#form of domestic violence and abuse
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chinatzuify-blog · 10 months ago
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I wish for all the abusers in the world to be treated twice as bad as they treated their kids, siblings, classmates, pets, parents, spouses or whoever they had in front of them.
You're predators who don't deserve respect and nobody owes you anything.
You're cowards.
And you deserve to pay for all the suffering you caused just for your sick pleasure and fake sense of authority.
To all the victims out there, you're not alone, you matter and you deserve better. Nobody who tells you that love or care about you should hurt you, but if they do, say something, if they don't stop, defend yourself, I know it's scary at first but sometimes the only person who can protect you from abuse and suffering is you.
Remember: abusers enjoy your suffering, no matter if they're your parents, siblings, partners or even your own kids, they'll make you think you deserve it (or worse, NEED IT) to have you controled. Without your obedience they become what they truly are: NOTHING.
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black-lakritz-dragon · 1 month ago
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Dreamt something something about ghouls... especially the punk and queer society and community chilling on rooftops and holding out for each other. Tokyo ghoul and parasyte the maxim vibes. But different world building..
I miss when tokyo ghoul was relevant I need to find my face mask from Ken kaneki somewhere haha... no seriously it felt so 2000s scene to me
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thellawtoknow · 4 months ago
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Domestic Violence
Legal Ways to Act in Case of Domestic Violence Legal Ways to Act in Case of Domestic ViolenceUnderstanding Domestic Violence: Forms and ImpactPhysical AbuseExamples of Physical Abuse:Emotional AbuseExamples of Emotional Abuse:Psychological AbuseExamples of Psychological Abuse:Economic AbuseExamples of Economic Abuse:The Impact of Domestic ViolenceImmediate Steps to Take in Case of Domestic…
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prickly-paprikash · 6 months ago
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Kendrick doesn't just hate Drake as a person. He hates the very idea of Drake.
Hip-Hop is rooted in revolution. In defiance. These are the songs of an oppressed group of people, and decades upon decades people have hated it. Accused of being meaningless and invalid. Media outlets took steps to belittle hip-hop and make sure it isn't recognized as an art form and as a means to fight back.
2Pac spoke of wealth disparity and inequality. Tupac was literally a member of a communist organization when he was younger and never stopped speaking against capitalism.
Lauryn Hill spoke of the struggles a woman faces. Not just women, but black women. Salt-N-Peppa. Queen Latifah. MISSY FUCKING ELLIOT.
N.W.A made sure people knew about police brutality and violence against the Black community.
And now, in this day and age, we're also experiencing an explosion of Queer Hip-Hop. Lil Nas X is at the forefront of this. Lil Uzi Vert came out as non-binary and uses they/them pronouns, even when they knew that a lot of their fans would never use it or even respect them for it. Auntie Diaries, a song about a young man who grew up in a transphobic environment and bought into those beliefs, but could never fully do it because his Uncle loved him so much and taught him a lot of life lessons, and that wisdom translated to him accepting his cousin as a woman as well.
Drake is none of that.
He's the perfect representation of what people think hip-hop is. Flexing. Posturing. Objectifying women. A fucker so insecure he bought 2Pac's ring just to feel like he's part of the black community. Rejected by Rihanna publicly. Tried to groom Millie Bobby Brown. Kissed and inappropriately touched an underage girl during his concert. His songs have inspired so many young boys to treat girls like shit. His belief that the amount of rings and chains and cars he has is the true meaning of success.
Additional Edit: This is my fault. If this post gains more views, then it would be remiss of me not to add to this. It was my fault to begin with, not stating this beforehand because while I did know, I got lost in celebrating Hip-Hop in a place that doesn't usually do so, and rightfully so.
2Pac did fight for wealth equality and better social living for the black community. He also has a long, long history of battery, domestic abuse, and sexual harassment against women. Specifically against women of color. He made a song to celebrate his own mother, but outright refused to give the same show of respect to other women in his life. His hypocritical nature was brushed off in later decades, just the way I did now.
N.W.A is the same. Sexual assault charges, violence—they spoke of Police reform, but refuses to give the same treatment back towards the women in their lives.
50 cent refuses to backtrack on any of his misogynistic lyrics.
Modern rappers of today, such as the dead XXXtentacion. 6ix9ine. Kodak Black.
I do love Hip-Hop. I love rap. And the music itself has always been anti-authoritarian at its core, because those are its roots. And I was happy that circles that did not normally know of it or enjoy it were getting into it, even for one thing like this rap feud.
Lil Nas X, Little Simz, Childish Gambino, Missy Elliot, Queen Latifah, Lauryn Hill—rappers who have at the very least consistently tried to put their money where their mouth is. Who have tried to act in accordance to what they rap and write and sing for.
@shehungthemoon @ohsugarsims finnthehumanmp3 were the ones who rightfully clarified in the comments. I know an apology won't correct my hypocrisy or my stupidity. I should have added all of this before making this post, but I wanted so badly to celebrate a genre of music but failed to do my due diligence in showing a better, holistic view of it. If anyone felt triggered, offended, troubled, frustrated or any other intense negative emotions surrounding this, please do block me. I'm sorry.
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mischievous-thunder · 3 months ago
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Deadpool and Wolverine is a fanfic in the movie form that feels as much like a fever dream as a rom-com. The content creator only gave it an R rating as an umbrella term which includes all of the following ao3 tags:
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Canon-Typical Violence, Blood and Gore, Canon Divergence, Multiverse, Meet Ugly, Enemies to Friends, Age Difference, Bickering, Undeniable Sexual Tension, Mutual Pining
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Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Survivor Guilt
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Pain Play, Car Sex, BDSM, Rough Sex, Size Kink, Porn with Feelings, Aggressive Sex, Orgasm Denial, Edging, Power Play, Cock Tease, No Refractory Period
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Semi-Public Sex
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Accidental Striptease
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Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Cuddling, Domestic Banter, Falling in Love, Getting together, Idiots in Love, Old Married Couple in Spirit, Additional Tags to be Added...
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cherienymphe · 10 months ago
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Teenage Dirtbag VII (JJ Maybank x Reader x Rafe Cameron)
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Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, abusive relationship, domestic violence, violence (+ gun violence), gun kink, dacryphilia, attempted murder, mentions of blood, public sex, jealousy, manipulation, infidelity, underage drinking, drug use, canon ages, kook!reader
➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics
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➥ series masterlist
summary: You’re charmingly spoiled. You’re too kind for your own good. You’re the princess of Figure 8 …and you’re way out of JJ Maybank’s league, but when he realizes that Rafe Cameron’s pride and joy is actually a bruised and battered damsel, he’s determined to save you.
Your rescue just comes with a price.
{Happy MLK weekend! He would've wanted this!}
~
Your back rested against your headboard with your gaze fixed on your mirror on the other side of the room. You were staring at yourself, but not really. Your mind was somewhere else entirely, and you chewed on your lip as Rafe’s even breathing filled your ears. You glanced at him, taking in his sleeping form before meeting your own gaze in the reflection again.
You’d done many things to bring on Rafe’s wrath, most of them harmless. It happened so often that you now lived your life completely differently, hyperaware of every thought and every action from both you and him. After all, you had to learn from your mistakes, right? You had to guess the best course of action to avoid a violent outcome. It was always something harmless…
…but almost kissing JJ Maybank was not harmless.
Sneaking off to The Cut with Sarah and her friends was bad enough. There was no telling how Rafe would react if he knew…but almost kissing JJ? The thought of Rafe finding out about that was so nerve-wracking that it actually made you shudder. It didn’t even feel like something that actually happened at times because…you knew better. It was something so incredibly stupid that you couldn’t have done it…and yet…
You still thought about how close he’d been. You thought about that calming natural scent of him that was just so different from what you were used to being around. You thought about his nose touching yours, his chest grazing yours, and it wasn’t shocking that JJ wanted to kiss you. It wasn’t even shocking that he tried. What was shocking was that you wanted to kiss him too, that some part of you wanted to let it happen.
You frowned, sliding out of bed with a racing heart.
Was it that shocking though? Rafe was horrible to you…and JJ wasn’t. The other blond was nice and funny and his own history with abuse drew you to him. It didn’t help matters that JJ wasn’t afraid of Rafe in the slightest. You didn’t want to linger on just how dangerous that could prove to be, thinking to yourself that it had been so long since a guy talked to you and treated you like your own person capable of your own decisions.
It felt good…and you felt guilty for that.
Rafe was still your boyfriend…even if he wasn’t a very good one, and JJ made it clear that he didn’t respect that. Even more so now that he suspected something was very very off about your relationship. The look in his eyes that day was something you still thought about—the determination. It bothered you that you couldn’t tell if it was determination to find out the truth or determination for something else entirely.
Maybe both.
You leaned against your window, staring out into your yard with a heavy chest. Never in a million years did you think you’d find your mind caught between Rafe and JJ Maybank. You’d long written the other guy off as dangerous, but maybe you had a hand in this too. In some ways, you had encouraged him, even without realizing it, and maybe this was you paying the price.
Both your thoughts and your gaze drifted to the pool house.
You knew JJ had finally taken you up on your offer. You had seen a faint light on one night while everyone was asleep, and you remembered the way your heart stuttered at the realization. You had stared out of your window for hours—even long after the inside went completely dark—just frozen with the knowledge that JJ was only so many feet away. You hadn’t talked to him since that day at the Camerons’, but you definitely saw him in passing a few times, and you always pretended not to know.
You’d done so to be nice, to offer him a safe haven away from his father, but you couldn’t deny the temptation you felt to go to him. Just to talk. Just to be around someone who reminded you of what your life was like before that fateful nineteenth birthday. Just talking to JJ felt so natural and relaxing, and your heart ached when you remembered how happy you felt with him and his friends…but then you remembered his nose touching yours and his lips being so close to yours, and you’d feel…nauseous.
Rafe would snap your neck if he knew.
…and with that thought you turned away from the window.
You could not let yourself get caught up with JJ Maybank. He liked trouble and he hated Rafe and you were the perfect opportunity to take part in both. You weren’t stupid. You knew that some of your appeal had to come from your proximity to Rafe. You were “Rafe’s girl”, you had been for two years, and JJ wasn’t as mysterious as he probably liked to believe. You knew that he would absolutely relish taking you from him, even if only for a night, and you refused to be that stupid.
No matter how much the thought made your stomach flip.
You had only ever been with Rafe, and you’d long accepted that he was only who you’d ever be with, everyone on this God forsaken island fearing him and his influence too much to even try it. However, with the new presence of JJ Maybank in your life, you couldn’t help but to wonder what it would be like to sleep with someone who didn’t terrify you.
Even your first time with Rafe—when you’d still been in love with him—had been wrought with fear and pain and confusion. It was a hard truth to swallow, but you realized that you’d never experienced sex without fear. That made you incredibly sad, and you blinked back tears as you slid back into bed. It was wrong, and you could never act on it, but for a split second—as you laid down next to your boyfriend—you briefly entertained the thought of lying down underneath JJ Maybank.
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You swallowed down a sigh as you watched Rafe snort another line, Kelce’s laugh reaching your ears as your boyfriend mumbled something that was evidently hilarious. The music from the party was muffled, and you brought your cup up to take another sip of some beer you didn’t even like. When Rafe said you both were going to some party, you’d actually expected to be at the party.
However, with one sweep around the room, Rafe realized that the party wasn’t as exclusive as he’d like, and he’d holed you both up in a room with Topper and Kelce ever since. Topper was scrolling on his phone while Kelce and Rafe played hot potato with the drugs in their possession. Truthfully, you didn’t see why Rafe refused to party downstairs all because a few Pogues were in attendance. Especially since if you’d figured this was how your night was going to go, you would have just stayed home.
Ever since Rafe got back from Charleston, he’d been on you like white on rice, but of course, your presence didn’t matter much once a few white lines were placed on a mirror. Swallowing down yet another sigh, you pushed yourself off of the wall and made your way to the window. There were far too many people in the yard and pool for you to be comfortable with, but anything seemed better than this.
You were downing the rest of your beer when someone caught your eye.
Your hand lowered, and your lips parted, thinking to yourself that this party was far less exclusive than Rafe knew. You supposed it wasn’t that weird to see JJ strolling into the yard, especially since he was with Sarah, but the sight of the familiar blond had you swallowing. Knowing that he was at the same party as you made you feel anxious for so many reasons.
“I have to use the bathroom.”
The words came out before you could stop them, silently wondering to yourself what you were doing. When you turned around, Rafe’s gaze was on you, and you didn’t think you liked the look you saw there. Your boyfriend’s lips were pressed together as he eyed you, and you didn’t miss his snort.
“Yeah, the last time you ‘went to the bathroom’ I had to track you down on the streets of Kildare County…all because you wanted some ‘air’.”
You rolled your eyes at both his tone and his words.
“I’ve been drinking beer for an hour. You want me to pull my pants down and pee in front of your friends? My bladder’s too full to be as embarrassed about that as you would be,” you threw at him, jutting your hip out.
The flare of Rafe’s nostrils didn’t escape you, and after a stretched silence, he merely jerked his head. You pretended not to feel the heat of his gaze as he watched you leave, and once the door was shut, you headed for the stairs instead. While you did need to throw your cup away, it wasn’t like there wasn’t a trash can in the bathroom. However, you wouldn’t admit to yourself the real reason you came downstairs.
On your way to and from the kitchen, you craned your neck, eyes scanning over familiar face after familiar face…but just not the one you wanted to see. You refused to acknowledge the disappointment that ate at you, and telling yourself that you didn’t want to push your luck with Rafe, you quickly hurried up the stairs because you did actually have to pee.
Despite how much you wanted to hide out in the bathroom, you made your visit quick, telling yourself it’d be just your luck for Rafe to give the drugs a break to time your absence instead. There was no telling what time Rafe would decide to leave, and you grimaced at the thought of what the night had in store for you. You’d just opened the door and turned out the bathroom light when a grip on your arm was pulling you down the hall.
It happened so fast that you didn’t have time to process what was going on until your eyes passed over the back of a familiar head of blond hair. Your lips parted, too many conflicting emotions bubbling up inside of you for you to focus on just one. However, once JJ had you around the corner, fear quickly trumped the others.
“Are you drunk?”
Your question came out harsher than you meant, and—true to what you were learning was JJ fashion—the guy before you ignored it.
“I saw you downstairs.”
Your heart skipped a beat at that, and you straightened. His blond hair was messier than usual, something you noted you kind of liked, and the long-sleeved shirt he wore was kind of big on him. You glanced at the way it just barely hung on his shoulder.
“You looked like you were looking for someone.”
His next words pulled you from your thoughts, and your gaze met his. That small smirk on his lips annoyed you, and you took a deep breath.
“I wasn’t. Is that what you followed me up here for?” you wondered.
JJ didn’t look like he believed you, but he clearly opted to let it go.
“When’s the next time you’re coming to the other side of the island?” he asked. “They kind of like you…even Kie.”
You felt your face fall at that, almost wishing that they didn’t. It would certainly make things easier, but knowing that his friends enjoyed having you around just as much as you enjoyed being around them… You honestly didn’t know if you’d ever hang out with them again, and that was what you told JJ.
“Why?” he scoffed. “…because of Rafe?”
You both knew your verbal answer wasn’t required.
“I get it, okay? I’m JJ. I’m a guy who also happens to hate him, but you can’t even have friends? You’re telling me he’d really lose his shit if you dared to tell him you’re going to hang out Sarah and whoever?”
“Those are your friends…not mine,” you weakly replied. “Just because I hung out with you guys for one day-.”
“Don’t give me that,” JJ cut you off with a frown. “Until that day I didn’t even know you could smile that wide.”
You crossed your arms over your chest, clenching your jaw. JJ wasn’t wrong, and that was why the whole situation sucked. You didn’t have it in you to tell him that you loved being around him and his friends and his environment only to immediately admit that Rafe would choke the shit out of you for even daring to talk to him.
“I should get back,” was all you said, ignoring his words.
“For what? It’s not like you don’t have time. I doubt Rafe is going to pull himself away from the drugs long enough to notice how long you’ve been gone,” JJ said with a shrug, judgement coloring his tone. “…besides I…”
JJ trailed off, a peculiar look on his face as he eyed you.
“That’s not only why I followed you up here.”
You struggled to hold his gaze, the sound of some cheers reaching your ears from downstairs. You had a feeling as to what JJ was going to say, and you desperately hoped that he wouldn’t. Some part of you was even tempted to just walk away and avoid this conversation forever if you could. However, another part of you desperately wanted to stay right where you were, remaining still even when JJ moved closer.
“The last time we talked,” he quietly started, eyes searching yours. “I was a little harsh…and I’m sorry.”
You swallowed.
“…but I don’t regret anything I said, just how I said it, I guess.”
You glanced away, eyeing the wallpaper in the hallway.
“I don’t regret anything I did either.”
Your eyes snapped to his at that, and you felt your heart racing. You could see it on his face that JJ was telling the truth, and you didn’t know how you felt about that.
“I would’ve kissed you…if you hadn’t run away,” JJ whispered in the dark hallway, and you exhaled. “Right in his house.”
“You…can’t do that,” was all you could bring yourself to say.
When JJ stepped towards you, you were finally forced to step back, shoulder grazing the wall. He tilted his head at you, eyes never leaving yours.
“Says who?” he wondered, tone serious. “Your boyfriend?”
He swiped his tongue between his lips, crowding your space, and the mention of Rafe reminded you that you’d been gone a long while, now.
“…because we both know it won’t be you.”
Those words had your nostrils flaring, and you narrowed your eyes at him.
“You ran away because you’re scared of Rafe…not because you didn’t want to kiss me.”
You hated how right JJ was, and you couldn’t even find the words to argue that.
“So what?” was all you could say, not even denying it. “Rafe’s my boyfriend, and you…are not. Sue me for being loyal.”
“I don’t think it counts if you’re loyal for the wrong reasons,” he threw back, and you scoffed.
“Are there wrong reasons for being faithful?” you incredulously asked.
“Well, being scared into it for one.”
You didn’t appreciate his tone, and you moved to turn away when he grabbed your arm again. When JJ pulled you against him, you sharply inhaled, and you reminded yourself that you really needed to get back to Rafe…your boyfriend. The heat of JJ’s hand bled through the sleeves of your dress, and against what your brain advised, you found your gaze drifting to his lips.
“I know you don’t want to be with him,” he breathed, and you blinked, eyes meeting his again. “Does he have something on you? Is it…some…Kook appearance thing I just don’t understand?”
Hating how many questions he was asking, you twisted out of his hold, stumbling away.
“Stay out of my relationship, JJ. I’m serious,” you threw over your shoulder.
You said it for both of your sakes, and you left the blond in the hall as you hurried back to the bedroom. Kelce and Rafe were playing their own music, the full effects of the coke hitting them, and you were beyond grateful. It seemed Rafe had been too high to notice just how long you were gone, and so all you could do was smile at him when he welcomed you with a sloppy kiss.
Topper was finally joining in when you glanced over, bent over the desk and snorting half a line.
“Bro, when I went downstairs to get a drink, you know who I saw?” the younger blond chuckled, wiping his nose. “Fucking Pope and your sister, man.”
Your heart had skipped a beat, only to relax when he continued. However, his next words shortened your relief as well as caused Rafe to pull away from you.
“How much you want to bet that piece of shit JJ is here too?”
You pressed your lips together at the mention of the guy who you’d literally just been in the hallway with, and you hated the way Rafe’s hands briefly tightened on yours. Your boyfriend let out a laugh that held no trace of humor, sadly shaking his head.
“Yeah, lets get out of here,” he scoffed. “Unbelievable.”
You hated the way Rafe pulled you along like being in the same house as people from the other side of the island was the worst thing imaginable. Doubly so ever since you’d gotten to know Sarah’s friends. You thought about what JJ said, about how they’d grown to like you, and this moment only reminded you that you would probably never experience that again.
As if to make you feel worse, you watched Rafe briefly pause once he was downstairs, and one glance around him clued you in on just what he was looking at. Perhaps ‘who’ was a more appropriate term, and your heart sank as Rafe strode along, pulling you with him. You were unsurprised—but no less disappointed and annoyed—when Rafe harshly bumped into JJ’s shoulder. Your eyes were wide when they glanced at JJ just as Rafe spoke.
“My bad, man,” your boyfriend drawled. “It’s a bit crowded in here.”
Nothing about Rafe’s tone was apologetic, and you pressed your lips together at the sight of a half-smile on his pink lips. Your eyes briefly met JJ’s, pleading as you could see the desire for a fight on his face. You knew that it wasn’t solely because Rafe had bumped into him, and when he glanced at you, he only scoffed.
“Very Rafe of you, Rafe,” JJ commented.
It was a harmless comment, but the coke in Rafe’s system wouldn’t allow him to let it go. Dropping your hand, he moved closer to the other blond, head tilted to the side.
“What did you say to me, Pogue? Huh?”
