#but let’s not just ignore the fact that they sexually assaulted him please

[moonagedaydreamsofrhiannon]

“travis was problematic”

ok well your faves literally gang raped him, was that not “problematic” ???

[satorusugurugurl]

Can you please make something like y/n losing her virginity to Gojo and when she wakes up she misunderstood that Gojo just wanted to have one night stand and as he never make contact with any of his one night stand, so y/n left writing some notes for him. But Gojo genuinely loved her and then he searched for her finding y/n passed out somewhere or finding her getting attacked by some cursed spirit.

🥹🥹

First Time

Summary: You lose your virginity to you friend and co-worker, the strongest sorcerer of the modern age; Gojo Satoru

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x FAB!R

Word Count: 5,848 (oops!)

Warning: loss of virginity, mentions of drinking, fingering, jerking off, oral sex, smut, fights, assault, choking (not the fun kind)

A/N: Well this, this was a lot of fun! 😂💚 I got super into it Nonnie!! Thank you! Enjoy!!

“No, absolutely not. That is a terrible idea.” your best friend and colleague looked you in the eyes, not once breaking contact.

“What do you mean it’s a bad idea? Do you think he has something?”

“Do you honestly think I would know if that man had any sexually transmitted diseases?”

“Well, you’re saying it’s a bad idea. So I was just curious as to why you think that is.”

Nanami let out an aggravated sigh, “I don't think I know it’s a bad idea. I went to high school with the man, for God's sake. He is a serial cherry popper.” your best friend took a sip of his beer, aching his head as he did.

“So he has some experience in doing so.”

You ran your finger over the rim of your margarita glass. You were ignoring the cold, judging eyes of your best friend. Nanami knew you had a crush on Gojo for the last few years. The two of you were constantly flirting with each other, and just recently, he had gotten a little more touchy-feely with you, rubbing your shoulders and brushing his hand against yours. He went as far as to kiss your cheek. Nanami knew what he was playing at. The blue-eyed menace was buttering you up; he saw you as his next target.

“It doesn’t matter if he has experience. If you’re looking for anyone with experience, you could always come to me,” he whispered. Thank God that you were a little too out of it to notice what he said. He was trying to make a point; you both were nothing more than friends. The point he was trying to make, though, was that if you were that desperate to lose your virginity, you could always rely on him. “Gojo is notorious for having one-night stands. He’ll get what he wants and be gone the next day.”

“Do you know that for a fact?” Frustration began to rise in your chest. “ or is that just part of the rumor train?”

Nanami wasn’t sure how to answer that. He hadn’t personally met any of Gojo’s past relationships. He did know that several women had claimed he had popped their cherries and left the next day. So, of course, he was nervous for you. Nanami could see the glittering glaze in your eyes whenever you looked at Gojo. You were so into him it was almost painful.

“Rumor train,” Nanami confessed, looking away and“Then it’s settled!” despite your best friend's warnings, you got up and headed straight to the bar where the Gojo Satoru stood.“Hey Gojo.”

Your colleague and massive crush turned to look down at you. His hair was a fluffy mess, his dark sunglasses shielded, his beautiful eyes from you., and he had a smile on his face that could give anyone cavities. You both had been flirting with each other nonstop for the last three months. You have been waiting to see if he would be the one to ask you to go home with him, but you were tired of waiting.

“Hey, sweetheart~ having fun?” He took a sip of his soda.

“I'd be having a lot more fun if you took me back to my place.”

Satoru choked, sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he coughed into his fist. Regardless of his initial reaction, you could see the desire in his eyes. He wanted as bad as you. The constant flirting, lingering eye contact, and subtle touches had brought you both here. Were you, for the first time in your life, inviting a man to come back to your apartment to have sex?

Losing your virginity didn’t have to be special. You were fine as long as it was with somebody who knew what they were doing. From how Satoru acted, there was no doubt in your mind that he knew how to please a woman. It was your virginity, and you chose to give it to Gojo Satoru.

“Seriously? Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of something in my entire life. So what do you say? Wanna come to my place?”

There had been no questions asked. Satoru grabbed your hand and led you out of the bar and back to your apartment. That’s how you found yourself being slammed against the elevator door, Satoru’s mouth eagerly moving against yours in a fiery kiss. His hands reached up, massaging your breasts, causing mewls pleasure to leave your mouth.

“Fuuuck, oh fuck.” Satoru growled, his lips pressed against yours eagerly in between each word. “You have the most perfect tits.” His tongue gently flicked over your bottom lip, and the second you opened it for him, his tongue was in your mouth, gently moving against yours.

The raw carnal need behind his caresses of your skin and the way his lips moved against yours had you dizzy. Never once in your life had you ever felt so desired. Satoru wanted, but no, it was more like he needed you. Knowing that had your panties soaking wet.

“Oh fuck, Toru.” As Satoru’s fingers slid under your shirt, trailing over your heated skin, you arched your back off the cold middle of the elevator. “T-Toru~”

“Fuck you’re so goddamn hot.” Lips latched onto your neck, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin there. “You taste like a fucking gourmet meal~, and that's just your skin.” he took your earlobe between his teeth, nipping on it. “Can't wait to taste that cunt. I bet she's already wet~.”

His long fingers slid under your bra, brushing over your hardened nipples, rubbing the sensitive buds. “I-I’m so wet, so fucking wet.” Satoru hummed in your ear, and one of his sinfully skilled hands trailed down, slipping into your pants. “Holy shit!” you cried out as his long fingers gently rubbed over your throbbing clit.

“Oh fuck, you weren't kidding.” His fingers rub and tease your sensitive clit. “You’re soaked.” soaked was an understatement. Fisting his jacket, you bury your head in his shoulder as he trails his fingers lower, teasing your tight virgin entrance through your panties.

“F-Fuck, oh fuck.” Satoru pulls back, glancing down at you as the elevator reaches your floor.

“Your pussy is throbbing.”

“I need you, Satoru. Need you so bad it hurts.”

His soft pink lips find yours again in a searing kiss as he pulls his hand out of your pants. “Then take me home so I can take care of you.” Not needing to be told twice, you grab his wrist, dragging him to your apartment.

The second you're inside, Satoru kicks the door shut with his foot, hands locking it before they grab you. He is slamming you back into the wall of your entryway. His fingers make quick work of your shirt, unbuttoning it, tossing it to the side, his lips never once leaving yours, leaving you a breathless mess. He pulls back, giving you a chance to gulp down ark, as he pulls his shirt off, allowing you to run your hands down his toned abs.

“Bedroom?” he asks, lips attacking your neck as he lofts you off the ground.

Your legs wrap around him as he starts blindly moving forward. “First door on the left,” Satoru growls against your skin, turning right. “T-Toru, that's the bathroom, left!” The extremely sexy man grunts in response, making a swift left, nearly sending you tumbling over.

“Sor-” kiss, “sorry, I just can't wait to get inside of you.” The man you’ve had the biggest crush on for years tosses you onto your bed. Satoru doesn't even give you a chance to react; his hands unbutton your pants, yanking them down. “Fuck you smell so fucking good.”

He’s trailing kisses up your inner thighs, his teeth gently nipping at your skin. Skin that had never been touched by another person other than yourself. The sensation of his fingers, his lips, his teeth on you doing things you had only dreamed of him doing. It had you breathless.

“Satoru.” The man between your legs let out a hungry groan.

“I love hearing you say my name like that. Say it fucking more; I want to hear you scream my name.” his fingers hook under your underwear, yanking them to the side., allowing his tongue full access to your dripping cunt. “Say my fucking name.”

His warm tongue is on you before you can even process what he’s saying. His tongue laps at your entrance before slowly sliding up and down your lips, teasing your clit but not touching it yet. Being eaten out for the first time is like seeing God. Satoru is so skilled with his mouth that it has you digging your heels into the bed, toes curling, and your eyes rolling back.

Satoru hums against you, eyes brows furrowing as he seals his mouth around your dripping sex, sucking on it, teasing it with his tongue. His eyebrows knit in concentration, his eyes never once leaving your face. He is entranced with you and with your reactions. Satoru wants to make you cum; the man is determined to do so.

You didn’t stand a chance against him or his skilled tongue. The second he started flicking your clit with the tip, you lost all control. Reality seemed like it shattered into one million pieces as Satoru drove over the edge of your first orgasm with someone other than yourself. You buck up against his face, your head thrashes against your pillows, and you cum harder than you have in your entire life.

“Mmmphm, fuck.” Satoru growls from between your legs. “That’s it, baby, give it to me, give it all to me.” His tongue continues to lick and lap at your folds, making sure to leave not an inch of your unexplored with his mouth.

“T-Toru, oh fuck.” He had left you a pile of useless limbs. “N-Need you, want you inside of me.” you sit up, hands reaching for his pants, undoing the button. He sucks in a breath as your hand gently rubs over his hard, throbbing cock. “S-So thick, and it-it’s hard.”

“Yeah?” The smugness in his voice has you pressing your thighs together. “Wanna touch it~?”

Giving him a nod, you pull back, allowing him to lie down against the headboard. His breathtaking eyes never leave you, following your hand that slips under his boxers and pulls them down. His cock sprung up, bouncing as it stood straight in the air. The tip was a throbbing dark rosey color, the tip dribbling out pre-cum as it twitched in the cool air of your apartment. His hair is trimmed short, a happy trail leading from the v-line down to the base of his cock.

It draws you in like a siren calling sailors to the sea; you’re drawn to his cock. Your fingers try to wrap around it, but you can’t; he’s too thick. Satoru moans out in pleasure, feeling your warm, soft hand wrap around him. It’s so velvety and warm that your curiosity gets the better of you, urging you to stroke him up and down. You give in to the desire, jerking him off slowly.

“Fuuck, ooh fuck.” Satoru calls from above you, his thighs twitching, body shaking as you continue your movements. “Fuck sweetheart, feels so fuckin’ good.”

“I-I don't know what to do.” At the sound of your confession, Satoru chuckles.

“Want me to help you?” He watched as you bit down on your lip with a soft little ‘mhmm.’ “Alright, just follow my hand.” he wraps his larger, rougher hand around yours. “Here we go.”

Satoru drags his hand up and down his shaft, Allowing more pre-cum to dribble out of the tip, coating his shaft in the slick, sticky substance as makeshift lube. You know you should be paying attention to how his hand is moving. That way, you would know how he liked to be touched. But you can’t help but look at his face. His pale ivory skin is flushed, his lips are slightly parted as he whines, and his eyes are narrowed, focusing on your hand that is jerking him off with his.

Eroticism is not the way you would describe this; this was pure filthy porn for you. His face, the way he took his bottom lip between his teeth, gnawing on it, would forever be in your spank bank memory—his ab’s clenched and moved, and time with his deep raspy groans of pleasure. Satoru was losing himself in the pleasure of just your hand. You couldn’t wait to see the expression he made when he was inside of you.

“Sweetheart, fuck.” He groans, jaw twitching as he clenched his teeth together. “Fuuuck, your hand is so soft. If you keep it up, I’m gonna cum all over you.”

Hearing him say that, knowing that you could make the Gojo Satoru cum, you jerked your hand as fast as you fucking could. You swatted his hand away, taking complete control. Satoru threw his head back with a roar as you licked your bottom lip, focusing all your attention on how you were moving your wrist. Up and down, twisting and pulling it as he had shown you. Your free hand reaches down and his heavy balls, massaging him gently, urging him to spill his seed all over your hands.

His cock throbbed twice in your hand, and you thought for just a moment that he was about to cum for you. But before he could, his free hand swooped down and squeezed himself at the base of his cock, preventing himself from cumming all over your hand like you had wanted. His chest was heaving, and the flush on his face had spread the base of his neck down to his pectoral muscles.

Satoru swallows hard, wincing as you run your index finger over his slit, spreading the precum over his throbbing tip. “Why did you stop? Weren't you about to cum?” Strong hands grab your upper arms, flipping you so you’re the one underneath him.

“I was, but I would much rather cum inside of you.” those filthy words have your cunt drooling, your slick dripping down to the bed underneath you. “Is that okay~?”

“Yes, god, yes, please, please fuck me, Satoru.”

“Oh, you beg so nicely; how could I deny your request like that?” He slots his body between your thighs, and he rubs the head of his cock up and down your lips, smearing his pre-come over your clit. “Want me to grab a condom? I have one in my wallet.”

“No, I have an IUD.”

“Such a dirty, needy girl.” He presses the tip against your tight entrance. “You sure about this?”

He knew you were a virgin; you had mentioned it to him in passing in between your flirting the last few months. For him to take the time to ask you if you were okay with this made your heart sing. Nanami was wrong about him. Gojo wasn’t just going to up and leave; he genuinely seemed to care about you and what you wanted.

He was the perfect man to lose your virginity to.

“I'm positive.”

Hearing your consent, Satoru sighed in relief. “Awesome, just let me know if you need to stop.”

His cock gently pushes into you. You awaited the dreaded sharp, stinging pain you have been told about your entire life. But the pain never came. It was just a sensation of being full and some slight pressure. The unfamiliar sensation had you gripping Satoru’s biceps, digging your nails into his delicate ivory skin as you tried to adjust to the new feeling.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

“Y-Yeah, I just needed a second. It’s just a weird sensation.”

Satoru gently peppers kisses over your neck before meeting your lips once again. “Relax, I got you; I got you, baby.” Everything Satoru was doing for you had your muscles less tense as he pushed further inside of you. “You're taking me so well, such a good girl.”

“Satoruu~” your hands finally managed to leave his arms before wrapping around his neck, pulling him tighter against you.

“That's it, you’re gonna be good for me, right? Gonna let me bottom out inside that sweet tight cunt?”

You didn't even need to give him permission; his hips meet yours as he’s balls deep inside of you. You are breathing heavily against each other’s mouths. Your soft whimpering mixes in with his deep guttural groans.

“Tight, you're so tight, almost had me blowing my load like I was the virgin.” he pressed his mouth against yours and gave a soft, gentle kiss. “Are you okay?”

You nod, a wanton moan leaving your mouth as he begins grinding his hips into you and not entirely pulling out to thrust back in. But the simple grinding of his cock inside of your pussy, hitting your g-spot, made you squirm underneath him. Satoru repeats the grinding for a few minutes before his lips leave yours.

“I'm gonna start moving, okay?” Your little moans and nods were the only signs Gojo needed to see and hear to know he was ready to move. His poor little sweetheart hadn’t even been fucked thoroughly yet, and she already couldn’t find her voice. “Hey, if you need me to stop, just let me know.”

His hips move, gently pulling back before snapping forward, burying himself deep into your tight heat. He groans breathlessly, eyes shut tight as your walls clamp down on him. “Oooh fuuuck, fuck, you're so tight, so tight, baby.” he pulls out again, leaving you gasping before he immerses himself back into your cunt. “Fuck you feel that~ feel my cock sliding in and out of your wet pussy? Does that feel good for you, baby? Huh?” Satoru growls as he sets a gentle pace, gently fucking you into the bed.

“S-So good T-Toru, haaa haaah fuck you're twitching.” At the sound of your voice, Satoru’s cock twitched again, this time even harder, making you shudder at the knowledge you were making him feel this good.

“Of course, I’m twitching; you're so fucking wet and warm; it honestly feels like my dick is melting inside. So yeah, fuck, fuck,” his pace speeds up, “my dick is twitching inside of you because you feel so fucking good.”

Having sex felt so good! Having sex with Satoru, well damn, it was like heaven on earth. Well, you didn’t have anyone else to compare it to, but you knew that your first time was monumentally better than anyone else. He was so gentle, kind, and patient with you. You couldn’t think of anybody else that would be that sweet. God, he made you feel so good.

Your back arched off the mattress as you dug your nails into his back, climbing up his muscles with your nails. The pain dialed him up, pushing him to fuck you faster and deeper while trying to be as gentle as he could, knowing the fact that you were a virgin. He could only maintain his composure for so long thought.

“F-Fuck, ooooh fuck, fuck.” His cock is dragging against the spots deep inside of you that felt like pure pleasure every time he brushed against them. With each touch of those sweet spots, your wall hugged his cock, letting him know you were closer to your orgasm as much as he was. “Yeah, you like that baby? Like it when I fuck you like this? I popped your cherry, and now I’m fucking you into the mattress.” You’re so loud that your moans reverberate off the walls. “Yeah, you love it. You love my cock inside that pussy.”

“Y-Yeah! I love it!” A coil deep in your abdomen begins tightening and tightening. “I-I’m gonna cum!” eyes locking on with Satoru’s “Oh fuck, fuck I’m close, Toru!”

“Cum for me, milk my cock, sweetheart~ that's it~ that's a good girl~ yeah~” his thrust no longer has any rhythm; all that’s going on in his head is making you cum and filling you up.

Your orgasm hits you hard in the gut like a punch to the stomach. It’s not painful in the slightest. It is a pure, unfiltered pleasure. The kind pleasure that has you seeing white spots. You scream into the void as you squirt all over Satoru’s cock and the bed. The image of you cumming so hard sends Satoru tumbling over the edge right after you. He curses and grits his teeth before he latches his mouth into the crook of your neck, nipping and sucking at your skin, leaving marks for only him to see.

You’re a shaking, sweat-soaked mess by the time Satoru pulls off of you, falling onto his side next to you. His lips gently press against your cheek before finding your lips. They move against yours in a symphony of pleasure and pure bliss. Satoru spoons you, his arms wrapping around your body, pulling you flush against his naked form.

“You did so good.” His voice is so soft, lulling you to sleep. “Such a good girl~ thank you for letting me be your first.”

You hum, happily turning to kiss him on the lips before resting your head against your pillow. Slowly losing yourself in the warmth of his body against yours. “Thank you for making my first time so special.” His fingers gently graze over your skin as he breathes heavily against the nape of your neck.

“Mhmm, you're welcome. Get some rest, okay?”

You don’t even answer because you’re already sleeping. You dream the most peaceful, beautiful dreams. Ones where you, Satoru, have sex, go out on dates and enjoy each other’s company. God, you couldn’t wait to see you the next day took you. What did the future have in store for the two of you? More happy-go-lucky memories like this? If you could live through days like this, you would be the happiest woman in the entire world.

Dopamine and serotonin spread through your veins throughout the night while you sleep and find you in the early morning sunlight. You’re under the crisp, cool sheets that cradle your body. It’s when you move to turn to look at Satoru that you realize just how sore your body is. You hurt in places that you didn’t know were even possible to hurt.

All you needed was a nice hot shower with your extremely hot partner, and you should be all set to go. Rolling onto your side to look at him, your smile fades. Satoru isn't there.

You reach for the side of the bed he had fallen asleep in, trying to see if his lingering warmth was there. Hoping that if it did, maybe he was in the bathroom or the kitchen making you breakfast in the movies. But the crisp sheets under your hands are cold. He must have left hours ago.

Sitting up in bed, you reach for your cell phone on the nightstand next to you. Unlocking it, you search for a message Satoru may have sent you about why he would leave after such a perfect night. There is no message. No missed calls, no text messages. Nothing. He had slept with you, taking your virginity, and he left you with nothing.

Everything from the night before was perfect. You both had a great time, so why would he get up and leave without telling you? Even if he went to get breakfast for the two of you, he could have at least texted you to let you know that. Even when you pulled yourself out of bed with wobbly legs, you discovered he wasn’t even in your living room, let alone your apartment.

The truth hit you like a wrecking ball. Nanami had been right. He warned you. Your best friend warned you that Gojo was a serial cherry popper. You didn’t listen to him. You thought you knew him better, but the months of flirting back and forth, the late-night conversations on the phone, and the missions meant more than just one nightstand.

The hopes of there being any connection between the two of you left your apartment just like he did. You would never not listen to Nanami again; he was always looking out for you. Since you hadn't heeded his warning, you had to suffer with the heartache you had brought upon yourself. That Sunday, you cried yourself back to sleep curled into a ball and mourned your stupidity and the loss of a relationship that never even existed

The next day, you texted Yaga, letting him know you wouldn’t be coming to work for the next couple of days. You needed time to think about what you needed to do next. Gojo was your colleague and a man with whom you were forced to go on missions and teach the next generation of jujutsu sorcerers. Being around him would be challenging. If things had played out differently, and he didn’t just up and leave you alone in the apartment, maybe you wouldn’t have to be weighing your options.

The way you looked at it, you had two different choices. You could completely ignore Gojo when you return to work—keeping things strictly professional between you. Or you could ask to be transferred to Kyoto, where you would never have to see his face again.

You return to work on Wednesday, and the second you step through the school gates, Gojo stands there waiting for you. His hair was fluffed up as his blindfold was pulled over his eyes, but you could tell his gaze was locked on you.

“Hey, we need to talk.” He tried speaking to you, but you ignored him. “Sweetheart, please just listen to me.”

“I have work to do, excuse me.”

The entire day, Gojo kept bugging you and begging for you to stop to listen to what he had to say. Whatever excuses he had come up with, he could shove them up his ass. He had left you without any explanation at all. So he didn’t deserve your time of day.

You finally found some peace when he was forced to teach the first years for his class. As he left, he pleaded for you to set some time aside so that you could talk things out later. There was no way in hell you were going to sit there and listen to whatever bullshit excuse he came up with. You couldn’t, not when you had been told what kind of person he was, and against your better judgment, you went through with sleeping with him.

Before you could find yourself in another stupor, the door to your classroom opened, and Yaga stepped inside. The higher-ups had requested your assistance with a curse downtown. Specifically, they asked for both you and Gojo to assist. He was preoccupied with his students, so you decided this was easy to handle.

Instead of waiting to talk to him personally about taking on this mission on your own, you did exactly what he had done to you days prior: left without saying a word. You grabbed your shit and walked out the door; being courteous enough, you left a note behind on your desk. It also colorfully told him you had nothing to say about sleeping together.

Your words described how you thought he was different, how you had assumed there was more than just a one-night stand between you, but he had other ideas. At the end of your note, you wished him a long and happy life; there was nothing more to say after that. Writing that note allowed you to get all of your frustration, everything, off your chest without actually saying it to his face.

With the note behind you, you had one of the assistant supervisors drive you to the location of an abandoned building. Luckily, with the curse inside, you didn't have to lower a veil. This was, hopefully, going to be a simple in-and-out mission. At Least, you thought it would be.

Stepping inside the building, you automatically sensed the presence of the curse. One that was a grade four curse, making it super easy to take out. You honestly did it in record-breaking time, but it wasn’t the curse you had to worry about.

The curse user watching you the entire time you fought against his little monster charged you the instant his curse spirit dissipated. He pinned you to the ground, his hands wrapped around your throat, squeezing down on it. You choked, kicking your feet underneath him; your talisman paper was just out of reach; your fingers grazed over it, but you couldn’t grasp it. The man above you looked at you with dark black eyes, determined to kill you.

“I worked so hard to train that curse!” the man shouted as you gurgled on your saliva. “Then you come in here and just destroy it?! How are you any better than they are?!”

Your nails dug into the flesh of his hands, yanking and pulling at his fingers, trying to free yourself as your shoes slid against the dirty floor. Black spots began to appear in your vision; you were so close to passing out. Maybe you should have waited for Satoru. He may have been an asshole but at least he would’ve had your back.

“You sorcerers all deserve to die!”

Help me.

“Die and rot in hell when you belong!”

Please, someone, anyone!

“You deser—”

A flash of red floods the room as the man is sent flying through a wall, well, several walls, finally freeing you from his grip. You curl in on yourself, coughing and gulping down air. You don’t even have a chance to fully recover before you’re scooped up into arms, arms that had held you several nights before. Gojo says nothing as he carries you out of the room you had almost lost your life in.

Silence remains thick until he takes you outside and sits you on the concrete stairs leading to the alleyway. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.” The urge to run away is as strong as your need to take deep breaths. There was no point in running now, especially after Gojo had saved your life.

He returned several minutes later, waving at the assistant supervisor's black car. His hands are shoved into his pockets as he watches the car turn the corner before he turns in your direction. His blindfold is still entirely on hiding his eyes from you. But just like this morning, you can feel his gaze locked solely on you.

“We got ten minutes before the cops show up.” You give him a thumbs up, winning a frustrated sigh back. “I got your note.”

“Good.” Your voice cracks as you try to clear your throat.

“No, it’s not good.” He snaps, stomping towards you, crouching down in front of you. “You honestly think I didn’t feel anything that night? That was just a one-night stand?”

“You left!” You cough roughly. “You left without a word, Gojo! What else am I supposed to think? To me, you leaving without a word is pretty plain and clear.”

A large hand cups your face, holding it gently. “Yaga called me in for an emergency. I was needed at the Kyoto school that morning.” You blinked back tears. “And I was going to call you, but I left my phone at the bar because I was so excited to be with you finally.” His head dropped forward with a heavy sigh. “But the more that I think about it, the more that’s like a shitty excuse. I should’ve woken you up before I left, but you looked so peaceful that I didn’t want to. I should’ve known and done better. I’m so sorry for hurting you.”

“Yeah, you should have asshole,” you sigh, “ at least you have another cherry under your belt.”

“I don’t just want you to be another girl in the notch of my belt!” His hand tightens around your face. “ I know I fucked up. I didn’t get to truly talk to you and tell you how I feel about you.” Your eyes met his. “This isn’t an ideal situation either, having just saved your life, and I almost killed that man.” He yanks his blindfold down, revealing his blue eyes to you. Eyes that are solely focused on you. “This is a terrible time to tell you that I love you; I love you so damn much.”

For the second time today, you find it hard to breathe. Your eyes widen in shock as Satoru stares at you, waiting for you to respond to his confession. If he had told you this several days ago before he had left without a word, you would’ve been over the moon. Now, you weren’t sure how to react. Part of you was still happy that he felt that way, but he left without a word; he should have handled things differently. That was in the past, though there was no point in crying over something that had already happened.

Deep inside your heart, you knew how you felt regardless of what had happened days before.

“I love you too, you idiot.” The white-haired man before you perks up, grinning wide. “But I’m still pissed off. You owe me big time for leaving me after popping my cherry dick.”

“Baby, I’ll do anything you ask, anything.” His hands are gripping yours, planting kisses against the back of them.

“I want you to take me on a date. A real date with food and dessert.”

He smiled softly, his dimple visible as he planted another kiss on your hand. “Dinner and dessert, I can handle that.” He helps you stand, ushering you forward, his hand in yours. “I could sweeten the deal. Maybe I could make you cum on my tongue all night? You don’t even have to worry about me. Just let me worship you if you want.” While his offer is tempting, you lean against him.

“Honestly, I’d rather go on a date and have mind-blowing sex like the other night, just without you leaving me.”

“I can do that too.”

Satoru is true to his word; he takes you to the nicest restaurant he knows. Buys you a bottle of champagne, orders a five-course meal, and every dessert on the menu. After your wonderful first date, he takes you back to his apartment and makes sweet love to you all night. He had you arching, gasping, and clawing at his back for the second time in your life.

The following day, you wake up finding him missing again. The bedroom door opens before you can grab your phone to see where he is. Satoru comes in with a massive tray of food. Mixed berries, coffee, pancakes, and eggs and bacon. He sits on the bed beside you, setting the tray between you.

“Good morning, sweetheart. Sleep well?” He offers you a steaming cup of coffee that you gladly take,

“I slept great.” You lean over kissing his lips softly.

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + sixteen

authors note: healing is not linear. regression, sadly, is a part of the process. and ultimately, if someone wants to hurt themselves, they will find a way to do so.

*this chapter contains extremely triggering content. please ensure to read all content/trigger warnings to make an informed decision regarding your mental state and ability to consume the following work of fiction. your mental wellbeing is forever and always more important than any story.*

cw/tw: heavy angst, violence, torture, ptsd episode, victim blaming, reference to childhood sexual assault, thoughts and urges of self-harm, suicide attempt

gentle reminder that you can call or text the free, confidential 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline at 988 anytime, 24/7.

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

masterlist

words: 8k

“I–I just want to see him. Please—”

It’s got to be the third or even fourth time she’s tried to ask, pleading with her husband’s Wise Man to let her see her husband.

It was hard enough to get Solo to agree to take her to where Roman is, a medical clinic that’s clearly only open to tend to him and any other Bloodline member injured in the shootout. That’s evident by the lack of anyone present outside of an impressive number of Bloodline security. 

An uninjured Bayley and Naomi met her at the house shortly after she arrived with Solo, and while she was pleased to see they were okay, to hear that Jimmy and Jey also made it out uninjured, the man she cares about the most is ironically the man she seems incapable of checking on.

She can’t find a way to settle her anxiety, continuing to play the scene of him shot, outside of her head. 

That’s why she needs to see him. 

She has to see him.

Paul sighs, and there’s irritation evident both in his tone and facial expression. “Solana, I don’t think—hey!”

Fuck it.

He’s silenced by Solana rushing past him, nearly knocking him over in the process. Eyes wide with shock, he stammers, looking just as bewildered as the security guards around him. “Well, don’t just stand there, stop her!”

The men rush to run after her, Solana well aware of the fact that the likelihood of her outrunning them is slim to none. 

Doesn't mean she can’t try. 

It’s a silly thought though because of course security would be up and down every hall of the clinic, sets of hardened eyes falling on her, ready to attack when they realize who she is. It changes the dynamic a bit. Expressions still stoic and lethal but also confused.

Solana freezes only for a bit as she forces out her request, a poorly delivered demand, really to the guards that line the hall that she suspects house the room Roman is being treated in. 

“I need to see my husband.” No one says anything, two of them sharing an expression as Solana decides to try her luck again, knowing that they wouldn’t actually shoot her, trying to sprint past them.

She’s unlucky this time though because one of the guards catches her, restraining her. This makes her tense up almost immediately, fear rising up yet again for the thousandth time tonight. 

“Let go of me!” Solana tries to wiggle her way out of the iron grasp, eager and almost needing to get these strange male hands off of her, such a stark contrast to the comfort and safety she feels when it’s Roman who has his hands on her. “I need to see Roman! Please!” 

The man holding her and probably pulling her away from the direction of Roman’s room says nothing, just continues to ignore her demands to be released.

“Man, what the hell you doing!”

Solana’s head snaps to the side as she lays eyes on an enraged Jimmy who stalks over, his mere presence and tone causing the man to release her. Solana gasps a bit as Jimmy grabs the man by his collar and slams him against the wall. “Don’t you ever put your fucking hands on her again! You lucky it’s me here and not Roman cause he’d already have a bullet in your head for touching his wife!”

Jimmy looks around, shouting, “that goes to all of ya’ll asses!” He points to Solana. “She asks for Roman, you take her to fucking Roman, alright?”

Bowed heads of shame and a sudden focus on the laminate flooring of the clinic, Solana is relieved when Jimmy walks over, voice calmer, motioning her to follow him. “Come on, Soso.”

Solana wants to ask Jimmy if he’s okay, inquire about Jey, make sure that they’re okay. Bayley and Naomi already told her as such, but they don’t know that. It’s just what’s most polite and appropriate, but all she can think about is Roman and laying eyes on him.

She needs to see him.

And as awful as it may sound, she cares more about making sure her husband is okay before anyone else.

Caught up in her thoughts, she misses when Jimmy knocks on a door in a rhythmic pattern, followed by Jey cracking the door open.

Jimmy sucks his teeth. “Man, open the door. It’s Soso.”

Solana, however, has no desire to wait any longer and finds herself, pushing on the door, forcing Jey to stumble back. “Damn, girl!”

She’s not listening though, uninterested in apologizing because she’s focused on something else. 

Focused on someone else. 

An older man with blonde hair pulled back, dressed way too casually to be a medical professional seems to be finishing up bandaging her husband who stands only feet away, shirtless, revealing the shoulder tourniquet that conceals the wound. The place where he was hurt.

Where he was shot.

Emotion renews, and a new set of tears reload as she finds herself moving over to him, pressing her body into his, doing her best to avoid touching his left shoulder. Her eyes shut, tears spilling over when she feels Roman’s hand on the small of her back.

“Get out.” It’s directed to the twins and who Solana would guess is the doctor who treated his wound, that last thing being what causes her to pull away, to look over at the stranger.

“No. You—you have to help him—”

The man chuckles and removes the blue latex gloves from his hands. “Lil lady, that’s a job only the big Man Himself can handle.” She frowns a bit as the man with striking blue eyes and an almost country accent explains, “He’ll be fine. Bullet went straight through. Didn't hit any bones, artery, or organs. If he takes it easy for a couple weeks, he'll be good as new. That’s assuming, however, he actually follows the doctor’s orders for once.”

It’s that last sentence that makes Solana wonder if this is the same doctor who diagnosed Roman with high blood pressure and medicated him for it. It makes sense. 

But, it’s when they’re alone that the waterworks seem to really come out, Solana unable to hold it in any longer. “I’m sorry—this—this is all my fault.” She cries, Roman gently cradling her face as she shakes her head. “You���you got hurt because of m-me-.”

Roman looks thoroughly confused, asking, “what are you talking about?”

There’s such a heaviness in her stomach and on her chest. She doesn’t want to do this. God, she really doesn’t want to. But, it’s her not doing this in the first place that landed them where they are. 

“Roman…..” She closes her eyes. This is so much harder than she thought it would be, and she never thought it would be easy per se, but she also didn’t think it would be this damn painful. “My—my father. He…he wanted our marriage to happen so—so that I—” It’s like knives splitting and slicing the back of her throat as she forces out, “he wanted me to kill you.”

If Roman has a strong or visceral reaction to her dark confession, he doesn’t show it. His expression remains unreadable, maybe a bit of concern, but that was present the minute he laid eyes on her. 

“And he said that if I didn’t do it, then he–he would kill me, and that’s w–why you got hurt tonight, because—because of me, because I didn’t say anything.” A fresh set of tears generate as she desperately tries to help him and make him believe her as she explains, “but, I—I was never going to—I could never—I’d rather die than do anything to h–hurt you.”

And it’s the truth. 

She would have rather him let the bullet hit her than him. 

It’s not fair he had to pay for her actions. Or lack, in this case. 

“Solana.” He cuts her off, gentle, voice much calmer than she anticipated in response to such a confession. “I already knew.”

And just like that, she’s back to not breathing again, rendered nearly incapable of speech as she stammers out a response, “w–what?”

Roman sighs deeply, thumb caressing the apple of her cheek. “I always knew your father was up to something. I’m far from stupid. He was too eager and pushy to make the marriage happen. It was obvious he had ulterior motives.” His eyes squint a bit, as he asks her, “why you think one of the first things I did when we got married was cut off contact between the two of you, huh? Whatever he was planning, I wasn’t gonna let him use you to do it.”

Roman’s words together make a logical, sensical sentence, but it’s the processing of it that she struggles with. Roman knew. He knew all along that her father was planning something. 

And yet he said nothing.

He has no reaction. 

He continues, admitting, “I didn’t know specifically what he had planned, but it doesn’t really make a difference. Murder. Coup d'etat. He wasn't the first, and he won’t be the last.” It’s the casual way he says it that Solana feels so conflicted about, so stunned how he can be so calm about constant threats against his life, against his empire. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been shot, and it probably won’t be the last time.”

“Don’t say that.” She whispers. The trauma and shock of seeing him shot was bad enough, and seeing he appears okay is relieving, but the thought of it happening again feels almost unbearable.

“Solana, you know what I am and what I do. But, it’s like I told you before, I have a tendency to not die, which pisses people off.” His delivery towards the end manages to make her smile. It’s small and sad, but a smile nonetheless. “There it is….” His thumb brushes away some of her tears. “Don’t cry, baby. You know I don’t like seeing you upset.”

She noticed. The same way she doesn’t like to see him hurt. For him to be anything other than okay. 

Roman’s eyes shift into something softer as he asks, “why didn’t you tell me?” It’s a question born from curiosity versus the accusatory nature she would expect from someone who was just told their wife was sent to kill them. 

It’s a bit of a difficult one to answer too. “I was—I was scared. At the beginning of our marriage, I—I was scared what you would do to me if—if I told you.” 

There’s an almost pained look that flashes across his face as he vows, “Solana, you know I would never—”

“I know. I know that now.” She stresses, gently cutting him off. There’s not a doubt in her mind that Roman would never do anything to intentionally hurt her. “But, I—I didn’t then. And….I think I just—I didn’t want to think about it, because things were going good and—and I hadn’t seen him in so long, but I was wrong—and I should have said something sooner—”

“It doesn’t matter.” He’s the one to cut her off this time, shaking his head. “But Solana, your father has crossed a line this time. He tried to kill you.” Roman’s eyes are blazing with with the flame of anger and fury, a desire for vengeance clearly dancing at the forefront of his mind. “I know I told you I wouldn’t kill him until you told me—”

“I don’t care,” she affirms, voice darkening into something also angry. “He—he tried to take you from me. I don’t—I don’t care what happens to him anymore. Him or Wes.” 

Because while she doesn’t know the status of her brother and his recovery, Wes was just as involved with the evil plan, so what went down tonight had to have some influence from him in one way or another. It makes him just as guilty. 

Roman nods and kisses her temple. He then calls out, “Jey.” It’s loud enough for his cousin to hear, opening the door and asking, “what’s up?”

Roman doesn’t hesitate. “Get me Miller. Just Xavier.” Solana must look curious as he explains, ���your brother isn’t well enough yet. I want him back to health, so I can prolong his torture.” It paints a picture of a brutal, gruesome ending, but she can’t find it in her to be repulsed. Whatever hope she had for her brother is clearly long gone, if it was ever there.

“You got it.” Jey nods and closes the door as Solana places her hand on Roman’s forearm, drawing his attention down to her. 

“I—I want to talk to him before—-” She swallows, asking, “please?”

Roman nods. “Of course.” She’s thankful for his agreement but not entirely surprised. He breaks away from her, countenance shifts into something stoic and determined. 

“This ends tonight.” 

________

Solana’s introduction to the place where her husband has probably taken and ended more lives than she’d like to admit is definitely a one and done thing. The atmosphere alone is so dark and depressing that if not for her hand in his and him walking closely alongside her, she might even find herself a bit scared.

But his presence along with her determination to get in her final words to her father manage to carry her over. 

She’s also both surprised and relieved when she sees Bayley and Naomi also present. She’s unable to ask them about their presence because Roman is already explaining, “I know you don’t want to be home alone tonight, and I’m not making it back anytime soon.”

She nods, not needing to know why. The edge in his voice is all the telling she needs.

Solana’s stomach drops a bit when she’s taken to her father, strapped to a chair, hands and wrists tied. His face is bruised up, cut, and bleeding. Her eyes must give away her curiosity, Jimmy answering, “he fell.” 

Jey suddenly punches him in the side of his head. “Ain’t that what you said when you and your boy was beating on your own fucking daughter?”

Solana swallows. Yes. That’s often what he said to cover up the result of their abuse.

Solana drops her hand and steps a bit closer to him, Roman not once moving or ripping his eyes away from them. It’s virtually impossible for Xavier to do anything to her, but she understands her husband is not willing to take any risks, regardless. 

She ignores the weapons and items around her, no doubt intended for unspeakable acts of violence and torture. She just focuses on the man before her, taking in the fact that this is the last time she’ll ever stare into his dark eyes and have to look at his evil face. 

