks, just illuminated enough for you to catch. His gaze was unreadable but uncommonly gentle, and moments passed before you recognised what he was staring at.

He was fixated on you

════ ∘◦ᵒ 𓅓 ᵒ◦∘ ════

Kaz Brekker taglist: @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @ell0ra-br3kk3r @swhisperer @sleepynightchild @atlasiiae @kaiinohh @sannunah28 @at-the-chateau @withbeautyandragendrage @animalistic00 @whos6claire @any-corrie (please comment if you would like to be added to the Kaz Brekker taglist)

#kaz brekker x y/n #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker x reader imagines #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker #shadow and bone season 2 #shadow and bone #shadow and bone imagine #six of crows x reader #six of crows imagine #six of crows #requests open #grishaverse

1K notes · View notes

da-rulah · 7 months ago

Text

The Mayor's Daughter - Mary Goore x f!Reader [Part 7]

Summary: Mary is in danger, walking into the lion's den with nothing but a pocket knife. Forrest is on his way, but will it be too late…?

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Word Count: 11.2k

Warnings: Alcohol abuse, themes of abandonment, difficult childhood, threat, violence, blood

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3 | MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

A/N: Ladies, gents and enby darlings, I need to draw your attention to this stunning artwork I commissioned of Mary from the unbelievably talented @ghuleh-draws... I cannot believe how gorgeous he is and I could talk about it for hours. Please, go and show her and the art some love. Hopefully it might heal some of the trauma I've caused with both last chapter and this one... And once again, a big thank you to @angellayercake & @her-satanic-wiles for beta reading this!

Mary’s arms ached, and yet, he continued with his work. Mr. Rogers had started to lose some of his dexterity, his arthritic hands no longer able to do as much as they used to and so, Mary’s workload had as good as doubled. Furniture in need of a new lease of life had begun to pile up in the workshop, and school prevented him from making the dent in the work he needed to. Late evenings were becoming later and later, and yes, Mary’s grades had started to suffer.

But it was becoming impossible to ignore the financial situation he found himself in, and – even at sixteen years old – the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. There was no choice here. If he wanted to move himself and his mother into a real home and out of the scummy little motel on the outskirts of town, they had found themselves in, he had to do what he had to do; with very little time to be the kid he still was...

He’d stopped glancing at the clock on the wall of the workshop long ago, well aware midnight had come and gone. It wasn’t the ideal place to be on a Friday night, when all his friends were out enjoying their freedom. Still, he continued to sand down the wood of the dresser he was working on tonight despite the aching. If he could just get the sanding and the first layer of staining done tonight, it would be dry by the time he came back into the workshop on Sunday and he could spend at least Saturday evening with his friends like he’d planned. If one night a week was all the free time Mary would get, he’d just have to be grateful for that.

Mary turned off the sander and swiped his hand across the top of the dresser, feeling how smooth it now was to the touch – no ridges, no scratches and totally even. Mr Rogers himself couldn’t do a better job, he was sure of it. And so, he pulled his dust mask from his face, letting it hang beneath his chin as he put the sander away and reached for the brushes and varnish.

As he did, his phone began to vibrate on the tool bench, violently rattling against the metal. He stared at it for a moment, part of him wanting to ignore it and continue his work. Another 45 minutes or so, and he could head back to the motel and get some rest. But it vibrated incessantly, until he had no choice but to put down the brush and tin in his hand with a loud thud and answer the damn thing.

“Yeah?” he spoke into the receiver, his tone dejected. He knew who was calling at this hour. He always knew.

“Yeah, hey kid. Me again. Look, I’m sorry but you’re gonna have to come and get her. I’ve cut her off but she won’t go.” That voice belonged to Manny, the bartender at Ace’s Taproom. He sounded as exhausted as Mary did.

Mary sighed into the phone, rubbing at his brow as if it would relieve the pressure that had built there.

“Can you just... I don’t know, can it wait an hour?” Just enough time to get this layer of varnish done... Then he could still head out tomorrow night, his plans intact.

“She’s already causing a bit of a scene, kid. The sooner you can get here, the better.” His tone was apologetic – even Manny knew this burden was too much for a kid to take. But who else was there?

“Alright, I’ll be there in fifteen. Thanks, Manny,” he relented, already untying the tool belt from around his hips with his free hand.

“I’m sorry, man. I’ll see ya soon,” Manny consoled just before he hung up. Mary dropped his phone back onto the bench with a loud slam, running his dusty fingers over his face and taking a deep, steadying breath. This was happening too often, almost every damn night. It had to stop, but what else could he do? He’d just have to keep saving her.

When Mary pulled into the parking lot in Mr Rogers’ old van that he had kindly gifted him – for the sole purpose of collecting and delivering the pieces of furniture they worked on at the shop, since he could no longer lift them in his old age – he took a second to himself, collecting his thoughts and preparing himself for a confrontation he knew was bound to happen.

He got out, heading towards the sign that flickered in neon red in the shape of an ace of spades. At this hour, there were very few people on the streets, much less left in the old taproom but still, he could feel the shame creeping in.

Inside, he spotted her immediately, slouched over the bar on her usual stool nursing an empty glass with an incredibly pale drop of amber liquid in, as if the ice that had inhabited the last dregs of her scotch had melted and watered it down. Manny stood at the other end of the bar, talking to one of the other regulars but he shot Mary a sad yet appreciative smile across the room. Mary just lifted his hand in an almost-wave, and headed over to the bar.

“Ma?” he called out gently. She barely stirred, her head laying on her arm like she was asleep. He shook her gently, pushing her hair from her face. “Ma, come on. Let’s go.” He pulled her shoulders into an upright position, her head lolling as she came to.

“N-no, I’m not done yet, baby,” she slurred, her tongue as drunk as her mind.

“Yeah you are, they’re shutting up soon. We gotta get home,” he encouraged, trying to help her down from the bar stool. Her head gained its bearings, and she caught sight of Manny at the other end of the bar, as well as the other patron, watching the saddest scene unfold in front of them both.

“Th-this prick... Said he wouldn’t serve me no more,” she rambled, pointing at Manny with an arm too weak to stay elevated. “What you starin’ at, huh?”

“Ma, come on... Let’s just go, yeah?” Mary’s cheeks were heating up with embarrassment.

“Don’t need your pity, dickhead!” she shouted, still slurring as if her tongue were too big for her mouth.

“Go home,” he told her firmly, trying not to rise to her insults. She flipped him off, while Mary wrapped her other arm around his shoulders and hoisted her to her feet, slowly taking her outside.