“Rafe…” you called reaching for him, but he shook your hand off.
His face was so close to JJ’s, and through the crowd, you could see Pope and Sarah hurrying over. When you looked over your shoulder, Kelce and Topper were only now coming down the stairs, unaware of the disaster about to happen. Wanting to prevent this fight for so many reasons, you grabbed Rafe’s arm again, pleading with him.
“Rafe, let’s just go.”
You didn’t know if it was the coke or Rafe’s second nature of putting his hands on you, but he didn’t even spare you a glance when he shoved you away, his hand on your chest forcing you to stumble back.
“Stay out of this,” he said, finally looking at you.
It was something he’d come to regret because JJ’s fist had connected with his face before he could even turn back around. You stumbled back some more in shock, recalling the last time they fought and just how violent and bloody it became. The party inside came to a temporary halt as everyone took notice, and by the time Kelce and Topper came over, Pope had joined in too.
Some part of you wanted to leave. After all, Rafe had gotten himself into this mess, but another part of you forced you to remain rooted to the spot. You wanted to make sure everyone would be okay, one above the rest, and oddly it wasn’t the blond that was your boyfriend.
You jumped when Sarah made her way to you, her hand on your arm as she pulled you close.
“Are you okay?” she asked as you watched some guys try to break up the fight.
You knew what she was referring to, and you nodded.
“Rafe’s high and…more agitated than usual,” you defended.
You only realized how it sounded when Sarah gave you a look.
“So? He shouldn’t shove you like that,” she spat, throwing her brother a nasty look as Kelce helped him to his feet.
You blanched at the blood on his face, recalling that both JJ and Pope had been fighting him, and it was clear your boyfriend was very angry about that fact. He barely spared Sarah a glance as he roughly told you to come on. Assuring Sarah that you’d be fine—even with coke in his system—you reluctantly followed after your boyfriend.
However, not without a glance over your shoulder. Your eyes met familiar blue ones, and your face fell at the anger still visible on JJ’s face. Telling yourself that was something you couldn’t concern yourself with, now, you hurried outside. Rafe was obnoxiously honking his horn as you hurried to his truck, and you were barely inside before he was speeding off.
You tuned Kelce and Topper out as they placated Rafe from the backseat, somehow convincing themselves that this wasn’t his own fault. Your gaze was fixed on the window as you crossed your arms over your chest, hating yourself for only being concerned about JJ and Pope in this moment. You hadn’t gotten the best look at either of them and even though it was two against one, you knew your boyfriend well.
He was never one to go down without a fight.
“…and what the hell was that about, huh?”
It took you too long to realize that the focus had shifted to you, and when you glanced over, Rafe’s blown out pupils were fixated on you.
“What?”
“You know what,” he spat between clenched teeth, glancing at the road. “What was with you and trying to stop me from kicking that Pogue’s ass?”
You blinked at him, unable to hide your feelings at his audacity.
“We were at a party, Rafe, and you were trying to start a fight. Was I just supposed to let that happen?” you wondered.
The other two in the backseat had grown quiet, either from nosiness or no desire to get in between Rafe and his girlfriend.
“It was JJ,” he slowly said to you. “Who gives a fuck if I give JJ a well-deserved beating?”
“Well, how did that turn out? Did you get what you wanted?”
The words slipped from your mouth so easily, and the look that Rafe gave you cut deep. He glanced at you again before a slow smile spread along his bloody lips, a chuckle escaping. When he reached over to rest his hand on the back of your neck, you swallowed. A shudder passed through you at the feel of his fingers tracing patterns into your skin.
“You better be glad that all I want to do tonight is find those Pogues and knock their teeth out,” he mumbled.
His words sounded so loud to you in the vehicle though, and despite how much you wanted to argue against that, you knew that you could never tell Rafe what to do. When he parked in your driveway, you didn’t spare him a glance as you hopped out, but you were sort of forced to when you heard him follow behind you.
His truck was still running, so you could only hope to guess what he wanted as he followed you to your door. Once there, he roughly grabbed your arm—so tight that you winced—and you leaned away when he got very close to your face. You eyed the blood on his own face, the messiness of his dark blond hair, and you prepared yourself for anything as he sneered at you.
“The next time you try to get between me like that, the next time you try to protect some Pogue, I’ll break your fucking fingers,” he hissed, nose pressed to yours. “Do you understand me?”
With the pain of Rafe’s fingers digging into your arm, you gave him a shaky nod. He roughly let you go, and you reached up to rub the sore spot, watching your boyfriend make his way back to his truck. Considering how high and angry he was, you didn’t expect him back for hours. You doubted that Pope and JJ were even still at that party, almost positive they’d left when you guys did, but knowing Rafe…
He'd drive around Outer Banks for hours just to find them and get them back.
With a shaky sigh, you turned and reached for your keys, but your movements were halted by a faint noise. You merely glanced up, not giving it much thought, but pausing in surprise when you saw none other than JJ standing in the doorway of the pool house on the other side of the yard. You almost dropped your small purse, gathering your thoughts before worriedly looking out into the road. With no sign of Rafe’s truck, you hurriedly stomped across the grass.
“You don’t know how many fences I hopped over and backyards I trespassed on to beat you here.”
That was his greeting to you, and you could tell by the look in his eyes that he was simply trying to lighten the tense atmosphere. You didn’t have the patience.
“Why did you hit him?” you demanded, and you watched JJ’s face cloud over. “I was going to get him to leave, to leave you alone.”
All traces of humor were gone from the blonde’s face, and you hated the way he looked down his nose at you.
“Was that supposed to be before or after he shoved you again?”
You snapped your mouth shut, frowning at the younger man. His blue eyes didn’t look so blue in this moment, and you didn’t miss the tick in his jaw as he stared you down. You blinked at JJ, your frown dissipating some as the realization slowly came to you.
“That’s why you hit him?” you slowly wondered.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he breathed. “Did I need any other reason?”
You opened and closed your mouth a few times before letting out a sigh. You glanced away, shoulders dropping, and you gently shook your head.
“JJ…” you looked at him. “Rafe was high…agitated… That was nothing, and especially nothing to start a fight over.”
“He shoved you!”
“…but I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me,” you tried to make him understand. “Just pissed me off more than anything.”
“…and at your door?”
Your heart sank with the knowledge that he saw that, and you let out a long sigh. You could feel the blonde’s gaze on you as your own found the ground.
“So, he grabbed me,” you said, shrugging at him. “You’re making this more important than it is.”
JJ looked at you like you were crazy, pulling his lip between his teeth.
“…because it is important, Y/N…” you were sure that the only other time you’d heard JJ say your name was the night of that first fight on the beach. “Your boyfriend isn’t supposed to shove you and grab you like that…”
How could you tell JJ that Rafe had already done so much worse? That in the grand scheme of things, a little shove and a tight grip really didn’t mean all that much to you? All things considered, today was a relatively good day when taking into account how things could’ve ended. How they still could end…
As if JJ read your mind…
“He doesn’t have to smack you around and put you in the hospital to be an abusive piece of shit,” he softly continued. “He shouldn’t be touching you like that…no matter how minor you think it is.”
It felt…odd to be standing in your yard having this conversation with JJ Maybank of all people. Even more odd, his concern for you left an unfamiliar feeling in your chest. You could only describe it as warm, and you knew that he was right, that no matter how minor, none of it was okay. However, your relationship with Rafe had left ‘not okay’ territory so long ago that what happened today just didn’t faze you.
When you glanced up, JJ was staring at you, and despite the fact that your house was just on the other side of the yard…it felt like just the two of you.
“I would never…touch you like that,” he told you, stepping towards you. “No matter how angry at you I am…there’s just some things you don’t do.”
You struggled to swallow.
“You’re not my boyfriend, JJ…he is.”
“I know,” he quietly said. “…and you know I think you deserve a better boyfriend.”
“Of course, you think that,” you bitterly laughed. “You… Don’t try and make it seem like your intentions are pure.”
You tilted your head.
“You like the idea of fucking with Rafe.”
JJ raised an eyebrow at you.
“I could think of a thousand more ways to fuck with Rafe that don’t involve fucking his girlfriend.”
Your eyes widened sharply at that, and you blinked, fighting to ignore the heat in your face at his honesty. You felt paralyzed as JJ took another step towards you, and you were struggling to respond. JJ’s hand gently touched your cheek, and you shuddered at the feel. This didn’t go unnoticed, and you didn’t know why you didn’t stop him when his hand slid to brush along your neck too.
“You’re right,” JJ whispered, looking between your eyes. “I do like the idea of fucking with Rafe.”
Your chest felt so heavy, heart threatening to leap from it.
“…but I like the idea of being with you just a little bit more.”
“JJ,” you warned, reaching up to grab his hand.
His other found a home on the small of your back, and you reached back to grab that one too. You were sure it made an interesting sight—JJ trying to embrace you, and you with a half assed attempt to stop him. You ducked your head, but that didn’t prevent him from brushing his lips over your cheek, and you sucked in a sharp breath.
“I don’t respect your relationship, and I especially don’t care about your boyfriend,” he murmured against your skin. “…and you not wanting to kiss me solely because you’re afraid of him just isn’t good enough for me.”
You lifted your head at that, eyes stricken as you looked at him. His hand on your back twisted, clasping your own and holding it tight. Your nerves grew at that, and JJ’s face was serious as he gave you his undivided attention.
“Would you feel better if I just took it?” he wondered, making you frown. “I mean…”
He moved back, taking you with him.
“If I make you kiss me…then you’re not cheating, right?”
You furiously blinked at him at that, and despite how much you wanted to shake your head, you found yourself glancing at his lips instead. JJ spun you, and your back met the wall of the pool house. With nowhere to go, JJ pressed himself against you, and your breathing grew shallow. A voice in the back of your mind told you that he was right.
Some part of you didn’t want to be a willing participant in this, at all while another part desperately wondered what it would be like to kiss him. With you pinned against the wall, you could appeal to both parts, and you surmised that it was evident in your eyes because after swiftly pinning your wrists at your side…
JJ brushed his lips against yours.
It could barely be called a kiss at first, just the faintest touch of his lips to yours, but then you closed your eyes…and let out a sigh you didn’t know you’d been holding…and JJ completely swallowed it. His mouth completely covered yours as he deepened the kiss, one of his hands letting yours go to reach up and rest on your neck. You moaned at the action, and your head spun.
Kissing JJ felt like something you hadn’t felt in years. It reminded you of the beginning of your relationship with Rafe, when you weren’t afraid and apprehensive to lean up and press your lips to your boyfriend’s. Back when kissing him didn’t feel like a chore, an exchange, a plea from you to remain unharmed and an unsteady promise from Rafe that he’d no doubt break.
The feel of JJ’s lips moving against yours made heat swirl deep in your gut, and it twisted and twisted until you squirmed between him and the wall of the pool house. JJ’s other hand was on your waist, now, holding you in place, and it felt like everywhere he touched burned. You honestly could’ve let him kiss you all night, not sparing a second thought to Rafe.
…but unfortunately, that never lasted long, and your hands met JJ’s chest the moment cold blue eyes appeared behind your own. Your breathing was heavy, JJ’s too, and you stared at your fingers on his chest for a long time. You almost didn’t believe what had just happened, but the heat clinging to your skin helped ground you to reality and the fact that it very much had.
When you finally met JJ’s gaze again, you wished that you hadn’t.
The blond looked like the last thing he wanted to do was stop, and you started to wonder what was worse­—JJ yearning for something he didn’t even know…or JJ yearning for something he did? Your pink lip-gloss was all over his lips, and you just stared at the sight for a few seconds before swallowing, very aware of the tightness in your throat. You slowly slid from between him and the wall, and he let you, hand grazing your waist as you moved by him.
You felt like you were in a daze, walking on something unsteady like air or water. All you could manage to tell JJ was ‘goodnight’, stumbling back towards your house. You only looked over your shoulder once when you made it to your door, unsurprised to find JJ still standing there and watching you. You were quiet going into the house, and several parts of you were fighting.
On one hand, you were beyond terrified of what you’d just allowed to happen, and what that meant for you if you couldn’t hide it. The possibility of Rafe’s wrath had you shaking as you undressed the moment you made it to your room. On the other hand, some part of you was too focused on the memory of JJ’s lips to care. You couldn’t cool off no matter how much you tried, lying in bed for hours and staring at the wall.
When Rafe finally returned, you welcomed his apologies, actually receptive to his advances for once. It felt wrong to let him kiss you and touch you and fuck you all the while with an entirely different blond in mind.
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logansdoll · 3 months ago
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begging for more dad logan please
406
Logan was always one to mind his own business, never really sticking his nose in anything unless it directly concerned him... until he heard your screams coming from next door.
CW: suggestive, profanity, takes place after Deadpool 3, heavy subjects, domestic abuse, more Logan interacting with kids (or rather kid), angst with comfort, etc.
If you or a loved one are experiencing domestic abuse, please call the National Domestic Violence Hotline (US) at 800-799-7233 for twenty-four hour assistance. Your voice matters <3
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"Jesus-fuckin'-Christ," Logan groaned, throwing his forearm over his eyes as the loud, stumbling sound of your husband's work boots slithered through the walls.
'It's two in the goddamn morning...'
Audibly, the man bumped into a table, letting out a loud string of curses before kicking off his shoes, sending them flying into a shelf with two thumps.
No doubt making another mess for you to clean up.
Logan couldn't wrap his around someone like you ending up with an asshole like your husband.
Despite the countless other people on his floor, you were the first to greet Logan when he moved in—a pretty little thing standing in his doorway with a plate of cookies, a warm smile, and a boy no older than five clinging to her leg.
"Hi!" you greeted, instantly clocking the taut expression on his face. "I'm sorry if I'm interrupting your unpacking..."
"S'fine," he nodded for you to go on, rubbing the sleep out his eyes as he leaned against the door frame, purposefully blocking his messy bed from your view.
He was napping, actually.
"I just wanted to introduce myself since you're new to the floor. And bring you a little something to say we're glad to have you," you went on, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
Carefully, you held out the plate for him to take, the man examining at it with a suspicious eye.
"I'm (y/n), and this is my son, Caleb. We're your neighbors in 406."
Wary, but still wanting to be polite, he took the tray, eyes flitting down to the boy at your leg—the poor thing cowering further behind you under the man's sharp gaze.
You let out a small laugh, softly resting your hand in his curly hair, "He's a little shy."
Glancing back up at you, Logan's eyes suddenly locked onto the clutter of band-aids around your wrist, their formation... odd.
"What's with all the bandages?" he asked, bluntly.
Your face fell for a fraction of a second, though you quickly replaced your smile, waving him off.
"Oh, just a little kitchen accident. I can be a bit clumsy," you assured, your tone a little more distant than before.
Something in his gut told him that wasn't right.
But it was none of his business, so he dropped it, focusing his energy on the fact that you seemed to be an angel in human form, and the most persistent woman he'd ever met.
You worked as a baker at a local cafe, and often brought him leftovers or samples to eat, along with some of your own creations.
And despite his less-than-warm personality during the early days, you still kept at it; always greeting him with a warm smile and kind words.
It wasn't long before your son joined in as well, bringing over some of his comics for the two to read together on occasion.
Though not as much as a talker as you, he was still just as gentle, resting a quiet head on Logan's side as the man flatly read the latest Superman issue.
But it was when your husband would come around that things would become an issue.
Logan could hear your voice bleed through the drywall, groggily confronting the man—the words "Caleb", "Awake", and "School Tomorrow" seeming to push through the muffle.
Surprisingly, Logan had never met your husband before, the man leaving super early in the morning for work, and coming home inappropriately late at night.
And on weekends he just... wasn't around.
It was only times like this that Logan would remember he even existed.
And in that moment, he must've said something awful, because suddenly your voice was rising, becoming sharper and harsher.
'Fuckin' bastard...'
On those few off-occasions where you slipped up—missed a band-aid, wore too short of a sleeve—Logan noticed the marks.
A bruise here... a red mark there... the faint scent of peroxide.
Yet despite his frequent (frequent) questions, you seemed to always have an excuse.
Little mishap at the cafe...
I tripped over one of Caleb's toys...
Had a little trouble down the stairs...
He didn't like it one bit.
Despite your marital status, Logan felt a certain warmth bubble in his chest at the sight of you, and often found himself rereading the notes you'd leave along with the food.
And although he wasn't ready to put a name to the emotion yet, he did, however, feel a sort of innate obligation toward you and your son.
One that seemed to be coming into effect right now...
"Don't yell at Mommy!" Caleb shouted, his voice followed by the scurry of small feet.
'The hell?'
Logan quickly snapped himself out of his thoughts, brows furrowing as he quickly sat up in bed.
That was the loudest he had ever heard the kid speak.
"Caleb, no! What did I tell you? Get back in bed! Mommy will be there soon!" you frantically ordered.
"What'd that little shit just say to me?!" your husband slurred, loudly, the sharp creak of the floorboard making it sound like he was lunging forward.
And with a harsh slap, followed the shattering of glass, large feet seeming to stutter backward.
"DON'T YOU PUT YOUR HANDS ON HIM!" you barked, fiercely.
"You bitch!" he fired back, a large crash following.
"MOMMY!" Caleb screamed.
Logan had never thrown on a pair of jeans so fast.
He was in front of your door like magic, kicking it open with ease, eyes widening at the sight before him.
Your husband was on top of you, squeezing harshly around your neck as you vigorously fought back, Caleb frantically tugging at his father's shirt to get him off.
Quickly, Logan ran over, grabbing the bastard and tossing him over his shoulder, sending him flying across the room.
You gasped for air, Caleb fighting through sobs as he scrambled into your lap, burying his face into your chest and clutching onto your shirt for dear life.
Motherly instinct kicking in, you were quick to lift his chin, disregarding your own injuries as you checked his face, eyes watering at the bright red splotch settling on the boy's cheek.
"Oh, baby," you sniffled, burying your face in his hair and you held him close. "I'm so sorry."
Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, Logan was absolutely going to town.
He didn't use his claws, because—as badly as he wanted to—he wasn't about to murder a man in front of his wife and child.
But that didn't mean he couldn't give the bastard a classic adamantium-boned beat down.
Slam after slam after slam, Logan didn't stop, clutching the collar of the man's jacket tightly as he made ground meat of his face.
Even as a tooth flew... even as his eye swelled shut... even as his nose crunched.
Logan only stopped went he went limp, letting the bastard drop to the ground with a thud before turning back to you two.
Slowly, and warily, he approached, not wanting to frighten you or the kid more than you already were.
He figured he looked pretty scary—blood covering his knuckles, panting, unconscious man laying in his wake.
But, to his surprise, it was actually quite the opposite.
The moment he knelt down to your level, the two of you threw your arms around him, pulling the man into a silent bear hug.
His breath hitched, not at all expecting the reaction, but he hugged back anyway, pulling you both in closer.
Caleb buried his face into Logan's side, wrapping his arms around the man's torso to the best of his little ability.
You rested your head on his shoulder, nose bloody and neck bruised as you melted against him, your hands resting softly against his bare chest.
Like a spotty drizzle, he felt a few stray tears land on his collarbone, forcing him to turn to their source, only to see you look up at him with your beautiful eyes, all glassy with relief.
'Fuck...'
How could a heart be struck with both warmth and ice at the same time?
Though, despite what he originally thought, you actually cracked a small, thankful smile, only able to muster two steady words:
"Thank you."
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taglist !!
@catiwinky @seamlessepiphany @vinaluvsu @kellyxo1 @amandarobertsboyce  @captainloki1 @qveendiorsworld @sarahskywalker-amidala @mei-simp @oatmilkriver @br3nt-12 @bimboshaggy @lightsgore @edszn @couturewinx @sunroxic @notanotheroldman @bontensbabygirl @buckleysg1rl @marvelgirlie-4 @eljaynosine-triphosphate @nickf1 @pinkisokay @mercurysjoy @jetelaisseraidesmots-toujours
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schtrawberry · 8 months ago
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[3] personal astrology observations
[!] this is mostly an introspective view into my chart; in no way, shape, or form am i saying that any of this is fact or set in stone, nor am i saying that i am a professional astrologer. these are just presences that exist within my chart that i've felt manifest themselves in real life. simply put, take what resonates and leave what doesn't :)
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— the observation that venus in the 9th house and sagittarius mars natives are far more likely to be attracted to foreigners and/or meet their future partner/s in a foreign country is true!
[nothing, just felt like confirming, esp as someone w both these placements 🤭 like, i honestly am more likely to be approached (in a romantic setting) by a foreigner both in-person and online!]
═ sun square neptune is the aspect of daydreamers. they're always thinking about an idealized version of the future or dwelling on the past. rarely do they ever think in the present. it is often easier for them to drift off into a daze either thinking about what could have been or everything that could be.