“All—all I ever wanted….was for you to love me.” She hates the emotion that chunks up the back of her throat, making it a bit harder for her to speak. “But you never did, and you never will, and—and that’s okay.” She recalls one of the many powerful, profound quotes from her book, reciting it boldly and confidently. “Your inability to love me is not a reflection on my ability to be loved.” She’d like to say she witnesses some type of emotional reaction in her father at her powerful statement, but there’s nothing there.

There never was. 

Stepping back, she takes one final look at him, accepting this is the end of this road. The end of all the hurt and pain he’s ever caused her. After tonight, it’s all over. “Goodbye, Dad.” 

Solana is back by Roman, taking her hand in his as Xavier’s small, dark laughter draws her attention back to him. 

“Didn’t you ever wonder how they bypassed the security system? Both times?”

Solana’s brows are furrowed, confusion dancing in her eyes. Before she can say anything, Roman barks a rough order to the twins, “gag him!” 

One glance at him, and she sees something unfamiliar, something that looks strangely close to nervousness. 

To fear. 

“No,” she finds herself calling out, stopping Jey who was halfway close to doing just that, bandana in his right hand. “What—what are you talking about?”

“Solana, he’s just trying to fuck with your head.” She hears Roman, feels his slight tug on her sleeve as he tries to pull her away, but she also detects something else.

Avoidance. 

Roman is intentionally trying to divert her away from this conversation, topic, whatever it is.

Xavier chuckles cruelly, coughing up a bit of blood. “I warned that bitch. I told her what would happen if she tried to take Wesley away from me.” 

Now…now he has Solana’s full attention. 

She steps toward him, asking again, “what are you t–talking about?”

“Solana, please—”

But, she continues to ignore Roman and instead focuses on whatever it is her father is about to drop on her, something she feels is about to change everything. 

Xavier’s bloody smile is cruel and taunting as he reveals, “I was the one who ordered the hit on your mother.” And before she can even sit on that, another bomb is dropped. “And you.”

Solana staggers back, jerking away from Roman as he reaches to touch her. Her mouth is dropped, her heartbeat erratic. She all of a sudden feels dizzy, but it doesn’t stop her from asking again, “what—what did you just say?”

“Shut him up, Jey!”

“No!” Solana shouts both at her husband and his cousin. “I want to know!”

“Your mother was planning to take you and Wesley away from me, and truth be told, if she left Wesley and just took you, I probably wouldn’t have given a fuck. But no, she wanted both of her children. She was a problem, so I got rid of her.” Each word that leaves his mouth has Solana wanting to sink further and further into the ground. “The hit was for both of you, but of course, you fucking survived.” The venom in his voice and hatred in his eyes is almost palpable, further deepening the pain of this betrayal. “I refused to pay them the full amount since they botched the job and didn’t kill you, but that still left the balance for your mother….the balance you paid for me.” And with the most vile smile of all, he adds on coarsely, “who’d have thought a kid’s virginity would sell so high?”

And it’s that statement. That cruel, vindictive statement that breaks her.

Hand to her stomach, Solana almost collapses to the floor but Roman is behind her, catching her fall. 

Now that she can focus on him, on anything other than the millions thoughts racing through her mind. Random facts and statements finally coming together, painting a horrific, grim picture.

The failure of the security system both times.

The failed pin entry of her mom’s shaking hands and two years later, Solana’s shaking hand, as they desperately tried to enter the panic room, only for it to flash a red rejection notice.

It was him the whole time.

He killed her mother. He was the one responsible for her rape.

All of it. 

Emotions erupt to the surface as Solana tries to break from Roman’s embrace and lunge for her father.

“I hate you!” She screams, unable to think and see beyond her pain. “I fucking hate you!” She can’t stop trying to break Roman’s solid grip on her. She wants to hit him. Wants to stab him. Burn him. Anything and everything that can make him feel just a fraction of her agony. “How could you do that to me!” She cries, wanting, needing an answer. Needing to know why. “I was a child!” She’s never felt something so heavy, so painful. “I was your child!” 

As her physical resolve breaks, more diminishes than anything, Solana feels Roman trying to guide her away.

But it’s a mistake, it’s a mistake because she uses that slice of an opening to break away from him and snatch one of the guns on a table, pointing it at her father’s head. But then, she’s not. She’s not because Roman is suddenly standing between her and her target.

Her resolve falters for a bit, as she shouts at him, “move!”

Jimmy’s furious voice calls out. “Man, let her do it, Roman!”

Roman’s gaze is fiery as he silences his cousin with a shout. “Shut up!” But just as quickly as he was enraged, his expression softens almost inhumanly quickly as he pleads, “Solana, listen to me—”

She’s not trying to hear it though. She can’t hear it. “He killed my mother! My mother!”

“I know,” his expression softens into something solemn and sympathetic. “But you don’t want to do this—“

She snaps, her fingers on the gun tightening, her grip firm and focused. “He needs to die!”

“And he will, I promise you that. Slowly. Gradually. In the agonizing way that he deserves, but that can only happen if you let me do this for you—”

Solana cries, shoulders dropping but her aim still intact. “He let them rape me.” Her body trembles, a combination of her heartache and inconsolable rage. “He took her from me! She was my mother!”

If not for the severity and all around heightened tensions, Solana would notice the heartbreaking and furious expressions of the twins, Bayely, and Naomi who now know the exact horror she has experienced. The reason for her disposition. The source of her trauma.

Roman, however, remains focused on de-escalating the situation. “I know, baby, but you’re not a killer, Solana, and I’m not about to let you become one.” If she was thinking straight, capable of thinking clearly in this moment, she’d know he’s only protecting her. Only trying to save her from the thing she told him not even a week ago she could never forgive herself for. Taking someone’s life. “Once you do this, there’s no turning back.”

Solana’s eyes shut as another round of tears makes its way to the surface, heavier and harder to manage with the gun in her hand.

Roman notices this and takes a tentative step forward. “Please, Solana.” His tone is almost desperate, borderline begging. “Give me the gun.”

Eyes still closed and with a weakness she hasn’t felt in years, Solana relents, loosening her grip, allowing Roman to take the gun that he quickly hands to Jey. He moves to catch her as she falls into his chest, sobbing again. Roman cradles her head and kisses the top of her hair while Jimmy and Jey move to jump Xavier, taking that opportunity to get blows in on the old man, both careful to avoid any that could be lethal.

It’s obvious this son of a bitch is in line for a world of suffering that will extend far past tonight.

“Oh, we finna take our time killing you, motherfucker.” 

Everything sounds a bit distant. The sound of the twins yelling obscenities at the demon she called a father. Roman trying to comfort her, to settle her. It’s all too much. Too overwhelming. The crying settles into something sullen and solemn, silent tears streaming down her face as she murmurs against him, “I want to go home.”

The emotion is there, but her presence and awareness of everything is diminishing. Solana knows what’s coming, has experienced this state of separation, of dissociating. 

She needs to get away.

Roman says something she can’t make out, and before she realizes it, there’s another set of arms around her. Bayley. Naomi is chatting with Roman, the only thing she’s able to make out, 

‘Don’t leave her alone.’

Alone.

She’s not sure she’s ever felt that as strongly as she does at this moment.

________

It’s all such a blur.

Such a separate thing. Emotions separate from her. Emotions that are dark, heavy, confusing, overwhelming. Fleeting. There’s an oscillation of all the feelings. Tears that accompany heartache. Sobbing that accompanies grief. Nothing that arrives with nothing. 

It’s a brutal, miserable experience of feeling the weight of the world but also the emptiness of the void.

It’s obvious that Naomi and Bayley don’t know how to help her, don’t know how to comfort her, just continue to sit with her, letting her cry when she needs to and scream when she has to. Even Dulce sits by her side, whimpering every so often and licking her.

It’s appreciated. So appreciated. 

But….it’s not enough.

Losing her mother was heartbreaking. Losing her in the way she did, so violently and graphically was torture.

Being held down and gang raped by two grown men at twelve years old nearly killed her. They nearly killed her.

But, there’s something about finding out that her father, her biological father, was responsible for those two things that’s almost impossible to believe.

She knew her father was cruel.

She just didn’t know just how cruel until this very evening. 

Escape.

Her mother was trying to escape, trying to make a better life for herself and her children. And he killed her for it.

Tried to kill Solana too, and when that didn’t work, he traded her virginity in exchange for payment. 

Flashes. Glimpses. Images. 

They’ve been hitting her nonstop since the truth came out. Playing in her mind like some kind of sick horror film. It’s torture. It’s painful. It’s unbearable.

It’s too much. 

She places her hands on the bathroom counter, having finished using the bathroom after waking up yet again from night terrors.

Her eyes shut.

Solana is tired.

So so tired. Tired of the pain. Of the lies. Of the betrayal. Everything hurts. Everything feels so heavy. She tries to escape in sleep, but the memories haunt her and suddenly, she’s reliving it all, but now with the horrific knowledge that the first man who should have ever loved and protected her was responsible for her biggest traumas.

And it’s impossible to escape those flashes, those thoughts and flashbacks becoming more frequent and intrusive by the minute. She’s suffocating.

Drowning in her own head.

Drowning in her own body. 

Solana’s eyes open and fall over to the shower where her razor would have been available if not for her earlier strength and ability to hand it and the brand new box of them over to Bayley and Naomi.

Just an hour or two ago, she was able to do that much. Able to resist that temptation and not break years of sobriety.

But, now…. now she can’t. 

She doesn’t even want to.

That would only provide a temporary escape.

She’s just….just so tired.

She wants….needs something longer.

Something more permanent. 

Unable to escape the mental anguish, Solana leans down and digs through a toiletries bag from the trip she hasn’t unpacked. 

And she pulls out the bottle of sleeping pills. 

Roman’s request from months ago returns, smacking into her. 

“Any of those thoughts come back, you tell me. I don’t care if you have to paint it on the fucking wall. I want to know.” His intense expression is set right on her, needing to make sure she understands what he’s asking of her. “Understand?”

Her eyes water.

Roman….

Even with his lack of being honest with her, of somehow knowing but not telling her the truth, there’s never been a person that she’s loved more than him. Not since her mom.

It’s why she can’t call him. Can’t continue to burden him with having to deal with all her shit.

All she’s done since entering his life is make shit difficult. She’s done it with him. Bayley. Naomi. Jimmy. Jey. 

All of them.

They’ve had to adjust so much just for her, and for what? For her to end up right back where she started?

She can’t….she can’t do that to them again.

She can’t do that to Roman again.

She loves him too much for that, loves him too much to continue to hurt him.

She just….she just needs to remove herself from the equation.

Needs to remove herself from all of their lives. 

Forever. 

Shaking hands twist off the cap as she dumps a handful of pills into her trembling palm.

There’s the briefest second of a delay, a moment where she reconsiders, where she wonders if she’s making the right decision. But another flashback hits her, the feeling of the knife slicing through her mother’s lifeless body and entering Solana ripping her away from that reconsideration.

Another thought of Roman and her friends having to help her yet again.

Save her again.

She can’t do it anymore. She doesn’t want to do it anymore.

There is no saving her anymore.

This is the only way. 

And she swallows, using the water bottle on the counter to force the excessive amount of pills down her throat. A brief glance at her reflection brings on another set of silent tears. Broken. Empty. There’s nothing left for her to do, no reason for her to exist anymore.

Not even bothering to put the pills away, Solana walks out of the bathroom and into the dark bedroom where Bayley is the first to ask, still sitting in the chair in the corner of the room, dedicated to staying awake for her ‘shift’, completely unaware of this being the last time they’ll interact. “Do you need something?”

Solana shakes her head and climbs back onto the bed. Grabbing her phone, ignoring the tears that blur her vision, she types out a simple text to the one person she’ll miss the most. 

She’ll miss them all, but none more than him.

Solana: I’m sorry. 

Sent and delivered, she locks her phone, placing it on the nightstand, closing her eyes. 

Solana just wants to go to sleep.

And this time…..not wake up.

________

Rage. 

Fury.

Wrath.

And any word synonymous to anger, yet none of them adequately describe what’s coursing all throughout Roman’s body. Years. It’s been years since he’s felt this much anger, held so much of it that he has a hard time thinking and feeling.

He’s incapable of escaping the sound of Solana’s sobbing, the way she literally fell apart in front of him, breaking before him.

And it’s all because of the son of a bitch currently underneath him on the receiving end of  devastating blow after blow of Roman’s brass knuckled fists. How long he’s been hitting the old man is beyond him. Not long enough.

It’ll never be long enough.

Never painful enough. 

Not for what he’s done.

A hand on his uninjured shoulder temporarily pulls him away from his newfound life mission to make this piece of shit feel every type of pain imaginable before he takes his last breath. 

Roman’s roar bounces off the walls. “What!”

Jey looks unfazed by Roman’s irate tone and instead advises, “he’s unconscious, Uce. Let up or you gon kill him.”

That’s the fucking goal.

But not yet. Death is too sweet for Xavier to receive at this point.

Huffing and suddenly aware of all the energy expended as well as the blood splattered all over his clothes and face, Roman tosses the knuckles to the side and issues an order to Jey even while walking, refusing to acknowledge any appreciation for his warning, “let me know when Jimmy has them.”

Them.

Them being the two men who have no idea what kind of horror awaits them. Men whose names were tortured out of Xavier pretty easily by Roman.

Rapists.

Solana’s rapists. 

Reaching the locker room  in the back, Roman easily strips himself naked and steps in the shower, allowing the water to rain down his body, red mixing with clear and disappearing down the drain. Hands against the shower wall, he shuts his eyes.

He can’t escape the sound of Solana’s wails. He’s never heard or seen her so upset. Never wanted to. It’s the exact reason he settled on not telling her the truth, because he knew this would happen.

Knew this would destroy her.

It’s just the extent of the destruction that worries him.

Just how far back this has set her that has him feeling something he hasn’t felt in years but has now experienced twice tonight. Once when he saw the hand raised and gun lifted in Solana’s direction and now her breakdown.

Fear.

It has him scared.

And Roman doesn't know what to do with that emotion, doesn’t know how to handle it outside of beating the shit out of and torturing her father and rapists. But even that only does so much.

It doesn’t do enough, because she’s hurting, more than she probably ever has, and he can’t do shit about it.

Because making the fuckers who hurt her suffer doesn’t do shit for the pain she’s experiencing now.

And he hates that shit. Hates that she’s hurting and he can’t help her, take away that pain from her.

With all the frustration in his body, Roman slams his fist into the shower wall, forcing himself to calm down just enough to get cleaned up.

He uses a fresh set of clothes in the lockers to redress himself, redoing his bandages and using a towel to dry off his hair as best as possible. 

But, it’s when Jey comes and seems to interfere with Roman starting his next round of torture, a thought of starting to skin the old man sounding more than desirable, that his frustration multiplies.

“Not now.”

Roman continues to walk when he feels Jey forcefully grab his arm, forcing him to turn around. Roman looks at his hand and then back at Jey. “Have you lost—”

“Roman.” 

But, it’s the tone that stops the Head of the Table from issuing out his threat. In all the years he’s known Jey, he’s never heard his cousin use such a heavy, spooked tone.

“What?” There’s hesitation, and that only pisses Roman off. “What!”

Jey swallows, answering with an almost pained countenance. “Solana’s at the hospital.” Jey’s frown, sadness seeped and imbued into his usual gregarious voice. “She tried to kill herself, Roman.”

________

Three.

There’s now been three separate occurrences in a single day that have caused Roman to experience the emotion most unfamiliar to him.

Fear.

And this third time, it’s the strongest it’s ever been as he marches into the hospital floor where he was informed she was.

“Where is she!”

And when his gaze lands on a clearly disturbed and crying Naomi and Bayley, the anger only grows as he moves over to them. “What the fuck happened!” Roman doesn’t give them time to respond, too consumed with his anger that’s truly a mask hiding his fear. “Why weren’t you watching her! I fucking told you to watch her!”

Bayley is the first to shoot up from her chair, eyes watery but scowl intact. “We were! She—”

But, he’s not trying to hear shit what she has to say. Not when they’ve failed him in the worst way possible. “Obviously you fucking weren’t because we’re standing in a goddamn hosptal–”

Jimmy, who Roman had completely forgotten came along with him, Jey as well, does his best to diffuse the situation, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Roman, you need to calm—”

But the Head of the Table is too far gone, harshly shrugging off his cousin’s innocent attempt at calming him down. “Don’t fucking touch me!” Roman removes himself from their presence, not even wanting to see these useless bitches as he calls out once again. “Where is she!”

It’s only then he sees a blonde woman walk out from the back, dressed in a white coat, clipboard in hand. She looks irritated which only pisses him off because how the fuck do you work at a fucking hospital and look annoyed. But, when she sees him, or maybe sees how irate he is, her gaze softens. 

She steps in his direction as Roman also steps toward her, putting some distance between himself and the group. “Mr. Reigns, can—”

“Where is my wife?” It’s the same question he will keep asking until it no longer needs to be asked because he’s taken to her.

The woman, doctor, probably, frowns, motioning to the back. “Can we talk in private?”

Roman pinches the bridge of his nose, doing his best not to violate his code of never putting his hands on a woman. But, this bitch is really fucking pushing it. 

He just wants to see Solana.

He needs to see her. 

“You’ve got three fucking seconds to take me—”

She scoffs, relenting and “Fine, we’ll do it here. Your wife is in recovery. We were able to successfully pump her stomach, but we had to sedate her because she was inconsolable upon waking up. I suspect she’s in the midst of some sort of psychotic episode.”

There’s so much in that sentence to process. Roman doesn’t even know where to begin to dissect it, so he starts with the part that pisses him off the most. “She tried to overdose on pills and your solution was to put more fucking medicine in her?”

The doctor, however, seems to show no sign of backing down. “My patient needed to be stabilized, so I stabilized her.” Her voice softens a bit as she adds, not necessarily as something to throw in his face but rather an important note he shouldn’t ignore. “If you had seen how upset she was, you would have understood.”

Roman, however, can’t think about that. Can’t think about how upset and terrified Solana must have been. Somehow a level calmer, he expresses once again, “I want to see her.”

“I understand, but—”

Right away, Roman knows his brief respite from level 10 rage is about to be broken by whatever she’s about to say. “What?”

She takes a deep breath, informing, “I’m putting her on a 5250 hold.”

Roman looks from side to side. “What the fuck does that mean?”

There’s no sign of hesitation as she explains, “it means I’m keeping her here in the hospital for two weeks on a legally mandated psychiatric hold.”

Yeah….he was absolutely right. 

Level fucking 10. 

“Like hell you are!” Roman is seeing red. Who in the flying fuck does this bitch think she is to say Solana is staying in the hospital? “She’s coming home with me. Tonight. The minute she fucking wakes up.”

And that’s a fact.

“How much do you know about Solana’s psychiatric history?” A lot, and that’s why he knows she doesn’t need to stay here in this forbidding, sterile place. She needs to be home with him so he can take care of her. “This is her second suicide attempt. Now, I don’t know what the hell happened to trigger this psychotic break, but your wife is severely and actively suicidal.” She lowers her voice, softly and almost sympathetically sharing with him so only he can hear. “She was inconsolable because she was upset we saved her life. She was upset she was still alive.”

That’s it.

The thing that makes Roman’s anger crumble almost entirely. 

He wanted to believe it was a mistake, an accident of some sort. Didn’t want to believe that she truly intended to take her life tonight.

But this woman has no reason to lie, and beyond that, he’s innately adept at deciphering when someone is lying and when they’re being truthful. 

She’s not lying. 

Solana wanted to die.

Solana wanted to actually die.

And he doesn’t know what to do with that information. 

At all. 

The crack in his harsh exterior must be evident, because the doctor continues to try to convince him what he now knows probably is the right thing to do. “You can get her to sign an AMA and take her home, but I guarantee you that she’ll end up right back in this hospital for another attempt…..and the next time might be too late.”

He can’t.

Roman can’t lose her. He can’t even let himself think about what he would do if he lost her.

Especially if it was because of her own actions. 

She continues, desperate, “let us get her stabilized. On a medication regimen. As I said, this presents as a brief psychotic episode, which we can help her manage and treat but only if you let us keep her here to monitor her.” 

Roman tilts his head back, eyes closed as he scratches his beard. There’s an unfamiliar weight in his chest and stomach at the thought of having to leave this hospital tonight without Solana. But this isn’t about what he wants, it’s about what’s best for Solana. 

It’s about what she needs, and he’ll do whatever he has to do to make sure she gets the help she needs. 

“Jey.” His cousin steps up, previously keeping a respectful distance. “Get with security. I don’t want a son of a bitch that’s not Bloodline or Bloodline vetted to step foot on this floor while she’s here.”

Jey nods. “You got it.” 

Roman overhears footsteps followed by the woman speaking again, “Thank you.” She takes another deep breath and informs, “Now, it’s standard practice that we not allow visitors the first couple days—“

And just like that, the anger has returned, even more intense now that he knows Solana isn’t getting released tonight. Or anytime soon. “I don’t give a fuck about your standard practice—”

Bayley’s voice suddenly enters the conversation, Roman aware that the remaining group has stepped forward, obviously wanting to be aware of the plan and what happens now. “Roman, can you please just let Dr. Stratus do her fucking job? This isn’t about—”

Bayley, however, chose the wrong time to fuck with him. Because any filter he ever acquired because of Solana certainly won’t be used until she’s back home, with him, where she belongs.  “Like you were supposed to? Solana wouldn’t be here if you were watching her like I fucking told you to! This is your fault!”

There’s a small, minute part of him that feels bad when he sees the devastation on Bayley’s face, but it’s short lived, vastly overpowered by his tremendous anger. 

And fear.

Bayley is quick with the response though, ready and willing to aim just as low as he is. “Fuck you, Roman! You don’t get to blame this on us! You should have fucking told her! You had no right to keep the truth from her! She’s here because of you!”

The dark irony in her accusation is that It’s nothing he doesn’t already know.

Nothing he doesn’t already hate himself for.

Bayley is absolutely right.

This absolutely is on him. 

His attempts to save her only damned her. 

“Stop it! Both of ya’ll! This don’t do shit to help, and Solana wouldn’t want ya’ll fighting!” Jimmy suddenly jumps in, moving between the two highly emotional people, even if both are only expressing it as anger. He turns to his cousin first, as Naomi tries to pull Bayley away, also working to de-escalate an already tense situation. “Look, Uce, I know you want to see her, but—”

“I’m not leaving without seeing her.” Roman’s gaze is on his cousin but it’s directed toward the doctor who either takes some type of mercy on him or recognizes that Roman will literally kill everyone who gets in his way if she doesn’t give in to his demand, because she’s switching her tune.

“A couple of minutes,” she relents. “But only you.” 

Roman doesn’t care about the rest of them anyway. They can see her whenever they fucking see her. 

He’s the one who needs to see her. 

But, it’s in seeing her that a part of him wishes he didn’t. Because this isn’t right. She shouldn’t be laid up like this, unconscious, pale, such a sad expression on her sleeping face.

He hasn’t seen her like this since that first night he overheard and woke her up from her nightmare.

A nightmare. 

He’d give anything for that to be the case again. 

“I can’t lose you, Solana.” It's the first thing to leave his mouth, a plea and prayer. There’s nothing but vulnerability in his voice, and he doesn’t give a fuck. He’ll be as vulnerable as he needs to be for her. He’ll do anything for her. “I need you. I told you that, but I don’t think you understand how badly I need you.”

If there was any doubt before, it’s completely destroyed now. He doesn’t know how honest or comfortable he could be outside of these four walls, if it wasn’t just the two of them, but right now, with nothing but her steady breathing and rhythmic beating of the machines she’s plugged up to, he’ll pour his heart out.

“You can’t leave me, alright?” Roman’s hand moves to her forehead, thumb caressing her skin that feels too cold, doesn’t feel like her. “I don’t care what it takes, what you need, what I have to fucking do, but I need you to get better, and I’ll do anything to help you.” 

And he will. It’s why despite how much he hates this notion of having to leave her, the almost anxiety he has at having to leave tonight without her in his arms, he’ll do it. He’ll do it because he just wants her to be happy.

She deserves that, and he’ll do whatever it takes to get it to her. 

His voice is thick with emotion. “I just need you to stay with me, baby, okay?” Not being able to see her pretty brown eyes, the curl of her full lips as she smiles, his favorite fucking thing in the world, it’s torture.

He never wants to see her like this again. 

He can’t. 

He won’t.

Roman kisses her forehead and forces himself to walk out of the hospital room, one of the hardest departures he’s ever had to do. Dr. Stratus is waiting outside the door, and just like that, the infamous stoic, unreadable expression is back.

With Solana, he’s just Roman.

But for everyone else, he’s the Tribal Chief. 

There is no other option. 

“No men on her care team. Women only.” If she’s going to be here, he’s going to make sure she

has everything she needs. “I want daily updates. Anything happens or changes with her status at all, I want to know. You understand me?”

Dr. Stratus must have also read the section in Solana’s medical records that alludes to her sexual trauma, because she doesn’t object. “Understood.” She swallows, bringing the medical chart to her chest. “You know…I head an inpatient women’s psychiatric clinic about an hour out. It’s not uncommon for patients like your wife to transition there following dis—”

“You can keep her on your two week hold, but she’s coming home with me as soon as that’s up. Try and get in my way, and I’ll fucking kill you.”

She’s wise to not push, smart to not try to stop him from leaving, because as far as Roman is concerned, there’s nothing and no one he’ll stop short from torturing, killing, and maiming if they try to get in his way of being with Solana.

He can’t live without her.

He loves her too much to live without her.

[chasing-posts]

Allison should have had a villain and redemption arc in the last season.

Now first of all let me say I do like Allison and think she's cool...but I also believe she had some negative character traits that were explored since season one and were really divulged in season 3, and could have/ should have been resolved by the forth season.

For one she did kill Harlan for stopping her child from existing, even though it was an accident and he was basically Victor's foster son. This showed the only children she tends to care for is her own.

Second, we never fully got an answer to one of her most famous Rumors, "I heard a rumor that you loved me." This one has always been speculated to be directed at either her husband, daughter or Luthor. And with how she sexually assaulted Luthor in season 3 before he got married and how he could never get over her, I think it was him.

Third, can we address that she assaulted Luthor?

Forth, she made a pack with Reginald and as such got to redesign the universe so Clair was back, and Ray was alive and possibly her father, which means she erased her last husband from existence and rearranged time and space to get what she wanted in her perfect life.

And all of this is bad stuff, add to the fact that Sloan is missing when Ben is here, and it does not paint a nice picture. In fact I always thought that the reason Sloan was missing, was because Allison could not handle Luthor moving past her, and being happy with another woman. Even if she didn't want him anymore. As such, she erased Sloan to keep her back up, even after getting married (twice) and having sexual/ romantic relationships of her own. She STILL could not handle not having a hold on Luthor.

So if I could change things, I would say let her have EVERYTHING she always wanted at the start of the season. Her daughter, the love of her life, her powers and even her carreer... and absolutely none of it bringing her joy due to the cost she had to pay to make it happen, and how BADLY it screwed over her siblings, especially Victor and Luthor, to make it happen.

Have her repent by actions. Actually have it so the siblings are a little slow to let her back into the group and only do so to protect their own (like when Victor got kidnapped and all 6 were needed to save him.). Have Luthor confront her about their AWEFUL relationship and most inportantly, what she knows about Sloan. What she did to her when she rebooted the universe, and why she's gone when cranky Ben is still here.

Finally, change the rest of her story make her face consequences for her actions. Maybe have both Ray AND Claire leave her after she went too far with her Rumors again only do it ON SCREEN so it's actually impactful and have her be all alone. Maybe have her reconnect with Klaus to help him get off the drugs the first time after her family leaves her (because honestly, I like their relationship a lot this season and her helping him stay on track was good) and that being her foot in the door with the rest of them through Klaus, before she rejoins them all against Reginald/ the Cleanse/ whatever is the true big boss this season. Finally, before she makes things as right with her siblings, try and help THEM get their powers back while she still has hers.

Because while I don't think Allison is a bad person, i think she has done bad things. And I think actually addressing it all instead of sweeping EVERYTHING under the rug like they did in season four, would be great.

FINALLY, PLEASE RESOLVE THAT WEIRD INCEST PLOTLINE WITH LUTHOR. IF IT WAS GOING TO BE SUCH A BIG PART OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP AND CHARACTER ARCS, I WOULD HAVE PREFERED TO SEE IT RESOLVED INSTEAD OF JUST... IGNORED. IF THERE'S NO RESOLUTION WHY EVEN HAVE IT IN THE FIRST THREE SEASONS! COME ON!

[turtlecleric]

Wooooo self-indulgence yayyyyy

bay!raph x fem reader, angst and hurt/comfort, cw: implied past sexual assault, panic attack, dissociation, trigger words, if I need to add more warnings please do let me know (sorry to the people on the tag list, as always feel free to ignore)

---

When Raph pulls you into his room, presses your back against the door, and buries his face in your neck, you can't help but giggle like a fucking teenager. You feel his hot breath against your skin as he speaks, and it makes you shiver, makes your smile widen so much your cheeks hurt.

“Been waitin’ all day to getcha to myself, doll.”

The earnest excitement in his voice makes you melt. Large hands trail up and down your sides, massaging and kneading, and then his lips find yours. You sigh into his kiss, slow and sweet like honey. The barest glide of his tongue across yours, the low rumble in his chest that manages to vibrate your mouth just a bit. It's driving you a little crazy, to be honest. You can't get over the fact that he can get you this worked up just from kissing.

Too soon, he pulls his mouth away and goes back to nuzzling into your neck. His hands tighten on your waist before one comes up to cup your breast over your shirt. You two have only gotten past kissing a couple of times before, so it pulls a loud, surprised squeak out of you.

Raph's other hand comes up quickly to cover your mouth, and your smile slips away as your eyes widen and your heart stutters in your chest. He murmurs into your ear, his breath hot against your skin, but the chill it sends through you this time isn't a good one.

“Shhh, you gotta keep quiet, baby girl. We're-”

No.

His next words are lost on you. There's a roaring static in your mind as sick panic takes over. It blurs your vision, distorts what you're hearing. You can't focus. You can't breathe. You can't move.

You're not there. Raph isn't him. Don't- don't slip back there, don't- no no no no-

Someone is standing over you. You're dizzy. Silent. As still as a statue. You feel their hand lift from your mouth, but you don't react.

Keep quiet. Keep quiet. Keep quiet.

You're aware of your heartbeat jackrabbiting against your ribs. You're aware that the person is talking to you again. You're aware of the barbed wire that's wrapping around your lungs and tightening. Tightening.

Keep quiet.

---

When Raph lifts his head to look at you, he freezes.

Something is… very, very wrong.

Your eyes are glossy, the faraway look causing alarm bells to blare in his head. You're not even blinking. Silent tears start to track down your face, and when he realizes how tense you are under his touch, he pulls away immediately. Raph says your name, tentative and quiet, and when you don't react, that's when he really truly starts to panic.

He says your name again, a little louder. You don't respond. Again. His hand hovers in the air between you, unsure and confused and fuck, what happened? What did he do? What does he do?

Carefully, he tries to take your limp hand in his. The moment he makes contact with your skin, you whimper and jolt back against the door in a full-body flinch. He yanks his hand back and watches in horror as you start to visibly tremble. The sight actually makes him nauseous, has him backing away from you and trying to make himself as non-threatening as possible.

What happened?

Are you… are you actually scared of him? The thought lodges his heart in his throat. Has his chest aching with something like betrayal, but no that… doesn't actually make sense?

“I'm not gonna hurtcha, sweetheart. You know that right?”

You don't respond. God, what has he done?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. You probably didn't want him to touch you like that. He went too far too quickly. You- you probably want him to go and are too scared to say- but he's stuck! You're blocking the door! He can't- he doesn't want to move you so he can leave, but he doesn't want to keep scaring you, but he- but, but no, it still doesn't make sense. If you were actually scared of him, you wouldn't have been- this whole time with- what the fuck is going on?

He's stuck. Well and truly stuck. He can't talk to you, he can't touch you, he can't give you any more space than he already is. He's terrified, terrified, of making things worse.

So he waits.

---

Awareness returns to you slowly, and control returns even slower. It burns when you blink. Your muscles ache, exhaustion weighing you down like chains. It's harder than it should be to raise your hand and wipe at your eyes, to keep yourself standing upright.

You realize all at once what happened, and the mortification of it happening in front of Raphael has you covering your face in hot shame.

Wait. Raph. Where..?

You lift your head from your hands to look around the room. When you spot him, your heart clenches painfully in your chest. He's sitting in the furthest corner of the room, hunched in on himself, his arms circled around his knees and his head ducked low.

Making himself small.

You swallow, trying to shake away the fog in your brain enough to go to him. Your legs feel like jelly, but you manage it without falling. When you kneel and place a hand on his arm, his head jerks up in surprise, and you see that he's been… crying.

He's talking before you can open your mouth, each word a knife between your ribs, each break in his voice taking the knife and twisting.

“I didn't mean to scare you. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I know that I'm- I guess I just thought- I'm sorry. I went too far, I didn't- I shoulda- I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry-”

“Hey,” you croak, wincing when he flinches at your wrecked voice. “No, Raphie. No. That was… not your fault, okay? It's a me problem. I should've told you- uh. There's just certain things that can…” You sigh, not yet thinking clearly enough to have this conversation.

You mentally kick yourself. You should've told him before it ever became an issue, but. When people find out, they… look at you differently. You wanted to hold onto that normalcy a little longer. Put it off just a little more. But the look in his eyes - confusion, fear, regret - it hurts to see. Hurts to know that this could've been avoided if you'd sucked it up and warned him, told him the things that set you off from the beginning.

You're too tired to think straight. Still shaking. But you know he deserves an explanation.

“Can we… can we just…” Brain fog. Hell man. Focus, come on. Your hand on his arm tightens. “I'm not scared of you. I love you. I love you so, so much. It's not that you- I mean I- I promise I'm going to explain, but right now I…” The tears threaten to spill over again, and the frustration tangles in your chest like so much fishing line. You're fucking this up, you know you are. You really need to sleep. To get to a point where your brain can actually do its job. Are you even making any sense? Is he going to get fed up with you and- no, stop. Stop it. Raph is still staring at you, waiting, waiting. You try again. “I just need some time. Then I can explain. Okay?”

Raph's lips thin, his brows pinching together as he watches your face. He looks like he's in agony as he does so, but he unfurls a bit. Slowly, carefully, he reaches his hand toward your face. It stops just before he makes contact, and the hesitancy, the worry that radiates off of him, compels you to lean forward and press your cheek into his palm. Your tiny smile seems to bolster him, and after a moment he speaks.

“Whatever you need. Anything, okay? Anything.”

You close your eyes, raising a hand to press against the back of his hand cradling your face. He's so… tender. It makes the tears spill over again, makes something snap in your chest like a rubber band pulled too far. Your body flashes hot with embarrassment as you dissolve into ugly, keening sobs, but when you lean toward Raphael he's quick to wrap you in a gentle embrace.

He holds you close, letting you weep into his plastron and hold onto him tightly. He doesn't move a muscle, doesn't shush you, doesn't say anything at all. It's unusual for him, but then you realize. He's still terrified of doing whatever it was that set you off again. The thought has you surging up to wrap your arms around his neck, and he lets you. You try to tell him you love him again. It comes out barely intelligible, but he understands you anyway.

“I love you, too,” he whispers. After a long moment, he continues. “No matter what, okay?”

Your throat feels like it's stuck in a vice. Like you couldn't possibly push past it to speak. Somehow, you do. “Okay.”

---

Tag list: @yorshie @luckycharms1701 @thejudiciousneurotic @khayalli @thelaundrybitch @mxalmighty

[finniestoncrane]

Hey hey! I saw your requests are always open and since you're someone who's writing for George "digger" Harkness I have a request!

I would like some fluffy angst between digs and a fem/reader who has a Medusa tattoo (with the meaning behind it being true) you don't have to say anything about it if it makes you uncomfortable or just ignore this request!

Medusa

KTJL!Boomer x Fem!Reader, word count: 400 ohmy god yeah please have this little offering of fluff from an awkward digger!💙 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: fluff, allusions to past sexual assault, suggestive language because it's george c'mon

Digger whistled as you removed your shirt, making sure you knew how much he appreciated your body, and how much more he appreciated the fact that you let him look. The whistle was cut off as he came up closer and ran his hands over your tattoo, now visible.

"I didn't know you were inked, love! Maybe we could get matching ones?"

You turned to see his wide grin, realising he was being deadly serious. Before you could try and play that idea off, his attention was back on the image of Medusa on your body, a reminder of your strength, a nod to a past that you were in control of now. Typically uninformed, in an endearing way of course, Digger began questioning it.

"You into that weird witchy stuff?"

"Greek. She's from Greek mythology."

"Oh yeah! The sheila with the snake hair! She can turn you into stone with a look or something. Is that what it means? You can turn me to stone with a look? Because..."

He reached for the bulge at the front of his pants, bringing your attention to it for the first time, grabbing it and jiggling it as he bit his lips.

"... you've already got me pretty rock hard, babe."

Trying to push a polite smile onto your face, you gently corrected him.

"Dig... it's not... It's for survivors. Of... assault."

His face immediately dropped, and he lifted his hands from his body, holding them up at the sides of his head as though he were trying to prove his innocence in the most physical way he could. As he began to stutter an apology, you were quick to assuage his concerns.

"No, no! It's ok, you didn't know. I didn't know how to... say it any better."

Stepping forward, his body crashed into yours, arms wrapping around you in a tight, but soothing embrace as he spoke into your ear.

"Listen... you don't have to worry about anything like that anymore. I'll kick the arse of anyone who even looks at you the wrong way. I mean, I'm uh... I'm a violent guy. And I fuck. But never the uh... two shall meet, or whatever Shakespeare said!"

You laughed at his misquote, your heart warmed by the fact that he was at least trying to make you feel comfortable, safe. Nuzzling into his chest, you sighed, stroking his back. The quiet moment was broken as he spoke into your ear.

"So... babe... we gonna get those matching tattoos or what?"

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Shouta Aizawa General Profile

Yandere! Shouta Aizawa x fem! reader Tw: yandere, kidnapping, stalking, voyeurism, mentions of assault, breaking and entering, mentions of neglect, Stockholm Syndrome, mentions of dub-con, sexual toys, masturbation, derogatory language (not said by our wonderful feminist Shouta), fem! reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

DARLING PROFILE:

Calm

Despite having tight friends who are much, much more energetic and easily excitable than himself, there’s a certain allure to steadiness and calmness that really calls to Aizawa.

Maybe it has to do with his tendency to be a bit low on sleep, or maybe it has to do with his own disposition - he isn’t sure, but he can’t deny the fact that a darling who isn’t constantly bursting with energy is something he would adore.

In order to catch his attention, his darling must be someone he is already comfortable with, and it’s much easier for Aizawa to let someone in if they’re more agreeable, less tiring, more his speed.

Of course, a healthy dose of excitement is something he would crave every once in a while from his partner, but to him the moments of blissful serenity, calm mornings spent in each other’s arms, peaceful nights spent sleeping or catching up on a good show or book mean more than daring, crazy adventures.

He wants to know that his darling will be rational, someone he can have a real conversation with, someone he can respect and trust.

A darling who is more calm and collected is much preferred for Aizawa, and with every situation that they handle efficiently without panicking, it only solidifies his view that his darling is utterly, completely perfect for him.