As soon as the door shut behind them, his mum pushed Mary from under her and tried to stand on her own two feet, stumbling a little in the process. But she found her footing, while Mary stayed close enough to catch her if she did fall.

“Idiot boy, ruining my fun,” she mumbled. That was like a knife to the chest...

“Either me or the cops, Ma,” he sighed. “Let’s just get home.”

“Home? HA!” she hollered, “Where’s that then?” Mary just rolled his eyes, taking her arm gently and guiding her back in the direction of the van. Her walking reminded him of a newborn foal, so unsteady as she took one step at a time and yet she tried to get him off her the whole way, unwilling to admit she needed help.

“Ma, this has gotta stop. This ain’t healthy...” he began, starting a losing battle. She stopped and slapped her hands down by her sides.

“Don’t start with me, Mary,” she warned, but he was determined.

“You’re drinking our savings, Ma! How are we ever gonna get outta that motel when you’re spending it faster than I can make it?” He raised his voice, his frustration evident.

“You said you were working overtime!” she argued, as if that were any real argument at all. Mary was a 16 year old boy; his only job should be a few hours a week at most, if at all. Not every hour he could squeeze in, and certainly not to pay for her alcoholism.

“Yeah, to get us a new place! But I can’t make enough if you’re just gonna spend it. Do I have to stop giving you money for you to stop? That’s for groceries, Ma. For shit you need!”

“Don’t you curse at your mother, boy...” she practically growled.

“Maybe if you acted like my mother-” It was a low blow, but not entirely unwarranted. His mother interrupted him with a sharp slap to his cheek, the suddenness stunning Mary into silence. His cheek stung, but his heart even more so. She’d never raised a hand to him before.

“M-Mary...” she stuttered, her eyes beginning to fill with tears as the realisation sank in that she’d just slapped her son. Her little boy... Mary took a step back as she reached for him, letting her stumble and regain her balance again. “I’m sorry...” She tried to grab at him, to hold him and stroke his hair and desperately apologise but he shoved her off, and she stumbled to the ground in a heap.

“I’m done. Get yourself home, Ma.” He turned quickly back to his van, his hands shaking with emotion he tried to hold back. His keys jangled in his hands as he unlocked the door with the press of a button, and he climbed into the seat with a slam of the door.

His cheek still stung with the force of her slap, his eyes welling up as he clenched his jaw so tight his teeth could have splintered. He squeezed his eyes shut and hit his head back against the plush cushion of the headrest several times as he slapped at the edge of the steering wheel, releasing all of his hurt, his anger in an outburst he contained to the cabin of the van now that he was alone.

Taking some deep breaths, he calmed himself to a point where he could wipe the fresh tears on his cheeks and shoved his keys into the ignition. But he paused before he turned them, the engine staying dormant, and glanced down into his wing mirror only to see his mother still in a heap on the floor. Her shoulders shook violently, her sobs audible even from here in the cab. His eyes lingered there, unable to tear them away as his chest ached. She looked so helpless, so utterly destroyed by what she’d done but more so, what had been done to her...

“God fucking damnit,” Mary muttered, climbing back out of the van and walking back over to her with caution. Of course he did... How could he leave her? His own mother, lying on the cold tarmac of a parking lot, in this state? Mary was all she had now, their shitty little apartment snatched from them, abandoned once again by anyone and everyone. For years it had always been Mary and her, against the world – that couldn’t change now, when he was all she had left.

Without a word, he lifted her again, her sobs quietening when she felt his hands under her arms and realised he’d come back for her. Her expression changed from anguish to surprise with an essence of gratitude and apology, allowing her broken son to pick up the pieces as he helped her back into the van. He took great care with every move, gently letting her get comfortable as he leaned over to strap the seatbelt across her, laying her head against the seat while she sobbed silently and hiccupped from time to time.

As he drove her home, she reached for the radio to flick it on, getting comfortable in the seat and using the sound to try and distract from the situation the pair of them found themselves in. Mary stayed quiet the whole time, keeping a watchful eye on his mother as she seemed to drift between sleep and reality now she was bundled into a warm and comfy seat.

“You used to tell me... I would hear you on there someday,” she slurred as they got closer to the edge of town, pointing weakly at the radio with a fond but weary smile. “My boy, ‘the rock star’,” she giggled. Mary looked ahead at the road, trying not to entertain the drunk rambles nor the dreams he’d squashed for himself with the weight of his responsibility. His one and only goal right now was to get them back on their feet – and even that felt unattainable.

Back at the motel, he watched his mother struggle with her dexterity to fit the key into their room door. Eventually, he gently took the keys from her and let them both inside, guiding her as had become their routine. He let her sit on the bed – the one they now had to share under the circumstances – and crouched at her feet to take her shoes off for her, placing them one by one on the floor.

He helped her take off her jacket, laying her down gently on the pillow while she curled in on herself in a foetal position. Mary headed into the bathroom with an empty glass, filling it with tap water and bringing it back out to his mother’s side of the bed. He crouched down next to her, urging her to drink. She did, small sips at a time.

“Ma, please... you gotta get better. We need to get outta here,” he said softly.

“I was getting better...” she sniffled.

“I know, Ma. You can get better again,” he encouraged, but there was a small part of him that worried she never would. “You just gotta move on from-”

“Stop,” she begged. “I don’t wanna hear it...” But Mary persisted. She had to hear him.

“You can’t let this shit stop you. You’re stronger than that. We’ve been through worse,” he insisted. Her head shot up from the pillow, her gaze stoney and angry.

“You have no idea, Mary... What it’s like to have the world promised to you and then ripped out from under you.” She spoke through gritted teeth.

“You’re worth a lot more than that fuckin-”

“Enough!” she yelled, rolling over onto her back to stare up at the ceiling. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. We could have had everything, if you had just...”

“Me?” Mary interrupted, instantly offended at her accusation. “What the fuck did I do?”

“Your attitude, Mary,” she shot her glare back at him. “Always fucking attitude.”

There was no chance she was blaming him for all this... This was neither his, nor his mother’s fault. There was someone to blame, but in their absence the only person close enough to his mother was Mary, and the only person she could lash out at was him. She couldn’t possibly mean what she was saying, and yet, it still stung all the same.

“Go to sleep,” he told her, his voice hardened and stern as if he were the adult, and she the child. “You’re just talking pure shit now. It ain’t my fault he lied to you.”

“He didn’t lie-”

“He did, Ma. He lied to you, and everyone else. He’s a piece of shit like everyone else in this washed up town!” Mary raised his voice, his anger at every injustice he faced from everyone around him mounting higher and higher. “I’m fucking sick of it, here! I wanna get us out, but you’re too busy drinking every dime I fucking make to notice that I’m fucking drowning!”