☰ chiron in fifth house indicates pain associated with creative passions and self-expression. one may have had negative experiences that have led them to feel insecure about these aspects of life; thus leading them to distance themselves from openly expressing themselves creatively. they may take great care to keep their works of art private, tone down certain parts of their personality, and may even feel ashamed to explain themselves when others ask them about certain aspects of their creative and self-expression because of negative feedback they could have gotten in the past.
but with such pain comes empathy and understanding. once developed, these natives are the first to take notice and are the fastest to lend a sensitive ear as well as a supportive hand as soon as they see others going through the same struggle.
☱ sun-lilith in harsh aspects might have been told to cover up more by both peers and grown-ups, even when wearing "acceptable" clothing when they were kids. this placement can indicate an individual that was more sexualized from a young age, which can lead to them either being hypersexual or overly-reserved sexually in adulthood.
☲ lilith in the seventh house can indicate an individual that struggles to commit and open up about who they are to their partner/s. people with lilith in this house may have had bad experiences with marriage (perhaps witnessing bad divorces or tumultuous long-term relationships between their parents) and therefore might be turned off by the thought of marriage and/or long-term partnerships.
and though this doesn't mean that the native will be a lone soul forever, it does make one more likely to have these sort of relationships at a significantly older age in comparison to other signs.
[tw: mention of domestic violence in my personal experience, i have witnessed my parents go through an incredibly bad separation (tons of emotional abuse, infidelity, and a situation actually involving domestic violence) which has honestly made me quite hesitant to get married, even as i approach my mid-20s.]
☴ the cancer rising urge to cry when someone you care about is crying or in distress in general.
☳ a few asteroid notes:
note: asteroids are less impactful to one's personality, physicality, etc. compared to personal planets. they tend to only be relevant to one's chart if they are either in a tight orb (0-1°) or have major aspects to personal planets, preferably conjunctions or oppositions.
✢ messalina (545) known as the most promiscuous woman in rome, empress messalina is still recognized today as a symbol of uncontrolled, violent, irrational, and impulsive behavior. this asteroid reminds me very much of lilith in that it is representative of dark feminine energy and having this prominent in one's chart can be indicative of an individual that is not afraid to use their sexuality to their advantage or to create harm unto others in different aspects of their lives, but especially in terms of romantic and sexual relationships.
✢ anagolay (3757) is an potentially hazardous asteroid named after anagolay, the tagalog goddess of lost things and the daughter of the hermaphroditic goddess of seasons, lakapati. she is culturally-recognized for her ability to find not only physical objects but also abstract possessions like lost opportunities and faded memories. having this prominent in one's chart can suggest an individual that is very in-tune with cycle of nature and the subsequent passage of time. they may be more sensitive to bouts of nostalgia where they dwell on things that could have been and the way that things were. may also just indicate a person that is hypersensitive to losing physical things, though.
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[`] film: go (2001) dir. isao yukisada
last / next
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peachesofteal · 1 year ago
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Simple Math / Part Four
Simple Math masterlist
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Ghost/Soap/female reader 4k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ no smut but this fic contains mature themes. Descriptions of past domestic violence, past abuse, past sexual assault, SANE exam. Death scene in relation to reader's job. Stalking. Feelings of fear and anxiety. Trauma. PTSD. Medical inaccuracies, hospitals, medical procedures, medications, nurse!reader. Comfort. Soft dads. Johnny is a shameless flirt.
“Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday sweet Penny-“ 
Their baby shrieks at the crest in the song, smile shoving her plump cheeks upwards, little fists banging on her highchair tray. She has no idea what’s going on, Johnny imagines, but he knows she’s excited that everyone is singing to her, looking at her, celebrating her. “happy birthday to you!” She swings a hand forward, plunging into the buttercream icing of the cupcake, fingers digging in as much as she can. Johnny can't help but give her the biggest kiss he can manage while trying to dodge the flying food, and Simon laughs over his shoulder. 
“Atta girl.” Simon encourages, trying to peel the wrapper so she can get more in her mouth, icing and cake all over his fingers now too, and Johnny wanders for a second, imagining something certainly not appropriate for their daughter’s first birthday. 
“Can’t believe your kid is a year old.” Kyle says from behind him, two beers in his hand. “Feels like yesterday you were even tellin’ us she existed.” 
“Time is movin’ too fast.” Johnny agrees, taking a long sip as Simon pulls Pen from the highchair, white and blue icing all over her face, arms, and hands. Kyle is right, it is hard to believe it’s been a year, hard to believe that their baby is already one, growing up right before their eyes, taking her first steps, saying her first words. He knows it won’t be long until she’s really talking, running, riding a bike, going to school… thoughts of the future forming a lump in the back of his throat that sticks like taffy. 
Simon steps into his orbit with Penny in his arms, keeping her turned outwards away from his body, half tilted to avoid the sticky smear of icing that’s painted all over her. 
“What is it?” he murmurs, leaning in to brush his lips against Johnny’s cheek, warm breath fanning over his skin. 
“Nothin’ ah-“ Penny babbles, head tipped back, gazing at him with wide, pretty eyes, and Johnny rubs a knuckle across her messy cheek. “she’s gettin’ so big. Feel like ‘m missing it, sometimes. Like I should be here.” Simon sighs. 
“Johnny-“ 
“I know, I know.” They made this decision, together. They chose what was best for their family, even though they both knew the distance, the time apart, would sting.  
“The option is always there if you want to swap. Though I think we both know you’d lose your head behind a desk.” He nods, but the longing lingers, and Simon reads him right through to his heart, like always. “After this next op, let’s sit down and talk about it. Maybe we can make some adjustments for next year.” 
“Ah love ye.” 
“I love you too.” He shifts Pen into his side, inclining his head towards her grubby hands. “Can you wash her up?” She reaches for him, trying to latch around his neck, and he rubs her back, cooing into her hair. 
“Whit happened to my precious bairn, eh? Where’d she go?” Pen giggles, fingers finding his nose, long strands of his hair with a tug, and he playfully lifts her, mouth against her tummy, blowing loud raspberries over her shirt that has her absolutely screaming with glee. 
“Da. Dadadada-“ she babbles at him. 
“C’mon wee lamb, let’s go get ye into some clean clothes.” 
There’s an envelope shoved under your front door.
The shitty carpet in the hallway is too high, threads jagged, so it sits a little crumpled, half wedged beneath the bottom and the floor.
It’s manilla. Letter sized. Stepping over it to get inside, you immediately notice the lack of postage. Or addressing. Or anything at all, that would signify that it had been delivered by proper authorities.
It’s from him. 
You know it is, even though you try to find any other rational reasoning, anything that could explain the mystery behind the envelope and how it got here.
You know. You know it’s probably a letter. Handwritten. Signed in perfect penmanship. You know it’s probably something foul, sick words twisted into terrifying sentences.
You kick it inside and let it sit there for a few minutes. You get changed, get into comfortable clothes, start your kettle. You wrap your sweater tight around your body and lean against your countertop, staring at the offensive tan-beige paper that lays in the middle of the floor.
It’s from him. 
He knows where you are. 
“That’s impossible.” You answer yourself aloud, fingers curled so tight into your palms that they make little crescent moon shapes in your skin.
Your illusion, delusion, of safety, anonymity, is easily washed away by the appearance of the envelope, and whatever lurks inside it.
It’s too soon. 
You didn’t make it.
It’s not a letter inside the envelope at all.
It’s a photo.
A photo of you, taken in harsh hospital lighting, dated over two years ago. It’s taken from the shoulders up, skin bare and exposed, fresh impact bruising around your neck, eye starting to swell, lip crusted with blood.
You remember this photo. You remember the awful experience of the SANE exam, the drive to the hospital that took over two hours because you had to go to another state, just in case.
You hadn’t changed. Hadn’t showered. Your white eyelet blouse, one of your favorites, was splattered red, bright ruby dried a dark wine by the time you pulled into the little county hospital.
You remember the way it felt, to have your clothes put in a bag. To be handled by gloved fingers, with care and attention. The same way you had done for others before that day, and since.
“What’s your name?” your nurse had asked you, so cautiously, so kind. “It’s okay. You’re safe here.” She tried to promise, but you knew the truth. There was nowhere you could run, not a single place you could hide, where a shadow wouldn’t find you.
The girl, the woman, in the photo is the same person that looks back at you in the mirror every day, except now she’s buried beneath layers and layers of function, schedule, consistency. She’s silenced by distraction. By work.
By fear.
You flip it over with trembling hands, looking for the note or signature you know will be there. Like a greedy, starved pig; he cannot help himself. 
Found you. 
Bile rockets up your esophagus and into your mouth. How long will he toy with you this time?
“Hey, you okay?” Nia asks, frowning at you from her locker.
“Yeah, just slept like shit.” You roll your shoulders, emphasizing the half-truth. You really did sleep poorly, fragments of nightmares keeping you suspended in twilight sleep, clips of memories morphed into the snapping. bloodied jaw of a monster who reared their head every time your REM cycle started, and it shows. In your face, your posture, your skin. You look awful, the only thing really holding you together the resolve you have to push through, to get it together, to leave the envelope and its contents behind in your mind. You’re safer inside these walls above anywhere else, that you know is true. Your safety. Your sanctuary. Nothing can hurt you here. “You know how it is.” You add, and she chuckles.
“Tell me about it. Thought I was going to love overnights, but the sleep schedule is brutal.”
“You get used to it.” You assure her, the two of you making your way down the hall to the pit, and she shrugs.
“If you say so.”
You stand outside of two sixty-eight for too long. People pass you in the hallway, eyes curious, and you pretend to scroll through the tablet, decidedly trying to distract yourself from the dread that’s gathered like a sailor’s knot in the pit of your stomach.
You’re a professional. This behavior is definitely unprofessional. Get yourself together. 
You try, filling your lungs with a deep breath, but you can’t shake the shame, the mortification that is curdling in your stomach at the idea of facing Simon and Johnny after the code black situation last week.
“Go sit with Johnny.”
“Ye’re shaking, pretty girl.”
Will they be angry that you were so rattled? Could they tell? 
Your watch alarm beeps, and you uncurl your spine.
Buck up. 
You’re both anxious, and relieved, that Johnny is asleep when you finally step inside. Simon sits in his usual spot, paperback book’s spine split in the palm of his hand, and at first… he doesn’t even look up. Not until you clear your throat, and he startles in the chair, eyes snapping up to find yours. “Hi.” He frowns.
“What day is it?”
“Uh, it’s Wednesday?”
“I thought you start your week on Thursdays.” That makes your eyebrows raise, uncontained surprise filtering through you. He knows your schedule? Butterflies thrash in your stomach at the notion, something hot flooding your veins as you blink at him.
“I’m on OT.” You drift towards the other side of the bed, eyeing Johnny’s monitor before lifting the blanket to peek at his elevated leg. “How is he?”
“Uncomfortable. The burn debridement has been… difficult.”  You chew on the inside of your cheek. They better not be letting Simon even stand outside and watch that through the window, you think. You’ll have to follow up with whoever is on days.
“Healing burns can be a long and painful process.” You tell him, pulling back the blanket a little further. “I’ll be quick, try to let him get enough sleep as possible.”
“He’ll be sad he missed you.” Simon answers, still watching your every movement, eyes dark and focused above the black cloth mask. The intensity in them catches you off guard when you meet his gaze, hair on the back of your neck standing up straight, and you swallow.
“Well, I’ll still be here in the morning when he wakes so…” you trail off awkwardly, choosing to direct your attention to the scaffolding that’s supporting his femur and hip, checking his sutures for any redness or swelling.
“Do you work a lot of overtime?” Simon asks at the same as he leans forward to brush a stray lock of hair from Johnny’s forehead. The touch is so tender, so gentle, it makes your heart bleed inside your chest, blood warming beneath your skin, captivating your attention until he’s tearing his eyes away from Johnny, and latching onto yours with an expectant expression.
“Oh. Um. Sometimes?”
“Seems like a lot.” He comments, words lazily pulled from his lips, his tone soft, nearly a whisper. “Must make it difficult to spend time with your family, or partner.”
“Oh, I don’t have one of… those.” You immediately refute, pulling up short before the word those, embarrassment making your nose burn. Why are you telling him this? Why are you announcing to a stranger that you’re practically a recluse loner? 
Simon’s head tilts, and he looks like he’s about to say something but your tablet chimes, insistent and loud, signaling a vitals issue in another room.
“E-excuse me.” You stumble, and he nods, turning his attention back towards Johnny.
One… two… three… four…One… two… three… four… One… two-
The count in your head is second nature at this point, turning over and over after four as your arms, back and core start to scream, your breaths coming in shorter. Where the fuck is he? 
The count continues to roll on, lactic acid building up through your muscles, and you take another deep breath, as much as you can manage. The pain is familiar, it’s necessary, it’s a part of your job, but today, it’s burrowing itself beneath your skull, tugging and tearing at the memories that you’ve buried deep.
Pain. Gnarled and knotted strands of associations pull free from the confines of compartmentalization, stretching out across the front of your mind.
One… two… three… four…
You think about the photo. About being on your back, in a bed like this, lost inside the maze of a panic attack while the NP took photos between your legs. While they swabbed for DNA inside of you, under your fingernails, in your mouth. It’s funny how certain things can stick with you, the sound of the plastic bag crinkling as your bloodied clothes were shoved inside, how you can’t sleep on your back now, the way you counted the ceiling tiles over and over that day. One… two… three… four…
“How long has it been?” Nia asks from the other side of the bed, hand steadily squeezing the bag at the correct rate, still watching the monitor like a hawk.
“At least ten minutes.” You glance at the shade pulled over the window, grateful you remembered when you came running in here, the patient’s family standing just outside the door, holding their breath, hoping you’re in here bringing their beloved granny back, when in reality, you’re just traumatizing her body. You’ve already broken one of her ribs, and you’re worried if you keep going, her sternum will fracture too. It’s not fair. “Where the fuck is he?” you hiss between breaths, anger starting to heat your skin, irritation clear in your tone. This isn’t even your patient. Lazy, slacker, pompous ass, where the fu-
“How long has it been?” The nervous voice just inside the door calls, and your head snaps up.
Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me. 
“Eleven minutes and twenty-two seconds. Where is Marshall?”
“He- he sent me.” You shake your head. Nia sighs.
“Have you pronounced before?”
“Um. No.”
“And where is Marshall?” You ask again, just to clarify, and the resident swallows.
“I uh, don’t know.” Normally, a resident’s first pronouncement would be supervised by their attending. But since this one’s attending is Marshall, a grade A prick that you can’t stand, it looks like he’ll be on his own.
“Great. Okay.” You take a huge breath, trying to flex your wrists without losing your position. “It’s been twelve minutes now, and no response. Do you want to check?” He nods, and you chew on the inside of your cheek when he doesn’t verbally respond. “I need you to say it out loud.”
“You can stop compressions.” You immediately wilt, stepping away from the side of the bed, the motion of Nia’s hand also slowing until it stops, and she slumps. Marshall’s resident physically checks for a pulse, listens for breath sounds and then finally, does a sternum rub, to no avail.
“Sh-should I…” they trail off, looking back down at the elderly woman in the bed. The deceased woman, whose family is waiting, desperately. You nod.
“Yes.” You tell the resident gently. You can tell he’s unsure, nervous even, and for a moment, you’re transported back to your first code, when you were a baby nurse, a terrified, bumbling mess that needed help, just like he does. And since Marshall is a piece of shit… “No pulse?” You ask, and they nod. “No breath sounds? No sound of a heartbeat?”
“None.” They answer you confidently, and you manage an encouraging smile.
“No response to painful stimuli, no reaction to the sternum rub?”
“Right. No.”
“Okay. So normally, you could also use a thumbnail to press into their nailbed, if you feel like you need it, if you’re not comfortable with the sternum rub, but-“
“No, no. I’m. Yeah. Okay.” They too, take a deep breath, and check their watch. “Time of d-death… twenty one forty five.”
“Great job.” You tell him, pulling the blanket back up around her shoulders. “Do you feel comfortable speaking with the family?” He blanches, and Nia’s work phone dings, signaling another patient’s needs. You sigh for the eightieth time tonight. “Okay. Come on, we’ll do it together.”
The supply closet welcomes you with open arms. It hides you in the low light of it’s forgotten space, and when you fall into the chair, your face drops into your palms, pressing so hard into them that you start to see stars. The curtain falls. The walls of your sanctuary start to feel frail. 
Found you, found you.
He found you. 
Get it together. Get yourself together. 
“Hey, there she is. Missed ye.” Johnny coos, eyes half shut, sleepy and sweet.
“Johnny.” Simon rumbles his name like a warning, one your patient doesn’t seem to heed, still blinking slowly at you with a sly look on his face.
“Had a dream about ye, pretty girl. Dreamt ye were at ho-“
“Alright.” Simon cuts him off, swiftly. Patients often have vivid, weird dreams when they’re all dosed up on medication, and it’s not the first time someone has slurred out some weird vision they’ve had of you in their sleep.
“Good morning to you too.” You quip, glancing at the catheter bag before putting your hands on your hips. “How are you feeling?”
“’m alright. Stomach hurts.” You frown.
“Can you tell me where the pain is?” He motions to his upper right, the area where his newly repaired liver is sitting, and you nod, pulling out your phone immediately to update his doctor. Could be nothing. Could be something. Not for you to determine, but you won’t let it go unnoticed, and you’ll make sure it’s top of mind during shift report. “Can I check your side?” You motion to where his burn is lightly wrapped, and he nods with a sheepish smile.
“Aye, sure can. Ye can take my clothes off anytime.” You roll your eyes, unbuttoning his gown at the shoulder, peeling the gauze away very slowly. The wound looks better than you were expecting, if you’re being honest, and it relieves some of the anxiety that curled up in the pit of your stomach after his admission of upper right quadrant pain. “Yer hands are warm, bun. Feels nice.” Bun? You opt to ignore it. Probably still a little floaty.
“Good, that’s… good. Better than them being icicles.” Your hand brushes across the center of his abdomen when you pull the rest of the dressing away, and he tenses, ab muscles becoming clearly defined, enough that you stall out for a second before turning away to grab fresh gauze for his wound care, hands just a little unsteady. “Oh, fuck.” You mutter when the pack slips, sliding halfway under the little table that’s along the wall, and you sigh, whirling away from both of them and bending at the waist to tiptoe your fingers across the floor until you feel the corner of crinkly plastic. “Gotcha!” When you straighten, turning back towards the bed, Johnny and Simon are staring at you, and there’s a glee filled smile on Johnny’s face, it’s presence both mischievous and beguiling, fingers of his good hand slowly rubbing circles into the inside of Simon’s forearm. “What?”
“Nothing. Ignore him.” Simon deadpans, and then shoots his partner a very serious look, one that nearly has you straightening like you’re in trouble.
“Ach.” Johnny huffs, stroking a gentle touch upwards across Simon’s jaw as you start to reapply his dressing, taking your time to ensure everything looks good and he’s comfortable. You smooth over it once you’re satisfied, checking for any precarious pieces of tape. “Ye take such good care o’ me.” Johnny murmurs, accent soft and scratchy. It’s decadent the way his voice sounds sometimes, enough to make your throat dry and the room feel too hot. “Got lucky, didnae we, Si?”
“Well, it’s m-my job.” You answer, trying not to look down at where his chest and stomach are still exposed, or get caught in the cerulean blue waves of his eyes. They’re such a stark contrast to the intense, velvety hue of Simon’s, the pointed focus of his gaze that’s able to stun you, throw you off kilter the same time Johnny’s makes you feel overheated, and lightheaded. Both of them together could drown you. Overwhelm you.
Balanced. A yin and a yang. 
Get it together. This is your patient and his partner, for gods sake. What is wrong with you? 
Something warms brushes along the skin of your knuckles, a fleeting touch, and when you look down, you see Johnny’s hand, two fingers barely stroking yours, the lightest touch catching your breath in your chest like time is slowing to a crawl, and you’re freezing along with it.
Everything goes quiet in your head.
Simon’s watching you, methodically studying you like he’s trying to decipher every twitch in your expression as Johnny’s fingertips move over your knuckles to the back of your hand, thumb slipping into your palm, blazing heat sparking beneath it.
What… what is happening? 
A phone vibrates. The noise snaps you free from your near statuesque state, and they both divert their attention to its screen. 
“They’re here.” Simon tells him, glancing at you before looking back to his partner. “Be good.” He warns, and Johnny rolls his eyes in response, but he looks almost… desperate now, eyes wide and anxious. 
“Hurry?” he asks, hopefully, Simon leaning down to press mask covered lips to his forehead, his eyes shuttering closed, deep breath passing between their two bodies.
“I’ll be right back.”
“I’m really concerned about the pain in his upper right quadrant. I already sent a text, but if his doctor isn’t on this floor in the next hour, page him again.” The dayshifter nods, tapping a note into her phone. “And Marshall’s resident is practically unsupervised, so keep an eye out.”