Smart

Aizawa himself is quite good at understanding and interpreting people, situations, and risks; he’s intelligent, and as a result he’s drawn to others that are similar in that way.

His darling doesn’t need to be a genius, or even someone familiar with the hero world - in fact, someone not associated with the messy, violent life of heroes would be preferred.

He just likes the idea of his darling being smart in their particular interests, of being curious and intelligent and always trying to improve their hobbies or areas of interest.

It once again stems from his want for a partner he can trust, can have logical, clean conversations with, and to say that knowing his darling can make their own informed choices (although Aizawa is quite reluctant to let them decide anything, if only because he knows that he has a better understanding of the world and his darling’s weaknesses) is a relief would be a massive understatement.

He doesn’t like to waste time on those who aren’t able to intellectually keep up with him, and while he’s never fault someone for being slower, he cannot handle ignorance.

His darling needs to be able to understand him, at least as much as they possibly can, and with every situation in which they show off this side of them, Aizawa honestly feels his heart fluttering in his chest.

His darling is just so wonderful, so perfect and amazing, that he literally wants to own them, to have his name claimed onto something so precious and rare.

Realistic

While Aizawa is, admittedly, a bit of a pessimist, he views himself more as someone who expects what’s most likely to happen.

He knows there are terrible people in the world, that things don’t always go the way they’re supposed to, that most of the time there are countless boundaries up against goals and dreams, and he’s simply preparing himself for the inevitable, so that if he turns out to be wrong he’s pleasantly surprised.

Pure optimism is something that Aizawa will never understand, and because of this he tends to prefer people who have more of an approach from the middle ground.

Of course, optimism isn’t a complete turn off for him, but he wants someone who approaches situations without those rose tinted glasses, who’s aware of how the world works and acts accordingly.

He’ll admit that he’s negative (Hizashi has told him as such, more times than he can count), but a darling that walks the fine line between too little confidence in the world and too much is immensely attractive to the underground hero.

He loves that his darling has such a clear, honest view of the world, and as a result he tends to favor his darling’s opinion over his, even if he believes his own is much more likely, much more truthful.

He’s entranced by his darling’s ability to remain honest about things, and he loves knowing they aren’t chasing far fetched ideals.

Aizawa believes his darling is the perfect mix of himself and other traits he wishes he possessed more of, and when his darling is so honest and realistic about the world around them, this only solidifies his view that his darling is so fucking perfect. 

Nurturing

Although he acts as if he detests his students at times, Aizawa does genuinely want his kids to succeed, to become pros and tap into their full potential.

He wouldn’t have become a teacher if he didn’t enjoy watching others grow, and he looks for this in a partner as well.

While he isn’t necessarily intent on having any children of his own (although he can’t deny the rush of possessiveness and pleasure that courses through him at the idea of knocking up his beloved), a darling who possesses the ability to care for, nurture and love others is something he deems as a necessity.

He has a quiet kind of support for others; unwavering honesty in their abilities and themselves, and while he views his own methods of nurturing others as productive and useful, a darling who has more of a mainstream approach pulls at his heartstrings.

Aizawa, despite his more rugged and apathetic appearance, has a massive soft spot for people who are just genuinely nice - when he sees the way his darling so easily comforts and helps others feel relevant, at ease, it only furthers his protective instincts, pushes him to believe that his darling needs to be cared for and protected at all times.

And really, who else can do such an important and time consuming task besides himself?

Only he is capable of being the hero his darling needs. 

He can be everything they need after all, if they just give him the chance.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Lucid

First and foremost, Aizawa is completely aware that the feelings brewing in his chest for you are far from normal.

He, despite having limited experience in romance and relationships, is completely positive that the degree to which he loves you, that the pure need and desperation that you inspire within him is very much not the standard, that there’s very much something wrong with him.

He’s sure that wanting to keep you trapped in his basement, keeping you completely alone and dependent on him so that the only person who will ever get to see you is him, is wrong.

He’s sure that the devotion and intense obsession he’s harboring for you makes him nothing sort of a creepy stalker, a freak that doesn’t deserve to have something as wonderful as a relationship with you.

Aizawa hates the fact that you make him this way, and while he tries to resist the descent of his feelings at first, he eventually just gives up. It hurts to not see you, to be away from you for long periods of time, so much so that he feels actual physical pain when he hasn’t laid eyes on you in the last twelve hours.

It makes his head spin to repress thoughts of you, feeling like he’s about to burst with every thought he shoves to the side, trying instead to focus on the book in his hands or the papers he’s grading.

He grows physical symptoms of heartbreak with every attempt to discard his feelings for you, and eventually he’ll stop trying.

There’s just something about you that he can’t let go of, no matter how badly he wants to be sane again, normal again - of course, he doesn’t blame you in the slightest; it’s not your fault that you render him a completely lovesick fool, that you inspire such intense need within his chest.

It’s not your fault he’s following you home every night, waiting and watching through your window as you wash your hair, cook yourself dinner, as you snuggle up in your warm bed that he’d give anything to be in with you.

It’s not your fault that he’s spending his every waking moment on either hero work or you, not willing to dismiss his hero duties but spending every waking moment he has free focused on you you you.

Aizawa has come to terms with the fact that his feelings for you likely make him a monster, that he’s no better than some petty criminal for stalking you, for obtaining every scrap of information he can get on you from public and not so public resources.

He’s disgusted with himself, if he’s being completely honest - it’s so fucking wrong for him to be so invested in you when it’s obvious you aren’t returning the weight of his feelings, though there’s a part of him desperately clutching onto the idea that you harbor some kind of romantic feelings for him, that you find him attractive or caring or strong.

(The thought of you complimenting him makes him uncomfortably mushy inside - it gets his cheeks reddening and his throat feeling scratchy, his palms growing wet and his weight shifting from one leg to another, your voice ringing in his head telling him he’s so handsome and strong, that he’s your dream man, that you’ve been dreaming of kissing you for so long, would you please?)

It’s so unfair that someone as kind, normal, innocent as you has to deal with someone waiting outside their window every night, hiding in the shadows and barely able to refrain from reaching a palm down to work at his trousers as he watches you writhe around on your bed, eyes squeezed closed while your thighs twitch as the vibrator between your fingers works its wonders.

It’s cruel irony that you have to worry about protecting yourself from him, the man who’s sworn to keep you safe for the rest of his life.

You make him a villain, really - and as much as it makes him hate himself even more, Aizawa knows that even as wrong as it is, he’ll never be able to stop. 

Protective

Although he seems apathetic and uncaring towards others and their well beings at first glance, Aizawa became a pro hero for a reason - not the fame or gold or glory, but rather because he genuinely wants to help others, to keep them safe.

And where you’re concerned, this natural drive is only increased astronomically, to the point where Aizawa is prioritizing your health and safety over everything else, everyone else, including himself.

He’d never be able to forgive himself if something were to happen to you, if he were to allow you to be injured, kidnapped, raped, or, heaven forbid, killed, and as a result he feels that he needs to keep an eye on you constantly, just in case some piece of shit decides to come along and test him.

He’s literally had nightmares about you being harmed by a villain; the image of you bloodied and battered, your lovely hair that has the most heavenly smell all roughed up, your eyes red, ugly bruises blooming across your delicate skin.

He always wakes those nights with a small scream, his heart pounding and tears running down his cheeks, if only because it feels so real, as if you were really in front of him crying and begging for him to save me, please please please Aizawa don’t let me die!

(He really can’t stop himself from heading to your home as quickly as possible those nights, his breathing rugged and uneven until he sees you sleeping peacefully through your window, safe and sound in your bed. He lets out a deep breath and lets a rare, oddly sincere smile creep across his lips, his thumb coming up to press against the window glass, slowly rubbing it along the material as if it were your cheek.)

Being so obsessed with your health is unhealthy and he knows it, but he really can’t stop himself - he’s making sure his patrol lines up perfectly with the times he knows you frequent the outside world, making sure the zones he’s supposed to be mostly in charge of always include your home, your workplace, anywhere you could be when he can’t keep an eye on you.

He can’t slack off on hero work even with his obsession growing stronger by the day, and so he enlists every possible resource to keep you safe and under constant surveillance.

He was nervous to do it at first, worried his longtime friend would call him out for his morally askew behavior, but Hizashi was more than happy to drop by your apartment every once in a while when long shifts or extensive teaching days keep Aizawa away from you.

(The blond was, of course, a bit shocked to hear that his best friend had found someone that got his heart racing, someone he wants to spend the rest of his life with - Aizawa’s words - but was more than eager to help out, willing to do pretty much anything to keep that smile on the man’s face.)

Aizawa, despite his conscious initially telling him not to, even ventures inside your home in the name of upkeep your safety, making sure to change your sheets or keep your refrigerator stocked with healthy, good foods.

(He’s especially concerned about your diet - he knows you eat like shit, and he absolutely cannot have you sustain a poor diet; you need to be eating a good balance of vegetables, protein and whole grains, and if you’re missing something? Well, having two jobs certainly comes in handy when he’s buying carts full of food at the grocery store for you, spending his hard earned money to make sure that you’re taken care of.)

He’s even going so far as to make sure that your feminine products you throw away in the small trash can in your bathroom are the right color, the right consistency, the right everything - your vaginal health is important, and he absolutely will bring your discarded tampon up to his nose, take a few deep whiffs, just to make sure everything is as it should be.

In all honesty, Aizawa is your guardian angel - you mean everything to him, and he genuinely believes that in return for being such an obsessed creep towards you, the least he can do is devote his time and energy into making sure that you’re as safe as can be.

So yes, he’s your guardian angel, but just remember - guardian angels see every little thing you do. 

Stalker

Aizawa swears it’s not out of any ill harm; he isn’t following you around town because he’s waiting to pounce, to hold a knife to your throat or to pin you against a dirty, damp alleyway wall and have his way with you.

He’s not laying in wait to catch you vulnerable or alone, holding ill intent and wanting to use you for some sick fantasy of his.

(At least, not the kind that most men who follow women have - there’s much less screaming in his fantasies, or at least screaming from terror and pain.)

He’d never hurt you like that - you’re too precious to him, too literally the purpose of his entire existence for him to ever consider doing something to you out of ill intent.

He’s only stalking you because he needs to make sure you’re safe, because he knows that without him being constantly vigilant when it comes to your safety and presence, you’d likely be dead.

There’s all kinds of despicable people in this world, people that would take one look at you and decide you’re their next victim, the next pretty little thing that needs to be tainted, destroyed and used in order to prove a point.

And really, that’s Aizawa’s nightmare - so when he’s trailing behind you on the busy streets of Musutafu, the night air nipping at his lungs while he shoves his face further into his scarf, his hands clenched in fists in his pant pockets, just know that no, the man following your every step won’t so much as lay a finger on you.

It’s likely that you’ll never even notice him, that you won’t ever be aware that a grown man has been stalking you for months - he’s just too good at staying in the shadows, at making sure that his presence goes unnoticed by you.

He’s light on his feet, silent and quick, able to keep those dark eyes fixed on your figure but staying perfectly out of sight, almost as if he was simply made to watch you, as if it’s his sole purpose to look out for you without you ever knowing.

And frankly, Aizawa is beyond grateful that you’ve never noticed him; he doesn’t know how he’d ever be able to man up to the fact that yes, he knows exactly how you look when you’re peacefully sleeping without a care in the world, that he knows the way you talk to yourself more when you think you’re alone, that he knows what you look like as you cry out incoherently, eyebrows drawn taught as your body convulses from the pleasure you’re giving yourself.

He won’t ever deny it, as lying about it would be another level of wrong that Aizawa, even as morally compromised as you make him, will never be, but he won’t openly admit it either.

It would be too embarrassing, too mortifying and heartbreaking to see the way your eyes would get all glassy and big, fear setting into your expression as you back away from him, on the verge of tears as you tell him to get away from me, please!

He doesn’t think he could take it; your blatant rejection of him, of everything he does for you - it would destroy him, send him even further into his shell, even more withdrawn.

So really, as you live ignorant of the fact that a pair of warm, chocolate orbs are staring at you from the corner of your window as you work on yet another dull project your boss is forcing you into, just know that Aizawa isn’t especially proud.

He’s not proud of the way his heart nearly beats out of his chest when you look out the window, when the fear that you’ve finally caught him rolls through him.

He’s not proud of the way his breath hitches when he sees you humming and gliding across your kitchen, hands flying as you make yourself dinner, his imagination all too easily conjuring up the image of you in a little apron, making two portions, setting the table and calling out to him that dinner’s ready, Aizawa!

He isn’t proud that it helps him sleep to watch you fall asleep, your cute little face nearly obscured by all those sheets and blankets you pull up in the winter, the way your expression melts into pure relaxation and calmness as you drift into slumber making him relax too, making him imagine the way it would feel for you to fall asleep in his arms.

He’s not proud of the way his eyes grow wide, a violent flush spreading across his cheeks as he watches the way you grind your hips against the toy, your lip caught between your teeth as you shake and tremble and spasm, his own cock straining desperately against his pants.

He’s not proud of any of it, but he’ll endure it. Really, he’ll endure fucking anything for you, just to see that perfect smile of yours, the one that makes him think that maybe, just maybe, becoming the lovesick, disgusting monster he is now was all worth it. 

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

In all honesty, jealousy isn’t something that Aizawa has to deal with that much; of course, he doesn’t like when guys come up to you, when they talk to you and put their filthy hands on your shoulders, over your own hand, or even on your waist if they’re feeling brave enough, but generally he won’t directly intervene.

He knows you don’t belong to him, that he has no real say in what you can or can’t do at this point, but he can’t deny the way utter and complete terror courses through him at the prospect that the man smiling at you so incessantly could be a villain, a thug just waiting to get you vulnerable and ready to be taken advantage of.

His protectiveness over you is quite honestly overwhelming – he’s so concerned for your safety, hyper fixating on your wellbeing so much that it forces him to neglect his own self-care even more, until every ounce of energy outside of patrol times is spent completely on you.

Every free moment is spent watching your every move, keeping an eye on you from the shadows with the excuse that he’s just preemptively keeping you safe.

Every moment is spent caring for you so that nothing can possibly hurt you, his mind constantly whirring so that nothing could lay a single finger on you with ill intent.

It’s like an itch that he can’t scratch - there’s this feeling of bubbling rage below the surface, eating away at him as he watches with narrowed dark eyes at the way you awkwardly laugh while the man who bumped into you in the coffee shop apologizes, making some lame pick up line that has Aizawa’s fist clenching in anger.

How fucking dare that man try and touch you?

Like you’re some common, average person, like you aren’t the literal light of Aizawa’s life?

He’s pissed, and while jealousy isn’t the primary feeling rushing through his veins (that spot is taken by anger, followed very closely by fear for your well being), he can’t just let the man get away with something so blatantly wrong, something that really should require the Erasure hero’s attention - so, while he isn’t proud, Aizawa does what he has to do in order to make sure you’re completely out of harm’s way. 

He’s always hated it when you walked while looking at your phone – too many opportunities for you to get hurt, to stumble and fall, to run into something, to just be generally unaware of your surroundings.

It makes him yearn to yank the stupid little screen out of your hands, to tuck you under his arm and escort you wherever you need to go – you should be headed to the supermarket, according to the schedule he’s memorized.

He’ll watch you buy a few vegetables, followed by much too many sweets, carbs, things he knows you know better than to eat, and yet you still do. He’s watching from the alleyway, the dark shadows letting him hide as his eyes stay fixed on your figure, unwilling to let you out of his sight for even a second.

His work as an underground hero has never come more in handy than when he’s following you, keeping a safe distance to make sure that you don’t notice him, but his cover is threatened to blow up the second he notices that man eyeing you up, the smirk crossing onto his features making Aizawa’s blood boil.

He’s on the other side of the street, this man, dressed head to toe in an outfit that immediately screams danger to Aizawa; a pressed dress shirt with a rather boring red tie, black slacks and scuffed up dress shoes, with way too much gel in his hair.

The briefcase in his hand bobs a bit as he adjusts his grip, gaze visibly traveling up and down your form as you cross the crosswalk.

Aizawa’s gripping at his scarf tightly, knuckles turning white from the force, the sense of impending doom slowly eating away at him.

And yet, he knows he can’t do anything until the man does something - until eh approaches you, until he touches you or insults you or hurts you -

The hero’s teeth are clenched, eyes narrowed, and he watches with baited breath as the man crosses the street (jaywalking, a crime that Aizawa could, technically, bust him for, but that would cause issues with local police and not be worth the hassle, even if it would get the man away from you), practically swaggering up to you with a smarmy smirk spread across his thin lips.

You still haven’t noticed him yet, eyes still glued to your phone, and for a moment the man seems discouraged that you haven’t noticed the way he’s fallen in step with you, roughly two feet away from your form.

He clears his throat and you peek at him from the side of your eyes, face visibly confused at why this stranger is looking at you.

He opens his mouth, some variation of hey cutie falling past his lips, and Aizawa sucks in a breath in both anger and worry. Would you like this man? Would you like his smooth confidence, the fact that he looks like he works in a bank, that he’s wearing enough cologne for Aizawa to smell ten feet away?

It’s insecurity and he knows it, a stupid voice in the back of his head, and yet he can’t help himself - which is why he suddenly feels like he can breath when you grimace and look back at your phone, walking a bit faster to get away from the man.

You don’t want him. Good.

Aizawa takes a moment to mentally praise you, happy that you’re standing up for yourself, before following even closer, watching to see what this creep will do next.

The man doesn’t take your obvious dismissal kindly, his face contorting into something ugly, and he angrily adjusts his tie.

Hey bitch, he growls, getting even closer to you, aren’t you a little too ugly to be so damn uptight?

And suddenly Aizawa’s seeing red, swooping in before he can even think.

His hands are on the man’s shoulder in seconds, pushing him to the side and staring with dark, enraged eyes that get the stranger staggering back, a small prick of fear dancing in his posture. Harassing women is a crime, you know.

Aizawa starts, and at this point you’ve turned around, watching with wide eyes as your friend (a loose term, but one you like to employ for your relationship with the dark haired hero) stares down the creep.

For a moment you’re confused, distantly wondering how and why Aizawa is here, but as the man scoffs and spits at the ground, muttering a damn heroes under his breath, the thought dies quickly.

Aizawa watches as the man turns around and stomps off, the weight of his gaze causing the man to quicken his pace, and after he’s a good thirty feet away, he merely sighs, his scarf coming back down around his shoulders as he turns to you.

He asks if you’re okay, and you blink but nod, smiling a bit at him and pocketing your phone.

Yeah, I’m good… thanks, Shouta.

He stiffens a bit at his name, swallowing harshly before nodding. He’s about to leave (retreating to the shadows, like always), but your voice stops him.

Since you’re my knight in shining armor, can I repay you with some tea or coffee?

A small dusting of pink settles across the bridge of his nose at your words, and before he can even think he’s muttering an agreement, letting you lead him to some coffee shop nearby that he knows you frequent.

He knows your order, even mouthing the words to himself as you tell the cashier, but when you sit down and tell him about your day in the cozy, dimly lit shop, Aizawa finds himself sighing, deciding that maybe he doesn’t need to chase down and intimidate that creep after all .

Or, at least, it can wait until you finish telling him about work yesterday.

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

Because of Aizawa’s lucidity in terms of his feelings for you, kidnapping you is something that is absolutely the very last resort for him, only something he would do if there was absolutely no other possible option, no other choice that wouldn’t result in your death or severe injury.

The idea of doing something without your consent like that - forcing you to essentially end the life you’re currently living in favor of being trapped in his home - is something that doesn’t settle quite right in his stomach.

He would never be able to forgive himself if he were to take you away, and he could never even try to pretend that what he’s done is right, moral, heroic.

That said, Aizawa lets his paranoia regarding you get the better of him all to often, and so under the right circumstances, Aizawa could feel backed into a corner, where the only possible option is to indeed steal you away.

He’ll be desperately searching for any other option, hating himself as the idea stands alone as the only choice, but when the villain in front of him has you gagged and trapped in his arms with a gun pointed out towards the ebony haired man, he’ll start panicking.

And when the scum holding you says how he managed to find out that you were the famous Eraserhead’s weakness, his blood goes cold.

His fingers itch to move when the man says that he’d seen him spend all those hours stalking you, watching you endlessly, that he’d told his subordinates, that even if Aizawa kills him now, they’ll keep coming until they kill you.

There’s nothing more I can do, he’ll tell himself as he disarms the villain and knocks him unconscious, watching as you look at him in fear and try to run away after the news of him stalking you comes to light.

And really, it kills Aizawa to see you looking so terrified, flinching and screaming as he wraps you in his scarf and carries you bridal style through the dark, cold city streets, but he’s resigned to the fact that while you may hate your new life and him, you’ll be better off under his care rather than still out in the real world, where villains would keep coming and never stopping until you’re splattered brains on a sidewalk. 

Aizawa is arguably the best captor to have in the entirety of the My Hero Academia universe - he’s so painfully aware of how wrong it is to have you locked in his apartment, how evil it is to make you stay so completely dependent on him, and as a result he tries his absolute best to respect you as much as he can.

He’s given you an entire room to yourself, setting you up with as many things as he can recover from your old room, the things he’s seen you use most.

Your same bed will be there, along with the sheets, pillows and blankets intact and neatly arranged for your comfort.

All of the clothes he could fit in the closet are also present, along with a chest of drawers for your more… intimate items.

He’s got your favorite foods (his own healthier options are there, too - because even though the guilt he feels is overwhelming now, he still won’t have your health deteriorate), and while it absolutely kills him to give you the ability to access things like knives, razors, sharp and dangerous tools, he’s begrudgingly letting you.

(At least, until the first time you hurt yourself, in which case he will revoke that privilege in a heartbeat.)

It’s all in an effort to get you hating him less, to make you as happy as you possibly can be, because at the end of the day Aizawa truly, truly loves you.

You’re wonderful to him, a motivation to keep risking his life and teaching younger generations, a motivation to keep living, now that he has someone to live for.

He’s generally pretty respectful of your rights and desires (aside from the fact that you can’t walk out the front door, of course), but the kind, lenient captor you get when you first wake up in his modest, fairly clean apartment is not who you’ll continue to see if you begin being ungrateful, begin throwing tantrums and acting out as a means to anger him or rile him up.

Of course, he doesn’t blame you for being scared the first few weeks, for having a few breakdowns here and there because for fuck’s sake he kidnapped you – he’d be more worried if you didn’t freak out, but at a certain point the hero will begin to grow tired of your outbursts, disappointed in your childish behavior for something that he’s said time and time again won’t be changing.

Years of teaching has molded Aizawa into someone who is ruthlessly able to correct poor behavior, to instill a sense of fear that forces others to stop making stupid decisions.

And where you’re concerned, these natural traits shine brightly - the minute you start swinging at him, hissing and calling him such terrible names, his mouth is pressing into a thin line, his brows drawn taught as he stares at you, waiting for you to apologize and stop acting like such a brat.

He’s a forgiving captor, as long as you don’t cause any trouble - he only took you to keep you safe, and he won’t have you undermining his efforts by being reckless and childish once you’re trapped with him.

He feels guilty, but only to a certain extent - you’re a grown woman, and while Aizawa often treats you as if you were no more than a toddler, he expects you to act your age.

And, quite honestly, as selfish as it is, there’s a part of Aizawa that is devastated beyond words when you repeatedly refuse him, when you reject his kind words and gifts, when you tell him he’s a monster, a disgusting excuse for a hero, because hasn’t he spent the last few weeks giving you space, cooking you your favorite meals, having the patience of a goddamn saint?

Why are you being so ungrateful?

Does he not do enough for you?

Maybe he’ll have to start spoiling you more, making you happier, getting you more of those stupid plushies or your favorite movies -  anything to get you to look at him and smile.

Anything to get you looking at him with love, with joy or longing because god does he love your smile and god is he desperate to see you laugh and tell him you love him and please please please he needs you to love him so fucking bad please -

So really, just be his good girl, because that’s all Aizawa wants. 

PUNISHMENTS:

In all honesty, punishing you is something Aizawa fucking hates.

He derives no pleasure out of mocking you, out of making you purposefully miserable and seeing your teary, pained face – if anything, it’s something he actively tries to avoid, his poor heart clenching so harshly in his chest at the sight that he physically winces and grasps at the area.

He doesn’t like making you upset or any other negative emotion, but while this desire to keep you safe and happy and smiling is strong, it’s outweighed by the desire to keep you in line every single time.

It’s natural, in a way, for him to be discipling you – it’s his job, and while he very much doesn’t think of you like his students, some of the habits he’s acquired over the years die hard.

(Aizawa wants to throw up at the mere mention of doing the things he wants to do to you with anyone else – he most certainly does not want to pin anyone but you down and fuck them until they’re crying or eat them out until they’re a squirting, incoherent mess, or stuffing them to the brim with his cum, so much so that they’re leaking it out and making a sticky mess between their thighs. No one but you.)

And so, while he does genuinely wish for you to grow to love him, he knows that he needs to present himself as the dominant one in the relationship, the one whose word is law – and if doing so means making you cry or be even more afraid of him, he’ll begrudgingly do so.

He hates every moment of it, but he knows it’ll be worth it once you finally decide to stop ramming yourself at the front door in efforts of bringing it down, that you’ll finally stop digging around for the bottles of sleeping pills you know Aizawa keeps hidden around for nights when the guilt and stress of kidnapping you and being a hero eat him alive.

He just wants you to behave, and in all honesty it isn’t even you behaving for him – it’s for you, so that you stay safe and healthy and pristine, the exact reasoning behind why he stole you away in the first place.

He’s conditioning you to stay unharmed, and while you may not see it that way now (the crying and screaming about how he’s a sick monster, a fucking perverted freak who belongs rotting behind bars tell him everything he needs to know about your feelings on the matter), Aizawa is sure that with time you’ll eventually mellow out, that one day you might even come to understand why he’s so fiercely protective over you and so quick to punish you where you’re wrong – it’s out of love.

Even if it’s twisted, obsessive, wrong, it’s still love, something Aizawa never wants to let go of.

With that being said, Aizawa still absolutely refuses to physically harm you.

His whole reasoning for stealing you away, for plucking you up and out of your old life to stay with him irrevocably was all based upon the premise of keeping you safe, of making sure that you never lay victim to an accident, a villain, or even your own stupid decisions.

Aizawa wants you to be completely protected, and even the thought of raising a hand to you makes him wince, the idea bringing a sharp pain in his chest.

And so, he resorts to other methods to make sure that you understand what the exact behavior he’s trying to correct is – that is, relying on methods that are a bit more psychological.

He doesn’t manipulate you, as lying to you and twisting around your understanding of the world seems downright cruel to the underground hero.

The last thing he wants is for you to lose any sense of trust in him you may still be clinging to, and for the most part he wants you to remain yourself, unchanged and perfect and so very wonderful.

He fell in love with you, after all, and he has no sick fantasies of changing you, or molding you into another version of yourself. But when you’re crying and punching your already bruised and bloodied knuckles against the non-shattering, one way glass of the window in your bedroom, Aizawa knows that he needs to take action.

And so, the tray of food he’d brought for you (a can of warm soup, a glass of water and some crackers, as he knew your throat was still a bit sore from all the crying you’d done the day earlier) gets set down on your dresser, the dark haired man sighing with a small, genuine frown as he carefully walks behind you, wrapping his arms around you and demobilizing you while you thrash and kick around, yelling and cursing at him to let me go, fucking let me leave you sick fuck!

The words sting, his normally dry eyes feeling a bit damp at the way your insults seem to stab and poke at his heart, but it doesn’t stop him from carrying you down to the basement, the dark and cold area having quickly become one of your least favorite, most nightmarish locations.

Immediately you’re freezing up, realizing what’s about to happen, and though the compliments and sugar coated lies of how you’re so sorry, I don’t know what got into me, I promise I didn’t mean it! are nice to hear (and, if he tries hard enough, he can almost believe them), he can’t let himself falter now, lest you figure out his weakness when it comes to you and exploit it.

No, instead he’s setting his jaw, dark hair falling forward to hide his face as he carefully sets you onto the ground, watching as you reach out and clutch onto his pant leg, fingers trembling while you sob about how you don’t want to be left down here again, in the dark and cold and dirt, but Aizawa is merely staring down at you, before crouching down and running a thumb along your cheekbone.

You have to understand that your actions have consequences, (f/n). I’m not doing this for fun, I’m doing this so that you realize that you’re only hurting yourself when you act out like a child. I’ll be back soon, just wait patiently. Maybe next time you won’t be so quick to be such a brat.

And with that, he’s up and shutting the door behind him, the resounding click of the lock filling the empty space as the darkness hangs over you, the cold seeping into every inch of your body.

It’s a long two days – a small glass of water and a single apple slice is sent to you daily, no light or contact with anyone at all, not even Aizawa himself.

It’s just you and the grimy, slightly moist ground of the basement, time seeming to last forever as you wait and wait for him to eventually return.

And when he does, immediately you’re upon him, apologizing and crying and promising that you’ll never do anything bad again, just please please please never put me back down here, I’ll do anything, anything at all!

And while it’s a bit pathetic to see you groveling and crying so shamelessly, Aizawa only pulls you into his chest, soothing you and running his hand along the back of your head in comforting motions.

You’ll be treated like a princess for the rest of the day – the warmth, food and attention that your captor gives you suddenly feels like the most heavenly thing, as if you’d never been happier, as if Aizawa was the only one who could give you this intense of a relief and relaxation.

He isn’t especially proud of his methods, but as you start calming down, acting out less and less, he can’t pretend to not be pleased with the results – after all, he just wants to get to the point of you being somewhat happy, of you not wanting to kill yourself and him every moment of every day.

Progress is slow, but for you, Aizawa is nothing if not patient.

OVERALL DANGER:

5/10

In all honesty, Aizawa is a pretty mild yandere – he has no intentions of hurting you or imprisoning you unless necessary, and he has no delusions about the moral misguidance of his feelings for you.

He knows the way he loves you is fucked up, that how he expresses his emotions for you is questionable at best, and while he hates himself for it he just can’t stop. You’re too important to him, you mean too much.

You make him too happy, make him feel warm and fuzzy, this swollen feeling in his chest that makes his muscles relax, his eyelids get heavy, his arms feeling empty without you in them.

Because of you, he suddenly doesn’t feel so detached and bitter - like a whole new man, he could even say.

It’s pathetic and he feels like some creepy, villainous freak because of it, but he can’t help himself from watching you, from looking out for you at every turn.

Your biggest obstacle with Aizawa will be his overprotectiveness – his sole purpose in life becomes keeping you safe, dedicating as much of his time as he can to making sure not a single scratch befalls your pretty, perfect body, that not a single hair on your head is so much as touched by someone with any hint of an ill intent.

He’s maniacal in his dedication to your safety and health, and while stealing you away isn’t something he particularly wants to do, at least under his care you won’t be physically harmed.

You’ll be given space for the most part, and a general sense of peace because god, Aizawa would do anything and everything in order to keep you smiling, to keep you happy and healthy and so very radiant.

He loves you, and while he hates himself for it, he knows that he’ll never stop loving you.

[dootznbootz]

I know we love our morally gray characters. But the internet kinda ruined Circe for me.

Let me explain.

I remember I actually used to really like Circe's character when I first read the Odyssey last year. I loved her as a "helpful antagonist type" character.

But what ruined her character for me was everybody calling her a "girlboss" or just simping for her in a way? But they completely disregard the fact she technically raped a man. (But no one cares about that because male SA victims never get taken seriously, especially in media smh)

Now, I can never experience Circe as the same character because all I see is a terrible person being glorified because of her gender. And then people say double standards don't exist!

Which I hate cause she's a genuinely cool character. (From a writing standpoint)

Circe isn't a bad character let me be clear (in the Odyssey anyway. Cough cough Madeline Mil-) But I just hate how people romanticize her completely ignoring her terrible actions. And to think it's all just because she's a "hot badass female".

And this isn't just about Odysseus either, there's literally a myth where she tries to seduce a man, but when he remains faithful she turns him into a woodpecker-

People can like her CHARACTER, however, they should still acknowledge her bad actions too and hold her accountable. If we can all agree it's shitty what Zeus did to a bunch of women, we can also agree what Circe did to Odysseus was shitty.

Women sexually assaulting men is just as inhumane as vice versa and we have to stop turning a blind eye about it, even if it's fictional.

And I feel like people WOULD actually hold her accountable if she was a male character. Which makes me even more angry.

Maybe this is just a me thing, but I just can't fawn over a character and call them hot when they've done something as bad as some of the things Circe has done.

So, I guess what you could get out of this-

Please stop romanticizing circe.

Hold her accountable as you would any other character.

Don't be so forgiving just because you find her attractive.

Anyways, thank you for coming to my Ted talk and sorry for ranting

honestly yeah, all of this.

I sadly had to block Circe's tag on tumblr because it pisses me off how much people glorify her and/shittalk Odysseus with it. (I trust my friends when they have Circe content lol)

I love Circe as well. She's such an interesting and fun character but how people twist her just fucks with me so much. Also to make HER a victim just for girlbossness? What's so girlboss about having such a horrific thing happen to you?

I said it in a different post but you can thirst for Circe without making fun of her victim. People will call a victim of rape a manwhore or a slut as if what happened to him was a grand ol time. It's genuinely disturbing. He is shown to have PTSD from it (in my opinion) in the Odyssey. This book is ancient and yet it captures that better than anything I've read.

Odysseus isn't necessarily a wholesome, "goody-to-shoes" man. He does a lot of awful things. That doesn't mean that the suffering he went through is suddenly negated.

Even bringing up stuff with female characters, the fact that people will water them down so then they're not "problematic" pisses me off. Women can be horrible, even good women. Penelope is my fave but she's pretty awful in many ways.

Evidence will be right in front of people and they won't care. Crying, begging to go, fear, avoidance, numbness, etc. There'll be excuses anyway. "He's a guy, he's fine with it." "Men are sex crazed, especially back then." "He didn't try hard enough." "He should be grateful."

Honestly? What saddens me the most is that I don't think people will ever really understand what happened or even WANT to because they have their own idea in their head and refuse to see it for what it is. I mean Hades game did it too. It's really sad.

Circe and him weren't fwb. They weren't lovers. What about "heart full of grim forebodings" screams love? He wanted to save his friends and go home.

[crazyunsexycool]

My little love

Chapter 25

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x enhanced!reader

Word count: 3.7k

Warnings: gun use, angst!!!!!, sad Lottie 🥺, crying Bucky 😭, talk of sexual assault, little bit of fluff.

A/N: im really doing everything in my power to make this series last as long as possible 😂. I just love them I never want to stop writing for the Barnes family!! Anyways I made myself sad writing the second half of this so yeah…

Series Masterlist

The music thumped along and pushed people to dance either on or off the dance floor. Strobe lights blinking in different colors cast shadows across the room. You wore a black dress that hugged your curves in all the right places with a slit up the skirt, leaving little to the imagination. With your own abilities you added your metals to the dress in decorative chains.

You moved freely to the rhythm of the song that was playing while Sam was in front of you with his hands on your waist. He pulled you in closer as you wrapped your hands around his neck. Sam dipped his head so that you could hear him over the music.

“Let’s move to somewhere more quiet.” He says as his eyes dart behind you and he gives a little nod.

You give a nod of your own before his hand falls to the small of your back and he’s leading you to the vip section.

****

Sam’s hand stayed firmly on your thigh, skin in skin as the slit on your skirt exposed more of the area once you crossed one leg over the other. The contrast from the main floor to the vip section was incredible. It obviously was empty with the exception of you, Sam and a group of about five men. It was a lot more quiet. In fact it was a perfect place for an arms deal.

The men sitting across from you kept their eyes on your chest or thigh and they stared at you as if you were nothing more than a piece of meat. You ignored it however and kept your attention focused on the deal Sam was working on. While he sat up straight, partly due to the suit he was wearing, you sat back and kept a hand on his shoulder. It was meant to look like a loving caress from one lover to another. That was the cover.

“5 million is cheap if you consider that the weapons were made with alien technology.” The leader of the group, Paul, said. He was tall and slender, almost creepily so. His hair was jet black and greasy and it stuck to his cheeks since it fell to his shoulders. He also had a subtle Portuguese accent, but it seemed like he was working towards getting rid of it, at least hiding it well enough.

“But 5 million for what, ten guns? And they’re not even the full gun they were, what did you say?”

“Re-engineered.” You provide, causing Paul to throw you a deadly glare.

“I’m willing to do the 5 million but I need at least 15 guns and I want a demonstration first.”

“We have a video we can show you right now.” Paul says as he snaps his fingers so that one of the men that was standing around would give him a phone. Sam lifted his hand though, and stopped it.

“I want a live demonstration. Matter of fact I want to shoot the gun myself.”

“Mr. Barron I assure you that everything is in order.”

“I don’t know baby, it seems like they’re trying to con us.” You mutter as you lean forward and rest your chin over Sam’s shoulder.

“Why don’t you stay out of it you nosy bitch.”

“I’d be very careful about how you speak to her.” Sam’s voice is low and steady, it’s a little frightening. The only reason you were undercover was because you both resemble the actual Mr. Barron and his partner. With the help of nano masks you’re able to take their place for this meeting.

“Mr. Barron please, you must understand that women are sensible creatures and while your girl here is absolutely lovely to look at, I’m sure she would much rather be down on the dance floor. Isn’t that right?”

“No it isn’t. But I’m willing to forget your disrespect if you show us the guns and let us try them out.”

Paul scowls in your direction before looking back at Sam. “Fine. I’ll take you to the warehouse myself.”

Sam stands and offers you his hand to help you up. The two of you follow Paul out of the club and into waiting cars. You’re driven through the streets of Portugal until you’ve left the city behind. The car stops in what looks like an abandoned warehouse and the door is opened for you. During the journey you could hear Bucky, Steve, Clint and Nat talking in your ear and making plans.

Although not your favorite footwear for missions you were wearing stilettos. Fortunately for you though Nat had forced you to train with heels for moments such as this. So even though the ground was a mixture of cobblestones and loose dirt you managed to walk around as if you were on a catwalk.

“Right this way.” Paul says as he pounds on a metal rolling door and it begins to slide to the sides.

The warehouse seems abandoned on the outside but the inside is another story. The warehouse is massive and filled with people, machinery and crates filled with guns. You adjust the necklace you were wearing to make sure the small camera was capturing everything.

“Right this way.” Paul sweeps his arm towards another set of doors. This time further into the belly of the building and then down a flight of stairs.

The basement has been transformed into a sort of shooting range. There are large chunks of concrete missing from the walls, from where you assume the gun blasts had hit.

“Here you go.” Paul holds out a rather large and bulky gun for Sam to take.

Sam looks over in your direction and you give a little nod before he takes the gun. He aims and shoots. It’s more like a canon than a gun and if Sam wasn’t as strong as he was he would have been sent flying backwards. Sam gives a nod of approval as he inspects the hun closer.

“Give us the word and we’ll move in.” Steve says over comms.

“Paul, you have yourself a deal.”

Paul gives a satisfied smile to Sam before they shake hands. All the while you can hear the team starting to move. Sam is aware that the team is moving in but you can actually hear them on the floors above. You’re already working your chains into a weapon of your own as the doors at the top of the stairs burst open. The room descends into chaos with all of Paul’s men shooting without looking first. Instinctively your hand goes up as your chains mold into a shield just as bullets rain down on you and Sam. The gunfight is a blur but it ultimately ends with you and Sam taking down everyone in the room.