Mary stood up suddenly, smacking at the shitty motel phone on the dresser beside the bed. His mother sat up, steadying herself from the headrush and the room spinning around her.

“I’m doing my best, Mary!” she yelled.

“Are you? Cause your best was getting clean eight months ago. Your best was no alcohol, getting yourself a job, being a normal fucking Mom! But now you’re back here, and it’s me who’s gotta look after you!”

“I-I... I have an addiction, it’s not that easy-”

“You’re not even trying! You’ve fucking given up, and why? Just ‘cause some fuckhead promised you the world with a cherry on top and it turns out, he was lying like every other dickhead?” Mary was going too far, but with a lack of a proper outlet, being forced to grow up quickly and fend for the both of them, every bottled up thought and emotion was spilling from him without restriction.

His mother sat on the bed, watching her son thread his fingers through his hair in frustration and take some deep breaths to try and steady him – but they weren’t working.

“Y’know what? Fuck this. You call me when you decide to be a mother again.”

And with that, Mary grabbed his keys and stormed out of the motel room, slamming the door with so much force that the cheap painting on the wall fell and shattered behind him.

Despite picking up his keys, he bypassed the van and kept walking, his legs taking him further into town without a destination in mind. He’d roam aimlessly if he needed to, but he needed to let off some damn steam, to expel some of this fucking rage that he’d imprisoned for too long.

As he went, he found himself kicking over trashcans, the metal rattling along the sidewalk. He used his keys to scratch the sides of cars he stomped past – the expensive ones, mostly. The ones owned by people in this town with too much money, greedy fat cats with more of it than sense. On his keys, he had a swiss army knife keychain, and one particular car – a very expensive black SUV – he shoved the blade attachment into the tyre deep enough that it deflated, high pitched whistle getting quieter and quieter as he walked further into town.

By the time he was in the town centre, he was starting to see a few people out and about, shoving shoulder to shoulder into them with a look of pure thunder on his face. Most people simply yelled out at him to watch where he was going, or called him a punk or other variations of ‘delinquent’.

‘Yeah’, Mary thought, ‘that’s what you all fucking think of me’. A town full of people who only knew him for his namesake – a deadbeat father and a drunken mother. Why wouldn’t Mary follow suit? If people thought that of him already, maybe he should just live up to the expectations; become the stereotype and stop giving a shit about anyone and everyone around him.

Why should he try anymore?

But he shoved at the wrong shoulder outside a pool hall, two kids Mary knew as seniors from his high school stood outside with cigarettes in one hand and beer bottles gained with fake IDs in another.

Corbin and Asher.

“Hey! Hey, fuckface!” Mary heard from behind him. He kept walking, too angry to give a fuck. But they followed. “Mary fuckin’ Goore, huh? You piece of shit, think you can slam into me and walk the fuck away?”

Mary didn’t even look back, but they caught up...

Corbin grabbed the back of his jacket and slammed him face first up against the shutters of a closed store, the metal rattling under the force. In an instant, he spun Mary around, slamming him again and holding him there.

“You got a problem, kid?” he asked, cocky and ready for a fight. Mary struggled against his hold, trying to shove at his arms and kick at his shins.

“Get the fuck off me, man,” he yelled. “You were in the way.” Corbin laughed condescendingly, looking back at Asher who stood there with both of their beers in his hands smirking the whole time.

“This kid thinks he owns the sidewalk, Ash. From what I’ve heard, he belongs in the fucking gutter...” Corbin landed a fist to Mary’s gut, Mary folding up like a ball of paper as he coughed. “Maybe we’ll put him there.”

He dragged Mary by his jacket and threw him to the ground, watching him roll around in pain until he tried to get up. Corbin raised his foot as if he were about to stomp on him, but Mary rolled to the side just in time to avoid it and instead reached out and pulled on his ankle, toppling him to the ground with a loud thud too.

Corbin was older, heavier, but Mary was younger and nimble – quickly he straddled Corbin and started throwing punches, every ounce of anger inside him forcing his fists into Corbin’s face who was yelling at Asher to do something, to stop standing around like a fucking moron and get this ‘little shit’ off him before he ‘beat the crap outta him’.

Before Asher could get close, Mary was being dragged off Corbin by someone else – someone in blue. Before he knew it he was being shoved against the hood of a car, his wrists clamped together in cold metal rings as the cop who’d stumbled on the scene slapped the handcuffs on him. His partner restrained Corbin just the same, slamming him on the other side of the hood.

One of them called for another car, unwilling to shove both Mary and Corbin into the back of the same cop car lest they kill each other on their way to the station, but Mary was thrown in first, and taken in for processing.

“Mary Goore, huh?” was the welcome he got when escorted inside by the Chief, sat behind the processing desk on a late shift. “Was only a matter of time,” he scoffed. Mary’s blood boiled at that. A few minutes later, as Mary was getting processed, another cop rolled in with Corbin in handcuffs. Immediately, Mary tried to lunge towards him, both of them hurling insults at each other while restrained.

“Pembrook, get this kid in a fuckin’ cell to cool off!” the Chief yelled at the officer restraining Mary, who did as instructed and hauled him off to a solitary cell.

“No, no wait! I get a phone call!” Mary said, running back up to the locked door as the officer shut it behind him.

“You’ll get your phone call when you calm down, kid,” the officer shouted back through the door. It was at least another hour before Mary got his phone call...

Not that it did him any good. He tried both his mother’s cell, and their motel phone – no answer. Perhaps he’d fucked up the phone when he smacked it off the side table, but still, his mother wasn’t answering her cell, probably passed out for the night.

Mary was left alone, sat in a solitary cell with fresh bruises and cuts, until the sun had long since risen. He curled up on the bench at the back of the cell, cold and metal and uncomfortable, and barely got a wink of sleep.

“Goore, let’s go,” he heard through the hatch in the door at God knows what time. He rolled over and sat upright, wiping the exhaustion from his face as the officer – a new one, only having just started his shift – opened the cell door. Behind him, was perhaps the only person Mary could really depend on at all.

Forrest.

“You can collect your things from the registration desk. Don’t find yourself back here again, kid. You got lucky, this time...”

Mary just nodded meekly as the officer turned and walked off, the door wide open and Forrest stood there looking at him with an expression of nothing but worry.

“Corbin got out last night, heard you were still in here. Got my parents to pull some strings,” he explained with a shrug. “Shit, Mare, you alright?”