“Okay, sounds good.” You mention a few other things, details you noticed throughout your day, and she thanks you for the extra eye, sending you off with a parting wave into the cold, crisp morning, your mind already skipping over your commute to when you’ll be able to sink into your bed one last time.
You’re busy compiling a list as you wait for the elevator. Necessities, things you’ll need indefinitely as you bounce back and forth between a rotation of hotels and on-call rooms, all the usual stuff, clothes, toiletries, and all the important things that can’t be left behind, your birth certificate, passport, other things that could make or break you if lost.
Deep breath. You can do this. It’s not the first time. You’ve done it before, and you can do it again. 
The elevator dings. You take a step forward, not paying attention, and then pull up short when you see who’s getting out.
It’s Simon stepping towards you, with a baby girl in his arms. She’s situated on his hip, nestled into his side and for a second, you falter because… you recognize her. Or at least you think you do... she looks just like the little girl you saw last week.
“Um. Hi.” You blurt, failing to notice at first that he’s not alone, the man from the first night you met them, the one with the mustache standing behind the width of Simon’s body, his arm curled around the woman you saw last week. They step into view, and you give them all a polite smile, one you really hope doesn’t betray your confusion. 
“Hi,” he says your name next, says it so softly it feels tender, and then takes another step closer. “This is Penelope. Our daughter.” Oh. Oh.
They have a baby. A girl. They have a little girl. You don’t know why, but something inside you stumbles, melting into a frazzled, awkward mess, heart thumping in your chest. They have a baby, and Johnny almost died. They have a kid and he’s been trapped in this hospital, miserable in pain, missing his kid. “Pen, this is your Da’s favorite nurse.”
“Bunny.” The baby, Penelope, says, little finger stretching out towards your badge, which is facing outwards with the giant sparkly sticker. Simon chuckles, genuinely, masked lips pressing to her cheek, and you see a glimpse of a father, a protector, a provider. It makes you feel dizzy.
“We’ll see you tomorrow?” He asks, and you nod like a robot, unable to really form a word with your tongue. “Alright baby girl. Let’s go see your Da, yeah?”
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faggotcitosis · 11 days ago
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this is why we don't talk about misogyny anymore, because we need to accept the cultural misogyny within certain demographics, otherwise you're racist. they love saying "this work is already being done by local grassroots feminism" - it always makes me laugh. i am from a third world country. what every third world country human rights movement wants is international attention & support. nobody in india is mad because kate from the united states talked about how bad misogyny is. nobody from brazil is mad somebody from britain talked about how brazil and argentina have the highest rates of murdered trans women internationally.
the international recognization of our movements is essential for change. which only happens due to international pressure. diaspora love puffing their chest to talk about life ~~back in the homeland~~ meanwhile they've never lived there past age 2, only visit every once in a while and think they somehow understand the every day lived reality of being in a third world country lol. you live in the united states. you can keep world hijab day in the west, meanwhile girls are legally obligated to dress and behave in certain ways, if not by law by social rules. the cognitive dissonance is so stark.
savage and noble savage show the duality of racism: too violent, brute, stupid, doesn't know what's good for the self, society was riddled with issues until the white men arrived x too pure, uncorrupted by the west, living in perfect harmony with nature, society was perfect until the white men arrived.
in an attempt to be anti-racist, leftists often fall easily into noble savage trope. because being able to see minorities as both victims and perpetratos of oppresive dynamics outside and inside of their own communities, respectively, isn't going to get you notes. nuanced discussion hardly makes the news.
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bellaxgiornata · 4 months ago
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A Favor from the Devil |Chapter One|
Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!Mom!Reader Word Count: 2.2k [Series Masterlist]
Warnings/tags: 18+; Domestic abuse, depictions/mentions of sexual assault, struggles with past trauma, canon-typical violence, angst with a happy ending, friends to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut (possibly more warnings to come)
Summary: Between working cases at Nelson, Murdock, and Page and combating crime as Daredevil in Hell’s Kitchen at night, Matt had little time for much else. Until a new neighbor moves in across the hall and you attract his attention with your odd behavior. But when your quiet four year old doesn't just befriend the Devil–she unravels his biggest secret–Matt only grows closer and more protective of the both of you. Inevitably he learns the truth of your past, but that's not what surprises him most. It's a favor you ask of the Devil–a favor that initially leaves Matt conflicted.
a/n: This is a story I've had in my head for quite a few months now and have steadily been working on for a bit for myself, but now I've decided to share it. I've spent quite a bit of time outlining and fleshing out the story--more than I usually do. As always, feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!
Tag list: @kee-0-kee @dethspllz @a-half-empty-g1rl @senjoritanana
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“And that's the end,” you said. 
Closing the book in your lap, you glanced up from the brightly colored illustrations of animals on the back cover to your daughter who sat clutching Barnabas, the stuffed teddy bear that she never went to bed without. Her eyes had grown wide and hopeful as they held your gaze–a look you'd long since become familiar with. It was the same one she always gave you when she was about to stall in an attempt to avoid her inevitable bedtime. And it often worked on you, whether she realized it or not.
“Again?” Evelyn asked softly, a little hand reaching out towards the book. “Please, mama?”
“Cricket,” you replied gently, glad to hear she was stringing more words together tonight despite the excitement of this evening's move. “I've already read it five times now. I think it's time we put it away for tonight and you get to sleep.” 
Evelyn's face fell at your answer and the sight pained you. It didn’t help that you knew just how anxious she'd been the entire weekend with all the big changes you both had going on yet again. She'd spent the past week barely saying more than a single word because of it.
“The book will still be here tomorrow,” you promised her. “We can read it again then.”
“Helps me sleep,” she whispered.
The growing frown curving her lips downwards and the little crease forming between her furrowed brows tugged at your heart. Especially with how she looked so small tucked inside the too-large sleeping bag you'd recently purchased at a thrift store. It looked as if she was being swallowed up by the giant purple thing considering she didn't even take up half the length of it. 
Sighing, you felt your resolve fading the longer she stared up at you with her pleading eyes. With everything that you'd both been through over the past few months, and how you'd already felt guilty for all of the things you'd done wrong and hadn't been able to give her–which included an actual bed to sleep in once you'd gotten this apartment–you knew you wouldn't be able to resist that look. The very least you could do was read the book to her for a sixth time.
Leaning back once more against the bedroom wall behind you, you settled in for another few minutes on the uncomfortable floor. “Alright,” you relented. “I can read it just one more time for you, cricket. But then you've got to promise me something. Can you do that?”
The expression on her face changed, her small nose slightly scrunching up as her head turned to the side. “What?” she asked.
“Promise me that you'll actually go to sleep when I'm done,” you said, reaching a hand out to lightly ruffle her hair. “Because it's late and you've got your first day of preschool in the morning. Remember?”
“Oh,” she whispered, visibly sinking lower into the sleeping bag. 
You frowned. She'd been nervous for that, too.
“Hey,” you said, your hand smoothing her hair before coming to gently rest along her shoulder. “You'll have fun there, I promise. I know it can seem scary going somewhere new, but you've been doing a great job adjusting to all the new things we've been through already. And you'll make friends, Evie. It'll be alright, I promise.”
The doleful look on her face didn't waver despite your attempt to comfort her. You hoped that beginning preschool tomorrow in conjunction with yet another move didn't set her back to nonverbal responses again. Guilt burned inside of you at the thought of how much your previous situation had led her to become so timid and quiet, afraid to use her own voice. It didn't matter that everyone at Hope Haven had tried to reassure you that none of what you'd been through was your fault, that you had done everything you could when you could. That didn't stop you from still feeling wholly responsible.
You should have seen it coming. Should have done something sooner.
But that was in the past now.
“And after work I'll pick you up and bring you back home with me,” you told her, trying to lighten her mood. “We can eat tonight's leftover pizza for dinner. And maybe I can get us some ice cream on the way home. How does that sound, cricket?”
Evelyn's hands began fidgeting with the edge of her sleeping bag, rolling it up between her small fingers. Her eyes remained downcast, avoiding yours. You knew she often fidgeted when she was anxious, a habit that just seemed wrong for a four year old to have acquired.
“Is this home?” she asked. 
The ever present guilt in your stomach burned, your chest tightening at the unexpected and loaded question. You hated that she worried about things that no four year old should be worrying about, too. Another thing that was all your fault.
Expression softening, you nodded. “Yeah, Evie,” you answered, your hand dropping down to wrap around her little one that was still fidgeting with the edge of her sleeping bag. “This is home. We're staying here. Hopefully for a long, long time.”
Glancing up at you from beneath her lashes, you could see the expression on her face had yet again changed. This time she was staring up at you with a look that you absolutely hated seeing on her little face. One full of fear and uncertainty. A particular memory flashed through your mind at the sight of it and the acid in your stomach had a wave of nausea hitting you. Eyes briefly dropping down to the scar across the back of your right hand, you tried to fight back the tremble that had begun in it.
“We're safe?” Evie asked.
Attempting to swallow down the lump that had formed in the back of your throat, you nodded. You gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, though it felt like your heart was shattering in that moment. Because after all, it had also been your fault that it had taken so long to get the pair of you somewhere safe.
“Yes,” you stated, your trembling hand gripping the book in your lap tighter in an attempt to calm the quivering. “We're safe here. Don't ever worry about that, alright? That's for me to worry about. And I will always make sure you're safe. You hear me? Always .”
There was a long pause before she very slowly nodded her head just once. Your left hand patted hers tenderly, sending her what was meant to be a reassuring smile. You hoped it had been, because you'd been doing your best to appear more put together than you actually felt lately. You didn't need Evie to be worrying about anything else.
“So,” you said, trying to change the topic, “I guess we should get back to finishing our bedtime story, huh?”
Evie nodded vigorously, pushing herself more upright in her sleeping bag, her expectant eyes on you. You sent her another smile before clearing your throat and focusing back down on the book in your lap. Opening it once more with your still quivering hand, you tried to push the bad memories from your mind as you began to read in an animated voice. 
It wasn't until four pages later that you'd glanced up at Evie. She had leaned over to see the pictures in the book while you read, all traces of fear gone from her face. Instead, she looked enraptured in the story that you knew she had completely memorized by now with how often you'd read it to her. There was a ghost of a smile on her face as she cuddled Barnabas tightly to her chest. And in that moment your heart felt full of hope.
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Running a hand across your forehead, you paced your way around the mostly unfurnished apartment you'd just moved into this evening. The sparseness of the place was truthfully embarrassing. Currently all you had was Evie's sleeping bag, a blanket and lumpy pillow set aside by Evie’s bedroom door which would be your bed for the foreseeable future, and the empty boxes tossed around what would someday hopefully be a living room. For now it was just a large, empty room beside the small, empty kitchen.
As you paced around another overturned, half-broken down cardboard box, your shoulders dropped. You'd managed to pack all of Evelyn's and yours’ belongings in those boxes now lying discarded on the floor. Just six boxes fit your entire life. You certainly hadn't had much when you'd grabbed Evelyn and ran those couple of months ago. Just one garbage bag filled with mostly her clothes and things with a few of yours mixed in. Though even if you'd had time to pack more, there wouldn't have been much else to bring with you because neither of you’d ever had much to begin with. 
And now here you were struggling to afford the very little you had as it was, no matter how desperately you were trying to stretch your measly new salary. It pained you to not be able to provide properly for you and your daughter. You remembered how you’d felt that very last night you'd stayed at Hope Haven, the women's shelter that you’d be forever grateful for taking the pair of you in and helping you start your new life. 
Long after Evelyn had gone to sleep on your last night there, you'd laid awake in bed crying quietly to yourself as you stared at that damn purple sleeping bag mocking you from across the room. You’d felt like a terrible mother–for more than one reason. As tears ran down your cheeks, you’d vowed to save up to buy Evie a bed, doing whatever you needed to until you could. You'd give her that at least, even if it meant skipping meals whenever you could to save the extra cash. But honestly, you found yourself already often having to skip meals just so you could afford to keep Evie fed.
Pausing in your aimless pacing, you came to a stop beside one of the large windows in the living room. Placing a hand against the cool glass, you looked outside at the city. Your eyes inevitably found their way to the massive billboard positioned on the building across the street which hung at precisely your apartment's height. But fortunately for you the eyesore was more directly across from the apartment next door to yours, making it less noticeable and disruptive from your view. Though you had no choice but to feel grateful for the hideous thing because it had been the sole reason you'd gotten such a reduced rent in the first place. Otherwise you'd never have been able to afford a place in a relatively safe area of Hell’s Kitchen.
As you blankly stared outside at the billboard, watching the advertisements change from one to the next, you hoped things would be different here. Better. Because both you and Evie needed that. Your daughter needed a stable place to live, one she felt safe coming home to for once, and you desperately wanted to provide that for her. With every fiber of your being you hoped that this place would finally become the home you'd been struggling to create since the day she was born.
Pushing away from the glass, you rubbed at your tired eyes. It was late and you knew you should probably get some sleep yourself now that Evie had finally fallen asleep a little while ago. But the prospect of sleeping on the cold, hard floor with nothing but a singular blanket and pillow didn't sound that appealing. You certainly weren't rushing to get to sleep yourself. 
Making your way back across the apartment, you reluctantly picked up the blanket and pillow from the ground. Carrying both of them over towards the closed door of Evelyn's bedroom, you set the pillow down. With both hands you tossed the blanket out, splaying it wide across the floor. You realized it was probably ridiculous sleeping in front of her bedroom door like this, especially because there was another bedroom, but it made you feel better. Because laying here, you knew that you were between your daughter and anyone who might come through the front door–namely one person in particular. 
Not that he even knew where you were.
Beginning to lower yourself to the floor, preparing to get some rest, movement caught your attention out of the kitchen window across the room. You stopped instantly, head spinning fully towards the window as you sat half-crouched like a startled animal. Adrenaline and fear spiked through you as your eyes caught a shadow darting across the neighboring rooftop. For a moment you could have sworn the shadow had been shaped like a person, but as you scanned the rooftop now, you didn't see anything at all.
Shaking your head, you blinked hard a couple of times as you finally sunk to the floor. You had to have been seeing things because you were overtired and on edge. That's all it was. There was no reason for someone to be running along a rooftop late at night.
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amazinglyashy · 20 days ago
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I Think You'll Be Okay
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Read on Ao3 Pairings: Rafayel x Reader Summary: You find yourself face to face with an old flame. Your heart pounding loud enough for you to hear it, but your feet refusing to move, refusing to get you to safety. That's alright though. Safety comes to you. Or You meet up with your abusive ex-boyfriend again when waiting for the train. Luckily for you, someone else decided to take the train today. Tags: Past Domestic Violence, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Protectiveness, Rescue, Hurt/Comfort Wordcount: 6,107
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You fiddled in your pocket, trying to dig out your phone. You had shoved it there earlier when you had left work, on your way out in a rush, trying to leave before any more was put on you. That is, on top of what had already been dumped on you today, forcing you into overtime when you really just wanted to go home. You really didn’t want to be heading home any later than right now, with all of the creeps coming out soon to prey on young highschoolers hanging out in the city after classes, or single women like yourself getting off of work late. The time was already squarely at sundown, which meant you were making it out just in time.
The sun was setting to the left of the platform already, the golden haze casting an orange glow over everything it touched. It was a nice change, you admitted to yourself. Usually when you were leaving, the sky was still a misty shade of blue, the evening only just barely peppering the surroundings with its presence. The platform was also so much busier at that time, with crowds of people trying to shove themselves onto the train, filling every gap they could to shave just a few extra minutes off of their travel time rather than wait for one of the other coming trains. Last you had checked, you were one of very few standing on the platform- the only others being a small group of highschoolers chatting with each other a ways down to your right, and an elderly man dozing off on a bench near the stairs, leaning against his cane as he snored quietly. He didn’t seem like he was waiting for a train though, there being benches much closer to the boarding area that he wasn’t anywhere near, so you had decided to leave him be after you had noticed him initially. 
I’ll leave the waking him up to whoever he’s waiting on. You muse to yourself as you pull your phone from your pocket, unlocking it and giving your missed notifications a scroll. 
There were a few texts from Tara, asking about this coming weekend. She hadn’t sent too many, having seen the pile of work still sitting on your desk by the time of her own clocking out. You felt bad. You were working the next weekend, again, and you felt bad turning her down so often. You didn’t want her to feel as if you were avoiding her, or that you didn’t want to continue being friends, but you were just… busy. You sighed to yourself, deciding to shoot her a call later on tonight. You figured it would be easier to avoid her taking anything to heart if you spoke to her directly. 
You thumbed over the rest of your notifications, swiping away most. A few advertisements, some updates from your mobile games, some social media follows and suggestions, an email or two- nothing particularly eventful. It was almost like magic, though, as you were mulling over one of the emails you had gotten, a name with a heart next to it popped into your dropdown menu. Instinctively, you clicked it without even pausing to read the sample text. 
You couldn’t help it, as the messenger loaded. It was automatic at this point. Or at least, it felt automat-
“Oh hey! I know you-!”
Your head snapped up from your phone at the sound of a familiar voice, the hairs on the back of your neck standing boldly, a scatter of goosebumps forming across your skin. The elderly man hadn’t woken up, no one had come to meet him yet either. The highschoolers were still deep in conversation at the other end of the platform. None of them had spoken to you, and none of them had seemed anywhere near as recognizable as that voice was. 
You glanced over to your left, where your eyes fell on a man who was waving, his hand comically high in the air, as he quickly made his way directly towards you. 
Your feet turned to stone. 
The breath in your throat hitched, and you didn’t even realize you weren’t breathing anymore. 
Why?
Why was he here?
Why was he in front of you?
Why was he approaching you?
How had he found you?
Why was he-
He had closed the distance between you before you had even processed him approaching you fully, you freezing up making it easy for him to pull you into a hug that made you feel like a thousand ants were crawling across your skin. Your shock and disbelief had taken over, overriding any thought in your mind that was telling you to run . You weren’t even sure you would have been able to listen to it even if your feet weren’t frozen. The pounding of your heart had become loud enough to drown out any coherent thought you could have come up with.
He squeezed you, and you wanted to slip down into the ground so desperately. 
You were in danger. You were in danger. You were in danger. 
You were a Hunter, you were proficient in hand to hand combat, a decent marksman, and pretty good swordsman. You’d killed countless Wanderers, and come and gone from the N109 zone with barely a scratch on you after your countless visits. You were fully capable of protecting yourself from anyone and anything, and if you didn’t seem like you could, you would manage. 
But you couldn’t protect yourself from him. 
You couldn’t take back what he had taken from you. You couldn’t stop as your mind was slowly regressing backwards, back to where it had been.
Back to the memories. 
He pulled away, but the respite was shorter than a breath, as the train approached the platform. It felt like time was moving in slow motion. His smile, the people deboarding, the lack of people entering the car that he was pulling you into- Something about going the same way? - his hand gripping the upper part of your arm. But it wasn’t gentle. It never was. It never was. It never was. 
“What have you been up to? Is that a name card from the Hunter’s Association?” He asked, his tone cheerful as you felt your heart dropping through the very rails the train was sitting on. He sounded so friendly, but you knew he wasn’t being friendly. He wasn’t asking you a question, he was making a statement. 
He was saying ‘ I found you~ ♪ ’.
“I-...” You take a small gasp of air, finally processing how little you had been breathing up until the point. He flashed you a little smirk, his hair falling across his eye as he tilted his head at you. Had his hair always looked like that? You didn’t know. You didn’t care. You couldn’t-... remember. 
God, you couldn’t remember a lot of back then. 
It was horrible.
It was scary.
Why was he still gripping your arm…?
It hurt. 
It made other spots hurt, echoing with pain you had forgotten- no, not forgotten about. Pushed away. Tried to not remember. But still, ghost feelings that would sneak into your mind whenever something made you flinch, whenever someone tried to give you an over-enthusiastic high five, whenever you were trying to please yourself alone in bed, whenever someone raised their voice- be it out of happiness or anger, it really didn’t matter. The anxiety would pound into your chest like breaking a door down, like breaking you down until you were tiny little pieces strewn out across the floor, sobbing alone to yourself because no one else could help you. You were alone. This was your cross to bear. You had gotten yourself into this mess, it was up to you to get through this. It was up to you to get yourself out of this. 
“Wipe that shitty fucking expression off your face, you’re making people think I’m doing something wrong.” 
His voice was dangerously low, and sinisterly similar to how he used to speak to you. It was nice to see that nothing had changed, so much longer later. That the same circumstances that led to the bloodied sheets strewn out across the bed and floor were happening again. That the same knuckles that had made forceful contact with the high of your cheekbone were gripping so tightly, they were turning white across the top of your upper arm. You pressed your lips into a thin line, trying to appear as neutral as possible, as the only other patron in the train car with the two of you- tucked back in the corner but raising an eyebrow at the situation, nonetheless- watched. 
He gave you a small shake, and you let the corners of your mouth turn upward in a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. You were just two old flames meeting again, goofing around. Reignited that old flame once more. 