“Everyone ok down here?” Steve asks as he walks down the stairs.

“We are.”

“Good.” He looks both of you over. “Unfortunately we aren’t done here. Most of the guns were already shipped out. We have to follow it and stop the shipment from arriving at its destination.”

You really didn’t like the idea of being away from the kids so soon after the CIA incident and now you’d be away for a little bit longer.

“How long?”

“Another 12 hours at most.”

You give him a nod and start heading upstairs so that you could change into your actual mission uniform. On the main floor of the warehouse you walk past a group of people that have been arrested. The flashing lights of police cars and ambulances illuminate the area. Clint gives you a thumbs up as you pass by and Nat gives you a little nod. Undercover was not your specialty, it always made you nervous that you would make a mistake. Fortunately this time there wasn’t room for error. The one thing you do notice is the lack of Bucky.

It had only been a few short days since he had to sit with Everett Ross and since then there had been limited contact. On his part, not yours. You weren’t sure what was wrong but the only person that he would say more than one or two words to was Steve. Even then he didn’t say much. You sighed as you climbed up to the jet and grabbed your gear to get changed. By the time you were done everyone was on the jet and ready to go and track down the shipment. Once the jet was in the air you moved to the communication station and called your dad through a secure line. You let him know that you would be gone one more day, fortunately since he was retired he was fine with staying with the kids for longer.

“Mama, when are you coming home? Is daddy coming with you?” Henry asked. That was another issue. You were fine with giving Bucky space but the kids didn’t understand why he was slightly absent.

“Hi my sweet boy. We have to stay out a little longer but I promise when I get home we’ll do something fun.”

“Is daddy going to be here too?”

“I’ll let you ask him.” You turned to find Bucky glaring at Sam for some comment about how much fun he had with you dancing. It was all teasing on Sam’s part but you knew it annoyed Bucky. You hold up the head loser and hand Bucky the and give him an expectant look while he stares at it.

He reluctantly took the headset from you and put it on. “Hey bubs.” He greeted Henry and you walked away to give him some privacy.

“Give him some time. He’ll snap out of it soon enough.”

“I can give him all the time in the world, it’s the kids that don’t understand what’s going on. I wish he would just talk to me, Steve. Even just a little bit. But he just shuts me out everytime I try to make sure he’s ok.”

Steve pats your shoulder and gives you a sympathetic look.

“Let's just focus on the mission so that we can go home.”

“Morning mama.” Lottie whispered. “Mama, habe suwpwise.”

You stirred in bed. By the time the second part of the mission ended and you got home, it was already late at night and the kids were sleeping. After a quick shower you went straight to bed and fell asleep quickly. Now you were being woken up by Lottie’s sweet whisper and her gentle caresses. She placed a soft kiss on your cheek before resting her head on your chest. Your sweet girl always loved to cuddle after being separated due to a long mission.

“Good morning my sweet Angel.”

You’re met with happy blue eyes when you finally open yours. Her chubby cheeks and messy black hair take up all of your attention.

“Hi.” She says with a giggle.

“Hi. Did you say surprise?”

“Can habe it now, mama.” She moves away from you on the bed and you instinctively reach out for Bucky. Sighing sadly when you realize he isn’t there again. The door opens and you turn to see Henry walking in with a bowl in his hands. You’re about to say something to him when you’re splashed with something right on your chest. You gasp at the cold sensation and turn to see Lottie holding a now empty bowl in her hands. When you look down you realize that there is milk and cereal all over you, the bed and Lottie.

“Oh no.” you say when you see Lottie’s bottom lip begin to wobble and tears start falling. She had been a bit more emotional than usual and you’d hate to think it was because she was missing her daddy.

“Sowwy mama.”

“It’s ok sweet Angel, it was just an accident.” You say as you sit up. The mess of milk that hadn’t been soaked up by your shirt rolled off you and fell onto the bed. “Did you guys make me breakfast?”

“Yeah, we wanted to surprise you like on mother’s day.”

“Oh sweet boy, that is so nice of you to do. Is there more cereal?”

Henry nods.

“Ok, how about I jump in the shower and clean myself and Lottie up quickly and then we can have breakfast together?”

“Ok.”

“Kay.” Charlotte sniffled as she put her arms out for you to grab her. Henry carefully walked back out with his breakfast in hand while you and Charlotte cleaned yourselves up.

****

When you walked out to the kitchen you found that three bowls sat on the table along with cereal and milk. Henry sat on one of the chairs patiently waiting for you. You settled Lottie on her booster seat and opened your arms for Henry.

“Thank you for breakfast bub, that was very sweet of you.”

“You’re welcome.”

You take your seat and Henry insists on pouring everything and setting it in front of you. He gives you a genuine smile, one of the few he has given since the CIA broke in.

“You both are so sweet for making me breakfast. Where did you come up with the idea?”

Henry shrugs one shoulder. “We wanted to do something nice because you’re sad.”

“Sad?”

“Yeah because daddy isn’t here.”

“Oh, I-uh I-”

“It’s ok mama. He’ll be back soon, I know it.” Henry said confidently before turning his attention back to the food in front of him.

****

After breakfast and watching a movie with the kids you left to look for Bucky. It took a while but you found him in the garage Tony had prepared for him so that he could work on the motorcycle you gifted him for Father’s Day. You lean against the doorway and watch as he tinkers away on the frame. After a few minutes Bucky stops what he’s doing and he finally acknowledges your presence by looking at you.

“How are you?” You ask him. The question is stupid but you aren’t sure if you’ll be met with resistance or not. At the same time you’re also upset because Bucky has shut you out. The tension in the room is palpable. On one hand you want to be gentle but on the other you’re not opposed to an argument.

“Fine.”

“Could have fooled me.”

He averts his gaze back to the job at hand and he turns his back on you while looking for a tool.

“Why are you here?” He asks.

“Because I’m worried about you. The kids miss you.”

You watch as his head lowers at the mention of the kids.

“Henry is confident you’re coming back home soon.” You step into the garage and close the fort behind you. “Is he right in his assumption?”

He stiffens at the mention of his son and you know this is where he’ll shut down on you.

“Bucky, just talk to me. That’s all I want, please don’t shut me out.” You say as you walk closer to him. Your instinct is to reach out and touch him but you know better than that. “I understand that what you went through wasn’t easy-“

“Do you really?” He snaps at you. He’d never done that before but his eyes are dark with rage. “Do you know what it felt like to not have control over your own body?”

“I said I understand. I know that I will never truly know what it felt like. You’re safe now, you’re safe with me, just tell me what’s going on.”

You looked at each other for a while. It was like when he first came to the compound. You sigh and give a little nod in understanding that he wasn’t going to say anything, you turn to leave.

“I wanted to hate her.” He says before you open the door. Bucky turns in your direction but he won’t look at you.

“Who?”

“Charlotte. When you told me she was my daughter, I wanted to hate her.” He admits with a whisper and you know he feels so guilty about it.

“Why didn’t you? Why did you step up to raise her?”

“Because I heard you.”

Your eyebrows furrow as you try to understand what he’s talking about.

“After you told me and I walked out, you went to see Lottie in the med bay. I did too, I wanted to look at her and prove to myself that I didn’t have any paternal feelings towards her but I heard you. You said that I’d come around and that I was just scared but that I was a good man.”

“You are a good man.”

“I’m not!” He shouts. “I did horrible things. I don’t deserve to get the girl and the kids and be happy. The CIA coming in here reminded me of that. Someone will always come after me, after them because of me. So don’t tell me I’m a good man.”

“I guess this will be a point of disagreement for the rest of our lives then.”

“Why do you even think so highly of me?” Bucky whispers.

“The first thing you did for that little girl you wanted to hate was buy her a pink teddy bear in hopes that it would bring her comfort. You didn’t even know you were her father. You’re there for Henry whenever he has a nightmare and you’re willing to spend hours chasing them away. You’ve taken care of me whenever I’ve gotten sick or been hurt during a mission. So despite everything that hydra did to you and made you do, you are good. Nothing will ever change my mind about that.”

You were both silently crying and you wanted nothing more than to hug him but you knew that the interview with Ross had taken a toll on him.

“Can I hug you now?”

Bucky nods and takes you in his arms, holding on to you tightly. Like you’re the only thing that can keep him grounded.

“You can always talk to me. No matter what, I won’t judge you.”

“I was embarrassed and I thought you’d be ashamed of being with someone who was used like that. I had never been sure if they’d sexually assaulted me but seeing Lottie I couldn’t deny it anymore.”

“I could never be ashamed of you. I’m so proud of you for everything you’ve overcome. I know that the way you’ve had your kids was not normal but you’re such a good father. No one can take that away from you.” You say as you cup his face, using your thumbs to wipe away the tears.

Bucky nods before resting his forehead against yours.

“I’m sorry for pushing you away.”

“Apology accepted baby.”

“Sergeant Barnes, Agent Y/L/N, your presence is needed for the debrief for last night’s mission.” Friday announces.

“Of course we do.”

“Come, the faster we get it done the faster we can go home.”

“Really?” You asked, your eyes wide and bright with hope.

“Really.”

You walk into the apartment first. Giving Wanda a hug and thanking her for watching the kids. As soon as she leaves Bucky steps in much to the delight of the kids.

“Daddy!” Henry shouts as he runs full force into Bucky’s embrace.

Charlotte however steps closer to you and wraps her arms around one of your legs. She watches as Bucky and Henry hug and then looks up at you.

“Hey, doll.” Bucky says after kneeling in front of you. Lottie looks at her dad but moves to hide herself behind your leg.

“Sweet Angel, are you ok?”

Poking her head out from behind you, she looks at Bucky. “Dada no hate?” She asks quietly and you can see Bucky’s guilt written all over his face. Of course she would know about that conversation in the garage.

“I’m sorry, doll. You’re so special and daddy loves you so much. I could never ever hate you.” Bucky says softly. Charlotte moves away from you and wraps her arms around Bucky’s neck.

“Dada so good. Is best an lobe you dada.”

Bucky begins to cry quietly and Henry moves to hug him from behind. You can’t help but also join the hug pile on the floor in the middle of the living room. Even Alpine joins in.

“Can habe seepover?” Lottie asks as she pulls back in order to get a better look at both you and Bucky. Her best pout and pleading eyes on display.

“Of course we can. Dada needs lots of cuddles.”

“Can gibe them.” Lottie says proudly.

“Me too.” Henry adds.

“Me three.” You say as you pull Henry into your lap and kiss his temple. “What about a movie night? We can have snacks and all the cuddles.”

“Yeah!”

“Alright let’s go get our comfiest pajamas on. Come on sweet Angel, I’ll help you get your pjs.”

“No, dada do it.” She says as she tugs on Bucky’s arm.

Bucky gets up after giving you a kiss on the cheek and lets Lottie drag him to her room.

“I told you he’d be back soon.”

“You did, sweet boy. Why don’t you go get your pjs and I’ll start on the snacks.”

“Just no cereal in bed.” Henry quips as he stands up.

“It was your idea in the first place not mine.”

He giggles and runs into the hallway.

****

After snacks were made and everyone was changed, the kids chose the movie they wanted to watch. While the movie played you and Bucky sat against the headboard. Your attention was split between the movie and the kids singing and dancing along to all the songs from Encanto.

You knew there was a deeper conversation that you and Bucky needed to have but for now you were just happy that he was where he belonged. As the night went on and the movie ended and a new one was chosen. Henry was already tucked into your side. Lottie made her way to her dad’s lap. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and yawned as she found a comfortable position. With her back against his chest she settled to watch more tv until her head lolled to the side and soft snores filled the air.

Most importantly her pink teddy bear held securely in her arms.

Ch. 26

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[sixhours]

bright spots - chapter 15

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | In progress

Rating: Teen Words: 3.2k Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Joel & Ellie, Joel Miller, Ellie Williams, Marlene, canon divergence, hospital AU, medical stuff, blood, hurt/comfort, angst, canon-typical violence, vomiting, implied rape/sexual assault, I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

Joel

Ellie spends most of the following two days in and out of sleep, and the nurses assure Joel this is normal. He’s not sure he believes that, but at least if she’s sleeping, she’s not throwing up. He stays at her bedside, ignoring the ache in his back and watching the monitors, as if his undivided attention alone could speed her recovery.

By the third night, he can’t keep his eyes open, so he reluctantly retires to his cot. He tells himself it’s just a nap, but he’s asleep before his head hits the pillow. He’s carried so deeply into unconsciousness that when he comes out of it, he’s confused and disoriented, thinking they’re somewhere in Ohio or Kansas City or Colorado. He reaches out and finds Ellie’s spot empty, fights off a wave of panic before he remembers where they are. It’s dark except for the glow of the monitors on her side of the room. She’s there, a lump under the covers speaking too softly for him to hear, or…not speaking. Whimpering?

“Ellie?” he whispers.

No response. He turns on the lantern and goes to her, finds her face flushed and shining in the dim light. The pad of his thumb grazes her forehead, hoping to comfort her. She’s burning hot.

“Shit,” he whispers, knuckles pressed to her cheeks to confirm his fear, and she whimpers again, tries to roll toward his touch.

“Joel?”

“Hey, kiddo,” he whispers. “You’re alright.”

“Feel like shit,” she says, blinking awake, confused and glassy-eyed.

Under normal circumstances, he’d be comforted by the fact that they’re in a hospital, but normal circumstances haven’t existed for decades, and medicine is just as difficult to come by for the Fireflies as it is for everyone else.

The bandages on the side of her head are beginning to slip. She’s sweating through the adhesive and he can see the edge of her stitches. The sight of her raw, red flesh makes him feel helpless and useless, at the mercy of the people who caused this.

“I’ll be right back, kiddo,” he whispers, cupping her face, a terrifying heat radiating into his palm.

He finds Marlene in her office.

“She’s sick,” he says without greeting, willing his voice not to shake.

Marlene’s head snaps up, eyes wide. “What?”

“Sick,” he repeats. “Runnin’ a fever.”

She sags back into her chair with relief. “Jesus, I thought you meant–never mind. Right, okay, I’ll…I’ll get the doctor.”

“Head hurts,” Ellie whimpers, the words slurred.

“Yeah…looks like you mighta picked up somethin’ after that biopsy,” Joel murmurs. “Marlene’s gettin’ the doc. Why don’t you rest ’til he gets here.”

“Too hot,” she says. There’s so little fight left in her it doesn’t even qualify as a whine.

“I know…they’ll be here soon,” he says, hoping he sounds more confident than he feels. “Get you all fixed up.”

The doctor shows up in pajamas, thin hair sticking up in wild tufts. He tut-tuts at Ellie’s incision site and frowns at the thermometer readings as Joel glowers. He hears words like meningitis, infection, inflammation, spinal , all terrifying in their implications. The nurses hook her to a bag of antibiotics and fluids and the heart monitor maintains a steady beeping rhythm too fast for Joel’s liking.

At some point, Marlene and the doctor step into the hall where Joel can hear them going back and forth on the other side of the wall.

“...knew this was a possibility…”

“...going to set us back…”

“...I can’t help it, Jerry. Not like we can just…”

“...the antibiotics will fuck up…that’s weeks of work gone…”

He stares at the door, biting the inside of his cheek so hard he’ll taste blood for hours. Rage ignites in his chest, boiling his blood. He’s not thinking when he rises from the chair. He storms out of the room with a bang and flies at the source of his fury. The doctor is slammed against the opposite wall, caught off guard with an indignant squawk. Marlene’s shout is lost in a haze of brutality as Joel lands a solid punch to the doctor’s left eye.

“Joel!”

Strong hands wrap around his arms, yanking him away from his target. He struggles against them, but there are at least three guards on him now. He’s overpowered.

“I’ll kill you,” he swears. “I’ll kill–”

“Get him out of here,” Marlene snaps, referring to the doc, now cowering against the wall with his hand over his face. Another guard hurriedly snags the man by the wrist and pulls him down the hall while Joel wrestles against the others’ grip.

“...Joel?”

Ellie calls out from behind him, raspy and faint. He tries to turn toward the sound of her voice, but the assholes just tighten their hold.

Marlene glares at him, breathing hard, furious. “You gonna keep your hands to yourself?”

He snarls at her, teeth gritted so hard his jaw aches, but then Ellie calls for him again, and his rage drains just as quickly as it came. The hands holding him back release him and he makes no effort to fight back when one shoves him roughly away.

“Watch yourself,” Marlene says tightly. “I don’t care how important you are to her. Rabid dogs get put down.”

He doesn’t dignify that with a response, just turns and goes back into their room, shutting the door. Ellie looks so small, so pale, almost luminescent in the bed, and the sight takes the wind out of him, drains him. His knuckles throb; he must have aggravated the old break.

“S’happening?” Ellie looks at him through slitted eyes.

“Nothin’, baby. Try to rest,” he says. 

She whimpers and turns onto her side and he collapses into the chair, watching as she falls into a fitful sleep. Over the next few hours, she vacillates between hot and cold, throwing off her blankets only to be wracked with shivers, sweating through her bedding, delirious when she’s awake. She scratches at the IVs in her arms and pulls one of them clean out before Joel can stop her, blood and fluid leaking everywhere.

“Let’s get the restraints,” the older nurse says to the other after re-inserting the line.

“I don’t fuckin’ think so,” Joel growls.

Nurse Cooke presses her lips into a thin line of disapproval. “Are you going to punch me, too?”

The younger nurse hesitates. “Sir, we can’t afford to–”

“It won’t happen again,” he says tightly. “I’ll watch her.”

“Fine,” the older nurse snaps. “But if she pulls another one, she’s getting tied to the bed.”

When Ellie starts to scratch at the IV again, Joel grabs her hand and holds it, hot and dry between his own.

“Hey, kiddo,” he murmurs, keeping a firm hold. “Can’t do that.”

She whimpers. “Don’t…like it.”

“I know,” he whispers. “But you gotta keep those in, okay? You’re burnin’ up.”

The antibiotics are slow to work and the pain medication is either expired or weak, because her fever rages throughout the night and well into the next day. The beep of the monitor becomes Joel’s tether. As long as it’s there, a constant drone in the background, it means she’s alive, even as she tosses and turns and whines, even as the numbers on the thermometer climb to dangerous levels.

When her temperature surpasses 104, the nurses shuttle them into a cold shower in a last–ditch effort to bring it down–him in a set of scrubs and her in a hospital gown, holding her under the spray with a piece of plastic wrap crudely taped over her incision site. Ellie clings to him and cries as he struggles to hold her up, too weak to stand on her own, freezing and burning at the same time.

“I know, baby, I’m sorry, I know, I know,” becomes a constant, whispered apology to the top of her head. He has to carry her back to bed, both of them soaked and shivering. After all that he thinks maybe she’ll push him away for his cruelty, but she grabs at his shirt, grip surprisingly strong.

“D-d-don’t g-go,” she croaks out through chattering teeth. She’s coherent now, at least. The shower did some good.

“Not goin’ anywhere,” he promises. “But we gotta get you out of your wet clothes, okay?”

She agrees to let him step away so the nurses can change her, turning around to give her privacy while keeping up a rambling, one-sided conversation, hoping the sound of his voice will keep her calm. He pulls off his soiled scrub top and replaces it with a fresh one, leaving the pants; the top got the brunt of the shower, anyway.

When they’re done and dry, she clings to him like a baby spider monkey. He settles them in her bed with her curled up against his chest, careful to keep her from tugging on her IV lines when she thrashes and turns in her sleep, trying to soothe her, helpless to do more than hold her and silently beg for her life.

Please , he thinks, the singular word repeating itself over and over in his mind, too terrified to formulate a more coherent plea.

Please. Please. Please.

Ellie

She remembers getting the measles in FEDRA school once as a little kid, the ear infection and the terrible headache and the fever that made her sweat and shiver in her bed. They had no vaccines, so kids who got sick were quarantined in their rooms for two weeks and her roommate at the time had to sleep somewhere else. She remembers being alone and scared and crying a lot. The occasional nurse came in to check on her, masked and gloved, bringing broth and crackers that she didn’t have the strength to eat.

But that was nothing compared to this.

Now she’s burning alive from the inside. Her dreams are feverish nightmares, broken by spells of brief lucidity that are too painful to sustain. It feels like her brain is on fire, like her eyes will swell and fall out of her head and burst like overripe fruit if she opens them wide enough. Her tongue is a thick, furry slug in her mouth no matter how much water she drinks, and Joel is always there with the water, always urging her to try another sip, just one more .

Then she’s cold, so cold. Drowning, hands holding her under the water and she’s too weak to fight back. Someone is holding her up, she thinks it’s Joel, and she claws at him with all the effectiveness of a newborn kitten.

Her dreams are a special torment, the kind of vivid horrors that only come with fever. David leering over her with a fungus mouth, his fingers twining and rippling and crawling between her legs. Then it’s Riley, biting and biting and biting while a cloth-covered skeleton screeches above them, tendrils of fungus crawling into her mouth, choking her, smothering her. She’s standing in Jackson in a hospital gown with her arm on display and the whole town jeers, aims their rifles, fires. She feels every bullet rip through her flesh and wakes with a start.

Joel is there in her bed. She thinks she knew that at some point, thinks he was trying to stop her from doing something…something to do with the wires in her arms, the wires in her arms that itch like the cordyceps under her skin.

At some point she’s practically crawled into his lap, laid herself atop him, and she’d be embarrassed about that if she weren’t so fucking sick. She’s too weak to move, anyway. The shivers are back, wracking things that make her muscles convulse without her permission, sending a torrent of pain up and down her spine. She’s sweating through her hospital gown, probably sweating through Joel’s clothes, too, but his arms around her stay put, holding her firmly but gently in place.

“Hey, sweet girl,” he whispers, and she feels his hand at her temple, pushing her sweaty, stringy hair off her forehead. His palm is warm, but the good kind of warm, not the fever-kind. The kind that makes her feel safe. “You’re alright. Fever’s breaking.”

She’s breaking , she thinks dully. She’s breaking, she’s broken, broken, done. They’ve taken everything from her and it’s not enough, it’s not enough to bring Riley back, or Tess, or Sam, or–

An aching, clawing thing rips itself out of her. She hears the sound but barely recognizes it as a sob. Her mouth is moving, slug-tongue rasping against her lips, the roof of her mouth, was she saying that out loud?

“Shh,” ragged whisper in her ear. “I know, baby, just hang in there. You’re alright. You’re gonna be okay.”

Then there’s a blanket being pulled over her shoulders and the shivers abate a little and she’s awake but her head hurts too much to open her eyes. Joel’s chest rises and falls under her cheek, steady thumping rhythm of his heart makes her think of Colorado, no, don’t think of Colorado, not now, not now , just warm, just Joel.

She feels it before she hears it, the rumble in his chest, the softest melody against her crown. He’s singing. She doesn’t recognize the song, can’t find enough clarity to process the words, it’s just a nameless feeling of comfort that sends her gently back to sleep. This time she doesn’t dream.

She wakes again some time later, still tucked into his lap, ear pressed to his chest with all the wires and tubes and machinery beeping around them. She tries to open her eyes and finds them dry but not painful. It’s not much, but it’s something.

There’s a rumbling growl in her ear that she eventually places as Joel’s snoring.

She blinks slowly awake, lets herself drift, revels in the feeling of not being on fire. Her head is pounding and her joints ache something fierce, spine like a twisted knot of rope. She tries to move just a little and can’t hold back a muffled cry of pain, which only makes it worse.

“Hey,” Joel murmurs, stirring beneath her. “Hey, kiddo. You awake?”

“Hurts,” she gasps.

“What hurts, baby?”

“Everything,” she whimpers.

“Okay. We’re gonna move slow, alright? Little bit at a time. Let’s sit up.”

He’s moving them, trying to be careful, but her muscles lock up and she cries out, gritting her teeth. “Can’t.”

“Yeah, you can. C’mon,” he whispers, easing them both forward. “Breathe, baby. I got ya.”

She tries, breath hitching in a sob. The bed whirs as the head slowly shifts up and forward until she’s upright, leaning sideways against Joel’s front. She presses her face into his shoulder and tries to focus on taking shallow breaths that don’t jostle her ribs or her back or her neck. The pain is enough to turn her stomach.

Finally, blissfully, Joel stops moving them. His hand is warm, cupping her cheek. He’s stroking her temple with his thumb and she wants to tell him to keep doing that because it feels good, one tiny bit of relief in a sea of pain, but her mouth is fuzzy and thick and just the act of sitting up has drained her. He brushes his lips against her forehead and she drifts for a while, not quite awake but not asleep.

His face lights up in a smile when she opens her eyes again. He grins a very un-Joel-like grin and if she weren’t so out of it, she’d notice his eyes are wet.

“There she is,” he whispers. “Had a rough couple days there, huh?”

She can’t make her mouth form words, so a grunt will have to do. A callused palm graces her forehead. “Fever’s gone. Still hurtin’?”

Another grunt.

“Want me to call the nurse? Might be able to give you somethin’ for the pain.”

She shakes her head; it feels too full, like it’s stuffed with cotton. She can’t stand the thought of anyone else touching her, asking her questions, poking at her. She doesn’t know how long she’s been out but she knows the nurses have been hovering, their faces merging with her fever dreams.

“Alright,” he whispers. “Drink somethin’, at least.”

Then there’s a straw at her lips and the cold water on her parched throat is like heaven. She drinks and drinks until Joel pulls the straw away, whispering take it easy, gonna make yourself sick , and she wants to tell him to go fuck himself and give her back the water, but she doesn’t have the energy to argue. The cold water lands in her stomach like a stone and she’s barely moved because just the effort of swallowing is exhausting.

Joel has one arm carefully wrapped around her and the other is stroking her hair. It must have been bad, she thinks. He’s holding her like a cracked egg, like something precious and fragile.

“How long…was I…?” she rasps.

“Coupla days,” he murmurs. “You’ve been in an’ out of it.”

“You…here…the whole time?”

“Uh-huh. Most of it. Had to keep you from pullin’ out your IVs.”

Ah, the itchy lines in her arms. She blinks down at them, her skin bruised at the crook of each elbow.

“...happened?”

“You got an infection,” he says quietly. “Runnin’ a bad fever for a while there and the meds weren’t workin’.”

“Really…sucked,” she breathes, still feeling it. Her joints might as well be made of ground glass.

“Yeah. Yeah, it…it did. You’re gonna be alright, though,” he says, holding her a little bit tighter, dropping a kiss on her forehead. “Gonna be just fine, baby girl.”

Shit. It was bad if he’s pulling out the baby girl . She winces, presses her face into his shoulder where it’s soft and the light can’t reach her eyes.

“Joel?”

“Yeah?”

“Did I hear you…punch the doctor?”

A long pause. She leans back, trying to catch a glimpse of Joel’s expression through heavy lids as he shifts uncomfortably underneath her.

“Maybe,” he says finally.

She laughs despite herself; it hurts too much and she sucks in a breath, but not before muttering a soft admonishment.

“Dude.”

“Yeah…I know,” he sighs. “I know. Deserved it, though.”

“Can’t just go around punching people…asshole.”

“Can too.”

“Real mature,” she snorts. “Hey…what were you singing? Before?”

Another uncomfortable silence.

“Dunno what you’re talkin’ about.”

“You were singing. I heard it.”

“Got no proof,” he mutters, but she can hear his smile.

“Dude, seriously? I’m all…sick and shit…and you’re gonna deny it? Rude.”

He sighs. “Fine. It was John Denver. Country Roads. You know that one?”

“No. Sounds lame, though.”

“You tell anyone and I’ll never admit it,” he grumbles.

“Did you sing for Sarah?”

The silence is so heavy, she almost wants to take the question back. When he answers, his voice is tender, careful.

“Yeah…sure did. More when she was little. She…she had a real nice voice herself,” he says. “Felt the same way you do about John Denver, though.”

He’s doing that thing with his thumb again, stroking her temple. Her limbs suddenly feel heavy, liquid.

“It was nice,” she says after a beat, stifling a yawn. “You’re not bad. Your taste in music sucks, though.”

“See if I ever sing for you again, brat.”

She giggles, burrowing closer and closing her eyes. “You will.”

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

[ssuperficialspacecadett]

Afterglow

Chapter Twelve of the Through the Scope series | Chapter Thirteen

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 5.5K

Chapter Overview: Frankie brings Estrella lunch & more than one secret is exchanged between group members

TW: p in v penetration, sex in public (sort of), mentions of past sexual assault, trauma and PTSD

Notes: hey everyone !! cheers to me for not taking a month to put out this chapter lololol,, i think this one might be in my top three of the chapters i've written for through the scope so please let me know what y'all think ! as usual...my asks are always open & happy reading <3

*no use of y/n & female presenting reader*

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

You haven’t seen your dad in a little over a week so there is a lot to catch each other up on. When you get there, he isn’t using a cane this time. He traded in his singular cane for two forearm crutches. You aren’t sure if this signals an improvement or a decline and guilt sweeps through your body. Maybe if you had been here instead of with the guys, you would know the answer to your mental question. You moved here to support him after all. It feels like your life is being pulled in two separate directions and it's killing you that you haven’t had time to finally unify them. 

You’re nervous to tell your dad about Frankie. It doesn’t have anything to do with being ashamed or embarrassed of him, but it has always been easier to talk with your mom about boys and dating. Moments like this cause you to miss her more than normal. After the both of you discuss his weekly progress and PT sessions, you decide to change the subject. You know that he’s tired of having to talk about his recovery all the time even though he would never turn you down if and when you asked. 

“So, what’s new with you and your girlfriend?”

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. It feels weird to inquire about a prospective suitor in your dad’s life. You’re not ignorant to the fact that he may be lonely, but it doesn’t take away the strangeness of it. Your mother was the first love of his life, yet that doesn’t mean that she has to be the last.

“The date went well if that’s what you’re getting at.”

You realize that he must be just as nervous to talk to you about Maggie as you are to talk to him about Frankie. 

“Are you going to see her again?”

“I see her everyday.” He snorts sarcastically. Although, when he sees that you’re less than amused with his joke he pipes up again. “Yeah, I think so. I want to get strong enough to take her to a restaurant. I know I said that the place doesn’t matter, but I’m getting restless.”

“But not before our car show, right? You said you wanted to do that first.”

“But not before the car show.” He echos. “Don’t worry, Sweet Pea. You’re still my number one girl.” His hand comes to rest over yours lovingly. “How’s work coming along? And your friends?”

“Work is going really great. I actually like what I do if you can believe it or not. The fights we host on Friday nights have also been a blast to watch.” He didn’t need to know that you spent the last fight night parading around half naked for a room full of drunk men and women. Even if you are an adult, some things are better kept secret. “My friends are great too.”

“Is that why you haven’t been stopping by as frequently lately?”

There is no disappointment or sadness in his voice when he asks you this question. If anything, you think you can detect some happiness and hope.

“Sort of.” You fidget around in your chair. “I had actually been seeing one of them for a few weeks, Frankie, and he asked me to be his girlfriend the other day.”

“Did he now?” He sits up straighter and has adopted a more protective, fatherly tone.

“Yes, he did.” You answer without bothering to hide your growing smile. “He’s so wonderful, dad. He has been nothing but kind and caring since I met him. All the guys have been, if I’m being honest, but I was only ever interested in Frankie.”

“What does he do for a living?”

You can feel your dad trying to mentally size him up.

“He’s a mechanic at a local auto body shop currently, but he was a pilot in the military before that. All of the guys served together.”

“A man who works with his hands and who served his country. That’s very respectable.”

“I think so.” Your voice sounds proud in your ears.

Your dad is traditional, for better or for worse, so you knew he would be pleased with Frankie’s occupations. He kept asking you questions about Frankie which you happily answered, but you never let his tumultuous past come into the conversation. Yes, that’s a part of Frankie, but that isn’t who he is anymore.

“I want to meet this man.” Your dad says finally. “I want to see who’s got you smiling like this.”

“Maybe he can come to the car show with us and you can meet him then? It’s still a very new relationship, you know. That way I’ll have some extra time to see if it’s serious or not. I don’t want to waste your time with someone I’m not going to keep around.”

You are surprised when he readily agrees with your proposal. You were sure he was going to fight you on meeting Frankie sooner, not that you minded, but it's nice to know that he trusts your judgment. 

“It might be refreshing to have someone there that actually knows a thing or two about cars.” He teases.

“Maybe he’ll give you a run for your money knowledge wise, huh?” You joke back.

You hang out with him for about another hour before y’all call it a night. As you walk to your car you recall what you told your dad. I don’t want to waste your time with someone I’m not going to keep around. The truth is that you know Frankie is someone worth keeping around. You can feel it in your very bones. You know that the care you have for him now will only grow in the coming months and you can’t wait to see what it blooms into you. Although, you already have a small idea. 

***

“I’m goin’ to have to miss our lunch today.” Benny rounds the brick wall and walks up to the side of your desk patting his forehead with a towel. “I have been meanin’ to go down to the police station ever since Rochelle went ballistic.”

“Wait, what?” You spin your chair to face him, handing him a water bottle. “I thought everything got taken care of that night? How come you are going down there?”

“The officers and I got to talkin’ and they told me that I could file a restrainin’ order against her. Would have done it right then and there if it didn’t have so much damn paperwork involved. I just want to make sure that it never happens again, for both your and Fish’s sake.”

“Oh, Benny.” You reach up and rub his arm.

“Think you can hold it down for at least a couple of hours? I’m not sure how long everythin’ will take me to complete.” He places his hand over yours and you aren’t sure who’s comforting who anymore.

“I can handle it. Don’t worry about me.” You turn your attention to the computer. “Your Thursday schedule is really light too. Just a few one on one sessions late this afternoon.”

He nods approvingly before heading back into the gym. “I’m goin’ to head out in about 10 minutes then. Don’t miss me too much.”

“I’ll be counting the seconds until you come back.” You say in a sarcastic, dreamy voice.

As soon as Benny heads back, you whip out your phone to text Frankie.

You: Please tell me you haven’t taken your lunch break yet.

Frankie: I was going to clock out for it in about 15 minutes. Why? What’s up?

You: Benny has to leave for a few hours to run some errands…maybe you could have lunch over here today? Just you and me?

Frankie: I would love that, cariño. Too bad the rest of the gym rats can’t run some errands too.

A cheeky grin splays across your face as you type your next message.

You: It would be a shame if the ‘open’ sign accidentally flipped to ‘closed’ when you got here…wouldn't it?

Frankie: Such a shame indeed.

You: I’ll text you when he heads out! I can’t wait to see you, Frankie (:

The Miller boys are nothing if not punctual. Benny heads out exactly when he said he would with promises of being back in time for his sessions later this evening. You’re so excited that you fire off a ‘coast is clear’ text to Frankie before Benny has even finished pulling out of the parking lot.

Frankie: On my way to you, Estrella.

You feel giddy like you have never felt before. This feeling warms your entire body, but turns into a raging fire when you see that familiar white truck pull into view 20 minutes later. He hops out cradling a takeout bag in his arms. You eagerly greet him at the front door and rise up on your tiptoes to hug him. 

“How’s your day been?” He asks before stealing a kiss. 

The domesticity of the question makes your heart flutter. 

“It’s much better now. And yours?”

“I think I have to agree.” 

He takes your hand and starts to lead the both of you back to your desk.

“Oh, wait! Before I forget!” You flip the sign on the door to display the ‘closed’ side. “Okay, now we can eat.”

He laughs to himself while he starts to unpack the food he brought. It’s a sound that makes your knees weak. Turns out he got y’all sandwiches from a place by his work that he had been wanting you to try.

“I made sure that they didn’t put anything on it that you didn’t like.” He says sliding your meal over to you gingerly. “And I made sure that they put extra of what you love.”

For some reason, Frankie remembering something so small about you has you extremely turned on. You feel crazy for wanting to jump his bones over something as mundane as meat in between bread, but you can’t help it. Maybe it’s the fact that he did all this out of the kindness of his heart or maybe it’s the fact that he looks so excited for you to try it. Regardless, you need him right now.

“Have you-have you ever had a tour of the gym?” If you were any less horny, you would be embarrassed at how clearly you can hear the desperation in your voice. 

He looks slightly confused at your sudden topic change. “Sure. I mean we helped Benny furnish the place back when he bought it.” Your growing need for him must have been plastered across your face because realization settles over him. “But maybe you have something to show me?”

You hum in response and curl your finger at him to follow you back into the gym. Walking past the workout benches, the boxing ring, and the heavy bags you hold your breath. Frankie footsteps are quick and heavy behind yours as you make a beeline for the laundry room. You open the door to slip inside and feel yourself clench around nothing when he slams the door closed behind him. Faster than you can comprehend, Frankie grabs your arm and spins you around to face him. His lips are attacking yours in a crazed frenzy. Your senses are being drowned out by his heavy breathing and his hands hungrily roaming your body. As your arms wrap around his neck, his own circle your lower back and lift you off the ground. You can feel the burn of the cold metal against your thighs since you decided to dawn a tennis skirt this morning. The abrupt change in temperature causes you to breathe in quickly and you smile as he tugs at your lower lip. 

“Like what you see on my tour?” Your breaths are ragged as he has moved on to devour the side of your neck.

“Like is an understatement.”

He continues to kiss red marks on your skin, that you will inevitably have to cover up later, as you work at unfastening his belt and unzipping his jeans. When you achieve your goal, he helps finish the rest. Frankie steps back and pulls himself up and over his boxers. Your clit pulses at the sight. He skillfully flips the bottom of your skirt up to reveal the spandex shorts underneath and uses his left hand to move them and your panties to the side. Frankie's eyes illuminate at the glorious sight of you bare in front of him. Taking himself in his hand, he lines up at your soaking entrance, and fills you up in one motion.

“That’s my girl.” He moans into your ear. “Take me just like that.”

He starts moving once he knows you have adjusted to his size. His pace is firm and steady as he starts massaging your clit with his left thumb. Your head is just starting to roll back while you sink into this moment with Frankie, when an unmistakable sound rings out. Both of you freeze and lock eyes.

“Estrella…” You can tell it's killing him not to move while he’s buried in your cunt. “Was that the fucking door bell?”

“Maybe.” Your breath catches when he decides to thrust forward as if urging you to elaborate. “Didn’t lock the door. Thought the sign would be enough.”

You almost miss your name being called out from inside the gym because you’re too wrapped up in the way Frankie feels inside you. 

“Fuck. Let me,” You gasp. “Let me go see what he wants. Stay here.”

He groans, but concedes knowing that this is something you need to take care of so he can sink inside you again. Frankie pulls out and gently pulls your underwear and shorts back over. You stifle a laugh at the precarious situation that you currently find yourself in. Poking only your head outside the door, your eyes fall on the unwelcome intruder.

“Hey, Jacobs! Sorry I wasn’t at the door to check you in! I decided to do some deep cleaning in the laundry room today while Benny ran errands.” You pray that your flushed face isn’t a dead give away to what was just going on. 

“No worries!” He hollers back from where he's standing at the weights. “I was just a little freaked out to see the place so quiet. Usually Benny has it bumping in here.”

You sense him before you feel him. Frankie places his hands on the hem on your skirt and pulls it down past your ass. When he reveals what he's looking for, you feel him ghosting just outside your pussy. 

“Keep talking to him.” He quietly grunts while bottoming out. “Better act natural if you don’t want to get caught, baby. Wouldn’t want Jacobs to know that you’re getting fucked in public like a little slut, do you?”