Forrest stepped into the cell and placed his hands on Mary’s shoulders, inspecting him. Mary just nodded again, both too exhausted and too somber to form actual words.

“I’m gonna kick Corbin’s fuckin’ ass for this,” he grumbled. “I’ll set his eyebrows on fire in chem. He’s the worst fuckin’ lab partner anyway.” Mary huffed out a barely-there laugh at that, his shoulders shaking in Forrest’s hands.

Forrest was a senior, like Corbin and Asher. He knew they had a reputation, always getting into shit like this but he never thought he’d see Mary heading down the same path. He was the only one who saw what Mary went through, the work he put in at the workshop, the nights he spent nursing his alcoholic mother. He’d taken him under his wing a little, made him one of the gang and tried to offer him some respite from the slurry of shit he found himself in.

Getting the money from his parents to bail Mary out wasn’t difficult; they threw money at him like it was bird seed on the steps of a cathedral, but it was for that reason he knew loneliness just as much as Mary. On opposite ends of the spectrum financially but somehow, they shared a common ground in just how shitty their relationships with their parents were.

It shouldn’t have been him who got Mary out of here. It didn’t matter to him who started the damn fight or why; Mary had been through enough as it was, and an outburst like this was simply a ticking time bomb. What bothered Forrest more than anything, was knowing it had to be him walking him out of that police station and not the one person Mary loved most in this world, the one who was supposed to love, protect and care for him.

This wasn’t the last time he would collect Mary from a cell; there were more outbursts to come, more frustrations and stupid mistakes but if he had to, Forrest would be there for them all. He’d never abandon this kid who cared so deeply about people and the injustices they would face. Mary could have his rebellious phase, get it out of his system – hell, Forrest certainly did, and he wasn’t sure he was even out of it yet. But he needed someone to lean on, someone to reign him in when he started to go too far.

That night was Mary’s rock bottom, but Forrest jumped down into the pit with him, armed with ropes and twigs, ready to build a ladder to get them both out.

You were pacing outside the convenience store, desperately calling Forrest with your groceries in one hand, cell phone pressed tightly to your ear in the other. He didn’t pick up the first time, probably ignoring a number he didn’t know but you were getting more and more desperate. The second time you dialled, he picked up after a few rings.

“Yello?” he answered, chipper and riding off the high of a show well played.

“Forrest?! Oh my god, thank fuck for that. Listen, it’s me... Mary gave me your number,” you rushed out, barely intelligible at the speed you spoke.

“Duchess?” he questioned, using the nickname the boys had seemed to settle on when they realised you weren’t going to castrate Jed for creating it. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Mary’s... I don’t know, he said to call you! I’m at the store, he told me not to come back. Something’s wrong, Forrest... He said it wasn’t safe?” you panicked.

“Shit...” he muttered. You heard scrambling on the end of the line, like he was getting up and grabbing a few things around him and stuffing them into a backpack. “Listen to me, you don’t go back to that apartment, okay? I’ll be there soon, one of us will call you when it’s safe. Just stay there.”

“Forrest what’s going on?” Your voice had raised an octave in pitch, your cheeks burning from holding back tears.

“Those guys at the bar... They know him, they’ve hated him for years and they threatened him. He just needs some back up, it’ll be alright. Just stay, okay? Promise me.”

You wanted to promise that, but how could you stay there and not try to help Mary? If those guys had turned up at his apartment, he was outnumbered and if nothing else you could act as a distraction. You stayed quiet for a beat too long, and Forrest stopped rustling about his apartment needing to hear confirmation. He couldn’t be worrying about you too when his best friend was in danger.

“Duchess?” he yelled into the phone.

“Y-yeah, yeah... Sorry. I’ll stay,” you told him, still unsure if you were telling the truth.

“Good, just wait for the call. He’ll be fine,” he assured, but the panic in his voice betrayed him too. He hung up without another word, leaving you stood in the street in the early hours of the morning, absolutely petrified for your boyfriend...

Could you really stay put when he was just a few blocks away? When there was potentially something you could do to help him? You supposed you’d just have to...

The door creaked as it slowly swung open, betraying Mary right from the start. If someone was in his apartment still, they’d have heard that... No doubt about it. And so, his grip on the swiss army knife tightened, and the steps he took became slower, steadier so he’d be able to plant his feet should he be ambushed.

Stepping into his apartment, it was still dark. No lights had been turned on, just the orange glow from the street lamps outside streaming in through the windows. He listened out for any sign of movement, but nothing. To his left, nobody in the kitchen... But things were out of place, to put it lightly. Drawers hung open, cupboard doors almost ripped from their hinges. Cutlery, food and crockery lay strewn about the floor and countertops, like it had been ransacked.

Mary proceeded with caution, noticing that the floor of his apartment was covered in his things... Records, clothes, blankets and pillows; even his tatty little guitar was on the ground in the middle of the floor, the neck broken and strings snapped. He wasn’t sure whether to feel rage or despair, but both hit him like a freight train.

Slowly, he stepped a little further to peer around the corner that led to the bedroom and bathroom to his right, and then to his left, around the partition between the kitchen and living space. That’s when he noticed.

A figure, sat on his couch with their back to him. He knew who it was immediately.

Mary planted his feet, readjusting his grip on the blade in his hand. He was preparing himself for any sudden movement, every single one of his senses heightened. Should he be ambushed from another direction, he was ready.

“Where is she?” The shadow asked, their voice low and eerily calm. Mary stood his ground; he was in no mood for games.

“What are you doing in my apartment?” he asked, ignoring their question. The figure straightened up where they sat, no longer hunching forwards as they studied something on the coffee table. They took a deep breath, before answering with another question.

“Where... is my daughter?” The shadow turned their head towards where Mary stood, between the outer wall of his bathroom and the entryway to his kitchen. The street lighting gave just enough of itself to illuminate the stark features of the man in front of him, the hardened glare pointed his way.

The Mayor.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mary lied, without much conviction at all but he already knew there was no point. But he wasn’t giving him any information. He could go fuck himself.

The Mayor cracked a grin; a sadistic little grin, as if he were some kind of comic book villain spoiling for a fight. “Now I know that ain’t true, so you’re gonna tell me where she is, I’m gonna go get her, and I’m gonna deal with you later.”

“I don't know where she is,” Mary spat, his resentment and hatred for this snake barely contained.

The Mayor sighed dramatically, slapping his hands to his knees and standing up. He turned towards Mary then, folding his arms across his chest. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, top button undone now he was technically off the clock. But he still wore his expensive suit, save for tie and blazer, as if it would intimidate Mary somehow.