But to you, that flame was a bomb. And it was going to go off the second you were alone with him. 
There hadn’t been any closure when you had left, there couldn’t have been. You could have left with bags secretly packed without so much as a goodbye thrown into his messages while he was at work, or you could have spent three hours talking to him trying to get through to him one final time. But it wouldn’t have mattered. Men like him, were men like him for a reason. They didn’t change, they didn’t find what they were doing as something wrong , and they never would. At least, that’s what everyone had told you. That’s what you had learned at the end. But standing here as the train rocketed towards another new location for him to find out about, you were finding it harder and harder to remember everything you had taught yourself just to get away from him. 
“Are you going to be ungrateful again? Going to run away because you think for some reason you can get better, despite being some fucking whore who runs her mouth? With a bodycount?” He practically spat the words at your face, turning to face you and keeping his back towards the other patron, who had closed their eyes with their head resting back against the seat, waiting for their stop and avoiding getting involved. 
“After everything I’ve done for you, you can’t offer me even the littlest bit of appreciation that you didn’t want to show me back then? I thought you had changed. That you were different.” 
You let out a deep breath, trying to keep your mind steady, but it was hard. You’d gotten used to the word disassociate ever since you’d learned about it. You’d slip into dissociation even on your best days, at random. Talking to Tara, riding your bike, fighting Wanderers, avoiding Luke and Kieran’s pranks- it didn’t matter. It just… happened. And it came on worse when you were reminded of things that had traumatized you. Or were faced with the very things that had caused that trauma- as you were finding out right now. 
He reached up, grabbing your other arm into his other hand, the grip matching the vice-like pressure of the first one that still held you. “You listen to me, you little bitch. I still fucking own you. I don’t give a shit if you’re living in some fantasy land where you think you’re moving on, but you will never find anything as good as me.” He hissed. “Not for what you’re worth. I treated you so well, and you think you can keep treating me and people like shit? Fuck off.” 
He gave your arms a yank to emphasize his words. You just stared straight at his chest, stumbling slightly as the train stopped at the next station, but his grip kept you relatively upright. The time between now and the last stop wasn’t anything you could remember clearly, and you could already feel your mind slipping from your body slowly. You couldn’t stop it. You didn’t want to. It was something you couldn’t explain, but it acted like a muffled fast-forward button on situations like this. You couldn’t say you liked it, but you liked it more than being present for what your ex had to say.
But it was horrible, because no sooner did you start to slip away, did the doors to the train open, and the only bystander that had been seated in the corner left. Whether this was their stop, or they wanted to avoid the situation, you didn’t know. You didn’t care. In your heart though, you knew that was just how it went. You’d be lucky if they called the police, but wouldn’t do anything. There was no proof of anything happening. You didn’t have any. 
You knew he was right.
But then why did it feel like electricity when someone boarded the train? You knew the footsteps without being able to place a name, and the sheer presence was something you sensed without knowing what form it took. 
“Cobalt blue, but maybe phthalo… Oh, Miss Bodyguard. Didn’t think I’d see you tod- Mm?” 
Your heart dropped further than it had at the station when you had first gotten approached.  
No.
Why was Rafayel here?
His comment was cut short, ending in a small hum as he came into your view. You could see a cloud cross his expression as he took in the situation in front of him. You were still doing your best to seem relaxed, and had tried to add a smile as soon as you had realized Rafayel was here, but it didn’t seem like it was working. You wanted so badly to be sick to your stomach, but you also knew if you were, it would only make your ex lose his mind completely. 
“H-Hey, Rafayel, how are you?”
“Do you know him?”
The question was asked by two separate men at the exact same time. One was nearly whispered, the tone borderline violent. The other was gentle, devoid of its usual bratty aftercomment. You just paused, before nodding your head as slowly as you could. 
Fuck, it was so easy to keep your ex under control when it was just you. You hadn’t managed him in front of others in forever, and you had forgotten how to make other people let you handle things. Usually it was as simple as a look. No one wanted to get caught up in the middle of a lover’s quarrel, and were quick to leave. But the doors had already closed behind Rafayel, and his expression was telling you that he was already planning on getting more than involved. 
“Yes!- Yes. Yes, I know him…” You stammered, looking between the two of them, your ex robotically releasing his grip in favor of moving to put his arm across your shoulders. You had to swallow the bile in your throat, but you didn’t move away from him, his expression stormy, while Rafayel’s remained concerned, but fairly unaffected. 
“Rafayel’s an… employer of mine.” You continued, gesturing towards him as he gave the two of you a nod, a small smile flashing in addition. “And Rafayel, this is my-” 
“Boyfriend.” 
You swallowed. 
Rafayel’s eyes narrowed, but he kept smiling. 
“That’s really funny, she’s told me she’s single. Several times actually, whenever I've bugged her about it.” 
You can feel the blood in your veins freeze over. 
No.
You can’t even bring yourself to look up at your ex. You knew what disagreeing with him did, and you knew what blatantly calling out his lies did. You’d experienced the consequences of doing either towards the earlier days of your relationship, before you had learned to follow everything he said. To do everything how he said it. 
And yet it was still not enough, most of the time. 
Rafayel smirked coldly. 
“So, buddy. Do you want to take your hands off of her?” He tilted his head slightly. “Or do I really need to help you?”
The arm across your shoulders felt heavier, until you could feel the pressure disappear. You want to breathe a sigh of relief, but the air gets caught in your lungs as a hand comes down between your shoulder blades at the top of your spine. You’re lurched forward, and Rafayel catches you as you stumble into his chest. “I don’t deal in bitches that can’t treat people with respect or kindness. You can have her.” Your ex spat, knowing that for whatever reason, this man before him wasn't going to fall for his usual tricks. Tricks? No, you thought as you stumbled. He thinks everything out of his own mouth is true, and anyone who disagrees is insane. 
You hadn’t even pulled back away from Rafayel before he had moved you quickly, but gently and carefully to the side, stepping forward as your stomach turned over. You spun around to grab at him, only succeeding in latching onto his arm. 
“Rafayel, stop. You’ll only make things worse.” You stammered as you gripped his arm. He pulled away quickly- but gently, despite his anger. 
“Worse how? Geez, you don’t know this man anymore. You shouldn’t be bothered by strangers on a train platform, and they should know not to approach single women.” 
He emphasized, staring straight at the other man as he did. As if warning him, with his usual snark still backing up his comments. Your ex glared at him. “I don’t know what you’re trying to imply, but I’ll bet you I’ve known her longer than you have. I know all her tricks.” 
“Time is relative.” Rafayel retorted back, taking another step towards him, which your ex matched. Your anxiety was pounding through the roof, and you were desperate to think of anything that could diffuse the situation as they both shot daggers at each other with their eyes. Your ex let out a small chuckle, the kind he would whenever things were about to hurt. The air was leaving your lungs again, but you felt Rafayel shift next to you, and you could feel the predatory behavior like static crossing the side of his arm through the thin linen of his shirt. He had moved, shifted just a step towards your ex, and spoke before you could process what he was doing.
“I’ve done this dance a million times with a million people like you, for less, don’t try me.” Rafayel’s voice was so low, it could barely be described as more than a whisper. It sent a surge of ice through your blood, despite it not being directed towards you. You slowly turned your head, raising it to look at him carefully. You could only see the side of his head, his height also blocking his full expression from you, but you could see just enough of his eyes to feel the cruelty in his gaze.
He wasn’t joking. 
This wasn’t like him.
What was going on?
You reached out to brush against his arm again, but you didn’t know what to do. 
The train lurched as Rafayel reached forward, towards your ex.  
No.
You couldn’t let this happen.
Not here. 
Not towards him.
Not from him .
Your body moved on its own, as you turned your body, the same time the train started to hit its brakes for the next stop. You lost your footing, but you couldn’t let that stop you. You couldn’t let that stop you from stopping Rafayel. The worst of it was the only thing stopping you from falling was the weight of your ex’s torso, the feeling of chills returning the second your body made contact with his again. 
“I-I-” You stuttered, your mouth feeling like it was full of cotton as you stumbled backward into your ex’s body. “No, please. I don’t- no.” 
Rafayel stared at you, his expression blank, before flashing through several different emotions you couldn’t quite make out. Surprise? Absolute fury? Betrayal? Whatever he cycled through, he landed on one you didn’t recognize.
You are now at East Garden station. Next station- West Garden. 
The doors slid open behind you, and a few people filed on as you broke your gaze with Rafayel and glanced over at them. At least there were witnesses. You knew your ex wouldn’t act out too badly in front of so many strangers, and Rafayel, while a little bit feral when it came to columnists and fans that would go too far, you had a pretty good idea that he would remain a lot more calm in the presence of people as well. You let out the breath you had been holding unwittingly. 
“Go.” 
He gave you a slight shove, and you almost tripped onto the platform. As you regained your balance, you processed two things at the same time. 
Rafayel wasn’t behind you. And- 
You could hear him still, his words seething with a poison you had never heard come from his mouth, from any action he had ever committed. 
“If I ever see you in her general vicinity ever again, I will destroy you until there is nothing, nothing , left.” He seethed. “I care about her. Whatever we are after that doesn’t matter. You won’t come back and destroy her peace ever again. You won’t have the chance to. Do I make myself clear ?” 
As you move to turn, to see what would happen next or to hear your ex’s response, you spin face first into Rafayel’s chest, his hands reaching up, placed firmly on your shoulders to turn you back around and continue forward. You try to keep up with his pace, but it’s hard. Despite your stumbling, he doesn’t stop. Not until the two of you are off of the platform and out on the vast sidewalk in the middle of the city. 
You blink, trying to garner your surroundings as some means of grounding yourself, as Rafayel pulls out his phone. His fingers fly, sending a text to someone. The golden hour had passed, and it was twilight out now. The next train wasn’t going to be for another twenty minutes, and the ride itself was more time on top of that. It looked like you weren’t going to be accomplishing your initial goal of getting home before the dark hit. That was too bad. 
It was really cold outside.
Maybe that was just you. 
You swallowed hard, trying to force a deep breath just as Rafayel looked up from his phone. He pocketed the device and moved to step towards you, but his movements were… awkward. Hesitant. He paused a step away from you, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. 
“I… I’m sorry. I-” He let his hand drop, both hanging loosely at his sides as he looked like he wanted to look anywhere except at you. He didn’t let it break his gaze, despite it. “...Geez, I’ve never experienced anything like that before. I didn’t know what to do, what I should do. What I-”
He stopped himself. Tilting his head, his expression shifting into one of concern. 
“More importantly, how are you?”
“I- what?”
“How are you feeling, seashell? What do you need?”
You blinked, and you tried to open your mouth to respond, but your breath hitched in your throat, the sound caught on the lump that had appeared in your throat as your eyes began to burn. Fuck, what? What was going on with you today? First, you’d gone back to everything you had ever been back with your ex, forgetting all of your progress- all of your healthy habits in favor of how he had always made you feel under his touch. Then, you’d been unable to keep Rafayel calm and relaxed despite your ex trying to start shit all over again. And even still, you hadn’t even gotten to go home on time, hell you didn’t even feel safe enough to go home anymore. 
“He-” You choked. Your voice was squeaking, why was your voice breaking so badly? “H-He… He knows- knows where I work now.”
Rafayel stared at you, but his expression was oh so gentle , and seeing that look in his eyes did something to you that made you feel so ugly . It was like the final crack in an old dam as you began to wail. You tried to muffle your sobs, reaching up to cover your face in your hands as the initial shock had finally started to wear away from the meeting, finally started to let the emotions pour in. And all the emotions were fear, fear, fear . 
You couldn’t do anything to stop it as the tears just kept coming, as the choked sounds from your throat as you needed to get the crying out, but find air in between at the same time. Your shoulders wracked with pain from the after effects of the grip your ex had had on you, surely purple and yellow bruises forming where his knuckles had turned white with power just moments ago. It was just going to be another grim reminder of your world coming down, all because of a stupid train ride. 
“Seashell.”
You tried as hard as possible to quiet down, to stop and listen to Rafayel to avoid making him angry. You felt like a kid. You wanted him to help you get to your home, or a hotel, or somewhere your ex didn’t know about. But if he was angry, that would be impossible. That would mean you would be left standing here on the sidewalk bawling like a child, until you managed to pull the effort together to handle it yourself, like you always had don-
“Tell me if you don’t like it, and I swear I’ll stop, but I’m going to hug you now.”
“Wh-”
The word had barely even formed in your mouth, your hands only managing to hover over your eyes as you tried to pull them away at his words, before strong arms had wrapped around you so suddenly. One hand was resting at the nape of your neck, pressing your head so delicately against his shoulder as he leaned down for you- as he leaned down into you. The other was wrapped around your waist, squeezing you against his body like it was everything to him just to have the chance to pull your pieces back together. And somehow, it was so much worse. It was everything, as you began to wail all over again. It was everything and so much more. His actions on the train, his expression when you had stopped him and protected your ex- none of that, none of your worries meant anything in the tightness of his embrace. 
It was like he was telling you everything without speaking, he was telling you it’s okay, it’s all going to be okay . Like he didn’t harbor any ill feelings towards you, that he didn’t hate you like you were hating yourself every single second leading up until this moment. And coming from Rafayel, that was everything, everything, everything. 
“Geez.” He breathed against your hair, his breath labored as he tried to keep his own emotions in check for your sake. “I wish I had found you so much sooner. None of that would have ever happened to you.”
And you knew he wasn’t talking about the train- getting on sooner. Finding you before your ex did, but you didn’t say anything. You couldn’t. But you knew he meant he wished he had found you so much sooner than that first meeting at the fountain with all of the fish, his brochure hanging lazily in hand. Found you long before that man had ever laid his hands on you, had ever wrecked you to the point you were at now. 
“I’m sorry.”
“What?” He breathed the words against you, his hold tightening just slightly. “What are you apologizing for?”
“I-” You held back a sob, trying to compose yourself as best as you could. “I’m so ruined, I’m so sorry I’m such a mess.” 
“You’re not a mess, I promise you, you’re not a mess.” And the way he spoke, you almost believed it immediately. He sounded… tired. “None of it, not any of it, was your fault. You have to know that.” 
You didn’t. You wouldn’t, not for a long time. But the way he had been on the train, no matter how brief of a moment it was- how he was right now, clutching you so tightly in his arms as if you would shatter if he let go for even a second- You had a pretty good feeling that you would someday. Someday, as long as he was around. But for now you settled for feeling everything you were feeling in his embrace, just thankful that for whatever his reasoning, he didn’t hate you for what you had done, for what you felt. 
After a while, you nuzzled your face against the crook of his neck, before gently trying to pull back, signaling to him that you were alright enough to break the hug. He let go of you, but his hands lingered on you just a moment longer than they should have. You stared at the ground as you fiddled with your hands, trying to figure out what was supposed to come next. What you were supposed to do or say next. 
“What do you mean, you didn’t know what you were supposed to do?” You asked quietly. You already knew the answer. Honestly, how often was it that someone would witness what he did happening to someone close to themselves, especially when the person it was happening to was supposedly so strong? So capable of protecting yourself from even the worst of the Wanderers that traversed the city? 
He let out a breath, thinking for a moment, before he opened his mouth to answer your question. 
“Really, the only thing I know is to make sure you’re safe.” He shrugged, crossing his arms as he avoided your gaze. “If I wasn’t confident I’d be able to protect you from the whole thing, and even afterward, with whatever crazy he may try to do, I would have played along with you and not been so aggressive. But besides that, I really don’t know how someone is supposed to handle a situation like that.” 
You blinked. 
“What?”
“What-what? I don’t exactly want you getting hurt, I just wasn’t sure the best way to accomplish that. I wasn’t going to fail, though. I’m not some idiot.” 
You could feel your eyes starting to burn. “Yes, but you wanted to protect me?”
He looked at you abruptly, confused. “Wanted? Bodyguard, it’s not past tense. I don’t care what I call you, pay you for, what we are to each other- Believe it or not, I... don’t want you hurt.”
He flinched a little, watching the tears start to stream from your eyes again, but he just shook his head. “No, no. Geez, what are you doing?” He uncrossed his arms and reached out towards you slowly, gingerly brushing your cheek with his thumb. “No, why is this your reaction? Why are you crying over me caring about you?”
He knew why. He had just seen why. And that was just the tip of the iceberg on what your past had been.
“But-”
“I really don't want to hear it. It’s just going to be you saying bad things about yourself again.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose, and you couldn’t think of any denial or lie that he would believe. “You really need to learn to trust me, seashell. If you don’t want to go home or to work, I get it. But you’ve got to believe me when I say it. When I say nothing is going to happen to you.”
You reached up to dry your eyes again, all but running out of tears by now after the heavy cry session you had just had wrapped up in Rafayel’s arms. You let out a small hiccup, before offering him a small nod. It didn’t really matter if you believed him, but honestly- it was so much better than anything before. So much more comforting than any of the times before. Any of the times where you sat in your bedroom alone, praying that you could get one more extra day squeezed out of the week, out of going back to the university, to avoid seeing the man who had ruined your entire life as he ‘explored’ the ‘public’ campus like some sort of shark circling your bleeding body. 
Rafayel watched you as you slowly composed yourself, reaching out a hand to rest on your shoulder, tenderly. His kindness radiating from the contact. “Now, is it okay if we go somewhere? I think it would be better for you if you could go somewhere you can relax for a little while. I invited you to my studio, maybe we can go there.”
You blinked at him. When had he invited you?
He watched your expression, processing that you were confused on the ask. “Did you get the text I sent you? Or were you already in trouble then?”
“Text-” You pause, then you remember the notification that had popped up just before your ex had seen you. You shook your head. “It had just come through as he-... approached… me. I didn’t see what it said.”
He flashed you a small smile, one that would win every prize in your book. 
“It was asking you if you were already off work, and if not, would you want to meet me at the station, so that we could head to my studio and finish up some work I need to get done.” 
You stared at him for a moment, your mouth slightly agape, before you smiled back at him. It was timid, and you were still nervous. But with his hand against your shoulder as the two of you walked through the edges of Linkon City back towards one of his studios, you couldn’t help but feel just a little bit better. 
Just a little bit more at ease. 
And a week later, you were back at work. You had been for the last few days. You’d gone on a few missions, taken down a dozen Wanderers, and saved a few civilians in that time. But nowhere had you seen your ex- not on a street corner, not running down an alleyway, not even at the doorstep of the Hunter’s Association. 
But you’d seen Rafayel. 
One day he was sitting at the cafe across the street from the Association’s building, sketching charcoal as he invited you to come and get something to eat for lunch, to sit with him and talk about your day. Another, he was there when you got off, a light drizzle sprinkling the street as he offered to share his umbrella with you and walk you home. On your day off, he ended up at your door, huffing about his next exhibition, and whether or not you wanted to come with him to stave off the boredom he was surely going to be drowning in. You weren’t stupid, you knew what he was doing. But there was also no pattern to his appearances- sometimes you wouldn’t see him all day, only speaking to him through incessant texts and phone calls. Other times, you’d see him two or three or more times throughout your day. Something about the chaotic approach made you feel even more… comfortable. Despite everything that had happened. It felt like he was always around, even when you didn’t expect it. 
It felt like he was always keeping watch for you. 
And maybe you still hadn’t gotten over what had happened on the platform, and you still felt uneasy stepping on the train, arm hooked in Rafayel’s as he complained about not being able to find the green he needed to finish a piece. Maybe you still felt worthless, for still caring about what happened to that wretched man, after everything he had done to you, after all of the pain he had caused you. 
But at least, as you stared up at the splashes of color that coated the canvas in front of you, late after work the evening before your day off, sitting in Rafayel’s studio as he dozed off over a few cups of color he had been working on while you scrolled through your phone, you had someone. 
At least you had someone who was intent on changing everything for you. 
Who was intent on making sure you were okay. No matter what.
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punkshort · 10 months ago
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somewhere to run | 6. the confession
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Pairing: sheriff!Joel x f!reader
Chapter Summary: Joel finds out the truth and convinces you to press charges.
Chapter Warnings: language, angst, PTSD type symptoms, mutual pining, domestic violence and SA (discussed after the fact), mental and physical abuse, detailed conversations about DV and SA (I didn't get too descriptive about the SA but I do use the R word a couple times) please let me know if I missed anything because there is a lot going on here
WC: 9K
A/N: as the title implies, we are going to get more details about what happened to reader in this one so once again, please heed the warnings and don't read if you think it will be triggering for you. I tried not to be too graphic.
Series Masterlist
Joel could hardly sleep that night. Instead of going to the station, he headed home so he could be with Sarah. She wondered why he got home so early from his date, but he dodged the question and the two of them worked together in silence - Sarah on her homework, Joel on his incident report. When she asked him why he was working from home, he just shook his head and said something came up. She was a smart girl. She knew something was bothering him, but she didn't push it and he was grateful.