Chills run down your arms and legs, littering your skin with goosebumps in their wake. Frankie has never called you that before, but you fucking like it.

“Yeah.” You struggle out, trying to ignore how much faster Frankie has started pumping now. “I decided to just play my music in here. Feel free to turn your earbuds up really loud. I wouldn’t want my bad singing to interrupt your- fuck- your workout!”

Frankie has snaked his hand around to the front of your skirt and slithered down to find your clit, catching you completely off guard. 

“Are you alright?” Jacobs asks earnestly, looking confused and taking a few steps towards the room you’re in.

“F-fine! I’m totally fine! The cleaning products I'm using just started to give me a migraine, but I turned on the vent. Problem solved.”

You don’t know how much longer you can keep this up for. This performance that you’re putting on isn’t going to win you an Oscar, but you’re hoping that it's sufficient enough to ward off Jacobs.

“Do you need any medicine or -?”

“That’s really sweet, but I’m all good. I already took some.” Your knees start to shake as your climax nears. Frankie isn’t helping the situation at all by lifting up the back of your shirt and kissing along your spine. “Also it's probably best if you steer clear of this side of the gym. I wouldn’t want the cleaning products to affect you too.”

“Right uhh okay. Sounds good.” He smiles weakly at you before waving. “Feel better.”

“Thanks!” You wince slightly as Frankie slides his hand under your bra and starts to tweak your nipple. “I’m starting to feel better already!”

You don’t think you have ever closed a door so fast in your entire life.

“I’m going to fucking kill you.” You huff, bracing yourself on the shut door.

Frankie, without pulling out, turns you to where you can now rest your upper body on the washing machine lid. You know he’s having too much fun messing with you.

“If you kill me, Estrella, how am I supposed to make you feel better?”

If you thought he was being merciless before, you were mistaken. He grips your hips tightly as he drills into you from behind. You bite down on your arm to silence the flow of moans and whimpers that escape you. Catching your thoughts drifting to the possibility of being heard, your walls contract around the man inside you. 

“Tell me what’s going on inside that beautiful mind of yours.” He says gruffly. 

“Getting caught.” You whine softly. 

“It’s turning you on? Fuck.” His hands cut deeper into your skin. “I know you liked what I said to you earlier. I saw your body react.” 

Another wave of chills encapsulates your body at the mere thought of it.

“You like getting fucked like the whore you were dressed as the other night?” Tears prick your eyes as the metaphorical rope twists tighter in your belly. It’s seconds away from snapping. “You like being a whore just for me, Estrella?” 

Your body answers for you, soaking him in your climax. He lowers his head and whispers sweet nothings into your ear while you see stars all around you. Your euphoria isn’t enough to make you forget to answer him.

“I love being a whore just for you. I’ll do anything you ask me too.”

With those words, you feel him coming hard. He moans lowly while his hip buck and you can feel him completely emptying himself. God, you could get addicted to that. When he pulls out, you brace yourself using the sides of the washing machine. He quickly finds a soft, freshly washed towel to clean you up with. Urgency doesn’t exist at this moment. You know that he enjoys the after just as much as the before.

“You know, the first time I saw you in the photo Benny has hanging in here, I was awestruck.” The two of you are now sitting together, backs against the washer and hands intertwined, on the laundry room floor. “He had completely left the room and I didn’t even notice because I was trying to wrap my head around how it was possible for this stranger to be that handsome.”

You look over at Frankie to see him smiling to himself and staring down at your joined hands. The apples of his cheeks and the tips of his ears have adopted a soft pink hue. His shyness makes you remember that compliments were few and far between in his last relationship. You are going to make sure that he never goes unappreciated while he’s with you. You are going to make sure he knows how deserving he is to hear words like that.

“How crazy that in just a few months time, I would be holding that stranger's hand and sharing a bed with him on a regular basis. You make me feel like the luckiest woman in the world, do you know that? After some things that happened when I was younger, I didn’t think men like you existed.”

“What happened when you were younger?” His voice is cautious.

“I had this friend, a guy, that I would hang out with all the time when I was 19. One night, we were at his house drinking and watching a movie. I guess I drank a little more than I thought because the rest of the night comes in flashes.” You close your eyes and inhale sharply. “I remember laying on the couch and listening to the sound of the movie floating in and out of my ears. Then there are hands that I don’t want grabbing me, pulling at my clothes, and touching my hair. I could smell the-the tequila on his breath. It made my stomach twist in the most violent way. I ended up passing out before the worst of it. I don’t know what's worse: remembering or having no memory at all.” 

You open your eyes and turn your head to look at him. There was a part of you that was scared to see the emotions reflecting on his face. Would he look at you differently? Would he think of you as damaged goods? Some stupid girl who put herself in a compromising situation? Would he be afraid to touch you after this? Would he think of you as some small breakable object now that he knows the truth?

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“But I-”

“Estrella, it wasn’t your fault.” You close your eyes again because they sting with tears. “You were with someone you thought you could trust. You were doing something that you thought was safe. It wasn’t your fault. Everything, every single thing, is on him. He desecrated the friendship that you gave him. It doesn’t matter how much or how little you drank that night. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know.” 

He grips your hand tighter and leans his head against yours. You listen to his breathing and use it to regulate your own. For the first time in your life you really let it sink in. The fact that it wasn’t your fault, that it wasn’t your doing. Robbie always told you that. She never once blamed you for it. You knew she was right when she said it, but some part of you simply refused to believe it. Holding onto the misplaced guilt was your way of protecting yourself or punishing yourself. But, now? Now that you actually said the words ‘I know’? You could feel your shoulders releasing a load that they were never meant to be carrying in the first place. The scars would still be there, yet now perhaps they could fade.

“It’s me who’s lucky.” He says after a while, bringing y’alls laced hands up to his lips and kissing the back of yours. “It’s not often that you’re given a second chance in life. It’s also not often that the second chance is this woman who’s compassionate, understanding, intelligent, loving, and beautiful.” As he lists each characteristic, he kisses the corresponding tips of your fingers. “When I first saw your photo,” He sighs, remembering back to that day. “I wanted to kiss you on the bridge of your nose. Right here. I couldn't shake the feeling that my lips would fit perfectly.”

You giggle faintly as he takes his free hand and pokes it at your nose after he wiped away your stray tears.

“Why don’t you test out your theory then?”

His velvety brown eyes are the last thing you see before you close your own. You feel him let go of your hand and then cup the sides of your face. His beard tickles your skin as he lowers his lips to his destination. You can’t help but echo his sigh when you feel him connect with the bridge of your nose. He was right, you think, it’s a perfect fit. The two of you are a perfect fit. You open your eyes when he slowly pulls away. He looks so at ease staring back at you. 

“What’s your conclusion?” You whisper.

“Just as I suspected,” He leans his forehead against yours. “It’s like it was made for me.”

***

You and Benny are almost done with y’alls nightly clean up. The only thing left to do is to take the dirty towels into the laundry room so you can run a load in the morning. The two of you chat easily as he opens the door for you since you’re carrying the dirty towel basket. When he doesn’t immediately move out of the doorway, you lightly bump the basket into his back.

“Earth to Benny. This thing is getting heavy and I would like to set it down now.”

He turns his head to look at you over his shoulder and gives you a devilish grin. Bumping the door the rest of the way open with his hip, he leans down and picks something up off the ground. 

“Isn’t this strange?” He says, turning to face you fully. “What would Fish’s cap be doin’ in our laundry room?”

You open your mouth, but no sound comes out. They seem to be permanently stuck in an ‘o’ position.

“Are you goin’ to tell me what went down while I was gone?” His shit eating grin has somehow managed to get bigger.

“Are you going to tell me what ‘operation catch-a-fish’ was?” You ask smugly, finally finding your voice.

Benny opens his mouth to combat your question, but just laughs instead. “Looks like both of our lips are sealed then.”

“Perhaps you could unseal yours for another question?” You push past him and set down what you were carrying. “It’s about Will.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re leaving Catfish for my brother.”

“No, you asshat!” You pop him in the arm as he laughs again. “I want to set him up with Robbie.”

“Ahhhh I see. You want to play matchmaker.” 

“I want him to be happy. I think he and Robbie would really hit it off too. She’s coming down in a few weeks and I want to start planting the seed in that vast mind of his. I just wasn’t sure how he feels about dating right now and was hoping you would.”

A bittersweet look washes over Benny’s face at your confession. You can tell that he wants to tell you something, but he’s stopping himself. 

“You’re going to tell me to ask him in person, aren’t you?”

He smiles weakly and motions to leave the laundry room, making sure to take Frankie’s hat with him. “Just like I told you with Fish, it’s not my place to get into all of Will’s business. Between you and me, I think he’s lonely, but he would never admit it. I’m personally onboard with hookin’ him up with your friend, but just talk to him. He and the rest of the guys are on their way here to meet me at the bar right now.”

After doing a final sweep of the place, the two of y’all grab your things and lock up. Sure enough the guys are all leaning against the bed of Frankie’s truck waiting. 

“Hola, hermosa!” Pope pulls you in for a bear hug as soon as you approach them.

“Hi, Santi!” You hug him back with just as much force. “Believe it or not, I’ve missed you this week.”

“Who wouldn’t miss me?” He asks playfully as you pull away.

“Stop hogging her, Pope.” Frankie nudges his friend out of the way so he can hug you. “Long time no see, Estrella.” 

“Yeah, speakin’ of ‘long time no see’, Fish.” Benny produces the left behind cap and tosses it over. “Next time you sneak over, it’s probably best that you don’t leave a callin’ card, hm?” His voice is mischievous.

“Oh I- I just came by to drop off lunch and-”

“Save it, lover boy.” He winks at him.

Even under the dim street lights, you can see that Frankie’s cheeks have adopted a soft blush. You kiss his shoulder before turning your attention to the man you have been meaning to speak too.

“Howdy, Will.” You speak bashfully as he pulls you into him.

“Saved the best for last. I knew I liked you, hon.” 

“Come on! Let’s go get some fuckin’ drinks!” Benny says, throwing his arm around Pope’s shoulder. “It’s been a day!”

“You filled out paperwork at the police station for the majority of the day, you big baby.” You counter.

The rest of the group clearly wasn’t privy to Benny’s plans today by the quizzical look on all of their faces. 

“Calm down. I was goin’ to fill y’all in tonight at the bar. The quicker we get there, the quicker y’all get to hear. So, let's get a move on.”

Benny, Pope, and Will all start walking while Frankie holds an outstretched hand for you to take hold of. You want to make sure you talk to Will before either of y’all are slurring your words, so you quietly, but quickly fill Frankie in on your plan for Robbie and Will. He seems to have the same reaction as Benny did. Concern mixed with approval. Frankie volunteers to go into The Barrel with Pope and Benny so you can talk to Will without having an audience. 

“Will? Can you stay out here for a second?” 

He is holding the door open for you after letting the other men into the establishment.

“What’s on your mind, doll?” 

“I wanted to ask you about your stance on dating right now. My friend, Robbie, is coming down to visit me in a few weeks and I think you would really like her. I was hoping that you would let me set you up with her, but I wanted to see what you thought about that before I got ahead of myself.”

He puts his hands on his hips and lets out a low whistle.

“I haven’t taken much of a shine to datin’ since my fiancée left me a while back.” 

You feel like you just got the wind knocked out of you. “You were engaged?! I didn’t know that.”

“Once upon a time I was, yeah.” He holds up his wedding ring ringer. “Never made it to the aisle though.”

“Can I ask what happened? Or do you not want to talk about it?”

“I don’t mind sharin’ with you.” He scratches the back of his neck. “It just might change the way you see me though.” 

“I’d never judge you, Will.” You say sincerely.

“About five or six years ago, when I was on leave, I found myself standin’ in the middle of the cereal aisle at the Publix with my arm around some guys throat.” He takes a deep breath. “I was squeezin’ so hard he pissed himself. My fiancée at the time had to climb on my back just so I didn’t actually kill the guy. Do you know why I was doin’ this?”

You shake your head at him.

“Because he hadn’t moved his cart when I asked.” He rubs his eye briefly. “I flipped out on some poor innocent bastard because he was stoppin’ me from gettin’ some goddamn cereal.”  

“Will, that’s not your fault. It was an involuntary reaction.”

“But it was. I put his life, my fiancée’s life, and that entire store full of people’s lives in danger because I shut down and just reacted like I was trained to do. I loved what I did to serve my country, but I didn’t realize at the time how committin’ acts of extreme violence on other human beings would affect me biologically.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you.” You long for a phrase that can convey the true depth of your sorrow for what he went through. “I’m so sorry, Will.”

“I’ll be honest with you, I want to start datin’ again, but I guess I can’t bring myself too. I don’t want to hurt another woman the way I hurt my fiancée.”

You take his hand in yours. “The work you do with and for all the other vets has given you the tools to effectively navigate the trauma and PTSD you have from the military. I know that it never really goes away, but what matters is that you're trying to work through it. Everyday I’m sure something happens that triggers you or takes you back to moments that you would rather not relive. I wish to God that I could take that pain away from you, Will, but I know I can’t. What I can do is support you and I’m always going to do that. I trust you no matter what.”

He doesn’t say a word as he pulls you in for a bone crushing hug. You wrap your arms around him and hope he can feel how much you truly care about him through your touch. The two of you stay embracing for a few minutes until you feel him let out a heavy sigh and let go. 

“So,” He says, opening the bar's door once again. “Tell me about this friend of yours.”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

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[hana-no-seiiki]

お客様は神様　(THE GUEST IS GOD)

HOST CLUB PREPARATIONS / PROLOGUE - 女中 [THE MAID]

YANDERE GUEST X GENDER NEUTRAL! HOST CLUB WORKER! READER X (IMPLIED) YANDERE/YANGIRE BOSS + COWORKERS

waiver: the place is set in “japan” ,characters speak in japanese, so if you don’t like honorifics or terms (e.g. senpai, san, sama) then uh yeah. this doesn’t mean your character has to be japanese though! i’ve added a lot of “foreigner”characters so it wouldn’t be weird for you to be one as well.

mc is a total bitch and a half. like an absolute asshole.

sexual harassment, sexual assault, yandere guest gropes your everywhere and forces you to grope him, violence.

Reminder that the Guest is God Host Club isn’t responsible for any injuries and/or deaths that happen. please take proper precautions, honorable guests!

host description: drunk out of his mind, your apparent “ex” starts harassing you in the host club you happen to be serving in.

and as much as you’d love to punch him into oblivion, it is imperative you show him as good time.

the guest of this place is god after all.

host status: unedited, will add images later on.

more about the host: THIS IS AN INTRODUCTORY POST TO MY OCS AND MY WEBTOON CONCEPTS. Final OC designs might be incredibly different in the webtoon itself.

although reader may be called a maid, they aren’t explicitly fem. they will be using gender neutral pronouns.

MINORS / PEOPLE WITH NO IDS (AGELESS BLOGS) AREN’T ALLOWED TO ENTER.

If you’d like to be updated for when we next open, please reply to this post to be subscribed to our taglist!

YOU WERE AWFULLY FORTUNATE WHEN IT CAME TO FINANCIAL MATTERS. You had rich benefactors (whoever they were) and enough money to live several lifetimes in comfort. Despite not knowing where all this wealth came from, you learnt to just be content with your ignorance. It wasn’t as if it was threatening your life, and the stream of money was always consistent in terms of amount and the dates it came in.

But that is exactly why you found yourself in this situation.

It started from one of your days lounging at your extravagant penthouse apartment. With nothing to do but play games and throw money at fictional characters, and escorts. You were fine with your lavish yet miserably lonely lifestyle. So, it was safe to say you were surprised to have suddenly received an envelop on your doorstep.

It was red with shiny accents of spider lilies. You open it to see a letter (what a suprise!). It seemed handwritten, judging from the slight differences some letters appeared but still high quality none the less.

You’ve watched enough survival games to know where this was going.

And sure enough, you were forced into a job as someone that serves and accommodates guests.

These guest varied from people you’ve never even met before, to friends and even people you loathed.

Like the one you’re facing right now.

You weren’t supposed to accommodate this guest at all, in fact, you were already done with your shift. But as you were unzipping the maid costume you were forced to wear during workdays, you hear timid voice from behind you.

“U-uhm…[L/N]-先輩…”

Hazu, a tall but extremely shy co-worker of yours called your name.

His costume was completely different from yours. Sporting a suit with fetish-wear straps that accentuated his long legs, and a pair of short whore gloves, Hazu was forced by your employer to play the “Dom/Sadist” archetype.

And, like you in the beginning, was terrible at it.

“Let me guess, your guest is a hard sub and you’re having trouble keeping up?”

“N-no. I think they were mi-mis-categorized!” Hazu made fists and shook them in air in frustration. What a cutie. “I mean, seriously! He seems more like a sadist! He kept insulting my height! I’m just a little above average d-damn it!”

You placed a hand on his hair. Soft, and fluffy brown, you always tried to make an excuse to touch it before. But nowadays you just touched it whenever you two had overlapping shifts. Which happened to be most days, lucky you.

“Your 先輩 will take care of it then.” Hazu melts under your touch. You always managed to disintegrate any and all anxieties he faced. It was miraculous really. He’d always been a nervous person. But the way you almost parented him, checked on him every step of his journey towards graduation, provided him with his favorite food just so he gains that extra bit of comfortability… you…you were just perfect in every way.

If only he knew the side of you that comes out after shifts.

“If he tries to hurt you…”

“If he tries hurting me our boss and/or bodyguard will deal with it. Don’t worry too much okay? Take care.”

And you left, not bothering to wait for a response. You wanted this night to be done and dealt with. You had hobbies to get to, and your darling spouse (that is your bed) to greet when you came home.

You sighed as you left the staff room.

“Useless piece of shit.”

“お客様—“

“[Y/N]? Hah! It is you!” The man, Hazu’s ex guest, yelled into your ear. His breath reeked of alcohol.

And you had no recollection of ever meeting him.

He had white hair, shaved at the sides, and green eyes that reminded you of pine trees. Piercings on his ears, nose and below his lips. He wore jewelry all over his hands and a collar.

With your name on it.

Shit.

“What, yer family’s money finally gone down the drain?” His hands moved to grope every part of your body. It was that moment when you realized he might not be the delusional asshole you pegged him to be.

He knew just the places you were sensitive in. His hands felt so familiar,

yet so wrong at the same time.

“Nah it couldn’t have been, shit like that is impossible to lose easily.”

He was right. Even if you tried to blow away all the money you held it was almost impossible to go into debt. Any time you went past your budget and checked, it would have been already been paid by your anonymous benefactor.

You wondered if they knew the situation you were in, and why the hell they haven’t done anything to save you yet.

You eventually broke out of the man’s hold, it wasn’t hard considering he was drunk. “お客様, kindly move aside so that this lowly servant may be able to clean your seat.”

“You’re doing this for some weird fetish aren’t you? Just like how-“ He gagged, and you were about to bolt in case he threw up again but thankfully he didn’t, “Just like how you used me *hic* so that you’d be the most popular or whatever.”

He pulled you closer again. In a few moments, you found him atop the mess he made earlier and you above his lap. You took a deep breath and prayed to everything that is holy for him to not barf on you or your uniform touching whatever it is he vomited on the couch.

But he only stared at you. Your features. Traced every part with a soft look on his face that you wanted oh so dearly to rip off of him for some reason.

Scratch that, you did have a specific reason and that was his hard-on that you can feel poking your ass.

“お客様—“

“Fuck, I’m hard.”

Yeah, you could tell.

“[Y/N]. You feel this right?”

‘Yes.’ You glared at him, biting your lip to ensure you didn’t say anything that would go on record and make your boss go nuts again for going out of character. Whoever this man was, he was definitely lucky he found you in uniform. In any other place or situation you would have definitely destroyed his family jewels at this point.

“I fucked *hic* so many whores but none of them where like *hic* you.”

‘Fucking horndog.’

“Hey, [Y/N]. Let’s get back together, alright? I miss you baby. I know you miss me too.”

He leaned forward and your lips almost touched if it weren’t for metallic claws ripping him away from you.

His mangled body, though still alive, would definitely have to go through several months in the hospital if not a whole year to recover. His blood mixed with the filth that covered the floor and furniture.

‘Finally.’ You adjusted your uniform and began sanitizing everything.

“Excellent show of self control, Mx. [L/N].” You heard clapping behind you.

“It is all thanks to you, sir Melchior.” You stood up and immediately gave him a 90 degree bow. Your tools hidden behind you.

“Oh, you flatterer!” His golden eyes shone even under the dim lighting.

Although Aurum Melchior, your boss, was old enough to be your grandfather at this point. The years adored him. He looked breathtakingly handsome for a man whose silver hair overtook his blond ones ages ago.

He wore a dark grey suit, with a long fur coat on his shoulders. The threatening grin on his face never left him whenever he faced your form.

“But it seems that I’m who’d like this fool gone. You know, murder is quite a big sentence to deal with . . .”

“Oh but is it really murder if there are no witnesses?”

“Touché.” The cane he always brought around despite being able to walk properly poked and prodded at your guest’s unconscious face. “Bear. Get rid of the drunkard.”

A woman with a bear mask behind him nodded, carrying the body and quickly making an exit. How she did so with those sharp claws, you never knew nor did you ever want to. Ursa wasn’t really much of a talker anyways.

Besides, you preferred her silent yet efficient attitude in comparison to blabbering messes most of your co-workers are. Seriously, the amount of times you had to comfort Hazu was uncountable. You could unconsciously feel the tears and snot running down your shoulders. Why couldn’t he just get a move on and get with the persona given to him already?

“Au revoir, Mx. [L/N]. There are still many shifts until your graduation.”

“Have a pleasant night, boss.”

“Have a pleasant night.”

THANK YOU FOR VISITING THE GUEST IS GOD HOST CLUB!

Have these, free of service!

先輩 - senpai - senior (work/school)

お客様 - okyakusama - honorable guest/visitor

If you’d like to be updated for when we next open, please reply to this post to be subscribed to our taglist!

[opening schedules] [next opening]

If you’d like to be updated for when we next open, please reply to this post to be subscribed to our taglist !

If you’d like to be updated for when we next open, please reply to this post to be subscribed!

We hope to see you soon.

[heyidkyay]

I guess I’ll take this pain, instead of your name |

Part Twenty-Four - Part B

A/n: Hey, Part B is finally here!! It was a struggle to write but I'm so grateful to know that a lot of you were looking forward to it! Means so much. Again, like the previous part, this will be a collection of flashbacks! Please read the warnings on this one! Hope you enjoy x

Summary: In life, things changed. The boys you'd once grown up with were men now, and famous ones at that. The type that toured the world and had millions of adoring fans.

The five of you shared a shit ton of history. But you also shared a lot of mixed emotions for one of them in particular, a certain drummer.

Warnings: Lots of swearing as per usual, talks and acts of violence, abuse and sexual assault mentioned, description of sick/blood

Masterlist

“London?”

I nodded, eyes fixed firmly on the hands I held in my lap.

“London?!” Matty exclaimed again, only louder this time. He’d stopped pacing to stare down at me. The rest of the boys who had gathered on the sofa were all strangely quiet.

“Yeah, Matty. London.”

“The fuck she want to send you there for?” He argued back, and although I knew his anger wasn’t directed towards me, rather the situation at hand, I still couldn’t quite look him in the eye. 

Things at home had gotten… worse. Not that I’d ever let them know. And although I didn’t want to leave the lads for the summer, I didn’t think I could handle staying there another second longer.

“My nan’s down there. Reckons it’ll be good for me, to get away.” I told him in reply, unable to help the small shrug I gave before I begun biting at a loose thumbnail, “It’ll only be for a week or so.”

“But, but what about the EP? And our gigs!” Matty fought back and, honestly, I was all too thankful for the moment when I heard Hann intercept the start of what would only be another long spiel.

“It’s not like she can really tell her mum no, mate. Besides, it’s like she said, it won’t be for long. We’ll still have the rest of the summer.”

Hann looked around at the rest of the boys, hoping to see their nods. He sighed when Matty only continued on, as though he hadn’t even said a word.

“You can stay here! Lou’ll be in Spain with Dad, Mum’s still filming so she won’t even notice- not that she’d mind.” Matty started to plan, glancing towards the rest of the room for some sort of approval. “It’s a good idea, ain’t it? That way, we can all still be together.”

I exhaled, not quite a sigh, “And what do I tell my mum, when my nan phones her up and asks why I’m not there?”

Matty groaned in agitation. “Tell her to piss off! And that you’re spending the summer with your mates.”

I wish it was as easy as that.

“Matt.” Ross cut in with a certain gruffness that made Matty pause. Ross turned towards me afterwards but I couldn’t force myself to look back at him, eyes trained somewhere to the left of his head.

Ross wasn’t stupid, I knew that much. In fact, none of the boys were. But Ross was also obnoxiously observant, more so than most, and I knew that during the last few months he’d been taking notice of more things than not. He was catching on. Brushing off my excuses. Listening to the lies I weaved into truths and narrowing his eyes. He knew something was up.

“B,” He called to me- short for George’s nickname I supposed, but he hardly ever used it. My eyes skitted between his own, then away again in fear he’d be able to see it all written as plain as day across my face. “Listen, if you wanna go down to London, then go. Ignore this twat-“ Matty squawked indignantly. “The band stuff, the gigs, they’ll all still be here when you get back.” The ‘we’ll still be here’ went unsaid, but it was heard. “Only a few weeks, just like you said. If your mum wants you down there, must be a reason, ey?”

I wiggled my jaw. If only it was that simple, I thought, but simply shrugged again. “‘Spose.”

“What, so you actually wanna go?” Matty cut in, looking almost betrayed, always one for the dramatics. “Just leave us here, when everything’s finally fallin’ into place?”

I frowned at him, “No, I don’t wanna go. But-” I don’t want to stay in that house any longer.

“Exactly! Just tell her that then, babe!” Matty rushed out before I could even think of an end to that sentence, “She’ll understand, let you stay, and then we can have the entire summer, yeah?”

He was grinning so wide, it was hard to do anything but just nod in defeat. Ross and Hann shook their heads at him as they huffed and drew themselves up onto their feet.

“Alright, can we get to startin’ practice now then or is this family meeting still happening?” Hann not so subtly suggested, quirking a brow at the lot of us. I was just grateful for the opportunity to cut my loses and run, Ross was already moving over towards the amp, and Matty was nodding his hasty agreement.

“Gonna grab some drinks first though.” The curly haired singer added, and he darted out of the garage before Hann could stop him. I chuckled under my breath at Adam’s pained expression and settled further into the settee, making myself comfortable there. It was then that I caught George’s eye though and he jerked his head over towards the driveway, a quiet indication.

I chewed on the inside of my lip before I ultimately nodded, holding back a sigh. He got up first and then I followed, ignoring Hann’s exasperated huff and the lingering look I felt from Ross.

I thought that’d been it, the London topic dropped. But luck was never on my side and even though I had no idea what George would possibly have to say on the subject, I could see that he’d been far too quiet in there. Something was coming.

He wandered a way away from the garage door, slipping round the side of the house and towards the garden gate before he finally stopped, pausing to settle against the low brick wall there. It was a place we often favoured whenever we wanted a breath away from the others, sheltered by overhanging trees and bushes, you could sort of feel invisible there.

George was quiet even as he tugged an already opened pack from his jean pocket and plucked a cigarette from its case. On impulse I pulled out my lighter and flicked it open for him, lighting the end like I usually did.

“How’s Steven doing?” He asked rather abruptly, so much so that a wad of spit caught in the back of my throat at the question and I had to fight not to choke.

“Why the fuck are you asking me that?” I retorted, swallowing harshly and catching my breath.

He didn’t look at me, eyes hard and focused on the opposing wall. He shrugged a shoulder lazily, but I knew better. “You never mentioned London.”

“And what the hell has my mum’s dick of a boyfriend got to do with London?” I sputtered back heatedly, already knowing the answer.

George levelled me with a look and inhaled slowly, gaze finding mine.

“You know what.”

I scowled and folded my arms promptly across my chest. “Fuck you.”

He rolled his eyes at my reaction and billowed out a breath of smoke above us, handing me the fag in quiet offering. I shook my head. He sighed.

“I thought-”

He tried, but I quickly shut him down, “Fuck what you thought, you don’t know a thing.”

George held a single hand up in mock surrender, ash falling with it. I steeled my gaze on the thick cement tiles below us.

“Not claiming to, Birdie.” George said in his usual tone, unaware of what that nickname of his did to me. “But I know something’s up. Reckon the guys are noticing things too.”

I rubbed the curve of my arm subconsciously, knowing there was truth in his words.

“What do you want me to say?” I asked exhaustedly, all the fight I typically had had been drained from me. 

The question had been mostly rhetorical, but George wasn’t the type to care. “The truth.” He answered and I could feel his stare trained on me now.

“The truth?” I scoffed tiredly, the bitten flesh of cheek I so often ground between my teeth was scarred, bumpy as I pressed my tongue to it and thought the whole thing over.

‘Truth’ was something we’d taken to using for a while now, in the buzzing hum of our frequented cafe, within the confines of the shed at the end of my garden, sprawled on his bedsheets whilst getting high. It’d started after a small falling out I’d had with Vicky a few months prior and had continued on almost unconsciously.

Now though, I didn’t know what to tell him, what truth to acknowledge. What he wanted to hear.

George mimicked the low hum I made, cigarette pressed between his lips but otherwise unmoving. “Who’s idea was London then?”

“His.”

We both knew who I was talking about.

“Right.” George nodded once, “She just agreed then?”

She, being my mum. I dipped my chin, a silent confirmation.

His thumb was tapping away at the jut of his knee now, a rhythmic tic I often stilled with a hand covering his own. I couldn’t find it in myself to reach out and touch him now though.

“Why’s he want you gone?”

In truth, I really didn’t know. Maybe I’d gotten too much. Perhaps he’d gotten fed up.

“Think he has better things in mind than having me hang ‘round all summer.”

“You want to go?”

I let his question hang there for a moment. I was toeing two sides of the line with my answer. To go would be easier on everyone, I’d see my Nana, get to explore a whole other city, and have the chance to escape them. But being away also meant leaving the boys.

George didn’t mind not hearing my verbal reply, I think he already knew my answer. He just wanted to be sure of it. He went on, “My mum’s back in town next week.”

A truth for a truth.

“You never mentioned it.” I said, picking at a fraying edge on my denim shorts.

He gave a slow shrug, “You never mentioned London.”

“Only found out a couple days ago.” He raised a brow in return, thinning his lips. I sighed, “Alright, I should’ve said something sooner but I was thinking it over.”

George hummed, “Dad only told me this mornin’.”

Maybe that’s why he’d been so reserved since we’d met up. The whole way to Matty’s he’d barely spoken a word, but I’d been overly anxious, knowing I was planning to tell them about London, which meant that I’d been talking a mile a minute- an attempt I often used to cover it. 

“What are you gonna do?” I asked him, peering up at his solemn features through a lock of fallen hair. 

“What I always do. Stay out of her way.” He told me honestly before he took a longer drag. I watched his chest rise with it, observed how his eyes fluttered slightly. He was always so interesting to watch.

“Could come to London with me. Hide out there.” I offered and was met with the slight quirk to his mouth, he was amused by my words. “I’m serious!” I reiterated and bumped a shoulder against his arm, “Me and you. Together. Nana loves strays.”

George just laughed at that and I couldn’t help the soft smile I made at the sound. “Sod off.” He told me around a chuckle, “London does sound nice though, be good for you I reckon.”

“For us.” I insisted, the idea fully lodging its way into my brain now. “Come on, G. Don’t you think it’d be fun?”

“Yeah sure, but the wrath Matty would rain down on us fucking won’t be.” George snorted, shaking his head at me softly.

“So?” I pestered again, shuffling round on the wall to face him properly, shin pressing against his outer thigh. He glanced down at it and then away, inhaling again. “I can phone her when I get in,”

“Phone who?” George interrupted just as my fingers found the flannel he’d thrown on that same morning. I toyed with it, rolling my eyes.

“My Nana! Keep up.” I huffed at him, “I’ll phone her, ask if she’d be okay with you coming along too and you can just tell the guys you’re being held hostage by your mum, she wants family time, forcing you to go and see an aunt or summat.”

George was wearing this barely there smirk, one I recognised as a crack in his usual stoic resolve. I was wearing him down.

“Think about it, G… You can avoid your mum and waste half your summer away with me.”

I raised my brows at him, hopeful, but he just stared back at me.

“And what would I tell my dad, my mum?” He retorted, finally stubbing out the end of his cigarette and flicking the butt of it into the soil behind us.

“Tell your dad we’re going camping. All of us. And we can leave before your mum gets in.” I explained, in full out planning mode now. I could see it all coming together in my head and tugged on the cuff of his sleeve in excitement. “Come on, G. Please? Be our little secret.”

George’s gaze trailed over my face, his expression as serious as my own. “You really mean it, don’t you?”

I tilted my head, confused by his sentiment. “Of course I do. If I could, I’d take you everywhere with me. It’s us against the world, G. Always.”

He cracked the tiniest of smiles, an action I knew he had no control over, and it only seemed to grow as I matched it. I had him.

“So we’re really doing this then?” He breathed out in amused disbelief. I nodded with a painfully large grin as I wrapped my arms around his neck, leaning in closer.

“Best believe it.” I replied just as he knocked his forehead against mine. Both of us unable to bite back our smiles.

“London.” George whispered.

“London.” I mimicked, marvelling at the very idea of it.

To think, I’d been dreading this entire conversation. How things so quickly changed.

And change they would…

—

“Yeah, yeah!” I prattled away, hardly holding back my anticipation. 

I’d been back barely five minutes before I’d hurried over to the landline, having snuck in through the back gate and shuffled up the drainpipe to my bedroom. I’d waited until I heard the front door slam then made a run for it, scurrying down the stairs and almost throwing the phone off its hook in my hurry. I had half hour until mum was due back from wherever she usually pissed off to, and didn’t have to worry about Old Steven seeing me as he’d just left for the pub.

“‘Course I’m excited, Nana. Haven’t seen you in ages!” I told the older woman, warmly, through the phone, twirling the chord around my finger as I did. 

She was rambling away now, had been ever since I’d said hello. She’d been gruff in her answer at first, having thought I was one of those poxy telemarketers she could often never shake, but was over the moon to know it’d been me once she’d heard my voice. 

Apparently she was rather excited to know that I was coming down to visit, though she hadn’t heard a word of it until I’d brought it up then- fucking mum. Still, she told me she’d set up the spare room and let my aunt know too, she sounded just as pleased as me. It was then that I thought it best to try and bring up George.

“Aunt Del will be so pleased to see you, love. Have to cook up something proper for when you arrive too, won’t I?” 

I smiled fondly at her voice, her heavy accent so different to mine. “Don’t have to go to too much trouble for me, nan.”

“Oh bugger off, you daft cow! My granddaughter’s comin’ to see me, I’ll do as I please.” Nana scoffed and I bit back a giggle.

“Alright.” I appeased her, then she asked what day I’d be heading off. I thought it over for a second, knowing that G’s mum was due back Sunday night, so that morning probably gave us enough time to set off and make the train. “Sunday, Nana.” I replied and she hummed, but before she could say anything in actual reply I was quick to mention the deal-breaker. “Actually Nana, whilst I still have you, I um, I was meant to ask you something. Just, I don’t want to put you out or nothing…”

“Sweet, you’d best spit whatever ask you have out ‘fore you swallow your own tongue. I ain’t gettin’ any younger and the days ain’t gettin’ any longer. So out with it.” She demanded. She was just as I remembered, headstrong to a fault and overly blunt. The woman said what she pleased and if you didn’t like that then you’d simply have to deal with it, nowt to do with her.

I huffed a mirthful chuckle, “Sorry.”

“None of that now, sunshine. Tell me what you’re after.”

“See, I have this friend…”

“Oh, a friend, is it? Let me guess, this friend of yours, they headed down my way too?” She never missed a thing that woman, I’ll give her that.

“Might be.”

Nana laughed and I could hear her shuffling about, probably in the kitchen from the sound of pots clinking in the background. “Just like your father, I tell you. Cheek on the pair of ya.”

My heart caught at her words, no one spoke of my dad. To hear that I was similar to him in any way, well that paused my whirling mind for a split second. 

Though to my Nana, it had just been an off handed comment, a slip of the tongue, because she was already breezing on by whilst I fought to catch up.

“Tell me about this friend of yours then. They nice? Treat you well?” Nana pestered, last she knew of my life here up North was my closeness with Vicky and my lingering eyes which were often casted towards her older brother, Jamie. How things had changed.

I smiled at the questions and thought of George. He was a hard person to describe in truth. There wasn’t a thing I disliked about him. There were things that annoyed me about him, sure- he was one of few people who knew exactly what buttons to press- but describing George, well it sort of felt like describing myself. That, plus, I didn’t want to give too much away.

“He’s nice, Nana.”

She hummed and I heard the sweet drawl to it, as though she was grasping at something. The sound made me flush a tad. “He’s nice, is he?”

Put my foot right in it there. Could’ve tried getting away with it by being vague, have her think it was a girl ’til George’s ginormous self gangled his way through her door, but nope.

“Yup.” I popped back, too far gone to backtrack now. 

My feelings towards George were honestly a confusing mountain of mess, but they had yet to make me force him away. Hearing my nan allude to something of the like did not help at all.

“Hm, and he’s wantin’ to follow after you, is he? Down ‘ere to see little old me.”

I shook my head even though she couldn’t see. “It were my idea. I-”

She stopped me short, “No need to explain, dove. He sounds like a very nice friend, this boy. One you’d like to keep near I assume?” I hummed noncommittally and could hear her devious smile, “Handsome is he?”

“Nana.” I droned out, regretting ever having even mentioned it now. Should’ve just surprised her, at least then she wouldn’t be teasing me like this. Actually, scrap that. That was a complete lie. She so fucking would.

“‘Course he can come along, love.” She allowed, relenting with her teasing a tad, or so I thought. “Just got the one spare room though, so if you don’t mind putting up with him for a couple nights… or I ‘spose I could just make up the sofa.”

“Whatever’s easiest for you, Nana. And thank you. I,” I inhaled slowly, the sound sharp in the quiet of the house, “I really do appreciate it, you putting me up and that.”

“Nonsense. Always worryin’ ‘bout you up there, that mother of yours never phones.” Nana tutted. If she only knew that half of it, I thought to myself. “But anyway darlin’, there’s nothin’ to thank me for, only way you could is with a pack of Rothmans Blue- Superking, mind.”

I snorted to myself, “Consider it done. Sunday paper, too?”

“Oh, you know me so well. Daily mail, none of that other shite.”

I mouthed the last few words as she spoke them, knowing that they’d be coming, and grinned when I was right. 

“‘Course not.” I said with a smile, “If you need anything else picking up, call this time Saturday, yeah?”

“You got a schedule or somethin’ there, lovie?” Nana joked, laughing lightly even as my own smile faltered slightly.

“Something like that.” I murmured, then thought I heard the key turn in the front door. 

My head snapped towards the sound, sheltering the phone against my shoulder to listen in closer. 

Yeah, someone was definitely home. 

Wary, I hurried to say my goodbyes, “Listen Nana, think that’s mum headed in now with the shopping. I’d best go and help her.”