“Should have expected this from you, Mary,” he chuckled, “Defiance. Attitude. Even coming in here with a damn weapon.” He nodded towards the swiss army knife in Mary’s ever tightening grip.

“Someone broke into my apartment. Gotta defend myself,” he stated plainly.

“Nah,” the Mayor scoffed, “it was only a matter of time before you got yourself in trouble again. Cops of this town were always too good to you, lettin’ you off too easy.”

As if Mary had ever done anything to hurt anybody... Sure he’d been picked up a handful of times for graffiti, or destruction of public property, that one fight with Corbin and Asher – which technically, he didn’t start... But Mary stayed quiet, staring at the threat in front of him just waiting for him to try something.

“You know,” he started, turning back to the coffee table, “maybe I’m forgetting my manners, huh? Maybe we should catch up first?” He bent down, picking something up from the table and turning back. In his hands, was the photo frame Mary kept on his windowsill...

The Mayor looked down at it, studying it with a smirk. “She always was a looker, huh? How’s she doing these days?”

Mary saw red, desperately fighting every instinct in his body that wanted nothing more than to tear into this vile man, rip him limb from limb and cast him to the wolves. His already injured knuckles turned white, the wounds splitting back open as his fists balled up tighter, the handle of the blade in his right hand digging painfully into his palm. But he stayed grounded. He would not make the first move.

“Get the fuck outta my apartment,” Mary warned. The Mayor was testing his patience, and it had already snapped once tonight.

“I’m not leaving until you tell me where my daughter is.” His smirk dropped, along with the frame in his hands. He disregarded it without a care in the world, letting the glass crack as it hit the ground with a thud. Mary winced at the sound.

“Wouldn’t tell you if I knew,” he lied. He was adamant he would never tell him where you were, never give you up if he beat him into a pile of broken bones. You’d been free of him for less than a week, but already you’d come out of your shell so much, found yourself. How could he ever put you back in the box they’d kept you in all those years?

“Do you think you’re good for my daughter, hm?” the Mayor took a step closer, “You think she’d want someone like you?”

Mary ignored him. He had to. This was just a manipulation tactic, something to throw him off and degrade him like everybody always had.

“You’re the scum of this town, Goore. Everybody knows it.” He stepped closer again, circling Mary with slow and calculated steps like a panther on the hunt. “You, and your drunken whore of a mother, your deadbeat father... You were fucking destined for the gutter.”

Mary watched him as he came to stand in front of him again, just a little taller than Mary but puffing his chest out as if to intimidate him. Mary stayed painfully still, grinding his teeth in rage. One wrong move, he was poised and ready to defend himself.

“You think you know me... You don’t know shit,” he taunted, “But I know you...”

“Oh-ho-ho," the Mayor laughed, “You do, do you? This should be good.”

“Yeah... I know you’re a filthy letch who takes everything from good, honest people and lines his pockets with it.” Mary was getting cocky now, arching his eyebrow and tilting his chin up in defiance as a sadistic little smile crossed his split lip. “I know you used to be a good guy, once upon a time. Beautiful family, on top of the world...”

The Mayor barely reacted, pushing his tongue into his cheek and looking down at Mary with the same arrogance he always exuded.

“I know you trapped your perfect little wife up in your ivory fuckin’ tower while you flashed your shit about town like a damn Kennedy brother...”

The Mayor’s eyes darkened. Now Mary was getting to him.

“I know you trained your precious little girl like a damn puppy her whole life, only to have her grow up to resent every little fuckin’ thing about you...”

Mary was about to cross a line. He was about to say something just to get a rise out of him, just to make him snap. He’d never talk about you like this and mean it, but for all the pain and misery this man had caused people through the years, he deserved something that cut him to the bone.

“You repelled her so much that she crawled out of her pink, frilly cage... and spread her fuckin’ legs to the town scum...” Mary laughed, smug and satisfied when he saw the way the Mayor’s hands tightened around his biceps, his nose wrinkling in disgust.

Mary took a step closer to him – a stupid move, but he was oozing cockiness, no longer thinking clearly and only wanting to cause as much fucking damage to this prick’s ego as he damn well could. He knew it would turn his stomach to know his daughter was friends with Mary, let alone willingly fucking him.

Mary looked the Mayor up and down, smirking with barely contained glee as he leaned into him to deliver the final blow.

“She calls me daddy now...” he whispered, staring directly into his eyes with an impish sparkle in his own.

The Mayor’s eyes raked over Mary, sizing him up, looking him up and down while he chewed on his cheek, the disgust on his face twisting and morphing into a vile expression of hatred. Before Mary knew what was happening, the blade in his fist was knocked clear across the room, his balance thrown off as two large hands wrapped around his throat. He was spun around and pushed backwards into the small kitchen space, tripping over the mess left there as he tried desperately to fight the power of the much older, much bigger man attacking him.

Soon enough his lower back was being slammed into the edge of a counter, the thumbs of the hands around his throat pressing down on his airways while Mary did what he could to fight back, clawing and scratching at the Mayor.

It was getting harder and harder to breathe, spots starting to flicker across his vision as that murderous glare stared back at him. The thought briefly crossed Mary’s mind that he might not stop... Once he was rendered unconscious, there was nothing to stop him from taking the life he’d worked so hard to rebuild over and over again away from him. Just as he’d found a semblance of happiness, too... The Mayor was going to take it all away from him. Again.

The Mayor’s grip adjusted to just one hand tightening around his throat, the other pulling back and coming crashing down on Mary’s cheek with a blow that reopened old wounds of the evening. Mary was going to lose this fight, there was no contest. Blow after blow landed to his face as the Mayor squeezed the life out of him...

“Daddy!”

The Mayor snapped out of his trance, his head whipping behind him with his fist pulled back in preparation for another strike, the other still choking Mary. You looked on in pure horror at what you’d walked into... You had expected to come back to a dangerous situation, but not one that included the attempted murder of your boyfriend at the hands of your own father.

With the Mayor’s attention on you, however brief, Mary took advantage and lifted his foot to push at the Mayor’s hip quickly, twisting him just enough that he lost his grip on him, and Mary fell to the floor in a heap, coughing and spluttering as the oxygen rushed back into his lungs. It was all too much all at once, the sudden rush of blood back to his head and the pain of the punches hitting him at the same time and he rolled and writhed on the floor as he tried to regain control of his body. But the spasms continued, and he could barely see nor hear anything while he squirmed at the Mayor’s feet.

You rushed into the kitchen, attempting to bypass your father and to immediately help Mary but you were stopped, a hand wrapped tightly around your bicep and attempting to drag you away. Of course, you fought back, smacking at your father’s chest and kicking at him as if it would help.