He tossed and turned all night, his mind reeling while he looked at his phone every few minutes. He checked the volume, he made sure do not disturb was off, wondering if you would reach out, but you never did. Maybe it wasn't unusual for Patrick to not come home. Or maybe you heard what happened and you were mad at Joel. That worried him the most. The fear that his actions might have destroyed what fragile relationship he had left with you ate him up as he stared blankly at his ceiling.
Morning came too quickly and too slowly all at once. He rubbed his tired eyes as he dragged himself into the bathroom. When he leaned forward to turn the water on, he was met with a sharp pain in his chest. He glanced down, rubbing the area tenderly and realized a large bruise was forming from his fight the night before. He winced when he pressed on a particularly sensitive spot and tried his best to avoid the area during his shower.
After he dropped Sarah off at school, he headed into work, his heart beginning to beat faster the closer he got to the station. He had no doubt in his mind the whole town knew what happened last night, but he was too tired and too overwhelmed to care about their curious questions and senseless gossip.
When he walked in, he breezed right past Helen's desk with a curt nod, doing his best to avoid all eye contact until he was within the safety of his office. He booted up his ancient computer and waited, his thumb rubbing mindlessly against his lower lip as he stared out his window.
He would go to the diner today. He already decided he had to see you. The radio silence was killing him and he needed to make sure you were okay. He was embarrassed about the Facebook messages, even more so that you weren't the one to read them, but Patrick was right. They were not innocent. The words held more weight than they appeared, but he had to come to terms with the fact that you were not his, and then maybe with some closure, he would be able to move on.
The morning dragged on slowly. Bobby caught him at the coffee maker, already working on his third cup, depending solely on the caffeine to help keep him going.
"Hey, boss. You look like shit, but not as bad as him," Bobby said, pouring himself more coffee and jutting his chin to the back of the building where the holding cells were located.
"Feel like shit," Joel mumbled, leaning against the counter and taking a sip from his mug.
"Think you broke his nose," Bobby added, finally looking up at him. "Called the doc but turns out he's real busy this mornin', won't be able to come by til after hours. Such a damn shame," he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. Joel understood what he was saying without him having to say it. The people in this town looked out for one another and didn't take kindly to a stranger hurting one of their own. They were leaving Patrick to deal with his injuries longer than necessary.
"I don't think I broke anythin', he did that all on his own chargin' into that table," Joel said, but Bobby shook his head.
"Not the way he tells it," he replied with a chuckle. "You'd think you nearly killed him, the way he's been whinin' back there."
"No doubt lookin' for a lawsuit," Joel said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Don't worry, boss. You got a bar full'a witnesses. Hank already offered to give a statement and he was probably the only sober one there."
"Yeah, good. Thanks," Joel replied, pushing off the counter to head back to his office, trying to ignore the sideways glances of the men watching him from the bullpen. He shook his mouse and grimaced when he saw an email from the mayor looking to set up a meeting with him that week to discuss the incident. He knew he did nothing wrong, but the more attention this brought him, the worse he felt. Eventually, all of that talk would make its way back to you and Sarah, the truth most likely getting distorted along the way. He made a mental note to have a talk with his daughter that night as he slowly typed out a response to the mayor.
He swore he would try to get some actual work done, but he ended up spending more time staring out the window or at his phone, watching the minutes tick by til it was lunchtime and he could see you. Maybe he could pull you aside and talk to you in private. Maybe he could fix this.
The moment the clock read a reasonable hour, he jumped up from his seat and snatched his blazer from the coat hook, rolling his shoulders as he walked and put it on, then stifling a grunt when he felt a muscle in his chest pull from the effort.
He kept his head down as he walked down the street towards the diner, only glancing up once when he passed the pizza place. Your curtains were still drawn, no lights on that he could see, no sign of life.
A few people called out to him as he passed, but all he could muster was a tight smile and quick wave, not in the mood to get wrapped up into any conversations.
When he swung the door open, his eyes immediately went to the counter, searching you out but only finding Betty. Before he had a chance to look around the dining room, he heard María greet him.
"Where the hell were you last week?"
"I was here Friday," he muttered, looking around and avoiding her eyes.
"Yeah, with Nikki. Heard some stuff about that-"
"Is she here?" Joel asked, finally dragging his gaze to meet Maria's. She frowned and shook her head.
"No, she called in sick," Maria said, watching him carefully. "Joel, what's going on with you two? People are saying stuff about you and her husband, and-"
"She's sick?" Joel repeated, panic beginning to bubble to the surface. Maria nodded and shrugged.
"Yeah, people get sick, Joel. Hey! Where are you going?"
Joel didn't reply, he just hurried out the doors, nearly knocking down a middle aged couple as they were about to walk inside. He mumbled an apology as he jogged down the street towards your place.
Something was wrong.
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Your eye cracked open when you heard the doorbell, the heavy thudding in your head making you immediately nauseous. You groaned and squeezed your eyes shut, rolling back under the covers. Maybe if you were quiet, Patrick would think you were at work and he would leave. But the bell kept ringing, the sound pinging around in your brain making the headache you already had so much worse.
When he began pounding on the door and shouting from the street, you dragged yourself out of bed and wrapped yourself in a thin robe. You knew your body couldn't take much more, but letting him in would be better than allowing him to make a scene in front of the whole town, so you forced your feet forward, still limping from the day before.
You had to pause in the doorway to catch your breath as you clutched your side, wincing in pain as you tried to gingerly walk down the steps, but you were taking too long and he just kept pounding and shouting and the all noise was making you sick.
"Stop," you called out weakly, not convinced he would even hear you, but miraculously he did because the noise finally ceased, and you sighed a small breath of relief.
Shakily, you reached out to grip the doorknob, your fingers fumbling with the locks until you finally managed to twist the brass handle, opening the door just a sliver, worried people walking by would see your face. Then, unexpectedly, you heard Joel's voice instead of Patrick's say your name softly and before you could peer around the door, you went to quickly shut it with no success. His hand gripped the door tightly, but you held firm, hiding behind the wood.
"You shouldn't be here," you told him, your voice weak and broken.
"I know you're mad at me but I gotta talk to you 'bout what happened," he said from the other side. "Please let me in."
Unbeknownst to you both, you were talking about two different things.
"If he finds you here... no, you have to leave," you said, pushing the door again, but he didn't budge.
"Patrick?" he questioned, sounding confused.
"Yes, Patrick," you rasped, getting dizzy from exerting so much energy in your weakened state. "Please just go."
"He's in jail, did - no one told you?" he asked quietly, trying to keep his voice down.
"Jail?" you repeated, and your grip on the door loosened in surprise. Joel felt it and took the opportunity to open it further. You stepped back quickly, wrapping the robe around you tighter and trying to fidget with your hair to hide the marks, but you knew it was pointless the moment you saw his face after closing the door behind him.
"What the fuck?" he whispered, his jaw dropping as his eyes slowly raked over your face, neck and arms. Your lip was swollen and cut, the scab breaking open and beginning to weep the more you spoke. Your cheekbone had a light purple bruise blooming under your skin, as did your jaw. There was a small gash near your hairline and what looked like scratch marks down your neck, leading past your collar bone and below your robe. When you shakily brought your hands up to cover your face in shame, he saw the dark bruises on your wrists.
"Oh my god," he whispered, unable to bring his voice any louder. When he reached out, you flinched away and he felt like he had been stabbed in the chest.
"You should go," you said quietly, your eyes pinned to the ground.
"I can't," he said in utter disbelief. "I can't... why didn't you call me?"
You looked like you were about to reply but decided against it and instead still kept your gaze averted.
"C'mon, lemme take you upstairs and get a look at you," he said, reaching out again, but you stumbled backwards, nearly falling onto the steps.
"Please don't touch me," you told him, holding up a hand, and he nodded.
"Okay, I won't touch you," he said, trying to remain calm while his heart was breaking. "Let's just go upstairs, alright?"
Reluctantly, you agreed and slowly ascended the steps, Joel following dutifully behind. He ushered you over to the couch, making sure you were seated before he went to your bathroom, rummaging around in your medicine cabinet while you sat there, your face buried in your palms and trying not to cry.
He came back into the living room, trying not to make you feel worse by hiding his reaction, but it was hard. He swallowed and dropped his eyes to the assortment of first aid items in his hands.
"Did you take anything for the pain?" he asked, his voice thick, his throat tight.
"Not today, no," you admitted softly. He nodded and shook out two white pills from a bottle and handed them to you before getting you some water. While safely in the kitchen where you couldn't see him, he let out a shaky breath and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to calm himself down. How could this happen? How didn't he see it? He should have checked on you earlier. He never should have fucking let you leave with Patrick yesterday. Guilt racked his brain as he exhaled slowly and went back to you in the living room.
"Here," he said, handing you the bottle of water. You took it and popped the pills in your mouth, wincing as you swallowed them down.
He sat down on the couch next to you but was sure to give you your space as he picked up the antiseptic and some gauze.
"Will you let me?" he asked, holding up the items in his hand. You paused and looked at them, then him. His eyes were wide and soft and shiny with unshed tears. Slowly, you nodded and watched as he twisted off the cap and put some of the antiseptic on the gauze, first pressing it gently against the gash on your forehead, then making a fresh one for your lip.
At first, he dabbed at the cut gently, ghosting over your skin as if he were afraid. But then he brought his other hand up to caress your chin, his fingers feather-like and so careful that it made your eyes flutter shut, his touch unlike anything you were used to. When you finally opened your eyes again, his hands were gone and he was staring at you, the look in his eyes morphing from sadness to one you were much more familiar with.
"I'm gonna fuckin' kill him," he said menacingly, sending a shiver down your spine.
"Don't," you said, shaking your head, but his eyes darkened and his jaw was set.
"Why didn't you tell me, sweetheart? I could've done somethin'. I could've-"
"What? What could you have done, Joel? I've heard it all before," you told him, your lip trembling. "I've tried. Believe me, I've tried. And it never works. Nothing ever changes and it just gets worse."
Joel shook his head, still not understanding.
"I'm a cop, I coulda protected you. There's laws in place for this kinda thing."
"I've gone to the cops, Joel! More than once! And they all told me the same shit!" you exclaimed, getting worked up now. "Then I go home, and magically my statement goes missing, or my medical exam report, and I'm in worse shape than before because guess what? It makes him really fucking mad when his buddies on the force find out what he does to his wife at home."
Joel's lips parted as he watched your chest heave for breath, the energy quickly draining from your frail body.
"I... I'm so sorry," was all he could say. He couldn't blame you for not trusting anyone, especially him, now that he finally knew the truth. Everything was starting to make sense. His guilt was pulling him down and he felt like he was drowning in it. So many things he should have done. Should have seen. He should have helped you but instead he trotted Nikki in front of you to make you feel even worse.
"I can really help you, though. I ain't like that," he said, scooting a little closer to you.
"I've heard that before, too," you said sadly, dropping your gaze to the ground. "There's no getting out of this. I thought by running I could try to start over, but it's clear now he will never let me go." You closed your eyes as two tears fell down your cheeks. You wiped them away angrily, hating yourself for being so weak all the time.
Joel felt his chest squeeze, his heart breaking as he watched you fall apart. He needed to do something. He couldn't let you down. You needed to get out of this, or else it could cost you your life.
"Look at me," he said, waiting until your tears slowed and you forced your eyes open. "I promise I'll help you. I fuckin' promise you, alright? You ain't in Pennsylvania, I ain't his buddy, and I will do whatever I gotta do to keep you safe."
You searched his face, eyes all wide and your heart sliced open, lying on the table between you. You've been let down so many times, it was so hard to tell when anyone was being truthful anymore, but you couldn't deny what you felt for him. And what he felt for you. You knew something was there, something real and honest and pure. He wouldn't have any reason to lie to you at this point, so after a moment, you nodded.
"Okay," you whispered, and you could see the relief flood his face.
He sat back on the couch and rubbed his chin in thought, staring at the TV screen across from him that wasn't even on while the gears in his tired head worked overtime.
"Alright," he finally said, slapping his knees and standing up from the couch. "First things first: you gotta get to a doctor."
You immediately recoiled and shook your head.
"Absolutely not."
"I'm sorry, but you have to. I gotta..." he trailed off and chewed the inside of his cheek before pushing onward. "I gotta have a doctor take pictures."
Your face instantly crumpled and you buried your face in your hands once again.
"I'm sorry," he whispered for what felt like the hundredth time, getting down on one knee to be eye level with you. "But in order for this to work, they gotta record evidence, okay?"
"Joel, I can't," you whimpered, your face still covered, but he nodded and caressed the side of your head with his palm.
"Yes, you can. I'll be right there, okay? Unless you don't want me there, but I'll go with you if you want. Or I'll wait outside the door. Whatever you need, I'll do it. I'm gonna get you outta this."
You sniffled and finally dropped your hands to your lap, your gaze finding his.
"This is the last time, I promise you," he said, staring deep into your eyes. "I'll never let him near you again."
You thought his words over for a moment, the two of you sitting in silence, looking at the other. One trying to earn trust, the other trying to give it. Finally, you closed your eyes and nodded, giving your consent for what was to come.
"Okay," Joel said softly, dropping his hand from your face and standing up to pull out his phone.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm lookin' up the number of a doctor I trust. She's a woman, too. She's real nice and sensitive. I've used her for a couple cases in the past," he said, finding the number and dialing it, bringing the phone up to his ear. Cases. You couldn't help but feel like just another victim the way he said it, even though he didn't mean it that way. You listened as he spoke to her over the phone in a hushed tone, not giving too much of your information away but insisting it was an urgent matter. When he hung up, he turned to you with a weak smile.
"She can see you this afternoon."
"Oh," you said, glancing down at your appearance. You weren't expecting to leave the house that day and you weren't sure what to do.
"It's okay," he said, sitting down next to you again and resting his hand on your knee. "I'll take you through the backdoor of her office, no one'll see you. She'll be fast."
You nodded and looked up at him.
"Maybe I should shower," you said. He paused and shifted his gaze away.
"You, uh," he cleared his throat and rubbed his forehead with the pads of his fingers. He knew this would come up, one way or another. "I don't mean to get into too much detail, but if he..." Joel trailed off, finding it difficult to finish his sentence. "If he did more than hit you, you shouldn't shower," he finally choked out, unable to look you in the eye.
You froze, finally understanding what he meant. He kept his eyes fixed on the wall, his neck tensing, his nostrils flaring, as he waited for your response.
"I won't shower, then," you finally said, your voice strained.
His eyes slid shut and he dropped his chin to his chest. Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He pinched the bridge of his nose while he tried to steady his breathing.
"I'll just go change," you mumbled, standing up while he nodded, still trying to breathe.
He did his best to collect himself while you were out of the room, but he could feel himself spiraling. What was he doing when it happened? Was he watching a movie with Sarah? Was he eating dinner? Was he getting ready for his fucking date with Nikki?
He could feel the tears welling up but he quickly wiped them away. You needed him to be strong. You needed someone to help you, to take care of you. He couldn't afford to be weak right now. He would let himself feel it later, when he was all alone at home and Sarah was asleep. When nobody needed him and he could just let the guilt and shame and sorrow wash over him.
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"Jesus, Joel," Carol muttered as she left the exam room. Joel jumped up from his seat, anxiously waiting for it to be over. He rubbed his palms against his pants, trying to wipe the sweat away. She sighed and looked up at him, taking off her glasses.
"So?"
"So?" she repeated, shaking her head. "So, I have your evidence."
Joel nodded, waiting for her to continue.
"She's been through a lot," Carol said softly, walking him down to her office for privacy. She closed the door but he didn't sit down.
"She's gonna be lookin' for me," he explained, jutting his thumb over his shoulder.
"I'll be quick," she said, sitting down at her desk with a sigh. "There was significant scarring and healed bones, detailing years of abuse, and definitely evidence of some most recently."
"Yeah, I imagine anyone can see that by just lookin' at her face," he replied, but she shook her head.
"I didn't mean her face."
Joel felt his breath get caught in his throat.
"Right," he finally said, his voice cracking.
"She said her husband is a cop?" Carol asked, flipping open a yellow file on her desk. Joel nodded.
"Got him in lockup right now for swingin' on me at Hank's," he explained.
Carol's eyes glanced up at his and she quirked an eyebrow.
"Yeah, I heard something about that," she said, lacing her fingers together and looking at him closely. "Can I give you some advice, Joel?"
He shifted his weight, not sure where she was going with it, but nodded anyway.
"Don't take her statement yourself. Have someone else do it, alright?"
"Why?" he asked quickly, and she gave him a knowing look.
"Because it'll be gruesome, and you're too involved."
Joel frowned.
"Too-"
"Don't care what you've got going on with her, I'm just giving you some friendly advice. Let someone else do it," she said, her eyes softening. "Besides, you got into it with her husband last night. You don't want some hot shot lawyer tossing out her testimony in court because he can link together some personal relationship between you two."
Joel considered her words for a moment and reluctantly nodded. She was right. He was having a hard time keeping things separate, and he appreciated the clarity. He couldn't fuck this up for you. Not now.
"Anythin' else?"
She leaned back in her chair and shook her head.
"You'll have my report in the morning," she said. He nodded, thanking her again for seeing you on such short notice before exiting the room. He turned the corner just as you were opening the exam room door clutching a worn hoodie around yourself and looking around frantically before your eyes fell on him and you visibly relaxed.
"Hey, sorry. You alright?" he asked, his hands gently coming up to your shoulders to guide you towards the back exit. You gulped and nodded.
"Wasn't so bad," you said.
"Good. You did the right thing," he said as he held open the door for you and led you back to his truck.
Once you were comfortably seated and Joel merged back into traffic, you shot him a sideways glance and asked him the question that had been weighing on your mind since he came over that morning.
"Joel?"
"Hm?" he said, twisting his head to the side to change lanes.
"Why is Patrick in jail?"
Joel's grip on the steering wheel tightened and there was an uncomfortable pause before he sighed.
"He came at me last night. We happened to both be at a bar at the same time, he was drunk and swung on me."
"What?!" you exclaimed, twisting around in your seat to look at him.
"I thought you knew since he didn't come home last night. Thought you were avoidin' me by callin' off work," he said, keeping his eyes fixed on the road.
"No, I had no idea. He hasn't been staying at my apartment, he has a motel room somewhere," you said, peering at his face, then dropping your gaze to his hands where you could see now his knuckles were a little red.
"Are you okay?" you asked after a beat, and he scoffed.
"Am I okay?" he repeated with a shake of his head. He looked at you in shock, the corner of his mouth turning up into a half smirk. "I'm fine. Can't believe you'd be worried 'bout me after what you went through."
"Of course I worry about you," you said softly, and he felt his heart melt. Why did you have to be so sweet? After everything you've been through, after everyone in your life has let you down, you were still so fucking sweet.
He wanted to say more. He wanted to say so much more, but he couldn't. He couldn't put that kind of stress on you. It would be selfish to tell you how much he thinks about you, how much he wished you were his, how he hasn't been able to get you out of his head since the moment he laid eyes on you. No, that would be wrong. It wasn't the right time, so he swallowed the words back from the tip of his tongue and focused on the road.
"What's next?" you asked him as he walked you up to your front door. Mercifully, the weather was threatening to downpour so the streets were quiet.
"Well, next you'll have to come down to the station and give your statement so we can formally press additional charges," he said, knowing you wouldn't want to hear it but he was surprised when you simply nodded your head.
"Okay. When?"
"Tomorrow?" he offered, and you nodded again as you unlocked your door.
"I'll have to call off work or come by after," you told him, stepping inside and turning to look at him.
"Listen, 'bout that," Joel began, and you frowned. "I gotta tell Tommy."
"No!" you cried, your eyes going wide with worry, but he shushed you and shook his head.
"I gotta tell him so he can keep an eye on things, alright? I won't be able to keep him in lockup for much longer and I can't be with you all the time to protect you, d'you understand?"
"Joel..." you whimpered, burying your face in your hands. He had to physically restrain himself from pulling you into his arms. He fucking hated seeing you like this.
"We can file a restraining order tomorrow but a piece of paper won't necessarily keep him away, and I can't risk it," Joel explained, his heart breaking for you.
"Okay," you sniffled, finally coming to terms with it. If you were going to do this, you had to trust him.
"Okay," Joel repeated. "Tommy served in the Army, he knows what he's doin', I promise. I'll tell him to keep it quiet, alright?"
"Yeah," you whispered, rubbing your nose with the back of your hand.
"And no more walkin' back from work in the dark. Take your car or get a ride. If I can, I'll drive you - " Joel pulled out his phone to look at his calendar, but you stopped him.
"I can manage, but thank you."
You looked at one another for a moment, both of you unsure what else to say. You were thankful for what he was doing but you weren't sure you had the words to properly express your gratitude. Everything you wanted to say felt so small, so insignificant. So instead of attempting to cobble together some sentence that wouldn't do your feelings justice, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around his waist, burying your face against his warm chest. He quickly brought his arms up around you in return, gently placing his hands on your head and back as he held you carefully against him, as if he was worried you would break. He was absolutely certain you could feel how hard his heart was thumping in his chest, but he didn't care. He just wanted to feel you, to hold you, to keep you safe.