“Shoppin’? This late?” Nana questioned but I was already standing, bouncing from foot to foot, praying to every star in the night sky that it was mum and not Steven.

“Yeah, she had a late shift tonight. Is that alright, Nana? I’ll call before I leave Sunday, okay?”

I was fretting now, heart racing as the door hinges begun to squeak.

“‘Course it is, love. Say hello to your mum too, won’t ya, sweetheart? And I’ll see you Sunday.”

“I will, love you.” I rushed out and was left with the beginnings of a smile when I heard her parrot it back to me. I hung up just as the front door slammed closed and jumped towards the kitchen sink like a trapeze artist would a free-falling rope. More than grateful to see that there were a few cups littering the basin.

I was washing up just as she walked in, I heard her paused in the archway, probably surprised to see me down here.

“What you doin’ that for?” She asked me and I glanced over my shoulder, holding back a shaky breath whilst I flashed her smile.

“Just thought I’d be helpful, mum.” I replied and turned back to the task at hand to subtly release the balloon of air that’d been swelling in my chest.

She hummed indifferently and tossed her purse down onto the kitchen table, “Steve in?”

I shook my head, “Wasn’t here when I got back.” Liar.

“Right.” She worked her jaw, staring off into space before she headed over towards the fridge, plucking up a cider. “Gonna run a bath, back’s been killin’ me. You alright to make your own tea?”

I swallowed back the hollow laugh that wanted to escape me, I always fixed my own tea. Did everything myself. “Yeah, mum.” I told her instead of voicing that though, choosing not to glance her way again.

“Right.” She repeated and then I heard nothing for a few beats before her feet were wandering out of the kitchen again and up the stairs.

I let myself slump against the counter as I listened to her disappear, hands covered in soap duds and not caring for the water that dripped its way down my forearm. I let my eyes fall close for a brief minute. That’d been too close for my liking.

—

I told George of the talk I’d had with my nan, along with the plan, the next day. We’d leave about nine, Sunday morning, to try and make it to London before the rush of lunch, and my Aunt Del would then pick us up from the station soon after.

We’d been sat on the school playing fields, waiting for the rest of the guys. Just lazing about there, seeing as we only had a couple days before school finally let out. Days like these were always the best kind though, when the teachers gave up on teaching us anything and just stuck a film on. Hoping it’d quiet our ever growing excitement. Did it fuck.

“I didn’t think you were being serious!” George exclaimed with a light laugh once I’d finally finished, eyes wide as he glanced down at me. I was sprawled out on the grass, head in his lap.

“Of course I fucking was! Do you not know me at all?” I replied in the same tone he’d used, titling my head back to exaggerate my own eyes. “We said it! We agreed!”

“So? I said I’d pull the plug on Matty’s life support machine if he ever ended up braindead, don’t mean I’ll actually do it.” George snorted right back, hands toying with the ends of my hair.

“Well, he’s not far off, is he?” I teased, even though Matty wasn’t around to hear. “And besides, I’m not Matty. I’m me. And you,” I exaggerated, pointing a finger up at him, “can’t say no to a face like this.”

“When d’you get so vain, ey?” Was all that George replied. I rolled my eyes and huffed.

“Please, G. Nana’s excited to meet you now. Can’t let her down, can you? Imagine what it’ll do to her poor old heart.”

He dragged a thumb across my lip, wiping the pout I wore right off my face. The surprising action didn’t deter me though, neither did the sickening butterflies I felt.

“Heartless heathen. Just watch this space,” I told him in false seriousness, “See when I turn up all alone and she’s devastated. So utterly heartbroken.”

“Oh shut up, would you?” George huffed, tugging on a strand of my hair and rolling his eyes at my scowl. “I’ll go.” My face quickly morphed and I knew he saw it when he leant in closer to cut off whatever I’d been about to say, our noses a breath apart. “But, only if you help me break it to the boys- my dad as well.”

I mulled it over, “I could do that.”

“You say that now.” He chuckled down at me, brown eyes dancing between my own before he pulled away and glanced over to see the boys headed our way.

To say that the rest of the band had taken the news of George’s departure easily was an utter lie. As expected, Matty had gone off on one, all grumpy and disheartened. Hann had sighed, but said that they could put off any recording sessions for a week or so. And Ross had just sat there grinning lazily at us like a overweight cat stretched out in the sun, unbothered by it but also looking a little too smug for my liking. 

I’d narrowed my eyes at him but said nothing.

George’s dad on the other hand was a whole other story.

I’d only met the man twice. Once when he’d caught me up in George’s bedroom, splayed out on the floor after having fallen out of a handstand his son had dared me into. Then a second time in the supermarket on the high street, I’d been grabbing food for the house seeing as no one else could be bothered, and he’d been on the phone to someone or other, heatedly whispering away. We’d caught each others eye, gave a strange awkward wave, then sped off down separate aisles. 

I’d been mortified both times. Not the best impression to have left on anyone, let alone your mate’s dad.

Still, I’d agreed to help and so now here I was. Sat in George’s kitchen, him at the stove, me perched by the table, both of us waiting for his dad to come home from work.

I was biting at my knuckle nervously, eyes trained on the door, George swatted my arm when he finally noticed, passing by me to pull a pack of pasta from out of the cupboard. “Why’re you so worked up? He’s harmless, plus you’ve met him before.”

Harmless, that’s how Matty often described George. I wondered if the two of them were much alike. Like my dad and I.

“I’m not.” I defended, but was levelled with a look telling me to cut the bullshit. “Fine, I just- I don’t know! Okay? Will you just run me through the story again?”

George chuckled to himself, pouring pasta shells into some salted water. “I’ll start, hint that a few of us are wanting to go camping. He won’t ask who, but if he does just say the lads. Like Hann and that- don’t mention Matty though, they’ve met.”

“He doesn’t like Matty?” I questioned with a pinched brow.

George’s shoulders moved with an unsure shrug, his back to me as he checked on the sauce he was making. I found it strange how I never knew he could cook til now. Or at least I hoped he could, I was supposed to be eating this.

“Nah, not that he doesn’t like him. Just thinks he’s a bit…” He replied, searching for the right word.

“Over the top? Eccentric? Loud?”

With a snort, George nodded. “Yeah. So, just be wary.”

I hummed, fiddling with the coasters that sat nearby. George’s house was nice, looked hardly lived in but it was tidy and inviting. Nothing as extravagant as Matty’s, but not quite like mine either. His family did well for themselves, you could see it.

“You don’t have to do this, you know. I was just pulling your leg earlier.” He told me after a minute or two had passed in quiet.

I shook my head. “I said I would, didn’t I? Don’t go back on my word.” I ridiculed, giving him a knowing look as I thought back to his first agreement over the trip to London. George just rolled his eyes at me and turned back towards the stove again. 

Besides, I thought to myself, I was here now. Might as well.

The telltale sign of a car pulling up onto the drive sounded then and my eyes widened on their own accord. “Oh shit.”

I was regretting everything now. I had no idea how to act, or what to say. I wanted to crawl under the table and hide until it was safe to come out again. My mind screaming at me to just make a run for it before I fucked the entire thing up.

I was sat staring a hole into the kitchen door, just waiting anxiously, when George carded a hand through my hair. I hadn’t even heard him approach.

“Don’t stress.” 

I glanced up towards him, then blew a heavy breath out of my nose, letting my forehead fall against his stomach.

“How can you say that? I’m freaking out, G.” My words were muffled by his t-shirt and so I felt it when he gave a muted chuckle in return. Strangely, the movement soothed me, but the gentle hand he held to the back of my head helped too. 

“You’ll be fine, B.” He murmured out into the kitchen and I pulled away when I heard the front door rattle. “Besides, when have I ever let you down?”

I released a shallow breath and then plastered on a more convincing smile. I caught George’s hand in mine just before he went back to watching the boiling pot and squeezed the digits, he returned the gesture kindly. I was thankful to have him, I realised in that moment, the easy way we worked only just hitting me then.

George was back by the stove when the kitchen handle turned and we both glanced over in the direction of the door to watch his dad walk on through it. The man was tall, that was the first thing I noticed, he had to duck his head to wander through the frame so that he wouldn’t hit it, and he also looked a lot like George. They shared the same eyes.

“Oh.” The older man paused when he spotted me at the table, slowing his movements ever so slightly to process it. It seemed that syllabic reactions were also something that the pair shared too.

“Hi, Mr Daniel. Hope me being here isn’t too much of a bother.” I greeted him, trying for polite, my voice was quieter than I expected though and I noted the way George’s furrowed brow turned towards me when he heard it too.

George’s dad stepped further into the kitchen, placing a carrier bag down on the kitchen counter before he walked over to drop his briefcase onto a wooden chair.

“Not a bother.” His accent was peculiar, it held a hint of, what I could only assume to be, Dutch, that was overpowered slightly by his low speech. “And I’m Jules, no need for formalities. You must be Y/n.”

I nodded and gave a smile when he quirked one of his own, however tiny. “I am, it’s nice to properly meet you.” I told him as he propped himself into the seat sat opposite me. 

“Yes, I agree. Though I have heard a lot about you, George has spoken of you before.” Jules informed, analysing eyes flitting over to where his son was stood, pretending to be absorbed in his cooking, before they settled back on me, “He speaks highly of you.”

A genuine smile broke out across my face then and, unable to stop it, I glanced down to my lap in hopes to hide it.

“That’s kind of him.” I laughed softly and was pleased when George’s dad chuckled along with me, it was a resonant sound one that came from deep within.

“My son’s a good boy. A kind one. I hope he’ll turn into a good man also.”

The look he casted George was sweet, one I couldn’t relate to but adored all the same. This man held his son in high regard, he loved him.

George decided to grace us with a bit of input then. “Are we done talking about me now?” He quipped, looking a bit self-conscious which was new. “Just waiting for him to start telling you my most embarrassing moments or pull out the baby photos.”

I flashed his dad a hopeful grin, “I’d love that.”

Jules just laughed and glanced towards his son. “I like this girl. Where did you find her?”

George shook his head in retort, rolling his eyes but not hiding his fond smile. “She found me.”

The two of us shared a look then and laughed- he had a point.

“Oh?” Jules said, questioning gaze jumping between the both of us now.

“I heard him play. At school.” I acquiesced the older man’s wondering and instinctively he knew I was talking about drumming. “He was hiding away in the music room when I’d been walking past, decided to poke my head in.”

“Ambushed me, more like.” George scoffed, a tea towel slung over his shoulder, looking every bit like the chef he was feigning to be. 

“I did not!” I gasped.

George laughed loudly, I was marvelled by the sound but I didn’t let it put me off upholding my honour. 

“You did.” He affirmed, “Gave me an address on a piece of paper like some slick gangster and told me to be there.” 

“I- it was-” I tried to find the right response but he had me there- although, slick gangster was quite the compliment if I was being honest. “I was just trying to be helpful! Besides, you hardly said a word to me. I thought you hated me at first!”

George quirked a brow, as though this was a surprise to him, maybe it was.

Jules cut in, his question held a hint of mirth, “An address?”

George glanced towards his dad and nodded once more, “For the band. That’s how I joined.”

“Ah.” George’s dad sounded, “Are you in this band too?” He asked me.

George snickered and I tried not to glare at him as I answered Jules. “No, just the boys. I keep them all in order though.”

“The world would crumble without a woman in charge. Count yourselves lucky.” Jules sent a grin towards his son, it was toothy and I noted that the fine lines around both his eyes and mouth resembled those I’d seen on George. His familiar eyes found mine next, “Do you play though?”

I shook my head, if only. “I can play a few chords on the piano but I’m no Chopin.” Adam’s doing, that. 

“Sing?” Jules questioned and I found myself wringing my hands beneath the tabletop.

“A little. Not in front of people though.” I told him honestly, not paying mind to the pause George made or the way his expression deepened. “It’s something of my own.”

Jules looked to me then, really looked at me I mean, and dipped his head in an earnest understanding. “Some things are meant for the heart, these are the things that keep us grounded.”

I nodded too, thankful that he could relate in some way, and the kitchen settled into a peaceful lull for once. No nervous energy to be found. George turned his back on us to drain the pasta and stir a pot.

After a few muted minutes filled with George just puttering about, he padded his way over and placed two plates before his dad and I. We thanked him and he returned with one of his own as well as a bowl of grated cheese. He and his dad tucked right in, loading up on the mountain of parmesan, I however passed.

George cleared his throat once we’d all settled in, his foot finding my ankle beneath the table. I peered over to him but he was still staring down at his dinner. “I forgot to mention, dad. There’s this trip coming up.”

“At school?” Jules asked him, not noticing George’s awkward stance, the way his shoulders were hunched over his plate. I nudged my knee against his encouragingly.

“No, um just a group of us. To celebrate the end of the year.” He replied, having paused in his eating now to watch his dad’s reaction, who was still chewing happily away. “Camping.”

That did catch the man’s attention. “Camping?” He mimicked, one brow raising as he looked to George. “Where?”

“Down by the coast. Margate way.” Wow, he’d really thought this through.

His dad hummed around his next mouthful, then turned to me. I tried not to falter under his attention and the sudden pressure I felt. “Are you going, Y/n?”

I swallowed. 

“I am. It’s a big group of us. Seven or so.” I replied. In truth, there was an actual trip happening with some of the kids in our year- Vicky was actually going. They were all headed to some festival, a few of them camping out there, others staying in hotels nearby or with mates. When Matty had first heard about it he’d wanted to tag along, but then he’d saw the lineup and thought better of it.

“And your parents don’t mind?” Jules prodded, ignoring the sharp look George sent him.

“My mum is looking forward to the peace.” I joked with a soft chuckle, aiming to ease some of the nervousness I felt. “But she doesn’t mind, as long as I keep in touch and stay safe.”

God, I’d really pulled that one out of my arse, hadn’t I?

Jules seemed to buy it though and hummed again, folding his hands together. “When is this?”

“Next week, they’re leaving Sunday.” George answered, taking a sip of the drink he’d made us earlier.

“Your mother-” His dad attempted to say but George was swifter, “I know, that’s why I’m asking you now.”

Jules didn’t look too happy about the interruption or having been put on the spot, but didn’t comment on it, nor did he add to George’s explanation.

“I could call her, mention it.” Jules murmured, thinking it over as his eyes passed over his son’s. “But I don’t think she will mind. As long as you have fun, ah?”

The older man grinned and I felt the tightness in my chest loosen, going back to my food as the duo continued to talk more about the trip and then the football match that was supposedly on later tonight. 

I smiled to myself, figuring that this was probably the most normal family interaction I’d been apart of in a long time. And my smile only grew when George trapped my ankle between both of his feet, a silent acknowledgement.

He walked me home later that evening, hands in our pockets after having said a quiet goodbye to his dad, who’d looked just about ready to nod off on the sofa. 

It was quiet out and the walk was short so we decided on taking the long way, talking amongst ourselves, me staring up at the stars, him kicking at the pebbles we passed by.

“You never mentioned singing before.”

George’s sudden mention of the earlier topic faltered my step briefly, but I kept looking on. “Not something I tell most people.” I replied with a lazy shrug.

“Why?” He asked me, and if it’d been anyone else I’d’ve told them to mind their own. But this was George. George who new more parts of me than most. Who knew and didn’t judge. Who never whispered a word of it to anyone.

I rolled my lips against one another. “It was just something I always shared with my dad.”

George didn’t say anything for a minute or so, probably mulling it over, thinking of something to say. People always got so tense whenever I mentioned him. Death made people weird.

“You any good?”

That ask prompted an unexpected laugh from me and I peered over at him with a bright smile, teeth brushing against my lower lip. 

He knew me so well. I didn’t need pity, apologies, sympathy. 

“The next Britney, me.”

George grimaced and I chuckled some more before gazing down at my feet.

“I don’t know. My dad liked to hear me, said it reminded him of when his grandad used to take him to the local market down by the lock near their house. The women there used to sing on the barges that passed.”

George hummed around a sweet smile, “Will you sing to me?”

“Not even on your dying day.” I quipped right back, laughing when he stopped to narrow his eyes at me. 

“Come on, just a song. A verse!” He attempted to bargain but I wouldn’t budge, shaking my head.

“You’re going to get me in trouble, you know.” I told him with a laugh, “Was meant to be home twenty minutes ago, I’ll have to shuffle up the drain again.”

“Well, we’re already late so you’ll still have to make do with that drainpipe of yours, or I can offer you a shoulder up.”

I snorted softly, “What a sight that’d be if a neighbour saw.”

George gifted me a lopsided grin and continued on walking, “So no chance of a song then?”

I shook my head.

“Not even if I swore to moon the headmaster tomorrow morning?”

I wasn’t quick enough to swallow down my loud cackle, not having expected that response from him.

“As if you’d showcase your spotty arse to the entire school.”

George hip-checked me, “Fuck you, I do not have a spotty arse.”

“Well, how would I know? I’ve never seen it.”

“This your way of asking?” He smirked back, winking at me.

My jaw dropped at his blatant cheek, honestly so surprised I struggled to find a proper retort. “You wish.” 

George snorted at the flustered reply and continued walking on with a proud grin. He’d bested me there, we both knew it.

I huffed and let him have the win. Mostly because we were fast approaching my house and I could already see that the lights were still on.

With a sigh, I slowed my steps, all but lugging myself along the pavement now. George seemed to notice, but when did he not?

“You can always call me, you know? Just a text away.” He spoke, voice trailing out along the late summer air.

He knew I was dreading going inside, but that was to be expected. I always felt that way.

Instead of making any fuss though I merely grinned, waving him off. “I’ll be fine. But make sure you put your dad to bed, hey? Heard him complain about his back as he bent down to get in the freezer. He’ll regret kipping on that settee come morning.”

George gave me a small smile, finding amusement in my truthful words, but I could see the concern in his eyes. The worry lines that aged his face. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” I assured, smiling up at him. “Last day and then we’re home free, G!”

George nodded at the reminder and tugged a hand out from his pocket to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, fingertips trailing along my jaw ever so gently. I held my breath. Wondering if he’d finally close that distance between us. If he knew I wanted it just as badly.

But then he pulled away again and I tried to hide my sinking disappointment.

“See you tomorrow, Birdie.”

I gave him a crooked smile and pushed up on my tiptoes to press a careful kiss to his cheek. “Tomorrow. Night, G.”

…

I was on a bit of a high as I made my way around the side of the house, trainers dodging the dried out mud puddled beneath the kitchen window before I slid through the wearing wooden gate. 

George hadn’t made a move but it was a baby step. 

Ross’s words repeated on a loop in my head as I climbed my way up onto the garden wall to grab at the ledge sat just above the backdoor. Once I was stable there I shuffled my way up and over to my bedroom window, always just leaving it off the latch. 

‘He’s half fucking in love with you.’

‘But that’s alright, I guess. Seeing as he has no clue that you like him too.’

He was a wise one, our Ross. But I don’t know, part of me was desperate to believe him, the other fearful- of what, I wasn’t quite sure.

I forced out a heavy breath as I lugged my body in through the open window, being mindful not to make too much noise as I stuck my landing.

With a breathless exhale I spun around to close the window again, startling when I saw a figure sat in the corner of my room, looming in the old wicker chair I’d had there for years.

My hand jumped up to my racing heart as I processed the shock, biting back the sudden fear that crawled its way up the back of my neck when I noticed his predatory grin.

“Been wonderin’ how you’ve been sneakin’ in and out without me noticing.” Steven commented causally, as though it was perfectly normal for a grown man to be sat up waiting for a teenage girl in her bedroom. “‘Cause at first, you see, at first I reckoned you were just pretty stealthy. Funny that, what with you bein’ so lard.”

He snorted at his own joke, but I paid his cruel words no attention, far too used to the rotten things he’d often spout. Men were all the same, only Steven just didn’t have a single good bone in his body. 

I walked over to my dresser, fiddling with the rings there before I reached for a hair tie. I was trying not to show him that I cared, that I hated him for invading my space, that I wanted to run as quick as my legs would let me away. If I did then it was game over, he’d win.

I almost didn’t hear him stand, so I tensed slightly when a floorboard creaked beneath his weight. He approached from behind, his face coming into view beside mine in the dresser mirror. I didn’t look him in the eye.

“Where you been then? Out with yer mates, or were you gettin’ your leg over?”

Bile rose, it suffocated my senses for a moment before I steeled myself. He wouldn’t get the upper hand here. I wouldn’t give him a reaction.

“Saw you outside with that lad. Harry down the pub says your often with him, sees the two of you out late most nights.” Steven said snidely, “Do you love him, pet? Reckon he loves you back, do ya?”

My eyes flew up towards his in the mirror, “Did you want something, Steven?”

He whistled lowly then and I watched his mouth tug up into a menacing smirk as his eyes grazed over my face in the reflection, slowly making their way down to the curve of my neck and then lower. I kept my head held high even as I turned to slide out from between him and the dresser, only I wasn’t quick enough.

His hips jerked out instinctively and he pinned me to the wooden drawers. My mind buzzed, I was panicking now. He’d never gotten close like this. A punch here, a shove there. But, never like this.

“Let me go.”

“Why, petal? Don’t you think we could have some fun?”

“Let me go.” I repeated, firmer this time, fists steeled against the countertop. 

When he only laughed at my reaction I took the chance his ego gave me, kicking back swiftly with my leg to hit him just below his knee and buckle him. He did, but only just, springing out to claw at me as I darted my way to the bedroom door. 

I screamed when I felt his hands catch at my waist, but the handle was already in my hand and so I tugged as hard as I could. It opened, flying out to catch the side of my face. 

Shocked by the sudden impact, my head fell limply and I stopped struggling for a moment. His hold tightened though and I knew I had to keep on, get to the stairs, then to the front door. 

Just get out. 

“Let go!” I screeched, scratching at his greedy hands and tugging my body relentlessly towards the hallway. 

It was a game of tug-of-war, and for him I supposed I was the prize. But I wasn’t too easily won. I sent another kick backwards, he avoided it. I used the same foot to crash down hard on his toes, he yelped and loosened his arms slightly in surprise, enough for me to break out into the hall, crashing into the wall opposite my room. 

His fist collided with the back of my head just as my cheek bounced off the photo frame mum had hung there, I slumped lower, wiggling my way downwards and towards where I knew the banister would be.

“Don’t, be, difficult.” He grunted out. 

“Fuck you.” I spat back. 

On the floor now, I rolled over and ignored the carpet that burned the skin of my arms. I kicked harder, vision hazy as he loomed over me. He struck me again for talking back, like he often did whenever he was home, but then hit me twice more just because he could. Laughing about it now.

I forced myself backwards, the hallway was dim, the only light coming from the bedroom at the end of the walkway. I wondered if she was in there. If she could hear all of this. “Mum?” I called out, wailing almost. “Mum!”

Steven laughed harder at that. “She ain’t here. Even if she were, she’d be no help to you, you little tramp. Now get up!” He ordered and I felt the back of my hand brush against the wooden beam of the banister. “Up!”

I did as I was told, legs trembling before me. He struck me back down again, then ordered the same. “Up!”

I could hardly feel anything but the licking fire that flooded my veins, every inch of my body hurting. But I couldn’t let it show.

I stumbled to my feet, vision so blurred I ought to be concussed. He pinned me to the wall there, hands roaming, I whimpered and he only grinned, getting in my face.

“Pretty when you try, ain’t you?” He snarked. I gritted my teeth and thrashed about, spitting in his face when I couldn’t smash his head away with my own.

He worked his jaw for a moment, blinking once at me before another disgusting smirk replaced his thinly pressed lips.

“I could kill you, here and now. Make it hurt, do it nice and slow. No one would even notice. Would they? No one would be none the wiser. You hear me?” He hissed brutally into my ear, I was quivering now, whimpering as he drew closer and closer, pressing against me. “Yer mum would thank me, kiss my feet even, for having gotten rid of the tart she birthed. She cries, you know. All the time. Tells me she wishes it were you who died, and not your old man.”

I choked on a sob, thrashing again. He laughed joyfully. 

“Is that it? Do you miss yer daddy, little girl?” He taunted, mouth pressing against the skin of my cheek now, breath hot as his fingers worked at the button of my shorts. “But he ain’t comin’ to help you, petal. No one is.”

I turned my face further away from him, as far as I possibly could. Lip trembling and arms falling slack. He chuckled, shaking his head at me and tutting, but his mistake was thinking I’d make this easy for him. He could go fuck himself. 

As soon as he released one of my wrists to paw at the cut of my shorts, I shot my knee out, colliding with his lower half hard. He groaned in pain, fingers flexing against the jut of my wrist when I shoved him as hard as I could away with my free hand. 

He twisted the arm he still held as he stumbled slightly, but I couldn’t react, not even to the sharp pain that flew up towards my elbow. I had to take the chance while I still had it, thrashing even more and grabbing blindly for the ancient ornament my mum had kept on the shelf nearby for years. I brought it down hard once my fingers wrapped around its metal, smashing it against the hand that still encased my arm. He shouted out and in his agony flew his uninjured arm back at me, knocking the side of the ornament I still gripped and sending its pointed top sailing towards my neck. It pierced the thin skin between my collar and shoulder blade.

I pulled it free thoughtlessly, gawking at the sight of it before he came flying towards me. On instinct I chucked the hefty ornament back his way, catching the side of his head when he attempted to duck away from it. I darted towards the bathroom in the same second, the closest room available, and slammed the door shut behind me. Fiddling with the lock, it slipped through my fingers three times before it finally latched.

I looked around the room for anything to protect myself with, shaking violently, but my only option was the plunger and the cabinet on the adjacent wall. But I wasn’t even sure that it could come away. My next idea was the window. 

Steven banged at the door then, a flight of fury, anger creeping in from the tiny gap beneath it as he shouted at the top of his lungs. I was already crouched in the sink, heartbeat filling up my ears. I fumbled with the window’s latch, coating the white windowsill in red as I forced the tiny pane open as far as it’d go.

I glanced out helplessly, trying to actively ignore the harsh thumping coming from behind me. I was a whole story up and had nothing to catch me down below, not even a ledge or a pipe to help me with my descent. 

I paused for a moment to try and think things through, but that was my mistake, the bathroom door behind me splintered under the full force of his weight and he all but jumped across the tiled floor to grab at me. 

I didn’t even think about it, throwing myself out of the open window in my panic, but not quick enough it seemed because his hand wrapped itself halfway around my leg like a snake would its prey. I was practically dangling upside down out of the window now, my hands desperately clawing at the brickwork to find something to hang onto. Still kicking as he tried to pull me back inside. 

I’d rather die, I thought in the hectic haze, or maybe I screamed it.

I heard her voice then. Her screaming out his name, my eyes shot up to see a flash of her hair above me in the bathroom. But it was in that moment that he chose to finally release me. That he finally let me go. And I fell. Dropped. Barely even feeling the ground as I splattered against it, face full of grass, hip colliding with the concrete patio.

She called out for me then. Said my name. It was the first time I’d heard her say it in weeks. 

My vision begun to flash, coming in and out of focus in thick streaks, I dragged myself upwards. Pain radiated throughout the length of my body as I did, but I just kept on going. Knowing if I kept on going then this would be the last of it. It would all be over.  

Struggling, fighting with myself to just keep on, to escape, I staggered down the garden path to pass through the side gate and out onto the sheltered drive. I clung to the wall there, using it as a crutch to aid me along.

I could still hear their shouts over the ringing, the incessant ringing that distracted me from most of the pain. I kept on pushing, forcing myself out onto the street now. Someone was coming after me, I’d heard the door rattle open but hadn’t dared look back, too focused on moving forward. 

My name.

I heard her call my name over and over. 

But somehow, by some miracle, I managed to break into a limping run. My lungs ached and I was gasping for air, but once I’d made it far enough, as far as I was capable, I felt my body drop against the curbed pavement. Head buried in the gravel road, hand clutching at my throbbing shoulder.

Next thing I knew there were lights, people. Sirens.

I kept on screaming.

“Don’t touch me! Please!” I sobbed, utterly distraught, “Don’t!”

They couldn’t touch me. I wouldn’t- they couldn’t. I wouldn’t let them.

So many voices flittered in and out of focus, attempts to talk me down, to help.

Everyone had gathered around to witness, it seemed, and I caved further into my shivering body, unable to focus on their whispers, the gasps, the looks. I didn’t know where I was. I was too scared to even ask. Too shocked to notice the familiar faces that littered the neighbourhood, looking down at me. Too terrified that he’d find me. That I’d be dragged back.

I sobbed harder. Eyes flicking to and fro. Trying to assess the situation, looking for any and all warning signs. An escape. But I couldn’t. Head too heavy to concentrate, my thoughts shutting down. 

Then there was a scuffle off to the far side and I tensed at the shouting that pursued, someone nearby was ordering people to step back, to go home.

Home, I wanted so desperately to scoff. How could I go home?

“Hey! You can’t be here.” They repeated, their voice itching at my skin, tightening every single muscle in my body. “Move away. Step away now!”

“She’s my friend! Let me fucking through. Y/n! Y/n!” 

Breathless, my head snapped up at the call of my name and through my hazy vision, I caught a glimpse of him. Him. How he’d known I was here, I had no idea, but he was there.

“George.” I sobbed openly, and that was the signal that seemed to allow him access. 

He all but threw himself towards me and the woman crouched about a foot away called out a warning to him, but I was reaching out too. Desperate for that safety that’d been so easily ripped away from me. 

I continued to sob, for who knows how long. He held me, tight. An anchor and a protector. He never let anyone get near. The sirens and flashing lights faded, and all I could hear was his voice. He sounded so lost. I wanted to apologise. I wanted him to hold me tighter.

“Come on, B. You need to get up now, alright? I need you to let them check you over. You won’t stop bleeding.”

He kept on repeating himself. Over and over. I couldn’t understand why. I was fine. Terrified but fine. I didn’t need them. I didn’t need to be touched. I didn’t want to be looked at. 

I wanted to go home. But where the fuck was home?

It wasn’t back there. It wasn’t with him.

I cried harder. 

“Birdie. Hey, Birdie, babe. Listen to me please. I’m here. I’m here and I’ve got you. Come on, we’re going to get into the ambulance, okay? Together. Just me and you.”

Me and you. “Me and you.” I repeated, his hand tightening a fraction in mine.

“That okay? Can you do that for me, love?”

I think I nodded, I couldn’t be sure. Uncertain of which way was up and which way was down. I leaned against his sturdy frame. “George, I lied.” I gasped out to him through my relentless spluttering, clawing at his chest. 

He didn’t reply.

“I lied, G! I said I’d be fine.” I cracked, barely even aware of the words I was spewing to him. “Can you stay? Please can you stay? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

He wrapped himself further around me, hand in my matted hair. 

“Yeah, Birdie. I’ll stay. I’m not going nowhere.” He assured me, gentle as he lifted me up and into the ambulance. “I’ve got you.”

—

I’d always hated hospitals. Ever since my dad had died. 

I hated the fact that I was here again, in the same one he’d left us in. Left me in. 

I didn’t pay much attention to anything, only ever reacting when someone touched me without warning. Waking when a nurse would pop her head in or when someone would pass outside the door.

George was dozing in the chair beside my bed. I couldn’t remember calling him. I couldn’t remember much. I suppose I didn’t want to.

I ached. Everywhere.

But it was my mind that caused the most pain. Relentless in its pursuit to keep me under. To never let me forget.

I could still feel his hands. The groping, the press of his mouth. The breath on my ear. 

I shivered, forcing back the tears and swallowing past the harsh lump.

My eyes fluttered again. Heavy now. Heavier than ever. The room faded, George’s faint breaths lulling my mind, sleep dragging me under. 

——

“Fuck!” George hissed out, slamming his fist into the opposing wall to keep from chucking up whatever else his stomach had left to give. “Fuck.” He repeated, only with a lot less conviction, less drive.

She wouldn’t stop crying. She wouldn’t let them come near. She’d been so defenceless.

And where was I? His head screamed at him.

Where the hell was I?

His fist collided with the wall above the toilet again, face scrunched up tight to keep from crying too.

His breaths grew ragged, hands clenched hard enough to hurt, all whilst feeling sick to his stomach. 

He startled.

A knock had sounded from just outside and he inhaled a sharp breath, waiting a moment, before he croaked out, “Yeah?”

He sounded so weak. Voice shaking.

“Um, there’s a call here for you, sir.” An unfamiliar voice spoke through the thick door, “Asking for a George Daniel.”

He swallowed thickly, the action doing nothing at all to dull the nausea that rolled through him. “Yeah.” He rasped in reply, pulling the toilet chain and moving towards the door as his insides flushed away.

He stepped out into the quiet corridor, to where she now laid asleep in the room opposite. George’s tired, albeit alert, gaze honed in on a nurse dressed in blue staring carefully back at him. 

“They’ve phone three times now.” She told him, voice soft. “I kept them on the line, but I can’t hold them off any longer.”

George swallowed again and nodded to her, casting a long glance into the room beside them.

The nurse followed his eye, “She’s strong. They’ll let her go soon enough.”

He dipped his head and reluctantly let her lead him down towards the ward’s reception desk, to where a phone was sat off the hook. She gestured towards it with a nod and then left him to it.

It was late enough that there weren’t many people mulling about, let alone any visitors, he’d only been allowed to stay because she’d refused to be treated otherwise.

“Hello?” George answered, voice cracking, having picked up the phone and brought it to his ear.

“Fuck. George, that you, mate?”

Ross.

“Yeah, yeah it’s me.” He answered in a slow breath, “How’d you know to call?”

“It’s everywhere, mate. They say she got jumped, is it true? Is she alright?”

Jumped.

His mind lingered on that word. Staring off down the corridor. Lingered on the fact that people in their shitty fucking town were already gossiping about it. It made him hate himself a little bit more.

“She’s asleep.” Was all that he replied.

“Is she. Okay. George.” Ross demanded before the line went quiet once more, eerily George could still hear the other boy’s resolved glare from down the phone. It was a hard image not to picture.

“She’s,” He had to pause, force down the wetness in his tone, the tears that were coming. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Ross stressed and George had never heard him sound so serious. So grown up.

“They found her on the road just off of mine. Some woman.” He swallowed again, though the salvia was just pooling in his mouth at this point. “Y/n. She, she was screaming- sobbing. I only knew about it when I heard the sirens, the lights. I- I just had a feeling, Ross. I ran down, hoping, praying, but… Fuck.”

He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and pinched the bridge of his nose, breaths laboured.

“George?” Ross called out to him, “You still there?”

“Yeah,” He rasped in reply, straining to keep his voice even as he wet the flesh of his lip. “She. She’s been checked over, they have her on a drip. No broken bones, just a few sprains. Said she jumped from a window.”

“She did what?”

“I don’t know. I don’t fucking know what happened, but it weren’t good.” George muttered to himself, bloodshot eyes trained on an off-centred tile a way away. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say. She- there was so much blood, Ross.”

“Blood? What the fuck are you talking about, what went on?” Ross hissed down the phone, George knew that he wasn’t really asking him.

“Stab wound to her shoulder.” He answered though, needing to get it all out, in fear he’d never be able to again. “Wasn’t very deep but they stitched it up. Along with the cut on her head.”

“Hang on- stabbed? George, what?”

“I don’t know, Ross!” He stressed, tears blurring his vision now as he thought back to her sat there on that roadside, beaten, alone, sobbing. “I don’t know, okay! I just- I don’t know what to do. What do I do? What do I say?”

A long pause.

“It’s my fault.” He whispered brokenly into the receiver, “I let her leave. I let her go home.” He admitted quietly, tear rolling down the skin of his cheek. “It’s my fault, Ross.”

“G… mate, you can’t say that. It’s- you didn’t know.”

He did. He knew. He’d known for a long time how bad it was. How bad it’d been. He knew. He knew. He knew. 

“It’s all my fault.”

A piercing scream startled him then and he all but dropped the phone to dart in its direction. Three long strides and he was at her door, shouting at the idiot that’d come in to tamper with the IV beside her, his entire body trembling. 

“Get out!” He demanded, hands shaking in fury, in fear. Before he looked towards her, hating that he saw that same terror reflected on her face. He rushed to her side and she grabbed aimlessly for his hand, he let her take it. Let her burrow her face in his chest as he wrapped an arm around her and settled on the edge of the bed. “I’m here.” He murmured into her hair, “I’m here, Birdie.”

——

No one should’ve known, no one had heard it from me. 

But everyone did.

The police had been by. Twice.

So had Matty’s mum, she’d charged in this morning and started making demands. Not daring to touch me, to ask questions.

She sat with me whilst they ran more tests, George outside with the boys. They were quiet. All four of them. I would’ve felt humiliated, deep down I probably did, but I couldn’t feel much of anything with how horrified I was. With how my mind never let up, never let me rest.

He’d been arrested, an officer had told me. Not charged, not yet. Maybe not ever.

My mum had come by asking questions, someone had sent her away. I hadn’t seen her. 

Next thing I knew I was being carted out of the hospital and into the back of Denise’s car with a pile of leaflets and a therapist to contact. No one said a word. 

The police were outside of Matty’s when we arrived, I ignored them until my eyes found George hunched on the settee. He was still in the same trackie bottoms from before, I could tell because they were still littered with specs of my blood. The white t-shirt was gone though, replaced by one of Matty’s biggest hoodies, which still looked too small on him.

Denise and George stayed with me whilst I was questioned again, repeating the same answers again and again. The boys just outside. I told the officers most of what happened. Told them about the way he’d treated me, and mum. How she wasn’t to blame. How scared she’d been. Liar. 

They spoke to Denise as though I wasn’t there afterwards and, in a way, I supposed I wasn’t. Not really. Mind off elsewhere.

George had let me hold his hand through the entire thing, fingers pale against mine. He’d kept looking at me, every few seconds, as though he was scared I was going to disappear or maybe just fall apart.

I kept thinking back to him. To the ambulance ride. To the whispers he’d gifted me, the promises he’d made. How I’d lied. Liar. 

School had been and gone, my last day snatched from not just me, but all the boys too.

Denise let me have the guest room, running me a hot bath and laying out some clothes. I’d been thankful for the offer but wary, George had followed me up in silence and then planted himself on the floor outside the bathroom without a word.

He’d still been there when I’d let the door creak back open, lifted his head and given me a tired smile before we’d both puttered into the bedroom.

It was barely even afternoon before I crawled into the bed upstairs. Larger than I was used to, having been holed up on the same twin sized mattress I’d had since I was thirteen.

I was fearful that George would go home at that point, but he merely showered and borrowed some more clothes off of Matty. He dwarfed them but I smiled as he entered the room to silently set up the blow up mattress Denise had brought in.

Matty had stopped by to say goodnight, pain in his pretty brown eyes, but with a brave smile limning his lips. I’d let him squeeze my hand before he’d left, shutting the door quietly behind him. George took up space on the mattress below and I shuffled all the way to one end of the bed to reach my hand out towards him. He took it without a second thought and I fell asleep like that, with his hand tucked safely in mine, his thumb soothing careful circles into the back of my wrist.

—

“Are you sure, sweetheart? I mean, you’re barely even out of hospital.” Denise fussed over me as I waited for George to join us downstairs. 

It was finally Sunday. Which meant we were leaving. 

“I’m sure.” I told her quietly, she hid her frown well but I could still see it there, behind the lingering look she gave me.