“Let go! Get the fuck off of me! GET OFF!” you screamed over and over, hoping someone might hear from another apartment and come to your aid.

“You forget your place, girl,” your father snarled, barely affected by you beating at him. You managed to wrench your arm free of his grip and take a step back, your father’s attention on you and you alone while Mary still coughed on the floor, almost vomiting with the way his chest heaved.

“If you think it’s with you, you’re sorely fucking mistaken,” you growled. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Teaching this little fucker a lesson in manners,” he spat, pointing down at Mary who spat a glob of red tinted spit to the floor – a biproduct of the hits to the face he had taken. He’d regained enough composure to sit himself upright against the cupboard, letting his head hit the wood as he glared up at your father, chest still heaving.

Only now did your father take a good look at you, seeing how different you looked in a short denim skirt, a fishnet top, the make-up you’d chosen to wear over what you had always been told to. Once again, his expression clouded into disgust.

“What has he done to you?” he asked, looking you up and down.

“Him? You think I’d jump from a life where I’m controlled by a man into another one?” you shrieked. Your father pretended not to hear you, instead leaning down to quickly grab Mary by his shirt and heave him to his feet, holding him against the cabinets again. Mary didn’t fight back; he couldn’t. He was still in too much pain, his body not responding to his commands.

“You take my daughter from me, and dress her up like one of your scummy little whores?” he screamed into Mary’s face while all he could do was wince and squeeze his eyes shut, trying to steady the swimming sensation in his head.

You rushed towards them, pushing at your father until you could weave yourself between the two of them. Mary barely kept himself upright against the counter, but you reached a hand behind you anyway, securing it in his and holding it tightly against your back.

“Don’t you fucking touch him,” you warned.

“You wanna protect this little shit? Why? You think you love him?” your father mocked, scoffing at the mere thought of it. “I couldn’t quite believe it when I finally got it out of your mother... As soon as she told me she saw you get into a shitty black van, I fucking knew... I thought ‘no, no way my little girl is that fucking stupid’. Of all the decent guys in this town, you choose this?”

The anger you felt as he berated you, insulting not only Mary but you and your intelligence too... You had no time to be angry at your mother, knowing what your father was like and how he could manipulate anybody to get what he wanted out of them. All of your energy was directed into protecting Mary, standing between him and your father and proving to them both you weren’t backing down. Gone were the days of obeying and staying in your lane. If Mary had taught you anything in your short time together, it was that you could be yourself and stand up for what you believe in unapologetically. And you believed in Mary...

“He’s a better man than you give him credit for,” you seethed, squeezing his hand behind your back. Your father laughed maniacally at you, throwing his head back and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Really? This little shit? If you think he’s any good for you, you’re dumber than I ever imagined. You come from a good, respectable family. This whole fucking town knows me, loves me, and all I ever did was give you everything you ever wanted on a silver platter... But you throw it back in my face?” he argued, throwing his hands around as he yelled. But you stood your ground. “You know where he comes from, right? Deadbeat fucking dad who drank and gambled his money away. A whore of a mother who also drank herself into a permanent hospital bed?”

“You’d... know all about that, w-wouldn't you?” Mary struggled to speak through laboured breaths from behind you, hunched over but pushing up on the counter to stand upright.

Your father’s head snapped back to glare at Mary. “Excuse me?”

You felt a change in the air, notably in your father’s demeanour. His eyes had widened, and he seemed to freeze in place, waiting for Mary to speak again while he caught his breath and used his strength to stand properly behind you. He kept hold of your hand, squeezing it tightly but once he stood up, he used his free hand to steady himself on your waist; both protectively and for stability.

“You... you think you have a right to judge... my mother? After what you did?” he asked rhetorically, which only confused you. Your brow creased and you turned your head to look back at Mary.

“What are you talking about?” you asked softly, trying to make sense of what he was saying. He tore his eyes from your father to glance at you, offering you a look of apology laced with fear as if he were apologising for what you were about to hear... When he looked back at your father, your eyes followed to see that same wide-eyed expression. “What did you do?”

“You gonna tell her, or should I?” Mary’s voice was a warning, but still, your father remained silent. If he wasn’t going to tell you what the hell was going on, you’d just let Mary. Someone needed to say something, and quickly, before you lost your cool again.

“Tell me,” you ordered them both, but still you directed your glare at your father.

“Yeah why don’t we tell her, hm?” Mary’s voice had grown a little stronger, recovered from the hands that had squeezed his neck for almost too long. Adrenaline was kicking in, numbing the pain in his head from the beatings and giving him the strength to get angry, to challenge the Grand High Mayor.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he defied. Mary just scoffed.

“You tricked my mother, and took everything from her...” he spat. You looked back at Mary, confused and shocked. Your father just stood in silence, glaring.

“How?” you asked, “Tell me everything. Now.”

“You won’t like this...” he warned, never breaking eye contact to look at you.

“I don’t fucking care, Mary. Tell me.”

He took a moment, forcing a steadying breath to calm the rising nerves. He’d never wanted you to hear this, fearing it might just devastate you to know who exactly your father was, the kind of man he could be, and what he was capable of. You hadn’t needed to find this out, but this had all gone too far. He wanted nothing more than to pull the rug from under the Mayor’s feet, to make sure he knew that Mary knew everything, that he needed to be very fucking careful this secret never got out. Mary had him in checkmate, holding the secret in until someone came along who would hear him and believe him – someone with a higher standing in the town than himself and his friends.

“My mom got clean when I was 15,” he began, “She’d stopped drinking, got herself a job that could keep us going while I was in school, and still working for Mr. Rogers on the weekends. We were living out in the Oak Ridge apartment complexes, and we were doing alright.”

“Then in came a man in a dapper suit with a briefcase and a fuckin’ God complex, who convinced the landlords to sell up so he could flatten the building and build office blocks instead. He fucked over all the residents, all hard-working people, by flashing compensation to the landlords who just handed out eviction notices. But my mom owned our shitty little apartment outright. She’d just managed to club together the money for the deposit, to get herself a mortgage and have a place that was just ours. She wanted stability, and she didn’t want to sell up. She was the last one who refused...”

Your father’s eye twitched as he readjusted his stance, like suddenly he was incredibly uncomfortable. “You don’t actually believe this fucking scumbag, do you?” he asked you, interrupting Mary.

“Shut the fuck up,” you snapped, and miraculously, he did just that.