"It's gonna be okay," he told you, his voice heavy, and he felt you nod against him before pulling back, his chest suddenly feeling so empty.
"Thank you," you whispered, then spared him one more glance before heading inside, the door clicking shut softly behind you.
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Later that evening, after you had forced yourself to eat some soup and drink some water, you were settling in on your couch when you heard a soft knock at your door. You muted your TV and strained your ears to listen. It didn't sound like a familiar knock, not one filled with anger or urgency. You glanced down at your phone, wondering if Joel had sent you a text that you missed, but nothing was there.
Hesitantly, you made your way down the steps. Your fingers brushed the doorknob, but before you opened it, you spoke through the door.
"Who's there?"
"It's me," Maria's voice drifted through the wood, and you breathed a sigh of relief. You unlocked the door and met her eyes. She tried to hold back the wince upon seeing your face, but you still caught it.
"Heard you might need some help," she said, holding up a small plastic bag. You frowned, confused, until she tilted it open for you to look inside. There, you found a variety of makeup bottles and powders in shades that looked pretty close to your skin tone.
You opened the door and let her in. You could tell you were able to take the stairs a little quicker than the morning, and you hoped that meant you were healing because you really couldn't afford to miss more time at work.
"Cute place," she said, glancing around before following you into your living room.
"Thanks," you murmured, turning the volume back on the TV as she settled into the couch next to you.
"I hope you don't mind," she said, motioning towards the bag. "Joel called and told Tommy what happened... I'm so sorry, I wish you would've called us, we could've helped you."
"Thanks," you said with a shrug. "I guess I'm just used to dealing with it on my own."
"Well if you're ever scared of staying alone, we have a spare bedroom, so please don't hesitate to ask."
You gave her a small smile, hoping she could tell how grateful you were. With the exception of one cousin back home, nobody had tried to stand up for you before. Not even your own parents. The whole concept was so foreign to you, you weren't sure how to respond.
Maria seemed to sense this and she changed the subject, leaning forward to sift through the contents of the drugstore bag, pulling out item after item and holding it up against your arm to decide which shade would work best. She spent the next hour helping you cover your cuts and bruises, and by the time you were done, you didn't look half bad.
"How are you feeling?" she asked as she packed up her things and shoved her sneakers back on.
"A little less sore," you admitted. "I should be able to work tomorrow."
"Why don't you take one more day? Joel said you're going down to the station tomorrow, it might take more out of you than you expect."
You thought it over for a moment before reluctantly agreeing. Money was a concern, but you could wait one more day, and maybe you could pick up an extra shift over the weekend.
You thanked her as she headed down the steps and she reminded you again to call her and Tommy if you ever needed anything, and you promised you would.
When you were finally on your own again, you sat in silence, thinking about these people who barely knew you, who you essentially lied to, banding together to help you out. It was unlike anything you were used to, and you were beginning to think you may have finally found your home.
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The next morning, you paced around your living room, anxiously nibbling at your nails as you waited for Joel to ring the bell. He had insisted on picking you up. He said he could swing by after he dropped Sarah off at school, that it wouldn't be a problem and he passed by your apartment anyway. You didn't understand why he was so insistent: the walk was less than ten minutes, but you didn't feel like arguing.
You were checking your makeup job in the mirror for the fifth time when the bell rang. With a deep sigh, you pulled on your sneakers, slung your purse over your shoulder and headed down the steps. When you opened the door, he was standing with his back to you under a brown blazer and his arms crossed, trying to appear casual for anybody who might be walking by, but when he heard you step through the door he swiveled around quickly.
"Good morning," you said to him with a small smile after you were sure the door was locked tight.
"Mornin'. You ready?"
"Ready as I'll ever be," you said as he led you to his truck parked a little ways down the street.
"You really didn't have to do this, you know," you said again, glancing around to see if anyone was watching.
"I know," was all he said before opening the passenger door for you and giving you a hand to step up into the cab.
The quick ride to the station was quiet, only the hum from his radio filling the air as your fingers fidgeted in your lap. When he parked the truck and you made a move to open the door, he held a hand out.
"Wait a minute, I gotta talk to you before we go in there."
You dropped your hand to your lap and looked at him expectantly.
"I can't take your statement today, I'm gonna have another officer do it," he said, his words rushed like he knew you wouldn't take the news well. And you didn't.
"What?!" you cried out softly, anxiety already creeping up and squeezing your chest.
"I'm sorry, I can't," he said, taking a deep breath and glancing out the windshield before looking back at you. "There's a conflict of interest. Patrick assaulted me, and if I go and take your statement, it won't look good to a judge."
"Oh my god," you mumbled, rubbing your eyes with the heels of your hands.
"It'll be okay. I'll be right there the whole time. Right on the other side of the glass, okay? I promise, I won't leave."
He watched you for a minute, waiting for you to say something, and when you didn't he began to question himself.
"Unless you don't want me to hear, I don't have to-"
"No, I'd prefer you be there," you said quickly.
He nodded and took a deep breath in.
"I asked a female officer to do it. Her name's Beth. She's real nice, she's dealt with... situations like this in the past."
"Okay," you said softly, reaching for the handle, but once again he stopped you.
"One more thing. I gotta cut him loose tomorrow."
You squeezed your eyes shut. You knew this would happen, but it didn't stop you from feeling the overwhelming sense of dread that crept up your spine.
"It'll be fine. I'll file the restraining order today. If he comes within fifty feet of you, he's goin' right back to jail, okay?" he said, his hand coming up to rest assuringly on your knee.
"Okay," you whispered, finally opening your eyes to look at him.
"You can do this. I know you can."
You had to hold back the tears that sprung up when his words hit your ears. Nobody has ever believed in you, listened to you, took care of you the way he did, and he hardly even knew you. People who have been in your life for years, your own family didn't encourage you the way Joel did. On one hand, it was depressing to realize it took this long for someone to give a shit, but on the other hand, you were so, so relieved someone finally did.
As Joel led you into the station, he kept his head held high, ignoring the glances shot your way and you did your best to do the same. You followed him towards the back, and you hesitated a brief moment before entering the interrogation room, pushing all the bad memories to the back of your mind and focusing on the present.
You needed to put an end to this, once and for all.
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You were doing okay. It was half an hour into giving your statement to Beth, and Joel was right. She seemed very kind and patient, and you relaxed after speaking with her for just a few minutes. Or maybe it was because you knew Joel was just a few feet away, watching from the other side of the glass, just like he promised. Whatever it was, you were doing better than you expected.
You had gotten through the bullet points of your history with Patrick. You had detailed how you met after you graduated from high school, how he had just gotten back from basic training with the Marines and was applying to join the Philadelphia police department. You explained how at first, things were great. He was loving and kind, for the most part, but you had been inexperienced and didn't recognize the red flags when you saw them. Like when he got overly possessive at house parties, and especially so when he started drinking. At first, you had thought it was sweet, but then he started getting a little rough. You explained at the time, he would apologize the next day and promise not to do it again, but a few weeks later, he would inevitably go back on his word. The cycle repeated itself over and over for a year, until he proposed one night in front of your entire family, and you had felt pressured to say yes. You had hoped it was just nerves, that eventually you would be excited about marrying him, but it never came. He had rushed you into planning the ceremony and you were only engaged for a few short months. And again, you fooled yourself into thinking everything was just happening so fast, that it was so stressful planning a wedding and that one day, you would be happy.
You couldn't remember the argument that caused him to first hit you. To really hit you, enough to leave a nasty bruise, but you remembered the shock, and you remembered the pain and the fear. And once again, he had apologized the following day, and you forgave him. Because you were weak and scared and confused.
"Did anybody in your life notice?" Beth asked, her eyes filled with what appeared to be genuine concern.
"I hid it at first, but eventually, yes, people noticed," you admitted, fidgeting with the edge of your shirt.
"Did they offer to help you?"
"My cousin," you said, looking down at your hands. "She helped me... she helped me find a clinic so I wouldn't get pregnant."
"Did Patrick know you were on birth control?" Beth asked gently while scratching away with her pen on paper.
"No, I didn't think he would like that."
"Why not?"
"He's made comments to me in the past about wanting a big family, and I was afraid to tell him no. I was afraid he would hurt our children, too," you said, still staring down at your hands.
"Has he raped you?" Beth asked bluntly, and you visibly balked.
"Oh, um," you faltered, the word for whatever reason sending shockwaves through you. You knew the answer, but you just hated admitting it.
"Yes," you finally said, your voice cracking, so you cleared your throat and took a sip of water.
"I'm sorry," Beth said quietly, catching your gaze and giving you a sympathetic look. "I won't ask too much today, but you need to know if this goes to trial, a judge will ask for a lot more detail. You can get a lawyer and they will help walk you through it when the time comes." She reached out across the table to place her hand on top of yours, her thumb rubbing over your knuckles. You nodded, wordlessly telling her to keep going.
"When did it start?"
"Right after we got married, I think."
"How often?" she asked, pulling her hand back so she could focus on writing.
"A few times a week, I guess? I mean, I don't know what counts. A lot of the times I wouldn't be in the mood and he would pressure me, other times were more... deliberate." You swallowed and glanced quickly at the mirror behind Beth, suddenly regretting asking Joel to listen.
"Did you tell your parents?" Beth asked, glancing up at you.
"I told my mom, yes."
"And what did she say?"
"She told me it was a wife's duty to... be available to her husband. She didn't think it was rape." You spit the last word out like it was poison on your tongue. Beth winced but tried to hide it by looking down at her notes.
"And when would he hit you?"
"It varied. Most of the time it was when he was drunk or high. He promised me all the time he would get help, but he never stuck with it."
"Did you ever have to go to the hospital?"
"Yes. A few times. He's broken my arm twice, fractured my hip, and I've had a few concussions. On one occasion, he strangled me until I lost consciousness. I had to be admitted for a bruised trachea." You absentmindedly rubbed your arm and neck as you spoke, your fingers gliding over the old wounds.
"And you've gone to the police before?" she asked.
"Yes, a couple times, but -" you could feel your resolve breaking, and you bit your lower lip to keep it from trembling. "But he always did something to make it go away, and then he would get really mad. One time when I went to file a complaint, he had a cop friend of his lock me in a room just like this one for a whole day. To teach me a lesson." You twirled your finger around the sparse room, tears glistening in your eyes. "They didn't let me out, I couldn't use the bathroom, I didn't have anything to eat or drink. I was all alone."
You stopped talking and tucked your chin against your chest, trying desperately to keep the tears at bay. You wiped a shaky palm against your cheek, drying the tears that fell before you looked back up.
"There were times he would be gone for two or three days at a time and come back, all strung out and crazy... those were the times, the times I went to the police, that I ended up in the hospital. So I stopped asking cops for help."
She nodded as she wrote, giving you a minute to collect yourself before her next question. You glanced up at the mirror again and wondered what Joel was thinking. Did he leave? Or was he still there? You almost hoped he had left. You were feeling too vulnerable as it was, but the thought of him looking at you with pity after this was over made your stomach turn.
"I've done this before," you said suddenly, pulling her attention off the page. "And it always ends up the same. Please tell me this will be different."
"It will be different," she said immediately, her jaw set. She put her pen down on her pad and laced her fingers together. "I'm so sorry the justice system as failed you so tremendously, but we will do everything we can for you now that you're here."
You nodded and wiped more of your tears away before she handed you a box of tissues from a small cabinet in the corner of the room. Taking a deep, shaky breath, you met her gaze once again.
"What else?"
"I think that's enough for today," she said, flipping the pages closed on her legal pad. "We got your doctor's report this morning, and combined with this statement we will start the process of formally pressing charges. After that, if he pleads not guilty, it will go before a judge. But let's take it one step at a time, okay?"
"Okay," you said quietly, gathering your purse and following her out of the room. Your eyes immediately drifted around the hallway and then the bullpen, searching for Joel, but he was nowhere to be found. You frowned as Beth led you towards the front lobby, prepared to walk home, when you heard his voice call your name just as you were opening the door.
"I'll take you home," he said. His face looked hardened and his eyes looked distant.
"You don't have to," you began, but he just shook his head and gingerly cupped your elbow, directing you out the door and into the parking lot.
The ride back was silent. He didn't even have the radio on. You glanced out your window nervously, trying not to read too much into it, but when he dropped you off with barely a comforting word or any acknowledgement of what you confessed, you were convinced your greatest fear had come true. Now that he knew it all, now that he finally heard the truth, he couldn't look at you the same.
You were glad Maria had the foresight to tell you to stay home that day. You were mentally exhausted. Rehashing everything and then Joel's reaction put you in an awful mood. By 4pm, after lounging around watching mindless television and checking your phone constantly for any sign of life from Joel, you decided to just make yourself an early dinner, take a shower and then go to bed early.
As you were stepping out of the shower, the water finally turned off and all of the day's makeup covering your wounds down the drain, you heard your doorbell ringing incessantly. Repeatedly. Urgently.
A jolt of dread shot down your spine, but you remembered Joel said Patrick wouldn't be let out until tomorrow. But what if he got out early? What if he made a phone call and Joel was forced to release him?
Wrapped in a robe, your hair dripping down and soaking the thin material, you jogged to the living room and checked your phone. Surely, if Patrick was released, Joel would have warned you, but you didn't have any missed calls or texts. Then the pounding on the door started, making you jump out of your skin.
Slowly, you crept down the stairs, your hand gripping the doorknob tightly, your fingers hovering over the lock.
"Who is it?"
"It's me," you heard Joel's voice say from the other side, and your eyes widened in shock. You glanced down at your robe, little streaks and drops of wetness trailing down the shiny material.
"Uh, can you -"
"Please open up, people are startin' to look at me like I'm crazy."
With a sigh, you unlocked the door and stepped back, clutching your robe tightly against your chest. Joel squeezed inside and shut the door quickly behind him before turning around, his eyes raking quickly up and down your body before looking you in the eye.
"You were in the shower."
"Yeah," you said, glancing around anxiously before looking up the stairs. "Did you want to come up or something?" He just nodded slowly, his eyes flitting down once again as you led him up the steps.
"I got worried, I was ringin' the bell but I guess you couldn't hear it," he explained, taking off his shoes and shrugging off his blazer.
"What were you worried about? He's still in jail, right?" you asked, handing him some water before sitting down on the couch.
"Yeah, I just... I shouldn'tve left you alone earlier. I shoulda stayed." He stood there, a glass of water in his hand, the other rubbing over his mouth nervously.
You stared at one another for a moment, both trying to figure the other one out. He was breathing faster than normal, his chest rising and falling rapidly under his white button down shirt.
"Why are you here, Joel?" you finally asked, your heart starting to beat faster. "Because if it's out of pity, I don't want it."
"It's not -" he cut himself off and shifted his weight before setting the water down. "It's not pity." He took two steps and sunk down into your couch, his elbows on his knees as he stared at the floor, trying to figure out what to say.
"It's not fair," he finally said quietly. So quietly, you almost didn't hear him. "Everything that's happened. It's not fuckin' fair."
You scrunched your nose, confused, as you looked at him still staring down at the floor. You were about to open your mouth and ask him what he meant when he spoke again.
"I never shoulda let you leave with him that day. Somethin' felt off, I felt it in my gut-" he sat back to press his hand against his stomach for emphasis. "But I let you go. And he -"
He couldn't finish his sentence, his throat closing up as he fought to blink the tears away.
"It's not your fault, Joel," you told him, resting a hand on his broad shoulder but he stood up quickly to pace around the room.
"I'll never let it happen again," he muttered. "Never gonna let him near you again. I'll fuckin' kill him if I have to, he's never comin' here again." His voice was rising as he spoke, his breath coming in short stutters as he rubbed his forehead with the pads of his fingers, eyes wide and crazed as the panic seized him.
So it wasn't pity. It was guilt that brought him to you.
"Joel, calm down," you said, standing up to reach out to him, but he kept pacing.
"Oh fuck, I'm never gonna forgive myself," he whispered, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.
"You didn't do this to me, he did," you assured him, trying to get him to stop moving. "You're helping me, Joel. You're the only one who ever really tried to help me. There's nothing to forgive."
He finally paused and glanced at you, his breath a little shallow as the panic began to subside.
"I'm gonna get you outta this, I promise," he said, his voice sounding more steady.
"I know," you replied, nodding your head.
He took a deep breath in through his nose and tore his eyes away from you to glance at his watch.
"I better go," he said regrettably, looking back up at you again.
"Okay," you said, following him to the door and leaning against the wall as he put his shoes back on.
"D'you need anythin'? Did you eat? I can -"
"I ate, I'm fine," you told him with a small smile. "Thank you, though."
"Alright," he said after a moment, then forced himself to open the door. Before he stepped through, he looked back at you over his shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"I'm working dinner tomorrow," you told him, suddenly feeling crestfallen you wouldn't see him for lunch.
"I'll see you tomorrow," he repeated, more firm this time. You slowly nodded and wrapped your arms around yourself, hoping he couldn't see through your robe.
You listened sadly as his heavy footsteps descended the stairs and the door shut softly behind him. You knew him well enough at this point that he would have turned the lock on the knob before he left but you still wanted to peek down the steps to check. Your eyes widened when, to your surprise, he was still standing there at the bottom of your stairs, his back leaning up against the door. His eyes flicked up to meet yours when he noticed movement, and you saw Adam’s apple bob in his throat before he spoke.
"I can't leave."
You looked at one another for a long moment, your heart slamming in your chest, knowing what this meant. You were sick and tired of always trying to do the right thing. Where did it get you? How could you even fool yourself into thinking you had any obligation to Patrick anymore? Joel knew everything now. He knew what he was doing, so you said the words that were on the tip of your tongue. The words that you knew would open the door for something both of you wanted so desperately, you could taste it.
"Then stay."
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pricetagged · 2 months ago
Text
that death is a very stable job
Poor little Dormouse, with her cruel father and labourer's hands. You find an unexpected guard dog in one of the passing knights.
Enjoy 4.8k words of half inaccurate-medieval, half poorly-built-fantasy AU. Inspired by a few existing historical AUs (like @bi-writes 1600s au, 391780's 'the rus') and a scene from 'The Serpent Queen'. Also, I stan 'old grizzled dog with a heart Ghost' so here you go.
Warnings/content: implied domestic abuse/sex work (not Ghost), very mild suicidal ideation, violence, power imbalance (social hierarchy ew), kissing & intimacy (no smut. yet.). Reader is described as a young woman, generally body-neutral (one reference to being 'plump').
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What makes betrayal so potent is that, by its very nature, it can only come from someone you trust. Of course, as a child you knew little of the abstracts and intricacies of trust. You knew the warmth of your mother's bosom. You knew the sharp, lingering smell of lye that clung to her chapped hands. You knew that you were not hungry or hurt for those blissful early years, at least.
You did not know that you had a father.
He spent those blissful, early years of yours fighting for a King and cause that meant far less to him than the pocketful of coins he earned and promptly spent on pleasures. But a soldier cannot earn coin in times of peace, not if he weren't a member of the standing army, so with treaties signed he shipped back to neglected wife and babe.
You did not know that fathers could be cruel.
Your mother protected you as best as she could, but slippery riverbanks and lixivium fumes were hardly safe for a little girl. So you learned to scurry about, eyes wide and feet soft as a dormouse. When your mother's whimpers and father's shouts split the silence of dusk you crouched and covered your mouth lest his attention switched to you. On the rare times your father called for you, you remembered your mother's hushed advice - be quiet, be meek, be sweet - and bobbed along to the waves of his fickle moods. When your stomach growled and gnawed you stifled it with a look at your mother's wan face, her fingers worked to the bone for mere pennies that were no longer spent on peat and produce. You lived in a cold house, an empty house. A strained house.
'Look at the size o'her, running wild, eating me out of house and home!' Lies. Your father hunched over your mother's shaking form, three meager brass farthings spilled across the crooked kitchen bench. 'You put her to work, or I will.'
The lye stung your skin. Sometimes you imagined yourself floating off, down in the frigid waters, your funeral clothes being salvinia and your shroud made of pennywort. Those thoughts rose like lily pads, big and blooming and plentiful, the autumn your mother passed.
'You've really got to work now, girl,' your Father sneered. 'Got to earn your keep now that your mother can't cry on your behalf.'
The glint in his eye pricked at your neck, made your spine stiffen and eyes shift away. Be quiet, be meek, be sweet. You wondered if your mother's advice would save you from his basest assertions, or encourage them. You would soon find out.
----------------
Ordinarily the Mid-Autumn festival was a slight reprieve, allowing a few days for your aching, numb fingers to warm and stretch as you enjoyed the city turned to colour. Ordinarily.