“At least let me drop you both to the station, or pack you something to take with you.” Denise continued, I smiled when she cradled my cheek. “You’ve hardly eaten since I’ve seen you! Worries me.”

I knew it did. Matty had already brought me up both breakfast and lunch, and it was barely gone ten.

“I’ll take the lift if you really are offering.” I acquiesced and watched a smile bloom on her face.

“Right then, I’ll go grab my keys.”

She puttered off just before George shuffled his way down the stairs, Matty talking his ear off all the while. I smiled at the sight of them, at the way George rolled his tired eyes.

He’d hardly slept, same as me, but I still felt a twinge of guilt ripple through me when he caught my staring. 

“Oh look! It’s the second half to the pair of traitors I once called friends.” Matty scoffed as he bounced off the third step and dropped down onto the floor, he turned his nose up at me and I rolled my eyes in return. Unfazed by his melodramatics.

“Don’t be jealous, Healy. You’ll always be my favourite.” I smirked at him, hoping it looked as genuine as it felt. 

Matty grinned in turn whilst George settled the duffle he’d picked up from his yesterday by the front door, he strolled back over to join us.

“Hear that, G? I’m her favourite.” Matty boasted, sniffing with an overly pleased smile.

George wrapped an arm around my shoulder and, naturally, I leant into him. “Don’t think it matters, mate. You’ll still be stuck here, whilst we’re off in the city.”

Yeah. Matty now knew of our little secret. 

It had all come out late last night, when I’d fought tooth and nail with George about the trip down south. I still wanted to go, more now than ever. But he’d had his reservations.

With a childish scowl, Matty made a face in retaliation and propped himself up against the banister bar. “Still can’t believe you lied to us. I mean, where’s your sense of camaraderie?”

I chuckled to myself, hiding the soft sound in the groove of George’s shoulder.

“I’m stuck here, all fucking summer long, with Hann and Ross… mum too! I can already picture it! The four of us down at the pub, just drowning our sorrows and sniffling into our pints. You can’t actually leave me here with them!”

When I glanced back up Matty had seemingly decided to drop to his knees to beg for an invitation, hands clasped before him, that was also the same moment Denise decided to pop back in.

“Oh, Jesus Christ, Matthew. What in heavens are you up to now?” She scolded with a half-hearted huff, tutting as she shook her head at her eldest son. 

“I’m making a plea, mum.” Matty told her in all seriousness, barely sparing her a glance as she passed by. 

“For goodness sake.” Denise sighed, unable to do much else, which was almost always a given with anything Matty related. “Get up off the floor and make yourself useful, would you? I’ve got the hoover plugged in, be a dear and run over the rugs for me.”

Matty’s hands fell limply to his sides just as his mouth dropped in disbelief. He glanced back towards George and I. “You see what kind of hell you’re leaving me in? What teenage boy hoovers??” 

“Mine!” Denise told him simply, poking at his shoulder to get him to stand with smile, “Now, run along. I’ve got to drop these two off before their train leaves, haven’t I?”

George and I took that as our queue to start grabbing at our things, him swiping up the small suitcase Denise had taken from mine yesterday before I had the chance. I flattened my expression, showing my displeasure. 

“Mum.” Matty all but whined, neither one of them paying much attention to us now. “Can’t I just come? You know, see my mates off and all.”

Denise wasn’t a woman to be bargained with. “No, you’ll see them soon enough. Now, if you’d like to make your goodbyes while I start the car then have at.”

I bit back the giggle that wanted to escape me upon seeing Matty’s dejected face, whilst Denise double checked for her car keys and purse then slid out the front door yelling, “Five minutes!”

“You make it sound like I’d been sentenced to death, woman!” Matty shouted out after her and his mum’s reply was what broke the dam, letting a flood of muffled laughter escape me. “Hoover and you might just live to tell the tale, Matthew!”

Matty grumbled to himself, shaking his head before he peered back over at us with his hands on his hips, looking like a little old lady.

“So, you know what happened here then if I’m missing when you two get back.” He sighed, as though he’d already gone and accepted his fate. “Tell the coppers it was her, yeah? And have a party at my funeral, no fuckin’ tears or nothin’ either. Oh, and I want my coffin a bright pink, the flowers can-”

“Matt.” George spoke with an amused chuckle, cutting into Matty’s longwinded rant. He opened his arm out wide and snorted when the curly haired freak catapulted himself across the hall at him. 

“Gonna miss you lot.” Matty mumbled into George’s shoulder before he pulled away and stepped towards me, a little warily. I moved over to him, silently assuring him that I wanted a good cuddle too. He grinned down at me and I felt him press a gentle peck to the top of my head when he’d wrapped me up in his arms. “Make sure you bring me something back, yeah? Something sick.”

I smiled fondly as we parted, squeezing his fingers briefly. “Promise.”

Matty’s gaze trailed between the two of us then and a sly smirk begun to overwhelm his features. “And I want all the details about this-” he waved a hand between us, “when you get back.”

The fucker. Way to make things awkward, I thought. 

I honestly did go to correct him, to tell him that nothing had happened between George and I. But G beat me to it. 

Well, not really, because he didn’t deny anything of the sort, just laughed as he treaded closer to the door. “Bye, Matty.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Matty called out after us, and I chuckled as I followed George out. 

Always one to make a scene though, Matty stood and waved us off from the front step of the house once we’d both settled in the car and Denise had just begun to pull away.

His mum only sighed.

—

I shifted again for what felt like the umpteenth time. 

I was uncomfortable. Incredibly so, enough that I was quickly beginning to regret having been so stubborn about not postponing this entire trip when the offer had been there.  

“You alright?” George asked from where he sat across the table from me, his hands toying with a ticket. 

We were on the train now, the journey just under three hours. But we weren’t even a quarter of the way through yet and I was already dreading the rest of it.

I nodded in reply, still shuffling about. “Just can’t get comfortable.”

My body ached, my head and spine were bruised to bits, but it was just my hip that wouldn’t allow me to settle in my seat. The doctors reckoned I’d sprained it falling out that upstairs window, but they couldn’t do anything for the cramping I kept feeling other than offer me a prescription, which had just been an over-the-counter pain relief.

Tough fucking luck, hey?

“Here.” George motioned to me. I watched him jump up from the seat he’d fallen into when we’d first boarded and then jerk his head down at it. 

I frowned slightly but stood carefully before rounding the tiny table which had separated us, observing closely as he rolled up his hoodie and bundled it against the car’s window. He ushered me in afterwards and I went, letting him take the seat beside me so that he could pull my legs up to lay across his lap.

“Better?” He questioned, a hand wrapped loosely around my ankle now.

I smiled and gifted him a grateful nod. It’d helped a ton actually.

“Good.” He replied, then pulled out a tiny notebook from the duffle he’d brought with him, “‘Cause now there’ll be no excuses when I beat you in hangman.”

I laughed at that. “Oh, you’re on.”

—

George’s quiet laughter only agitated me further as I mumbled to myself about ‘fucking trains’ and ‘toffy twats who didn’t know when to shut the fuck up’ as we manoeuvred our way through the hectic crowds of Kings Cross Station.

We’d spent the last half of our journey surrounded by a bunch of rowdy university lads, who were obviously on their way back home. But listen, because I’m the very last person to have a bitch and a moan about people just enjoying themselves or having fun- even when it inconvenienced me, yeah? But these fucking ignorant twats had really pushed my limit. 

I mean, who the fuck starts a loud debate over their fucking political crushes? And then go on to boast to one another about where they’d be spending their summers whilst simultaneously mocking anyone who holidayed in ‘the isles’ or didn’t at all. 

I’d sent a wide eyed glance at George when they’d first started up and my disbelieving frown had quickly grown into me just biting my tongue to keep from ripping them each a new one when they’d started snickering at the rest of us. At the tiny family down the far end of the car, with its single mother and her chocolate covered toddler who was sporting an upset frown. At the elderly bloke cooped up in the far corner, who kept nervously jumping whenever the train rattled too hard against the tracks. Even at George and I. Because of my fucked up face and George’s nonplussed reaction.

George’s calming hand had been the only thing to keep me stated. Otherwise they never would’ve made it to the station. 

Should count themselves lucky.

“Don’t laugh, George. I hate people like that.” I grunted out as I rubbed at my hip again, thankful that I hadn’t fought him when he’d taken my suitcase. “Looking down on others, acting like their shit don’t stink the same.”

George visibly fought not to snort outright at that and I huffed.

“Keep on, Daniel, and you’ll be hearing a lot worse.” I told him pointedly, but smiled politely at the ticket officer as we passed through the barriers.

“Don’t doubt it.” George replied, hiking his duffle up higher over his shoulder. “But B, you’ve got to learn not to let people like that affect you. Otherwise I’d be having to fight off every idiot that looked at you funny.”

“I can fight my own battles, thank you.” I retorted primly.

George huffed out a chuckle. “I know that much, but no one’s gonna hurt you again with me around.”

My gaze focused on the buzzing swarm ahead, at the giant boards hanging high above us, anything but him. “I thought we weren’t talking about it.” I murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear and wincing when I forgot about the stitches in my shoulder.

I heard him sigh and said nothing more on the topic.

We’d just about made it to the taxi rank, where Aunt Del had said she’d be waiting for us yesterday, when George spoke up again. “I’m gonna grab some deodorant and shit from the pharmacy over there- forgot to pack it in with the rest. You want anything?”

I watched as he settled our bags down beside a bench and then jerk his head over towards a Boots nearby. I shrugged, “Maybe a drink. If you don’t mind?”

George flashed me a smile, waving off the second part of my comment. “Diet Coke, yeah?”

I nodded, flashing him an overdue smile, “You know me so well.”

He shook his head lightly, lips still upturned as he headed in the other direction. I sighed whilst slumping onto the bench.

I’d been in London five minutes and already I felt overwhelmed. The station was hectic, even on a Sunday! There were people everywhere, lights and signs adorned every possible space, and there was never a lulling moment of peace. Everyone was just go, go, go.

Saying that, it was possibly the best place I’d ever people watched. There were all sorts of personalities down here. I mean, it wasn’t everyday you spotted a 6ft woman with a mohawk the length of a tennis racket walking through the streets of Wilmslow. Or an old hippy dressed in a black bin bag, waving a guitar.

It was pretty incredible. And I took the time to search for all the anomalies littered amongst the suits and denim jeans, a game of Where's Wally?. I much preferred their eccentricity.

“Alright, they were out of the stuff I usually get so I got this instead, smelt nice enough though.” I glanced up at the sound of George’s voice and spotted him making his way back to me whilst peering down at the deodorant can he held in his hand. My drink was tucked up under his left arm and he had a carrier bag dangling from his wrist. “What d’you think?” He asked when he reached the bench, holding the can out towards me. I sniffed at the scent whilst he settled the drink he’d purchased beside me and quickly tucked the bag into his duffle. 

“I like it.” I told him honestly, glancing down at the label. “It’s different.”

“That good or bad?” He chuckled in reply and I smiled.

“Good. You’ll pull any one you fancy now that you’ve got something to cover that awful smell that often follows you about.”

His eyes wrinkled as he pulled a face in retaliation, “Hilarious, you. Why’d I ever let you talk me into coming again?”

I chuckled to myself, grinning up at him when he moved in closer to swipe the deodorant from my grasp. “‘Cause you’d be lost without me- dead bored too.”

He hummed, as though mulling it all over. Then leaned down towards me, nose almost touching mine as his face broke into a smile. “Sounds about right.”

I wanted to crane my neck up in that moment, let my lips brush against his. It was all I wanted in truth. But I didn’t dare. Too terrified of how he’d react. If every lie I’d heard ever told about me turned out to be true. If I was just as worthless as their words painted me to be.

“Yeah. It does, don’t it?”

George’s grin was large but still soft somehow, and his brown eyes danced between my own whilst the station continued to buzz around us. He hummed again, rocking on his feet, edging ever so closer.

Smash!

We both jolted apart at the sudden commotion, heads snapping up and over towards the loud bang. We both snorted at the same time, having spotted the culprit.

“They’re a fucking whole different breed down here.” George laughed lowly, shaking his head at a hefty looking pigeon that had seemingly taken the opportunity to try and nab a sandwich from out of an older woman’s hand- only it’d flown headfirst into a shop’s swinging sign.

I could only agree with his statement before I pivoted slightly, pausing only when I spotted another older woman waving her arms about wildly just outside the station doors. My jaw dropped for a second before I found myself chuckling at the sight, nudging George’s side to grab his attention too. He only raised his brows at the mad cow dressed in orange dungarees and a striped tee who was so obviously waving at us.

“I reckon everything down here’s different, G.” I snorted before I was waving back at my Aunt just as eagerly, already gathering up our stuff.

“No shit.” Is all I heard George say in return.

…

“Oh my Christ, ain’t you just grown so big!” Was the first thing Aunt Del said after she’d sprinted over to wrap me up in a long-overdue hug. “My, I swear you look like the double of me when I was your age.” She breathed out, her bright red lips matching her cherry coloured hair, gentle green eyes gazing down at me.

“Hi to you too, Aunt Del.” I chuckled, smiling back at her. She hadn’t changed at all from the day I remembered her, just as bubbly and as lovable as ever. 

“Oh psh, none of that hello nonsense!” She retorted, blowing out a willowy breath as she waved a hand between us both. “I’m too excited! Have been ever since your Nan mentioned the visit. I can’t believe how long it’s been, doll!”

“I know.” I said in quiet agreement, my hand finding hers just before I shuffled over to reveal the tall teenage boy stood not too far behind me. “Oh Aunt Del, this is my friend, George. G, this is my Auntie Delany.”

Aunt Del’s eyes brightened as she took in all George had to offer, grinning a wry little smile before she squeezed my hand tightly. “Your Nana mentioned you were bringing a friend…” She let slip and then nodded her head for George to come closer, “But she never said he’d be a looker. How’re you, love? The train treat you alright?”

I gave a silent snort at the wobbly expression George’s face pulled itself into when my aunt tugged him into a hug as well. He gifted me a bewildered glance from over her shoulder and I shrugged, attempting to bite back my mad smile. He knew it was there though, I could tell from the brief scowl he sent me before they were pulling apart.

“Tall, handsome… you smart as well, darlin’? Or are you only a pretty face?” Aunt Del pondered as she stepped back and tilted her head up at him.

“Del.” I warned, but George’s mouth just quirked upwards ever so slightly.

“Smart enough to know when to use the pretty face to my advantage.” He quipped back easily, and I was relieved to hear Del’s sweet laugh.

“Oh, I like this one, Y/n.” She whispered theatrically, glancing over her shoulder at me before another flood of people escaped the station and she started ushering us away. “Come on now, kiddos. Parked the car over here, din’t I?”

My forehead pinched in concern, “In a taxi rank?”

“Well, where else?” Del laughed, dragging my suitcase along ahead of us while George shot me another bewildered look.

I could only assume that we’d be loaded with a hefty fucking fine.

But before I could voice that, or at least allude to it, Aunt Del had already pulled out a chain of gangly keys on an old piece of string and wandered over to a pink coloured cab.

I blinked at the sight of it. Del caught the look because she was grinning over at me from where she’d just placed my suitcase in the boot. “Good old Hewson here always gets a few heads turning, don’t you, beaut?” Aunt Del said as she patted the cab’s side, I was still taking it all in.

“Sorry, Hewson?” I questioned as she motioned to George to throw his duffle in the back too, “You named your car Hewson?”

But before Aunt Del could answer me, George cut in. He had his thinking face on.

“Hewson as in Bono?” He wondered aloud and Del spun right around to grin at him, he shut the boot for her.

“Bingo. I knew I had a good feeling about you!” Aunt Del exclaimed with a finger extended towards the chuckling teenager. She turned back to me, shaking her head in mock disappointment, “I thought for sure you’d get it, dove.”

With a wry grin I could only shrug my shoulder at her, “Sorry to disappoint, Aunt Del, but G here is the music expert between us.”

Del’s smile only appeared to widen as she shot around to the drivers side door, “Well have I got a playlist in here for you then! Only the greats, mind. So you’d best have brushed up on your seventies trivia.”

George all but beamed as he followed her over and opened up the backdoor for me, very much in his element now. I slid into the cab first, smiling at the leopard print seats and sequinned roof, then G swiftly followed.

“Oh, a gentleman too, is he?” Aunt Del cooed from the front where a pair of fuzzy dice hung from the rearview mirror, her hands gripping at the neon coloured wheel. “You’ve hit the jackpot with this one.” She winked at me and I looked away to hide my flush. “So my Georgie-pie, you get on alright with The Jam?”

George’s hand found my knee as he leant forward in his seat to grin alongside my aunt, the pair of them chatting away whilst she jolted into reverse and out of the bay. I gripped at the door’s handle to keep from being thrown about when we took off down Pancras Road, Town Called Malice blasting out over the noise of the noisy city.

…

My cheeks had begun to hurt from how hard I’d been smiling throughout the entire ride down to the simple terraced house my grandparents owned in Bethnal Green. From what I could recall, it’d been the house my grandfather had grown up in, he’d only inherited it after the Second World War when his own mother had passed away from fever, his father having died earlier on whilst stationed at the frontline. He’d raised both of his kids there, my dad and Aunt Del, after his stoop in prison, before they’d both grown up and he’d eventually passed on as well. Leaving only my Nan and Delaney left.

It wasn’t a very busy street, all the houses old and built right beside the other, but it was nice, pretty even. A vast change in pace to the busy streets of the city we’d driven through on the way over.

Del was still talking a mile a minute when she pulled up into a marked bay, only narrowly avoiding hitting the curb whilst an old Grateful Dead tune continued to blare through the speakers. George hopped out first, slipping around to my side and opening the door for me so that he could help ease me out as well, his hand stayed in mine even as we moved to join Aunt Del by the boot.

“Here’re.” Del said, divvying up the luggage between George and herself. I sighed, but it fell into more of an unhappy groan when I reached up to shut the back door of the car only to have George beat me to it.

“I haven’t lost all capability.” I muttered to him whilst Aunt Del locked up the cab and took off down the pavement, excited to get us inside.

George’s fingers linked between mine and he tugged me closer, his duffle back on his shoulder. “I know that,” He murmured into my ear, breath tickling the skin of my neck, “But it makes me feel useful, yeah?”

I sighed again, only softer this time around, as I slumped into his embrace, letting him have this one thing. At least for a short while. I knew that soon enough it’d start to drive me mad.

“You two lovebirds comin’ or am I gonna have to stand here all day?” Del mocked from where she was now rocking back and forth at the top of a set of high steps, stood in front of an indistinct door.

I shot her a sharp look which she only grinned to, before George and I ascended the short staircase too. Del already had her gangly keys back out again and we watched on as she shoved a Yale cut key into the top lock, shouting out a warning as she tumbled on through it, “Mum, I’ve brought back Northerners!”

I giggled to myself as I followed in after her, eyes racking over everything that they possibly could. We’d entered into a long narrow hallway where an old cast iron radiator still stood atop a mosaic tiled floor. The walls here had been painted a softened white and victorian blue, the blue sat beneath a moulding halfway up and spilled out onto the staircase that’d been fitted with a warm beige runner. Photo frames littered the place, diving beneath a carved ceiling arch and around a few brass fixtures. It was beautiful, homey.

George shut the heavy wooden door quietly behind us and I heard a shuffle sound farther up ahead. Del gestured us further inside, dropping our luggage at the foot of the stairs before wandering down the walkway. We followed silently, both George and I feeling the nerves edge in now, and we were quite surprised to shuffle into an open kitchen and spot a petite looking woman relaxed in an dining chair, cigarette in one hand and a TV Times in the other. She glanced up once we’d entered and the sight of her had my heart climbing to my throat, her toothy smile reminded me a lot of the pictures I'd seen of my dad.

“Well, ain’t this lovely?” My Nana chirped, already moving to stub out the remnants of her fag in a glass ashtray before standing. George released my hand so I could go meet her, legs trembling slightly. “My little dove, how you’ve grown, hey? All big now. Too tall.” She grinned at me as I dipped down a tad to bury my face into her neck.

“Hey, Nana.” I whispered, my smile shaky as she ran a soothing hand over the length of my back.

When she pulled away she pressed a thin, ring clad hand to my cheek, eyes taking me in. “You’re alright, darlin’. Looking so beautiful too. Oh, how I’ve missed ya.”

I chuckled wetly, but didn’t let the shimmering tears that’d begun to well fall, “Missed you too.” More than she knew. “It feels so mad to be here, I remember bits and pieces but not much.”

“Ah the last time you were ‘ere, ought to’ve been when you were about six. You made a right old mess of this kitchen. Treckin’ in mud and kickin’ your feet. My God, your dad had gone mad- couldnt help his grin though when you’d started singin’ that tune he so loved. What was it again, my darlin’?”

“You Make My Pants Want to Get Up and Dance.” I answered her in a whispered chuckle, the song a vivid reminder of days we’d spent dancing around this very room.

Nana released a sweet laugh and turned to Del, “You remember, don’t you, Del? The pair of ‘em, prattling about the place.”

Aunt Del shared a conspiratorial grin with me, nodding from where she’d taken perch over by the fridge. “Oh yeah. That one Christmas mornin’, it was all that’d been on. Drove me bloody mental.”

“See?” Nana enforced, hand falling to my upper arm, “What I tell ya? Might be gettin’ on a bit but my mind’s still as quick as a whip.”

I smiled, but that was when she finally took note of the giant stood crowding her kitchen doorway. George wore a soft smile that only grew in nervousness when my nan’s gaze sought him out. “And this must be the famous friend!” She teased, already motioning him over. “Come on, love. I don’t bite.”

George blew out a small chuckle and walked over to join us, surprising me when he leaned down to wrap an arm around the petite woman. My Nana smiled proudly and gently squeezed George’s wrist when they pulled apart.

“It’s good to finally meet you.” George assured her, his tone quiet, warm.

“And you, sweetheart.” My Nana spoke, smiling up at him. “But my, ain’t you tall? Remind me a bit of my Charlie, you do. He was a giant too, always dwarfed me in size whenever he took my hand. Only ever saw his tie when we was dancin’, and din’t he just love to complain of a sore neck, bendin’ down to greet me whenever he came home from wherever he’d been.”

I giggled quietly to myself, watching the pair. Enamoured.

“Got those eyes of his too, kind but quick. Too smart for yer own good, ain’t ya sometimes? Trouble finds you.”

George’s eyes glanced over towards me at that and he could only agree. “She does.”

Both my Nana and Aunt Del laughed at that, catching on to his sentiment whilst I just tutted and shook my head. “You’re lucky to have me.”

“Ain’t he just.” Nana confirmed with a dip of her chin, her blue eyes twinkling now beneath the kitchen light. “A right pair you make. Reckon we’ll have a few more stories to tell once you leave.”

“You’ve gone and jinxed it now.” George chuckled teasingly, obviously settling in fine, “Only got yourself to blame.”

Nana clucked her tongue, eyes on Del whilst she motioned her head in G’s direction, “Funny, this one. You hearin’ this too, Del? Quite the joker we have.”

I could only grin and watch on as my seventy-three year old nan cajoled George into the chair beside hers. It quickly fell though when I heard how she was planning to spill a few stories from my childhood to him. And I couldn’t even stop her because Aunt Del was already dragging me back out of the kitchen, claiming she needed help picking up dinner from the local takeaway. George merely sent me a reassuring grin when I’d casted an alarmed glance back over my shoulder, and I felt the anxiety in me fall away. 

—

It was a long while after dinner when George and I finally got the first bit of quiet since having left Manchester.

The four of us, being Nana, George, Aunt Del and I, had all camped out in the living-room shortly after Del and I had returned to the house with a couple bags of food- fish and chips actually, from this tiny little shop up on the main road that Del had raved about. 

We’d all been more than hungry so we’d been quick settle down. The tele had been stuck straight on, the very same that’d been there a decade prior, and apparently Nana’s preference for game shows hadn’t changed either, so we’d all spaced out around it, not paying much attention to who was winning or losing. Just talking about the things you did with family.

Nana’s dog, Cyril, had plodded in from the upstairs landing as soon as he’d sniffed out the food. He was this big slobbering beast of a thing that I immediately fell in love with. A great bullmastiff with a red and fawn-coloured coat, who’d gone and plopped himself down on the tops of my feet. George had been taken with him too, cooing to him in the armchair opposite and pouting when the dog hardly spared him a glance. Both Nana and Del had chuckled, Aunt Del saying, “Cyril ain’t too fond of men- din’t give dad the time of day when he was home either. Only ever noticed him when he had a lead in his hand.” George had looked determined though. 

When the plates had been cleared away, Cyril jumped up on the sofa between Nana and I, he’d sniffed at her leg before she’d shooed him off down my end, and he did as he was told, looking over at me with these big puppy-dog eyes. I’d let him curl up beside me, head in my lap, stroking the scruff of his neck as we continued to catch up, Nana asking after George and his life. She was set on getting to know him.

A couple hours had passed before the older woman had shuffled the pair of us on up the staircase when I’d started yawning though, and Aunt Del said that she’d let Cyril out into the garden before she took off home herself, promising to pop back round the very next day. George had helped tidy the living-room away as I’d said my goodbyes to her, catching Nana in the hallway once the door had closed.

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but thank you.” I’d whispered to her in the quiet warmth of the evening light that’d fluttered in. She’d simply taken my hand and gifted me a soft smile in turn.

“You were always welcome here, sweetheart. Just needed you to see it.” Nana had replied, “And anyway, I should be the one thankin’ you. Ain’t had such a lovely time since it was all of us living here together. Feels nice havin’ the house full of people again. And that lad of yours is a real charmer, in’t he? Lovely, lovely boy.”

I’d gone to correct her, mouth halfway agape when she’d just chuckled and pointed a finger up at me. “None of that now. Only known him a couple of hours but I see the way he looks at you, my love.”

It was eerily similar to what Ross had said to me all those weeks before.

“He’s patient too. Bit like your grandfather there. And gentle, which is somethin’ that’s obviously needed when knockin’ about with you. ’Cause don’t think for one second I’ve not noticed the big black eye you’re sporting under that makeup of yours, or the face you pull each time you sit or stand up.”

I’d looked away from her aged eyes, so full of emotion, to hide my guilt. Nana had only grasped my chin though and steered my face back towards her, “But that’s for another time, alright darlin’? You need sleep- must’ve been mental bein’ on all those silly trains. I’ll tell you something now, I never could step on another after the war’d ended, too many reminders, you know?”

Too many reminders. Yeah, that was something I did know. 

I’d only nodded silently at her though and the pair of us listened to the quiet murmur George had made when he’d tried once more to make friends with Cyril. Nana had chuckled and squeezed my chin between her fingers before George had stepped out into the hallway to join us, a little surprised to find us there. An apology had been on the tip of his tongue, obviously not having meant to interrupt, but Nana had swiftly cut him off, stating that she’d already made up the spare bed and laid out a few towels for us.

I’d given her cheek a gentle kiss in an unsaid thanks, still so beyond grateful, and George had followed, smiling to himself when he’d bent down for her and the older woman had whispered something in his ear. She’d shooed us on up after quickly after, patting George’s back just as Cyril trotted to stand beside her at the bottom of the stairs. Our light footsteps had trailed all the way up and then across the landing. 

So as I’d been saying, the quiet that’d settled upstairs in the far bedroom was something of a reprieve. As much as I’d loved spending time with Nana, Aunt Del, and Cyril too, it was nice to shut the door on all the noise and madness and take a second to just breathe.

The spare bedroom sat at the very front of the house, it looked out onto the street below and homed sash-windows which were currently being illuminated by the evening sun shining through. The floor was made of hardwood, glossy and dark in comparison to the lighter walls that had been panelled with pretty mouldings. A fireplace sat at one end too, directly opposite the bed, it was old, one I’d have to ask Nana about using, but had a delicate vase of lilies sat atop it as well as a brass framed mirror.

My eyes flittered about the space, taking in the ancient radio on the windowsill with its lengthy aerial, the large chest sat at the foot of the bed, as well as the wearing guitar propped up against the wall in the corner. George’s eye caught on that too and he wandered over to it first.

“Belonged to my dad.” I told him as I tiptoed over to the edge of the bed, taking a seat there as my gaze continued to roam. “It was his room, shared it with Del when they were kids but then she took over the downstairs den when she’d hit fourteen. Den’s gone now, think they knocked it through to make more room for the kitchen’s renovation after she moved out.”

George hummed and put the instrument back in its place before spinning on his heel, his gaze trailing between me and the bed. 

“You still alright to share?” I asked him, wondering if perhaps he was thinking better of it now. “I could set up the sofa if not.”

Shaking his head, George must’ve shaken off whatever other emotion that’d made him pause because he padded over to join me. “Nah, it’ll be fine.”

His voice was low and as he flopped down onto the mattress beside me I could only smile, thankful for the fact that he hadn’t changed his mind.

“Good.” I responded, grinning over at his slumped form sprawled out on the crisp white sheets, “‘Cause if you can spoon with Matty then you should be alright spending a couple nights shacked up with me.”

George snorted, hands resting on his chest, eyes turned towards the ceiling. “That’s different. We fell asleep on the settee, and he’s a cuddler.”

Still amused by the picture my mind conjured up, I hummed. “And to think you two once hated each other.”

“Wouldn’t say hate. Bit strong there, B.”

I rolled my eyes before glancing down at the spot beside him, silently deliberating. George must’ve noticed because he took my hand in his and tugged me down, laughing when I yelped in surprise.

We stayed there for a short while in silence, his fingers grazing gently at my arm, both of us listening to the heavy paws of Cyril on the stairs and the cars that passed by outside.

He inhaled a little deeper, “How you feeling then?”

I turned my head against the sheets to peer up at him. “Being here?” I questioned him and he nodded, “I feel good. Tired, but good. Happy. Didn’t realise home could feel like this, you know?”

George blew out a breath and scooted a little closer, close enough to drape an arm across the space above my head and come to rest on his side. “Do you want to talk about it now?”

I knew what he meant. He wanted to talk about that night.

I raised my good shoulder in a shrug. “Not much to say. I hope he rots in a cell for a bit though, ‘cause we both know they’ll let him back out soon enough.”

George’s jaw tightened at my words but his eyes stayed soft, locked on me. “Well I hope he finds a decent cliff and takes a dive off it.”

I shot him a look. “G..”

He shrugged, uncaring, but the gentle touch of his fingers tangling themselves into my hair was anything but. “Ain’t gonna lie to you, Birdie. He deserves worse. I-” His eyes slipped closed as he took a breath to calm himself, “Look, I can’t take back what happened. Turn back time and all that just to erase it all. But I can make sure that it never happens again.”

“You can’t be sure though, George. That’s not how life works.” I murmured into the quiet that followed his solemn assurance.

“Well it’s how it’s gonna have to work.” Was all that he replied to me. Ever so stubborn.

His eyes were still closed, that familiar warmth of his sheltered behind fluttering lids, I reached out to trail my fingers across them and then down the bridge of his nose. “This okay?”

He hummed sweetly, mouth twitching when my fingertips traced its curve. He was always so close, only ever a breath away, but even now it felt like we were toeing at invisible lines, both of us too afraid to make that jump.

“I like your nan.” He told me then and I huffed out a small chuckle at the unexpected revelation. “Del too.” He added.

“I’m glad.” I replied with a soft smile of my own, staring down at him even as he blinked his eyes back open. They roamed the entirety of my face, taking in every detail.

“They remind me of you.”

My smile broadened, pleased to hear that. “Oh yeah?”

George hummed a low confirmation. “You want to know what your Nana to me said as we were headin’ up?”

My eyes flickered up to meet his whilst I trailed over a constellation of freckles on his cheek. “What?”

He chuckled deeply, grin wrinkling his nose. “She said, run her a bath, will you? And keep the noise down if you ever do get the balls to make a move.”

A sharp laugh escaped me, eyes wide and alive. “I swear, she’s an actual menace.”

George smirked lazily, “Right though.”

I blinked, all humour suddenly lost as I stared back at him. 

“Right about what?” I asked him quietly, heart in my throat.

His hand stilled in my hair and he knocked his forehead against my own, our noses brushed just above the sheets and he gifted me the sweetest smile. “This.” He whispered back, right before he titled his head and grazed his lips against mine.

—

I’d been on a high all morning. Having woken up in George’s arms under a stream of sunlight.

There’d been a light scuffle out in the hallway, probably Nana getting up to let Cyril out, and I’d laid there listening to the gentle song of the birds outside as well as George’s quiet breathing. He looked different in this light, lashes casting dark shadows across his apples of his cheeks and lips poutier than I’d ever seen them. It’d been struggle not to reach out.

Instead, I’d reluctantly slipped from his grasp when the urge to use the loo became too much to bare and decided to finally have that bath Nana had suggested last night whilst I waited for him to wake. 

Yesterday had honestly been everything I’d been waiting for. With George I just felt so safe, so… loved. Was that a strange way to feel? Maybe it was. But I didn’t care, I thought about it though as I let the steam from the water engulf me, the heat of it doing wonders for my aching bones.

We hadn’t gone any further than kissing. Though if he had tried to cop a feel I wouldn’t of denied him. He was rather sweet about the whole thing actually and we’d spent the time afterwards shooting each other coy smiles as we got ready for bed.

I pulled myself up out of the tub once my hands had begun to wrinkle, hating the feel of it. I wrapped myself in a fluffy towel and combed through my hair once my feet had dampened the bath mat, but groaned when I realised I’d forgotten to grab some clothes beforehand.

Wiggling my jaw as I clasped my bottom lip between my forefinger and thumb, I contemplated just heading back out into the bedroom. George was probably still asleep and I could simply roll my suitcase back in here without waking him.

Yeah, that sounded like the best option.

So I took a deep breath as I silently slipped out of the bathroom and across the landing into the shared room. I was in for the shock of my life though when I spotted George sat up in bed, duvet pooled around his hips as he rubbed tiredly at his eye. His head turned towards me when he heard the handle lift and he stilled in his movements. 

I must’ve looked a right picture, frozen in the doorway with my gob halfway to the floor, and I watched a slow but obvious smirk creep across George’s features as he dropped his arm to get a good old look at me.

I narrowed my eyes in retort and feigned as much confidence as I possibly could with his eyes stuck on me, before I made my way over to where my suitcase was sat. “It’s rude to stare, you know.”

George laughed, it was a gruff and low sound, littered with sleep. “Just wonderin’ if I’m still dreamin’- nice sight to wake up to ’s all.”

I scoffed out a quiet, disbelieving chuckle, “Oh yeah, black eyes get you going, do they?”

“On you? Anything would.”

I flushed at his comment and dropped down to hide it as I worked my way through the pile of clothes I had in my case, gripping the top of my towel.

“Who are you and what have you done with George?” I tossed the question over my shoulder, still feeling his eyes on me. “‘Cause the real George would never act this shameless.”

I could feel his shrug ripple throughout the room. “Teenage boy. Besides, you know I’m the real deal ‘cause when have I ever lied to you?”

My tongue was in my cheek as I shifted through a few tops, he wasn’t wrong there. “I just forgot to grab some clothes before I jumped in the bath. Thought you’d still be asleep.”

“Woke up just before you came in.”

I hummed. Talk about timing. 

“You sleep alright?” He asked and I could hear him shuffling about now behind me. I wanted to take a peek, see what he was up to, but focused on grabbing what I needed instead.

What had he asked again? Oh, “Um, yeah actually.” Best one I’d had in weeks, if we were being painfully honest. “You?”

“Knackered after that journey yesterday but I stayed up a bit after you passed out.” George replied and I jumped ever so slightly when I felt him drape his arms over my shoulders, chin resting against the side of my head. “You look angelic even when you snore.”

I elbowed him lightly and shook my head. “I don’t snore, you knob.”

“Oh but you do.” George chuckled roughly, “Sounds a bit like this.”

He then proceeded to make horrible snoring sounds in my ear, making me cringe and forcing me to wiggle out of his grasp to escape them. “Ah don’t do that! It makes me feel all bleh.” I shivered to exaggerate the feeling whilst he simply laughed.

“What?” He exclaimed teasingly, “That’s what I had to deal with, all night!”

I chucked the top I’d been holding at him. “Idiot. And to think I let you kiss me.”

A beat passed between us and I feared I’d fucked things by bringing it up. I casted a nervous glance at him when I went to try and retrieve a hoodie or something like it.

“Surprised you broke first. Was betting that I’d have to.” George told me, wearing a lopsided grin, he walked over to the duffle that was laid open by the dresser and grabbed at a grey sweatshirt. “Here’re have this.”

I glanced down at it, then back up at his face. I took it carefully, “Thanks.”

He hummed and moved back towards the duffle to find some clothes of his own to wear.

I was then reminded of what he’d just said, “Hang on, you made a bet with yourself?”

George shot me a toothy grin, “‘You don’t do that?”

I shrugged, unsure. Hadn’t really thought about it. “So, we’re still okay then? You know-”

“After you kissed me?” He teased and I scowled.

“After you kissed me, you mean.”

“Whatever you say, Birdie. But I ‘spose we’ll never truly know.” He was being a twat.

“You’re being a twat.” I told him rightly, but unable to help my light chuckle, “You know you kissed me first.”

He hummed, unconvinced.

“G!” I complained but he merely laughed before waving me off.

“Go get changed, will you?”

“Why?” I challenged him, a bundle of clothes tucked up under my arm. “I’m rather alright as I am, thanks.”

“‘Cause you’re driving me half mad stood there like that.” He quipped back with a hand extended out towards me, “Besides, your nan will come looking if neither one of us turns up to breakfast.”

I grinned, “Reckon I’m that easy do you, Georgie?”

He paused and stopped his riffling to meet my gaze head-on. “No, I just know that if you’d let me I’d spend as long as I could admiring every part of you.”

Pursing my lips to fight my smile, I said, “Nana was right about another thing.”

George titled his head at me, sporting a pleased grin. “And what would that be?”

“You, George Daniel, are a right charmer.”

He snorted with a roll of his eyes then turned back to his duffle. “You love it.” He snarked back, sounding sure.

And he had every right to be, because that was one of the many things I loved about him.

Part Twenty-five>

[the-iceni-bitch]

You’ll Never Go Down to the Gods Again

Part IX/X

Pairing: soft!dark (mostly soft at this point) Alpha stepbrother Ransom Drysdale x innocent!Omega stepsister reader

Summary: Shit hits the fan in the biggest way possible when your father and Linda show up.

Chapter Warnings: A/B/O, explicit language, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, domestic violence, mentions of sexual assault and abortion, abusive relationship, religious trauma, medical setting, 18+ ONLY SERIES!!

A/N: Another fucking doozy, I’m so sorry, you guys! This heavy shit is killing me, but good news is there’s only one more chapter after this one. And just remember, they’re endgame!!!! It’ll all be okay!

I am no longer doing taglists so if you want to stay up to date on all the latest filth, follow my sideblog @the-iceni-library and turn on notifications!

Ransom heard the low buzzing of the hospital bustle suddenly get more intense and knew your family must have arrived, scrubbing his hand over his face and shaking his leg with nerves while you squeezed his hand. The way you were looking at him was only making things worse, like he would always be there for you and was the only thing that could make you happy. He had never felt like a bigger piece of shit in his entire life, he almost hoped your father would kill him.