“So he... He charmed her. He bought her pretty things, took her to fancy places out of town, told her everything she’d ever wanted to hear... He told her he loved her,” Mary’s voice cracked at that, at the hurt of somebody lying to his mother when that had been all she’d ever wanted, “He seduced her, and told her he’d run away with her and give her the life she’d always wanted with him... if she’d just... sign on the dotted line...”

You felt sick to your stomach. Not only had he taken advantage of Mary’s mom, their situation, all for his own gain, but he’d cheated on your mother, gone behind his own family’s back to manipulate a damaged but healing woman and ruin her life. Your head span with overwhelm, purely disgusted by what you were hearing. You knew your father wasn’t a good man, but you had no idea he was such a monster...

“When she signed the deed over, he dropped her and left us both on the streets. He left us with nothing; no money, no home. We had to move into the Quartz motel, and she was heartbroken. She started drinking again, more and more because of what YOU did,” Mary snarled at him, pointing his finger as he raised his voice. “She was too depressed to get back up again, and I had to pick up the pieces. I had to quit school, work full time and give everything up when I was fucking 16 years old just to keep us afloat. She never recovered, and it didn’t matter when I got us this shitty little apartment and finally moved us outta the Quartz, her body gave up.”

Mary pushed you to one side in his rage and stepped up to your father. You stumbled and caught yourself on the counter, too stunned to do or say anything about it as the truth sunk in. Mary got in his face again, pointing his finger directly at him and screamed, “It’s because of YOU she almost fuckin’ DIED. You piece of SHIT! YOU AS GOOD AS KILLED HER!” Mary slapped his hand against your father’s chest, who just stood there and took it, glaring at Mary as if he were still that same kid.

You shook yourself from your own little trance and pulled Mary back to you by his arm, turning your back on your father and holding Mary’s cheeks to soothe him, to calm him down as he broke down at the truth. Mary stood there and sobbed, letting you wipe the tears as you shushed him, whispering apologies to him as if any of this had been your fault. But your heart broke for him...

How could your father have ever been that callous? You thought you’d known him, that he wasn’t anywhere near as bad as it seemed he was. You were aware he leaned more towards right wing politics, and no, you didn’t agree with him. And you’d known some of his associates were bent and unethical in their ways, but you’d never known he was as corrupt as Mary was telling you. All those whiffs of under the table deals you’d gotten over the years were true. He was a crook... A liar, a cheat, and abusive fucking monster.

“You don’t seriously believe this shit, Pumpkin?” he asked, using a damn pet name of all things to try and get you back on side. You span around to glower at him, rage bubbling up inside you.

“Don’t you fucking ‘Pumpkin’ me, you arrogant letch!” you screamed. “That explains why you kept disappearing all the damn time, spending your evenings and weekends anywhere but at home. I guess now I fucking know where you went... You missed half of my sweet sixteen, for fuck’s sake! Sped off right after the cake and didn’t come home for two days. Is that where you went? Is that where you always went? To take advantage of a decent woman who only wanted to be loved? To give her kid the BEST FUCKING LIFE POSSIBLE!?”

“I never went anywhere near his slut of a mother!” he yelled back.

“Oh, please!” Mary interjected, “You fucked her, and then you fucked her over.”

“You LIAR!” Your father lunged at Mary again but you stopped him, forcing him back with a push that took all of your strength, all of your anger. He didn’t try it again, instead focussing his anger on you now.

“You gonna let him manipulate you like this? Lie to you? He’s just trying to come between us, Pumpkin, to keep you away from me. He'll fucking use you and dump you for the next girl who shows him any attention. You’re just some petty fucking revenge he’s taking out on me... He’s USING YOU!”

“Sounds more like something you’d do...” you growled at him. You had made your choice already, long before tonight. Your place was at Mary’s side, now more so than ever. Fucking revenge. As if Mary would have lied to you all this time... There was no way?

Your father straightened himself up, dusting his shirt off as if there were something on it, but it gave him a moment to collect himself, to make himself seem the prim and proper one.

“If you choose to believe his lies and stay with him, then that’s your stupid choice,” he told you as he straightened the cuffs of his shirt sleeves, not even affording you the decency of eye contact. “But know this; you choose him, and that’s it. You will have nothing. No money, no home, no future. I’ll make sure neither of you work in this town. I will cut you off completely.”

He thought he had the upper hand, that his words would scare you into submission and force you to come home with him. He seemed to forget the heated words you’d exchanged the night of the dinner at the Town Hall...

“I thought I’d made myself pretty clear last time we spoke... I don’t want to live under your fucking thumb anymore. You told me to leave once before, and what, now you’ve changed your mind? You want to play happy families, and drag me back into the life you forced me to live? I want my own life, and now? I want it as far away from you as I can possibly get.”

Your father stared at you, his jaw grinding in anger. He’d lost control of you, and he hated it. You were unravelling his perfect ‘family man’ façade that had won him all those elections, tearing down the perception the town had of him as this kind, caring man with a beautiful family.

As you glared at each other, challenging the other to speak first, heavy footsteps got closer as if someone were running down the hallway outside the apartment and soon, Forrest ran into the apartment clutching a baseball bat and ready to swing. He stopped short at the scene in front of him, not having expected this at all... Mary, beaten and bloodied behind you, squaring up to your father, the Mayor...

Forrest knew everything and quickly connected the dots, keeping the bat raised and ready in case your father tried anything at all. But now he was outnumbered, and his pride wounded.

“You’re making a big fucking mistake, madam,” he warned. “You’ll end up a low life like these idiots, and laying in a hospital bed just like his mother.”

“You need to leave,” Forrest told him firmly. “You got another witness now, sir,” he warned, sarcasm dripping from the honorific.

Your father straightened up and turned, taking a few steps to stand at the edge of the kitchen where Forrest backed up to give him the room to leave, bat still raised. Just as he was about to leave, he turned back to see you reach for Mary’s hand, holding his cheek gently in yours as you took a good look at the bruises and blood that covered his face.

“You should get out of town before morning,” he began. “I will pull every string at my disposal to make sure you will never find peace here. This is my town, and this?” he waved his finger around, “is a dangerous neighbourhood. Especially without a deadbolt.” He nodded towards the front door that he’d bust open.

“Get out,” Forrest reiterated with a look that could have burst him into flames if he had the ability.

Without another word, your father turned and left, slamming the front door that only bounced back open with nothing left to catch.

Forrest lowered the bat with a sigh, rubbing at his forehead from the stress. You focussed all of your attention on Mary, checking he was okay. He certainly wasn’t... He’d taken two beatings in one night and was covered in a litany of injuries that needed attention.