“Yes, thank you so much for all the work you do, God bless you.” Ransom felt every muscle tense up when your father opened the door and kept chatting with the hospital staff, practically groaning when his mother flitted into the room followed by the giant bodyguards that attended your parents wherever they went. “We do so appreciate you letting our family have some privacy during this difficult time. How the hell could you let this happen?”

As soon as the door was closed your father dropped the facade, sneering at Ransom and stomping over to him while he just shook with barely contained rage and kept looking at you. He hated the man.

“You were supposed to look out for her, Ransom.” Linda’s mouth was pursed tight while she too glared at her son, huffing when he refused to turn his attention to either of them and instead kept gazing at you. “Why would you ever let that man anywhere near her?”

“It wasn’t Ransom’s fault.” You were starting to cry again, the desire to lean up and bury your face in Ransom’s chest strong but not enough to overcome the sedative they gave you. “He saved me. Please don’t fight.”

“He introduced that monster to you.” Your father snarled when Ransom continued to ignore him. “The fact that he almost killed that pervert is the only reason I think he didn’t have anything to do with this and I haven’t had him hauled out of here.”

“I want him to stay, daddy.” You tilted your head up to Ransom and choked on a sob when he squeezed your hand. “I need him.”

The door opening cut your father off when he opened his mouth again, his attempt to school his face abandoned once he saw that it was just the family doctor and nurse they had brought with them.

“The doctor here is a little too eager, she did not want to give up her chart. You might need to fill out some paperwork so she doesn’t raise a stink.” The man didn’t even acknowledge you or Ransom, just flipping through your medical records and talking to your father like you didn’t matter. “Wants to send her to therapy too, I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“We’ll find a nice Omega pastor for you to talk to, honey.” Linda ignored the way Ransom snarled when she came to stand on your other side and gave your hand a demeaning pat. “These doctors don’t understand what you need. And we’re still going to find you a mate, it will be someone who will treat you sweetly and take care of you.”

“Oh, I don’t…” you swallowed what you were about to say when your father shouldered Ransom away from you after the doctor handed him your records, chewing on your lip as he frowned at you and passed the chart to Linda. “Daddy?”

His backhand caught all of you off guard, Linda catching you when you screamed and almost fell out of the bed while Ransom grabbed your father and shoved him up against the wall with a low growl. He might’ve done more if it wasn’t for those damn bodyguards, thrown to the floor and pinned there before he even knew what was happening and left to watch helplessly while your father grabbed your cheeks and started snarling in your face.

“How much knot have you taken, you little slut?” He was shaking you violently while you started crying, ignoring the increasingly vicious growls that were coming from Ransom as he thrashed to get out of the hold he was in so he could tear the man off you. “Do you have any idea what this is gonna do to me? Were you even raped or did you just make it up when you got caught?”

“Don’t you fucking talk to her like that, you goddamn bastard.” Ransom struggled to get off the floor and groaned when he couldn’t. “I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Both of you stop, we’re in a public hospital!” Linda hissed at the two of them until they calmed down, storming to the door when someone pounded on it and popping her head out to reassure them. “Everything is fine, there’s just a lot of emotions right now, thank you so much for your concern. You two idiots quit thinking with your fucking knots, Jesus. Let him up. Sweetheart, you need to explain to us how you’re pregnant.”

“I am?” You rubbed your cheek and sniveled while Linda let you lean against her shoulder and patted your hair, looking warily at your father and trying to breathe deeply while tears continued to leak down your cheeks. “But that’s wonderful, Ransom…”

He groaned when you looked at him with watery eyes, feeling your parents’ gazes snapping onto him as he leaned against the wall and tried to avoid looking at anyone else. This was it, he didn’t know why he was surprised that he’d actually managed to get you pregnant since you’d spent your entire shared heat and rut locked together. They were going to kill him.

“You?!?” Ransom pushed your father away when he tried to get in his space, rising to his full height and sneering at the supposedly threatening look on his face. “You little asshole, I can’t believe I trusted you with her, you’re such a fucking pervert. You ruin everything.”

“Daddy, please stop!” You started crying harder when they kept posturing at each other, trying to curl in on yourself and breathing heavily while you felt panic starting to set in. “He was helping me like you wanted, we just fell in love.”

“Like I wanted? What the hell are you talking about?” Your father blinked at you then just growled as he rolled his eyes. “So you’re not just a slut, you’re a damn idiot too.”

“I’m not, why would you say that?” You were sobbing again, longing for Ransom to come hold you instead of his mother. “I was good, I did everything I was told so I could be a good mate…”

“A good mate doesn’t fuck her stepbrother.” He finally turned away from Ransom and back to you and you cowered. “Did he tell you he was helping you? He lied, you moron.”

“No, he didn’t.” You shook your head and refused to look at your father as your chest started heaving with tortured breaths. “You’re lying, why are you lying? Why are you saying these things? Ransom…”

“Bunny…” his heart broke when you looked at him like he was the only thing that mattered, and he didn’t know how he was going to live with himself. “I’m sorry.”

“No.” Ransom tried to go to you when you crumpled and started weeping uncontrollably, snarling when your father pushed him back and feeling his chest start to ache as you shook in Linda’s arms. “You said you loved me.”

“I do, I love you so much.” He knew if he could just hold you he could make it alright, but they wouldn’t let him close to you and he felt like he was going to start screaming. “I didn’t want to hurt you, please…”

“You didn’t care what you did, I can’t believe you.” Linda hushed you when you kept bawling, frowning at her son and rubbing your back when you heaved suddenly. “And now we have to take care of your little problem.”

“What do you mean?” You whimpered when Linda ignored you and looked at your father, your eyes flicking between the two of them and your chest getting even tighter. “No…no it’s a baby, my baby. A baby is a blessing, you can’t mean this.”

“Hush, do you have a sedative for her?” Your father nodded when the doctor pulled out a needle, snorting when Ransom tried to charge him and ended up pinned to the wall by his two goons. “We’re not doing this here. Linda, do your best at managing any staff that may have seen her test results so it doesn’t leak to the press. We’re taking you home.”

“No, don’t touch me.” You slapped away the doctor’s hands when he tried to restrain you, looking at Linda and your father pleadingly while she pulled out her phone to talk to one of her team members. “Daddy, please, don’t do this to me.”

“You’re not having this bastard’s pup.” Your father sighed when you pushed the doctor away again, holding your face in his hands and ignoring Ransom’s snarl as he tried to soothe you. “He lied to you, his friend hurt you, he doesn’t care about you. Do you really want to have his baby?”

“I don’t know.” You shuddered and tried to look at Ransom, whining when your father’s hold on your head prevented it and licking your lips as you struggled with yourself. “You said it’s a sin, Daddy. It’s an innocent little baby.”

“We can talk about this at home.” You missed the frustrated tic in your father’s jaw before he kissed your forehead, but Ransom saw it, and it made him try even harder to get out of the grip they had him in. “Don’t you want to go home, peanut? Away from all these strangers?”

“Mmhm.” You were still crying, and you were exhausted, so when the nurse brought you a coat and helped you out of bed you just let her, avoiding Ransom’s eyes and seating yourself in the wheelchair beside your bed. “Home.”

“What do you want us to do with him?” Ransom sneered when one of the bodyguards talked about him to your father like he wasn’t even there, wanting nothing so much as to call out to you when they started rolling you away.

“You.” Your father got right in Ransom’s face and smiled wickedly when he couldn’t do anything except grumble. “If only I could just fucking get rid of you, you little shit. But I can settle for finally getting your mother to cut you off and ruining your life. You come anywhere near my daughter again, though, you’ll spend the rest of your miserable life in a fucking jail cell.”

Ransom just sagged to the floor once they were all gone, running his hands through his hair and groaning at the mess of emotions he could feel rising in his chest. He couldn’t stop thinking about the broken look on your face when you found out he’d lied, hating himself and trying not to start crying when he considered how badly he’d fucked up.

He’d never felt so absolutely wretched in his entire life. He always knew he was a bastard, but hurting you was maybe the lowest thing he’d ever done. You were so good, and pure, and completely innocent and he’d ruined you for nothing but the chance to pull one over on your parents.

But he’d never hit you. And now he’d never force you to do anything you didn’t want to do, not even be with him.

He might not deserve you, but neither did they.

“Paul.” Ransom charged out of the room and found the detective leaning against the counter and chatting with the doctor who had been so kind to you. “They can’t take her.”

“She went with them, man.” Paul looked uncomfortable at the raw emotion that was written all over Ransom’s face. “I can’t do anything if she went of her own free will.”

“He hit her.” Ransom was desperate, sighing when Paul just gave him a defeated shrug and turning to the doctor. “He hit her, and called her a slut. They’re not gonna get her counseling and force her to have an abortion.”

“I fucking knew it, these goddamn religious assholes.” The doctor turned to Paul and gave him a look that would’ve cut through steel. “We can do a welfare hold or something, she’s a victim of a crime, Diskant, c’mon.”

“I just need a minute to talk to her.” Ransom scrubbed his fingers through his hair when Paul finally nodded. “And witnesses so I don’t kill that fucker.”

Maybe he should’ve been worried by the sheer number of cops and hospital staff that were suddenly swarming the parking lot, but he only saw you. He barely heard Paul telling your parents that no, they couldn’t just run off with a victim of a violent crime before her doctors released her and yes, they could have the number of his supervising officer who would tell them the same thing. All he saw was the doctor and three large Beta nurses arguing with your parents’ medical staff until one of them managed to pull you away from them and started comforting you when you began to mewl quietly.

“Bunny.” Ransom winced when you hissed at him as he knelt in front of you, fighting the urge to hold your hands in his while you cried silent tears. “Bunny, I’m sorry. I lied about my reasons but I didn’t lie about loving you, I promise. And you can hate me and never see me again, but I can’t let you go with them.”

“They’re my family.” You hated everything you were feeling right now, sick at the thought that you had betrayed all of your values for the man in front of you but also wanting nothing more than to bury your face in his neck and let him take you away. “They wouldn’t hurt me.”

“He hit you.” Ransom didn’t have time to be as gentle with you as he would have preferred, not when he heard your father starting to raise his voice as he threatened to sue the police department for impinging on his rights. “Was this the first time?”

You nodded, but you had never seen your father as angry as you had in that hospital room, or heard him say such hateful things that went against everything he had taught you. He had scared you, and it made you sick to your stomach the thought that your father could strike you for any reason.

“He’ll do it again, you know he will. He has expectations you’ll never be able to meet and he’ll take it out on you when you can’t.” He wanted to hold you and never let you go, you looked so small and helpless and the knowledge that you were carrying his pup was sending his hindbrain into overdrive. “He won’t let you keep it, he might say he will, but he and that fucking doctor will cook up some way to sneak you something then pawn you off on the first Alpha they can find who won’t care about how supposedly ‘used’ you are. Look at me, Omega.”

Ransom chuffed softly when you finally brought your eyes back to his, leaning forward until his nose was almost brushing yours and sighing when you placed your hands on his shoulders. Even after everything he had done, you felt safe with him, and only with him. You shouldn’t believe anything that came out of his mouth, but you still wanted him in spite of everything.

“I love you, Omega.” Ransom cupped your face gently and rubbed the tears from your cheek with his thumb, crooning when you purred at his touch. “You don’t have to believe me, I don’t deserve it. But I can’t let you go with them. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want, you can keep it, or not. But it’s your choice, bunny, no one else’s. Please don’t let them take you.”

“Ransom…” you felt your bottom lip quiver as you gazed at him, pulling him closer and nuzzling at his cheek until the rest of the world faded away. “I want our pup, I want you, only you, my Alpha.”

It all hit you in the chest at once; how much you needed him, how close it had come to the two of you never seeing each other again, how everyone and everything else seemed terrifying if he wasn’t going to be there with you. Something came over you that was close to panic, the thought of being apart from him painful and crippling and making you keen. You needed to make sure he couldn’t be taken from you, you thought you might die if that ever happened.

“Bunny, what are you doing?” Ransom looked at the nurse who was still holding your wheelchair awkwardly when you started nosing your way down his neck until your lips were pressed against his gland, groaning when you bared your teeth and trying to gauge what your intentions were. “Omega…”

“I want the bond, we need it.” You gazed up at him with watery eyes and he melted, cradling the back of your head and feeling himself start to tear up. “Please, I don’t want them to take me from you, my Alpha.”

“Omegamine.” Ransom nodded at you and rumbled gently when he felt your teeth dig into his gland, a thin trickle of blood running down his throat and the crimson liquid staining your lips when you pulled back to gaze at him with wide blown eyes. “They’ll never take you from me, I swear.”

You buried your hands in his hair and whined when he ducked and sank his teeth into your gland, your body arching towards him and your heart pounding against your ribs as a flood of emotions washed over you. All you could feel was relief and warmth as the bond opened up and your love for Ransom was mirrored back to you, crying when he brought his face back to yours and smashed your lips together with a deep moan.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” Your father looked like his head was about to explode when he spotted the two of you, Ransom kissing you gently and letting you tuck your face into the crook of his neck while he turned to snarl at the man. “I’m going to kill you, you piece of shit. Why the fuck aren’t you arresting him? He just bonded her without consent.”

“She consented.” Ransom could’ve kissed the giant nurse he’d wished wasn’t near you just a few moments ago, nodding back at him and stroking your hair while you sniffled at having so much attention on you. “She marked him first, and was adamant that she did not want to go anywhere with you.”

“I’m her father, she doesn’t get a say.” Ransom wanted to rip the man’s heart out when he heard you whimper, he was never going to let that man within fifty feet of you for the rest of your life. “Get her away from him.”

“That’s not how things work anymore.” Paul stepped between your father and Ransom when the man growled viciously, Linda holding your father’s arm and trying to calm him down while the hospital staff began wheeling you back into the hospital while Ransom held your hand. “They’ve got a witness, and the bond takes precedence over whatever shit you’ve got going on. I suggest you go home before the doctor here decides to trespass you.”

The two of you could still hear him screaming once you were inside, but you ignored him, gazing at your mate and relaxing when you felt him sending waves of reassurance and protection through the bond. He did love you, that was all that mattered, your body succumbing to the exhaustion that had been plaguing you once they got you back into a bed and he sat next to you.

“You’re safe, bunny.” Ransom kissed your forehead and chuffed when he saw your breathing grow deep and easy, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb gazing lovingly at you while you finally slept. “And I’ll make sure you stay safe, I promise.”

[draguta]

.a court of fate and fortune | twenty-seven.

pairing: lucien vanserra x fem!reader

summary: | book two | lovers separated, powers that won't be controlled, a doomed wedding. with the threat of war looming over prythian, lucien, Y/N, tamlin, and rhysand's inner circle must scramble to find allies and prepare themselves for what is to come. but Y/N only has one aim; to find her way back to lucien, and protect him at all costs.

chapter warnings: Sexual Assault

chapter word count: 4510

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Hybern

There was a chill in the air that morning, in those gardens.

That same chill that had blanketed over the court the night before. It seemed to settle in your bones; a warning of sorts, that what was to come that day was unwelcome. As if whatever higher power sat above - whether it was the Mother or the Cauldron - was telling you with the tools of the world itself that you should not be going there, should not be setting foot in Hybern.

You had to agree.

You huddled closer to Lucien, his arm protectively resting on your hip, pulling you toward him as if he could shield you from whatever was about to come. It reminded you, much to your dismay, of those days Under the Mountain, when he had been the only tether you had to the outside world. When he had held you close to him in that throne room, protecting you in the only way he could. You resented the comparison.

Your eyes trailed over Tamlin where he stood a few feet away from you, strapping daggers and knives to his bandolier, strapped across his chest. You tried not to grimace when you realised why those blades looked so familiar - Illyrian blades, likely gifted from the High Lord of Night himself in the years when they had been friends.

You had sent a message to Azriel before the sun had risen, using that enchanted quill, thinking of the Shadowsinger to ensure the message was sent directly to him. ‘Tamlin is meeting with Hybern today. Lucien and I will go with him. Will send word’, that was all your message had said, and the returning message had been, ‘Stay on guard. If you meet any threat, find the nearest open body of water and let Rhys know - I will find you’.

You hoped that Azriel wouldn’t have to go anywhere near the island of Hybern that day, but you couldn’t deny the fact that you were…nervous. So very, very nervous.

“Just stay close to me,” Lucien whispered in a low voice, thumb stroking comfortingly against your hip. It didn’t mask the lilt of fear in his own voice; no doubt Lucien had also heard stories of Hybern’s brutality. You wondered if he had been told them by his own father, who had fought against Hybern and the loyalists in that first war, five-hundred years before you had ever set foot in Prythian, or if it had been second-hand information told to him of that war by friends he’d met and made over the years after he had left his father’s home. “Stay close to me and I’ll make sure nothing happens to you.”

All you could do was nod in confirmation that you would obey.

And then Tamlin was turning to you both, Ianthe waltzing to his side. Silas and Rhyder weren’t far behind, waiting patiently to escort you to the island. Tamlin offered a low nod, and Lucien’s hand slipped into yours, squeezing it tightly, once, twice, three times. And then you were winnowing, clouded in a gust of Autumn wind that smelled just like Lucien, like everything that made his scent so addictive to you. You closed your eyes tightly, holding them closed, ignoring the slight lurch of your stomach. Lucien’s free hand came to your shoulder, tugging you into his chest, into his warmth - a safety net, as he had always been.

“Don’t be scared,” he whispered, barely audible over the wind that thrashed around you as the two of you winnowed from the gardens. “I’m right here. We’ll get through today, together.”

“Together,” you confirmed, echoing the sentiment that you had both agreed to when you’d walked into that marketplace to face the Wyvern. Had that only been a handful of days ago? It felt like a lifetime, the threat that letter posed dragging the days out with a never-ending carousel of worries running through your mind. And when you opened your eyes again - when your feet landed on solid ground and Lucien’s grip on your loosened ever-so-slightly - you were no longer standing in the flowery grounds of the Spring Court, but rather the echoey stone foyer of a castle.

It was as if no light had touched this place in years - centuries. Each and every corner was shrouded in darkness and shadow, but unlike those that provided companionship to Rhysand and Azriel, that yielded to their command, these were empty and desolate and cold. So cold. The foyer itself was long and empty save for two guards at the far end, flanking each side of a mammoth dark-wood door. That would be where the King was waiting, no doubt. You were too nervous to even be surprised that you’d be able to winnow directly into the King’s castle. Although, you thought the more appropriate term would be ‘lair’.

Tamlin arrived mere seconds later, his hand holding Ianthe’s tightly - you were certain she could winnow herself, but she would never give up an opportunity to get so close to a male, and a High Lord at that. Silas and Rhyder followed behind.

With everyone present, you began the walk toward that door, and to what laid beyond it, Tamlin leading the way. You stayed close to Lucien, tucked into his side. That plan you’d had - to appear as nothing more than a docile female, one who cared little for war and battle and the games of courts and kingdoms - had begun as little more than an act. But upon seeing this dark and bleak place, the act became the truth. You wanted nothing more than to return to the warmth of the Spring Court, something you thought you’d never want again.

The guard to the right of that wooden door held up a hand as you approached; his dark eyes, so dark they seemed almost black, scanned over the faces of each of you, face stoic. “There are no weapons granted in the throne room,” he said in a rough voice, his accent lilting and strong. “You must leave them here.”

Tamlin’s jaw clenched, but he submitted, removing his bandolier and handing it to the guard, before retracting a dagger from his belt. Ianthe, who held no weapons besides the words that slipped from her tongue, merely flipped her hair over her shoulder, batting those pretty eyes at the guards. You felt Lucien tense beside you - it had never been a part of the plan to go in unarmed - but one glare at Tamlin had him unstrapping the sword from his belt and handing that, and his dagger, over to the Hybern guards. And then Tamlin’s eyes fell expectantly to you. You blinked innocently, despite your rising fear.

“What?” You asked, trying to keep your voice steady. “I don’t carry weapons, Tam.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Tamlin countered in a low voice. “Not anymore.”

You held his gaze for a moment longer, intense and heated; he had no intention of arguing about this. So, you sighed, finally reaching below the bodice of the two-piece dress that you wore and unbuckling the strap of the bandolier that you yourself had worn around your ribs, handing it to the guard before reaching down and hauling up the hem of your dress, revealing to daggers strapped to your ankles - they also went to the Hybern guards. Then, from the bosom of that bodice you produced a small, hidden knife, one tiny enough that you would think it would make no damage at all, but was sharp enough to slit a throat with only a twitch of your wrist. All of the weapons that you had managed to procure over the weeks that you’d been back at the Spring Court, they were all handed over to Hybern, the first of many things, you were sure, they would take from you.

You straightened your spine, meeting the surprised stare of the Hybern soldiers, who had no doubt underestimated you just as you’d hoped they would. But it was Tamlin’s hard glare that made you sigh once more, reaching down the back of your dress to remove the sword that had been strapped against your spine - the same sword, encrusted with an amber gem in the hilt, that you had wielded during the Munera, so many months ago. Before you’d ever stepped foot in Velaris, before you’d known that Hybern even existed, before your power had exploded mere minutes later and had pushed Tamlin to lock you in that room, in that collar of faebane…

The guards’ eyes were wide as you threw the sword at their feet. “I want that back,” was all you muttered to them as you passed by, the heavy wooden doors creaking as they opened, as if they hadn’t been opened in years, and entered the throne room.

The throne room, so sickeningly familiar. The white stone walls resembled the cavernous walls of mountain hallways, the stone-tiled floor brought back memories of blood flooding between the cracks, and the throne…a throne made of human bones. This was the throne room that had inspired that of Amarantha’s own, even if the rest of her court had been built in the fashion of that place below Rhys’ Moonstone Palace, a place you had yet to truly visit. Your stomach lurched, swirling in a threat of vomit, and the way Lucien appeared at your side, warm fingers tangling with your bone-cold ones, told you that he was thinking exactly the same thing.

But you kept your eyes trained on that throne, sat at the end of a long dinner table that looked so out-of-place in that room that you could only imagine it had been brought in specifically for this meeting. ‘Clever,’ you thought, imagining that should Rhys have been there he would have come to the same conclusion, ‘take away our weapons, ply us with food and drinks, get us to let our guards down, and then manipulate us into an alliance that we don’t want. Very clever.’

For that was Hybern’s plan, you were sure of it, and if the towering plates of food and plain wood jugs of wine were anything to go by, you were right.

And there, sat in the throne at the head of the table, was the King of Hybern himself. You studied him for a second, even as his eyes remained trained on Tamlin as the four of you approached the table slowly, Silas and Rhyder left at the door to guard us, as Hybern’s soldiers were doing for him. He had a rather plain face, the kind that you thought might be rather handsome if he didn’t reside in a place as gloomy as this island. His features were sharp and pale, eyes as black as night, as black as Rhysand’s inky hair. Eyes void of any humility, eyes like the Naga, like a self-titled High Queen had once possessed. He’d never stood a chance of obtaining that ethereal-like High Fae beauty, not with a kingdom like this one, not with so little love or kindness in those eyes. He was always doomed to be plain.

“High Lord of Spring,” he mused, voice snarl-like, brass and vicious. You doubted a gentle word had ever been spoken by this male. “How gracious of you to join me today.”

“The invitation was received,” Tamlin countered, his own voice sounding so melodic in comparison to the King, “and so we came.”

“And we were so thankful for that invitation,” Ianthe purred from Tamlin’s side, her long, elegant fingers still rested on Tamlin’s forearm. “How generous of you, your highness.”

Hybern sneered, a devilish smirk, and motioned to the table - to the food set out for us, and the empty seats waiting to be filled. You swallowed harshly, following Lucien as he moved to pull out the seat beside him for you to take. But Tamlin paused, a hand on Lucien’s arm; his eyes flickered between you and the seat on Hybern’s left, opposite where Tamlin would sit on the King’s right.

He wanted you as close to the King of Hybern as he could get.

For what reason, you weren’t sure.

But with trembling legs, you took the seat provided, sat by Hybern’s left side, Luicen quickly taking the seat beside you, Ianthe opposite him, scowls on both of their faces. Lucien, unhappy that he had to sit opposite Ianthe, and Ianthe unhappy that you had been chosen to sit by the King over her. Hybern’s gaze seemed to trail over you, over the bodice you’d chosen of a Spring Court green, of the small daisies that Alis had weaved into your braid that morning - the picture of Spring Court nobility - such a clash with the gloomy and bare castle that you had found yourself dining in.

“I don’t think we’ve been acquainted yet,” he crooned, dark eyes flashing almost greedily. You fought the urge to retreat, to reach for that dinner knife and slot it into the space between his adam’s apple and the underside of his jawbone. He didn’t wait for anyone before he began eating, taking a large bite out of a chicken leg, grease dripping down his chin, eyes not leaving you. He spoke around the food in his mouth, “I like to acquaint myself with everyone who dines with me.”

“This is Lucien, my emissary,” Tamlin explained, cutting in to retake control of the conversation, even if the King had not asked, nor seemed to care about Lucien, “and this is my sister, Y/N.”

“Ah, so you’re the little female who killed my general,” the King mused, humour flashing across his harsh features as he gazed at you. You held your chin high as you nodded. “We’ve heard about you, even across the tides.”

“And we’ve heard of you, too,” you retorted, but stopped short when the toe of Tamlin’s boot hit your shin, likely to create a bruise that would take a few hours at most to heal.

“I’m sure you have,” Hybern continued, unaware or uncaring about what was happening beneath the table. His eyes drifted down to your bosom for just a moment, and then snapped to Tamlin on his other side. “After all, your father was one of my closest allies, and friends. I felt it only right that I extend an invitation to you now.”

You almost scoffed at that - at the idea that this King had any indication of what was ‘right’ at all.

He leaned back in his chair, taking his wine with him. No one else had dared to touch anything served on the table - you didn’t put it past Hybern to lace the food or wine with poison if it meant taking out a possible enemy - except for Ianthe, who pecked delicately at a slice of chicken breast.

“I’m sure you didn’t come here for pleasantries, however,” the King brooded.

“No, we didn’t, even if they are appreciated,” Tamlin countered. “In your letter, you suggested that perhaps you might be able to help me - help us - with something of great importance.”

The King tilted his head to one side in a way that made you think of a predator assessing its prey. “In return for something, yes.”

“In return for our allegiance to you when you decide to make your first move in the upcoming conflict,” Lucien retorted, each word bitten and sharp. He hated this as much as you did. The King finally observed him, studying Lucien carefully, eyes narrowed.

“Call it what it is, emissary,” he stated coldly. “War.”

Every body around the table, save for the King himself, tensed at the word.

Tamlin cleared his throat. “So, if we were to ally with you in the upcoming…war,” he offered a small glance to Lucien, who’s hand immediately found your knee beneath the table, “you would be able to help us retrieve what has been lost.”

“Feyre Cursebreaker,” the King of Hybern quipped, “will be returned to you, and the bond between her and the High Lord of Night will be broken, if you assure me that your allegiance will lie with me during the war. That will require your army, and any information you can provide me on the enemy.”

“A very generous offer indeed,” Ianthe purred from her seat.

The King bowed his head in agreement. “If you can offer me those, Tamlin,” he crooned, “then I will ensure your betrothed is saved from her Night Court captors.”

Tamlin seemed to bite the inside of his cheek, hard if the clench of his jaw was any tell. The King took a long sip of his wine, the silence between enough to make your heart pound, knowing that whatever it was he was working up to saying, it wasn’t good; when he pulled the cup away his lips were stained red.

“I’d like to amend one detail in our agreement, if you will allow,” he finally said, eyes flicking back to you. Tamlin nodded, but Hybern was hardly paying attention. “This girl - Y/N,” - Lucien’s grip on your knee tightened as your stomach swirled once again - “I’d like her to join me here, in Hybern.”

“She’s not a part of this deal, or any deal for that matter,” Lucien snapped, and you didn’t need to look at him to sense the fire raging behind that red-brown eye. “And if you lay a finger on her-”

“Oh, you misunderstand me, emissary,” Hybern said with a malicious smile. “I wish to train her. I’ve heard rumours of her particular skill set, powers emitted from a spell that came out of a spellbook that once belonged to me. I’d like to see what she can do with those powers.” He paused, his smile only growing as he beheld you. “And perhaps I could find other uses for her, too.”

And there it was, the reason that Tamlin had made Alis dress you up so prettily, the reason that he had made you sit beside the King; to show him what the Spring Court offered, not just in terms of armies and alliances, but in terms of females of which he could take his pick, should their alliance go through. The thought made you sick - Ianthe’s idea, no doubt.

“That is not on the table,” Tamlin snarled. “My sister remains with me. But…I will consider your other proposals, and shall be in touch soon.”

The King let his eyes roam over you once more, lingering at the neckline of your bodice, before he inclined his head. “As you wish.”

The remainder of dinner was…terse, tense. Lucien was stiff beside you, his shoulders pushed so far back, rigid in place, that you could only assume they would be aching the next day, and his gold-brown glare barely left the lounging figure of the King of Hybern at the head of the table. It was only when dinner was finished, although you’d hardly eaten more than one bite of the bland chicken and potatoes that were on offer, that the King suggested a drink in his study before you returned to the Spring Court.

‘Trying to butter us up,’ you thought. ‘He must really need our allegiance’. There was always the chance that the rumours of Hybern’s great armies was greatly exaggerated, and maybe an alliance between Hybern and Spring was something that benefited him much more than it did Tamlin’s court.

Tamlin gave a curt nod of agreement, and rose to his feet, everyone following suit. The King slowly rose, and you quickly followed Tamlin toward the door, where Silas and Rhyder were waiting for you, and the Hybern guards were motioning to a door on the left of the foyer, one that likely led to Hybern’s study. You stayed close to Lucien, but one glance over your shoulder told you that Hybern wasn’t following, and neither was Ianthe.

They whispered conspiratorially next to the table, Hybern grinning smugly, Ianthe batting her lashes at him - was there anyone she wouldn’t try to bed? Her pretty eyes flicked to you, and she tilted her head in a small, noncommittal smile; she certainly wasn’t showing you niceties, whatever it was she was doing, she was trying to hide it through that false beam. That blue robe of hers whispered against the stone ground as she rushed toward you, and you paused, Lucien and Tamlin striding ahead, until she reached the door.

“What was that about?” You asked, narrowing your eyes as she approached. She simply shrugged.

“The King of Hybern is an old family friend,” she said, her voice innocent and sweet - sickening. “I was just passing on their greetings.”

You bit the inside of your lip to stop yourself from snarking back a retort as she flounced past, sauntering after the males of the Spring Court as if she owned this drab castle and the barren rock it sat upon. You licked at your teeth in annoyance, but as you took one step forward to follow them-

“Y/N,” the King’s brisk call came from behind you, freezing your steps in place. “May I have a moment alone with you?”

You narrowed your eyes, heart pounding in your chest. No, this was exactly what you didn’t want. ‘You’re in control of your power now,’ you reminded yourself. ‘You’re stronger than him. He can’t harm you, not now.’

You turned on your heel so slowly and with such determination, that you half expected the King to flinch - anyone else would have. But instead, he smirked, almost as if he could see the power that you were calling within you, ready for a fight, and he…revelled in it. Was in awe of it.

“You are quite mesmerising,” the King crooned, striding toward you slowly. Perhaps he expected you to step back, to shy away from him in fear - you wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. He circled you, like a vulture circling its prey before moving in for the kill, eyes trailing over every inch of you. He was assessing you, you realised as you kept your eyes trained on that throne ahead of you, but for what, you weren’t sure. “You know, you killed my last protégé.” You blinked - of course, Amarantha had been Hybern’s general, and had learnt all of her nasty tricks from him. “She was…quite remarkable, but she failed, and if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s failure.”

You swallowed, hands clenching at your sides, ready to call on that red smoke of yours should you need it, should he show any chance of being a threat. But when his finger met the bare skin of your shoulder, you flinched, something he seemed to take great joy in, if the growth of that sinister smirk was anything to go by. He dragged that finger across the back of each shoulder, as he continued, “I’ve been looking for a new protégé ever since.” He tapped gently at the end of your right shoulder, cocking his head to look at you properly. “And you - the Queen Killer - you would be perfect.”

“Why would you think I would ever want to train with you?” You asked, although your voice came out more shaky than you had intended - damn your own nerves for giving you away.

“Well, why wouldn’t you, when I could offer you so much more?” He crooned in that snake-like drawl of his. “Why be content with what you have,” - he paused, trailing his finger down the curve of your shoulder, along the length of your collarbone, pausing at the notched dip in the centre as if he were feeling for a pulse - “when you could have everything you’ve ever dreamed of?”

“You know nothing of what I dream about,” you snapped. Because the things you dreamt about - a life with Lucien after this godsawful war, the little house by the stream that he had spoken about - it was something you could imagine this King would never have thought of, never would have allowed himself to dream of, and never have imagined someone else could want those things either.

“Oh, but I do,” he practically purred. “I know people like you, Y/N. I can see it in your eyes. You don’t want to be weak. I could give you strength.” His hand slipped lower, to the dip between your breasts, the point where your dress dipped toward the laces down the front. “I could make you powerful. I could grant all your wishes.”

His hand was so steady as he pulled at the laces of your dress. They unravelled, loosening the material at the front, hanging low and barely covering your breasts. Your hands shook, and you wondered if he could scent your fear.

“You’d never have to be weak again,” he continued, and as if he knew he’d hit a nerve, his eyes glinted. You met those eyes, and for a second you considered. Just for that second, as the memory of being locked in your room, of those years Under the Mountain flashed in your brain, you were tempted. So, so tempted. “And I’d only ask for a small payment in return. Something I’ve heard is easy for you to give.”

As his hand slipped under the material of your dress, cupping your breast, your shaking hand snapped to grab him around his wrist, holding him still. His gaze flickered from where his hand was hidden beneath the material back up to your face, and even as your hands shook, even as your entire body trembled, you held his stare, kept your chin high.

“I am not weak,” you said firmly, ripping his hand from your dress. “Not anymore.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he said as he cocked his head to the side.

You risked leaning slightly closer to him. “I don’t need you,” you declared. “And I never will.”

And with that, you pulled his hand from your dress, throwing it back toward him, and strode from the room. The second the doors were closed behind you, the tears came, your body shaking with each and every sob. You followed in the direction the others had gone, and when you saw Lucien waiting in the hallway, pacing up and down with a concerned frown on his face, you almost fell to your knees. He looked up at the sound of your croaked sob, and was pulling you into him in an instant, eyes scanning you for any injury.

“What happened?” He asked, eyes wide with fear and concern, no doubt taking in the loose material at the front of your dress which you held bunched together with one hand.

“N-Nothing,” you lied, although you knew your sobs gave you away. “Please just…just take me home.”

Lucien swallowed, glancing up at the hallway behind you where the King now lurked, watching the scene before him, and then back down at you. He nodded firmly, taking your hand but not letting you go as he held you close, and wrapping you in that Autumn mist as he winnowed you away from Hybern, and back to the relative safety of Spring.

Taglist

Complete: | @loveshineslikethesky | @elleclairez | @lostpirateinwonderland | @judig92 | @old-enough-to-know-better73 | @atrashsith | @chanaaaannel |

Lucien Vanserra: | @luna-foxglove | @lumos-barnes | @cumuluscranium | @dreamlandreader | @enrichmenttimeinmyenclosure | @rachelnicolee | @callmelovergirl |

[v3nusxsky]

Please could I request a lady lesso X non-binary reader who is 18 and an ever student. R who refuses to use magic because they don't get along well with their mother who they inherited it from ends up losing control one day unleashing their full power and accidentally killing one of their classmates because him and his friends had been bullying r for a long time because of r being non-binary (physically and emotionally). Recently they have been threatening to sexually assault them which r has experienced in the past so when one of them gropes r they go into fight or flight. R ends up having a breakdown not only having to relive the trauma they went through in the past but also the new fear that they will be expelled or worse. This causes r to run and hide as soon as the boys friends come back with dovey and lesso. Lesso is the one who ends up finding r who is a complete wreck and comforts them while having them explain what happened. Lesso tells r that it's not their fault and she'll make sure r isn't punished. Lesso takes r back to her room since r ended up in the school for evil and cuddles with them in bed letting r play with her hair and giving them little kisses all over their face telling them how beautiful and valid they are.

Perfect as a peach

*Authors note ~ I'm gonna base reader off my oc Isadora of storybrook (ouat) I hope that's okay but I couldn't resist with this prompt.*

Trigger warnings~  non binary reader sexual abuse mentioned and last abuse mentioned bullying

Prompt~see ask^^^^^

Really what is gender despite a social construct. Who says that females can't do something that a man would or vice versa? And why do you have to confirm to one box. There is not a single thing in the world that doesn't have a middle ground or shade of grey so why should gender be any different just because someone says so. Why can't you just be yourself? Truly it made no sense to you but you were all too aware that not everyone saw the world the same way you do.

Magic. Another controversial topic you hated, you were constantly teased on the fact you have the ability to be powerful if only you'd use and own your talents. But you refused. It's not like you asked for the powers, and why would you want them if you'd end up like your mother? That wasn't the life you wanted and you'd do anything to avoid getting it. Even if that meant ignoring the buzzing of your magic every day. Magic was tied to emotion and it was one of the things you prided yourself on, you're emotional control was second to none.

You'd been being teased for months now, at first it was just words, then it stumbled into physical violence. Could of bruises here and maybe a punch or two to your gut. Nothing you couldn't handle, your magic helped you heal quicker than most, so the pain never lasted more than a few days. Although, you never willing used your magic healing came within. You knew kids were cruel, after all you'd been on the other hand of their words and actions most of your life but this time the group of boys had taken it way too far. Threats to expose what lay beneath the clothing, to define you as a man or a women. That's all you thought they were though. Threats and nothing more than that, until it wasn't.

Classes were done for the day and you were particularly keen to get back to your dorm to give yourself a break from binding. You knew how important it was to give yourself breaks. On your way back you got intercepted by the group of boys that had been bothering you, they cornered you and made sure you were full surrounded. The ring leader of the group stood pinning you to the wall as he spewed hurtful words and his mate cheered. Only then you felt it, his hands running over your clothed body coming up to grope your chest. You sobbed and unintentionally tapped into your magic that reacted by throwing his body against the opposite wall. His body hit the wall with a sickening crunch.

It all happened so quickly, the group ran off and all you could do is curl up and sob, his passed out body in direct view of you. A million thoughts ran rampant round your mind. Memories of the past, how it felt what they did and then present worries. What if you were expelled? Forced to go back there. To her. Your mother would be furious with you. The sound of heels and a cane echoed through the halls causing you to flee, you didn't know where you were running but you had to hide, if they didn't find you then there was no evidence you were there right?

Leonora left Dovey to deal with the boys, no patience for all that kind lovely thing, she set off in search of you. When she found you it was truly heart wrenching, you had curled yourself up into a small ball rocking backwards and forwards like a scared child. "Love?" She murmured and crouched in front of you trying to aid you in calming down. You instantly started to ramble a mix of past and present, blaming yourself for the magical outburst. Leonora listened and her heart broke, she was in two minds, to hold you or to go back and torture the boys for hurting you in such a manner.

She did the first option, scooping you into her arms and carrying you to her room, gently you were placed onto her bed as she curled up with you her hands in your hair. Kisses being placed on into your hair in a soothing manner as she reminded you how beautiful you were, inside and out. She'd make them suffer later, right now she had to care for you, her dove with clipped wings

Word count ~ 1029