Without saying a word, Forrest dropped the bat on the floor with a clatter and rushed into the bathroom, pulling out an old first aid kid from under Mary’s sink and rushing back with it while you gently guided an exhausted Mary to his couch, forcing him to sit back.

As you patched him up with band aids and gauze and fed him a glass of water, no one dared to speak another word. After everything that had happened tonight, the silence – however brief – was welcome. But eventually, one of you had to break it.

“We should get you to a hospital, Mare. You might have a concussion, or a bust nose or something’,” Forrest reasoned. Mary shook his head.

“I’ll be good, don’t think anything’s broken.” Neither you nor Forrest argued with him. “Fuck, what the hell are we gonna do?” he asked, sinking further down into the couch beside where you knelt on the cushion, hovering over him.

“He’s just trying to scare you both, right? He’s pissed, just wants you both out but what the fuck can he really do?” Forrest asked from the floor, where he’d picked up the broken picture of Mary and his mom and set it on the coffee table. Mary stared at it, biting back the sting of tears.

“Anything... he can do anything. He’ll make good on his threat, his security don’t ask questions.” You chewed on your thumbnail anxiously, trying to think of your next move.

“I’m sorry...” Mary mumbled, looking down at the picture on the table with shame in his eyes.

“For what?” you asked, shuffling closer to him and gently turning his chin towards you, “What could you possibly be sorry for?”

“He’s cut you off because of me,” he sniffled, keeping the tears in his eyes at bay. “I’ve fucked your life up for you already...”

“Don’t you dare,” you told him firmly, “you listen to me. I chose this, I needed to get away from him and I did. This is a blessing, we’ll be okay-”

“How the hell are we gonna be okay? We can’t stay here anymore, we got nowhere to go and the money I make at the shop isn’t gonna keep us both afloat for long...” he panicked, but you hushed him with a finger to his lips.

“We’ll figure it out. Money’s not a problem...” Mary looked confused, as did Forrest, the pair of them staring at you. “I’ve... I’ve been saving. Funnelling money away for a while. I knew someday I’d wanna get out and well... I opened a bank account as soon as I was old enough and just kept throwing my allowance into it. I got a trust fund when I was 18, he thinks I spent it. I didn’t, it’s been stashed away for years. We can get a place Mary, we just need somewhere for now.”

Mary blinked at you dumbly, “You... You want that?”

“What, to run away with you? Are you kidding?” You ran your fingers through his hair, avoiding the long strands that were clumped together with dried blood. “Haven’t I already done that?” you asked with a soft smile.

Mary gawked at you, smiling a little himself before he leaned closer to you and planted his bust lips onto yours in a sweet, lingering kiss. Forrest coughed from the floor, bringing the two of you back to reality.

“That’s great and all, but... where the hell are you gonna go for now?” he asked. Mary processed his question for a second, thinking it over.

“Well, it’s not exactly a ‘best case scenario’, but... I have an air mattress back at the shop? It’s just a storage unit but it’s outta town. Sometimes I’d work late and be too tired to drive home so I’d crash there. No one really knows where it is, I never have clients come to the unit.”

“It’ll do, while we look for a place in the city,” you told him. You didn’t care where you stayed or what you slept on, as long as it was safe – as long as Mary was safe.

Forrest nodded, getting up from the floor and starting to gather some of the mess from your father’s rage. “Better get a move on then... Grab what you need, I’ll help you move it in my van too.”

Before either of you stood up, Mary sat upright and turned to face you. “You sure about this, doll? Like... really? I can’t expect you to use that money to set us both up.”

“Oh, shut up...” you smirked, swatting his shoulder lightly. “You really having second thoughts about taking my dear daddy’s money and running off into the night?”

Mary’s eyes glinted with a mischievous sparkle, and his lips curved into a smirk. “Well, when you put it like that...” He leaned in as you giggled, welcoming another slow, tender kiss that felt like a triumphant win given the events of the night.

From across the room, Forrest rolled his eyes, picking up a small pillow and throwing it at the both of you to break you up. When you both yelped and looked up at him, he simply widened his eyes and shook his head, tapping at an imaginary watch on his wrist as if to say ‘hello? Get moving!”. You stood from the couch, reaching your hands out to Mary who used your strength as leverage to sit upright, his whole body aching and protesting after all the damn fighting tonight. Forrest was, of course, right. You needed to pack up what you could quickly, and get the hell out of town.

So much had happened tonight, and so much had been said that couldn’t remain just a fleeting exchange in the heat of the moment. Revelations of the kind of man your father truly was had to be put to the back of your mind for now, to be dealt with and talked properly about in the coming days. For now, you couldn’t focus on it - the wound too painful to acknowledge until you were out of harm’s way. You couldn’t think about the truth, or what that meant in terms of your relationship with Mary. The thought that perhaps you were just Mary’s retribution couldn’t take root in your mind, lest it grow into genuine suspicion. There was no time to let doubts creep in. Instead, you dove into packing with Forrest, shoving clothes and essentials in whatever bags or boxes you could find to busy your mind.

But Mary; he stayed put, fiddling anxiously with his rings. Neither you nor Forrest questioned him, figuring after two pretty rough beatings tonight he could sit this one out. But it wasn’t that that held him back...

His own doubts were seeping in, an anxiety burning in his chest. He’d unveiled a huge part of himself tonight, something he’d never intended for you to know. He’d never wanted to hurt you with this and now that he had, he had to force down the guilt that came when he’d seen the look on your face as the truth spilled. His disdain for the Mayor hadn’t ever been as simple as hating the face of the town that hated him. There was so much more to it than that, but he’d never wanted to make that your burden.

Part of him now was terrified. The thought had crossed his mind that perhaps – maybe not now, maybe not for a while, but someday – you might think he chose you for this, like some sick revenge on the Mayor. Even he had accused Mary of it, claiming he was using you... Taking his only daughter and defiling her, corrupting her just to get his own back. That night back in the dive bar had started as a bet, yes. The thought had indeed crossed his mind that it was ironic he’d got to fuck you after your father had fucked over his family. But you were so much more than that...

He was in too deep now. He loved you. Now more than ever, he was afraid he might lose you over this. He prayed that you didn’t think that, that your father’s own accusation had fallen on deaf ears.

But for now, he just needed to get you both out of town. As long as you were safe, he’d take whatever consequences came his way.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8 ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3 | MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

#mary goore fanfiction #mary goore fanfic #mary goore x reader #mary goore #repugnant fan fiction #repugnant fanfiction #repugnant #repugnant band #ghost bc #the band ghost fanfic #the band ghost #ghost band #ghost #ghost the band #mary goore smut

155 notes · View notes