This year, you found yourself hauled down to the drinking district, your Father's blunt, filthy fingers digging into the soft meat of your upper arm. It was still daylight, thankfully, but you already felt exposed as he had you linger in the square near the public houses. You could already hear the hoots and laughter of raucous men enlivened by drink and company. The smell of stale ale and piss was not enough to cover the scent of fresh baking and roasted game drifting on the breeze. You shivered, your burned, you hungered.
Meek little dormouse, scurrying around the greasy ferret who held her tail under his claws.
Your Father's chance came as the sun was setting, candlelight just now visible through the slats and windows of taverns. Far from cozy, it reminded you of the lidded eyes of some lazy predator about to watch your ruination.
'I don't care if you are crusader to the gods themselves! Knight of the Realm or not, you can't come into my pub and throw furniture around like you're at the Solstice games!'
The snarling Madame looked comically small next to the absolute beast of a man currently ducking under the doorframe. Watching her chuck the splintered leg of a chair after him you thought her lucky that he didn't want more of a fuss. You had never seen a man so big, so broad, seeming bigger whilst dressed still in his mail and wearing the colours of the King. He merely grunted as he made his way to the tethering post, letting her threats and screeches fizzle into the cool, twilight air. Leather-gloved hands worked at the harness of the dappled stallion you had been admiring earlier, easily more than 18 hands tall and capable of carrying this brute. You had imagined earlier slicing that very harness and riding hard across the cobblestones away from your father. Away anywhere.
'Good sir, are you in need of lodgings?' The words dripped from your Father's lips like ichor. You could smell the sickly underlying rot.
The Knight's hands stilled, head still lowered. His voice rumbled out, deep and rough as gravel.
'You offerin', then? 'ow much will that cost me?'
'Well, it's busy in the Festival. The guest houses are full but my home is open to weary travelers-'
A barked laugh cut him off. The Knight raised his head, pinning your father in place like a moth in a hobbybook. You quickly looked away, pretending to busy yourself with a nearby fruit cart. His face was covered, a dark black slash across his lower face like an empty maw. But his eyes. You could have drowned in those eyes, dark as they were. They pulled you in more than the call of the river on your bad days. If you stared too long you'd never wade out.
'Ain't you charitable,' you couldn’t see his mouth but you were sure that he sneered.
'Well, a former soldier should be willing to support the Crown. Although, with a mouth to feed a few coins wouldn't go amiss..' his hand swept back and you tried not to cringe away.
'Former solider, eh?' Your Father clearly had the Knight's attention now. As did you. Though you continued to look away you felt his gaze like you felt touch. Like he was grasping you, keeping you still. Your head felt heavy as you raised it towards them, now a part of this bargain whether you wanted to be or not.
'I know what it's like to seek the comfort of a warm hearth and soft bed. I would not see you ride off into the cold night.'
The Knight huffed; you could almost mistake it for a laugh. Though quiet, the voices and laughter of the nearby inns seemed quieter, like all sound and light was absorbed by this armoured beast. Once, just after your mother died, you headed to the riverbank as always for work. It was barley daybreak, some of the older more experienced women already beginning their washing, but you walked on. And on. Until the river led you to its mouth, rushing and rocky and dangerous. You wanted to jump in. You felt the same now, gazing at this man.
'How much for the girl, then?' He looked right at you as he said it, catching your wide, staring eyes. You didn't blink, couldn't look away.
'She is my daughter! Sir, I-' that same rot, spewing out of his mouth.
'I didn't ask who she is, I asked 'ow much?'
Your Father took a step towards him, faltering under the weight of his gaze. He leaned, then, trying to seem ashamed. Trying to seem like a father should.
'Sir, she is my daughter. I can do nothing but take offence at what you are suggesting.'
The Knight pulled out a small velvet purse, heavy and distended with coins. They clinked as they smacked into the cobbles at your Father's feet. All pretenses dropped, then, as he scrambled to pick it up with greedily shaking fingers. Prize in hand, he found his courage as he sidled closer to him, thick neck open and exposed as he leaned in to whisper his betrayal. His filicide.
'She's a bit older, yes, but unused to the ways of men, mind. With a firm hand I'm sure she cou-' a gloved fist at his throat turned perfidy to gasps. You watched red bloom instantly under those fingers, and marveled at the strength. The violence.
'Your own daughter,' he sneered. 'What kind of man, soldier at that, would sell his daughter to a man like me?'
Your Father was bigger than you, yes, but looked like a poppet in the hands of this beast, so easily dragged towards him ready to be shaken in his maw.
'I'd love to think that she isn't yours, that she's some whore you peddle out to drunken leches in the alley. But you're slimier than an eel in birdshit, aren't ya?'
You didn't move, didn't speak as you saw his fingernails scrabbling uselessly against the unforgiving strength. You, for a small moment, felt the claw release your tail. Run, you thought. A look at this behemoth and his horse had you thinking again. Run where?
Be quiet, be meek, be sweet.
'Please!' The plea bubbled up your throat like acid.
He said nothing, did not loosen his grasp, as he tilted his head like a dog.
'It is as he says. He is my father,' you continued.
A scoff stilled your words.
'Some father, look at the state of ya.'
You looked down at your chapped, scarred hands. Your patched, slightly-too-short skirts. You felt the throb of the bruises on your upper arms, the beginnings of hollowness eating away at your usually plump cheeks.
'You mistake me, Sir,' You could barely hear your voice over the blood rushing in your ears. 'I am not asking for his life. I am asking you to take me with you. Please.'
Silence. His eyes flickered over you anew, contemplating. Your hummingbird heart fluttered in your chest.
'Close y'r eyes, girl. Until I say.' Your shocked hesitance made him growl. 'Now!'
The imprints of tavern candlelight burned behind your lids. You let the corners of your mouth flick up.
----------------
Your Knight's name was Simon. The Ghost, it was rumoured. You weren't seasoned on the field so you knew not of his reputation, but the reaction of those you encountered gave it away. Even without the blood staining his hands he was imposing. Tall, broad, intense. You still hadn't seen under the kerchief he kept around his face, but you spent many nights imagining. Was his nose crooked, or was it a trick of the light on fabric? Did he have stubble across his jaw that matched the fine, blond strands that decorated the top of his head? Did he smile? Scowl? Was he handsome?
He was gruff, certainly. You spent the first few days obeying your mantra - be quiet, be meek, be sweet -but it didn't provoke anything in him at all. Neither praise nor censure. It seemed, rather, that he was determined that your presence would be nothing more than a fact of circumstance. Not worth much fuss.
'She needs winter clothes. A nice dress. A travelling cloak. And some boots.'
That was how you found yourself perfectly still, getting prodded and pinned in the parlour of a tailor shop in the city's mid-tier. The seamstress' cheeks burned red as she turned her disapproving eyes between her task and the Knight who refused to leave the dressing area. He dwarfed the chaise, leather and chains indenting delicate brocade. After a grunted 'She's my Charge. If you want my coin, then 'm not leavin'' he sat silent. Just kept his eyes on your face. As always.
You couldn't find it in you to feel embarrassed. He'd done no more than see you in your petticoats, even at the guesthouses where you lodged for the night. An altogether better set up that you could've envisioned for yourself. You had thought your Father like a sly weasel, thought any future husband like a carrion crow ready to pick over whatever your Father left. But you thought Simon like a grizzled old guard dog. A dormouse held no interest when bigger prey was to be had. When you didn't pose a threat.
He clothed you. Fed you. Ordered hot bathwater for your room - a luxury you had never experienced - and otherwise left you alone. All he touched you with was his gaze, steady and unashamed. Strange how you now saw your silence -quiet, meek- as a barrier.
'Where are we going?' You worked up the courage to ask as you rode behind him up to the next tier of the city, seeing wooden roofs change to tile.
'The Palace.'
'The Palace? What, but what about me?'
'You asked me to take you wiv me, didn' ya?' you felt the rumble of his words all the way from his chest to your arms.
'Yes, but.. What, what will I do there? How will you explain this?'
You realised now your lack of foresight. You foolishly assumed that someone high-ranking wouldn't be starting brawls in lower-tier taverns. Or magistrating over scoundrels due to the sale of their daughters. You thought, perhaps, of an impoverished country knight who came to the city only for the festivities. You could bargain your way (or slip away) if he turned out to be just as bad as your progenitor, and make a living in one of the towns or hamlets that stretched along the woodlands of the Kingdom. Foolish girl.
'No one will ask questions. No one will bother ya,' You believed him, felt the threat in his words.
'But they'll think. They'll wonder.' I wonder, you thought to yourself.
'Can't stop that,' He snorted. 'Why don't you ask me what you really want to ask?' He pulled sharply on the reigns, causing you to clutch hard around his waist and whisper your words pressed into his back.
'What are you going to do with me?'
------------------
"Ho, Simon! Hard to drag ye from yer hermitage in Northmire,' you stared as a smiling Isleman slapped your Knight hard on the back, hooking his arm and dragging him down into the booth. 'And ye've brought a wee Bonnie thing with y-'
'That'll do, Johnny,' Simon growled. Still, he let himself be handled onto the bench. He looked at you, standing still, staring at the other side of the table. 'Well? You sitting down or wot?'
You scrambled down beside him, too timid to sit next to the laughing stranger. Too wary to put your back to the rest of the tavern. Past Simon's profile, you snuck a peek at the man - Johnny - and found him looking back at you. He looked friendly, sure, but you were reminded of the harriers that plucked young hens from the woods. His eyes were too sharp, too bright. His smile was a little wicked, too. Too intense to be without danger.
'Well, the King'll be happy. He'll finally have a real reason to say naw to all the harpy mothers pecking at him about their single daughters. Cannae say I expected it, but congratulations,' You blinked. 'Cannae believe you beat Garrick to it an' all, thought fer sure he'd be the dutiful one. Well, first that is.'
Simon ignored him as he flagged down the serving girl. He ordered for you, as always.
'Bit bold of ye, though, plastering her in your colours. Scared o' a challenge to her? Like anyone would chance their arm seeing her wi' you, Your Grace,' Johnny laughed again, blue eyes shining as he watched Simon's jaw tick under the scarf. 'Go oan then, introduce us.'
'Dormouse, meet Johnny.'
'Aw, come oan!' Johnny leaned over, then. 'He's forgotten his manners all the way oot in Northmire. I'm John MacTavish, of the Northern Isles. I've known this one fer a while, but never knew him tae settle.'
You squeaked out your own name in return, quickly taking a sip of the weak ale Simon pushed in front of you. Gave yourself more time to take stock. He too had the King's colours in a sash across his chest. Unlike Simon, he wasn't wearing full mail or a face covering. A heavy shirt of forest green, a red tartan kilt, and thick knitted socks were his attire of choice. Blue warpaint swirled from his temples down to his jaw, and he'd shaved his hair only on the sides. Not commonly seen in the Tiered City, but you knew the islanders to the North of the mountain wore similar garb. You let your eyes catch the glint of a dagger in his socks, as well as the hefty broadsword hooked by the table. The warpaint on his face was not just for decoration.  
You stayed quiet, munching on thick slices of bread dipped in broth as they talked, Low, rumbling voices and warmth from the hearth lulled you to a wakeful sleep, eyes still open but mind calm. MacTavish had called Simon 'Your Grace'. You were wearing his colours. You were going to the Palace. Something about that niggled at you, deep at the base of your skull.
You woke to Simon gently sliding you along the bench. Big hands and stained fingers so soft, like you were an overripe damson he wanted to preserve.
'Time for bed. C'mon, mouse.'
'Why do you call me that?' You murmured, still feeling his arm around you as he led you to your rooms. 'I never told you that was my Mother's nickname for me. Dormouse.'
You felt him huff out a laugh, pressed close against you.
'Didn't need ya to. It's obvious.' he answered after a pause. He leaned down, bracing you against the  room door. Only his scarf separated you from his flesh, close as you were. Wide eyes meeting dark. You shared the same breath.
'You're quiet like one. Seem sweet. But I saw you'd be willing to chew y'r own leg off to escape a trap,' he whispered that horrible truth so tenderly. His blunt, calloused fingers left firetrails on your cheek. 'My mouse. My survivor.'
His thick forearm braced your back as he opened the door, stopping your from tumbling into the emptiness behind. He needn't have bothered; you'd already fallen into him.
-------------------------
'How many more days' to the Palace?'
'Two, if we don't loiter. Johnny'll meet us at the gates to the Citadel.'
You looked up, seeing the Palace fortress taller and more intimidating than it had ever seemed down at the city's lowest levels. You were awed by the mason and marble buildings up here, the clean streets and cleaner people. Everything seemed to gleam this high-up. This close to the sun. Close to the Palace. Your skin had started to heal, after a week or so without labour and with good meals and rest, but you could see the discolouration that would never fade. It made you pick at your sleeves. Dormice didn't gleam. They hid.
You looked at the wide streets and their sun-bleached stones. Nowhere to hide here.
'And when we get there? What will happen?'
'We'll greet the Court. I have news for the King. They'll be a Ball f' the Festival. And you,' Simon stilled your steps, 'You will be good. You'll do as I tell ya. Not everyone is a friend. And I won't always be wiv ya.'
Perhaps you imagined it but you swore you could see something soft - warm - in those dark eyes of his as you nodded. You had years of experience avoiding the attentions of predators; you could do the same for Simon.
When you reached the Citadel Gates Johnny was waiting as foretold, chatting with a guardsman by the pulleys. He perked up as he spotted Simon's horse, all dappled grey with black skull harness. A proud danse macabre, carrying The Ghost.
'Here they are, the Duke and Duchess of Northmire! Let them pass, go oan. Here, raise his banner.'
It was a good thing that your blood turned to ice in your veins; it prevented you from letting go of Simon's waist. You watched as a square banneret in the same colours as your new travelling cloak - and dresses, and overskirts, and, and - rose to flutter slightly below the banner of the King. The wind lured the heavy fabric to thwack against the sky, echoing the drumbeats of your tambour heart. What were you marching towards?
Johnny had mounted his own stead, canting a light pace next to you and Simon.
'Ye should hae seen the ponces and pricks - sorry, My Lady - who came riding up here in their carriages this mornin'. I ken they think they were showing off but the guards and I were havin' a barry laugh watching the wheels get stuck in the cobbles and streets from the mid-tier all the way up-'
'Y'r point, Johnny?'
'Alright, cool yer blood. The point is, we've got tae change our travel plans. Be at the Palace tomorrow, nae a day later.' He sent Simon a significant look that you weren't so stunned as to miss. 'We've got a night hosted by Garrick's sister, then we'll be off in the morning.'
'Garrick's sister' was a comely, slender woman with sharp eyes and a kind smile. She, or rather the Garrick family, kept a townhouse in the top tier close to the Citadel as well as their estate at Thamesbury.  As a close peers and allies of her brother, her doors and hospitality were open to you all. You didn't want to seem like the uncultured urchin you were, but even the entry hall surpassed any luxury you'd seen thus far. You had to suppress an instinctual flinch as her manservant stepped behind you to reach for your cloak. Or perhaps the lessons from the streets were written all over your wide eyes. You saw Johnny chew on a smile as Simon glared down at the man, massive arms crossing across his great oak chest.
'That'll do,' he growled. 'There are saddlebags to be seen to.'
The poor man scarpered with a stuttered, 'Of course, Your Grace.'
You stared after your Knight as he stomped up the stairs, heavy footfalls disturbing the frames of the Garrick ancestors across the walls. He looked back, silhouetted with a hand outstretched.
'C'mon then.'
His rough, warm hand enclosed yours and you followed him to exegesis.
Ensconced in your chambers - shared chambers, marriage chambers - you found your tongue.
'Should I be calling you 'Your Grace'?' Be meek, be sweet.
He snorted, inelegant against the filigree and flowers that bore witness to your unsettled feelings.
Be meek, be sweet. Be meek, be sweet. Be meek-
'I do not speak in jest, Simon. Sorry, 'Your Grace',' Your mouth twisted, trembling with the force of holding back. 'I asked you to take me with you, yes, and I have tried not to inconvenience you beyond…beyond the circumstances of our meeting. But I must demand, now. Tell me what is going on.'
He merely tilted his head, old grizzled dog on a velvet chaise. You could see his lips - what did they look like, what did they feel like? - move under the black of his kerchief.
'We're in a guest room, talkin'. Listenin' to you ask stupid questions.'
'If the question seems stupid it is because you have made it so!' You felt your stubby nails bite into your calloused palms. The feeling made you shake, brought tears to your eyes. Shame and fear turned saliva to acid. You flung your hands towards him. 'Look! You see these. These are not the hands of a girl addressed as 'Duchess'. If this is a joke, I ask you to stop it now. I am grateful to you, I will remain so always, but playing in this manner is lower than whatever my Father had-'
"Do not. Compare me. To that man.' His growl cut you from cutaneous to cartilage, exposing your raw, soft innards. You hoped he'd be kind. Even if he chewed on your heart, popping gristle between sharp canines, perhaps you'd be a part of him, dripping down his throat with an intimacy you longed to initiate.
Viper-quick, your hands were in his. Your lap was in his too. Too warm, too bulky, too close.
'Quit y'r squirmin'. Look at me, no. Look!' Your jaw was turned more gently than you expected from hands made for violence. You couldn't meet his eyes, but that mattered not as he brought your hand and his up to your sight. 'Look. My hands aren't delicate neither.'
You took a deep breath, feeling him pant underneath you, and reached to cup his hand in yours. Butterfly-soft, you turned it, watching candlelight catch on silver scars and pockmarks. Deep gouges and veins raised valleys between knuckles and wrist. One finger seemed slightly too short, like the top joint had been lost in some gruesome accident. When you looked at the palm, it was calloused. You had already felt its roughness, deep imprints from years of work. Of war. He flexed, closing his fingers around yours.
'I'm not 'of the blood'. I'm good at spillin' it, but the stuff inside me isn't worth much. Was a Squire. Then a Knight. Caught some eyes on the battlefield and was sent to defend the borders. Became a Margrave for it an' all. Now I'm a Duke. The titles don't mean much t'me, except I've got more coin and can tell nobles to fuck off without spending a day in the stocks.'
You're not sure whether your sigh was a laugh.
'Then, what? Please, Simon. What are we doing here?'
With your face this close to him you were reminded of the night in the tavern where you first met Johnny. You felt that you were sharing the same breath then. Now, here on his lap, you felt more. The warmth of his body that leeched through your skirts. The hard press of tough leather plackart. The pounding of his heartbeat - or was it yours - as you clutched his hand with trembling strength. That same trembling strength had you meeting his eyes at last, your position allowing you to be equal in height. His pupils dilated under scarred eyebrows, deep brown melting into pitch black.
'I took you wiv' me. It was sealed in blood. You're mine.'
You cupped his jaw, feeling stubble peek through his scarf. The sensation grounded you, kept you from flying off as his words used all the world's gravity.
'Bit of a terrible dowry, blood.' You whispered, a whisker away from his lips.
'I'm not made for anything else.'
Wrong, you thought as you pressed your parted lips to his covered ones. You were made for me.
His hand trailed up your arm as yours trailed across his jaw, two bodies with one mind. With deft, strong fingers you removed the last barrier between you. Black fluttered to the floor, still flesh-warm, and your lips met again. His lips were a little thin, but hungry. He groaned, supplicant to your taste, as you sought to press him closer. You could feel stubble tickling your chin, and the firm outline of another scar close to his cupid's bow. Lightning struck across the back of your neck, making you shudder against him. All you could taste, all you could smell, all you could feel was Simon.
And he all was yours.
After his face mask fell, so too did all barriers. You feel asleep together, entwined on the same bed. You awoke to his face made soft in the morning light. Sunbeams danced in the crevices of his scars, pale and rugged like the mountain you'd looked up at as a child. You watched, sentry, as you mapped the features of his face. Golden hair, golden stubble. A crooked nose that had been broken and set several times. Tributaries of scars running down to a strong jaw. And dark, unwavering eyes that creased a little as you met his gaze.
'G'mornin'.'
'Good morning,' You murmured, still sleep-soft. You traced along his lips, laughing as he nipped softly. 'Why do you cover this up?'
'To preserve my modesty,' he smirked as his tongue flicked out to soothe your nipped fingertips.
'Simon!'
'I'll tell ya. One day. When we get back 'ome. I don't trust everyone in this city.'
'You can trust me,' you whispered as you pressed your tingling digits into his mouth, catching on blunt teeth.
You felt the heat of his gaze bring blood to your cheeks. His eyes didn't leave yours as he pressed his teeth down softly. You knew the dog wouldn't bite.
'I know, Simon. I trust you too,' You leaned your forehead against his. 'Just, wherever you go, take me with you.'
-------------
Got a part ii drafted (palace intrigue, meet John and Gaz, Ghost and his mouse finally enjoy marital rites *wink*, conflict, etc., eventual HEA) but I'm not sure if there's an audience for it. And this is the first writing I've published in y e a r s since my cringe forays into dark videogame smut as a 19 y/o, so I'm not really confident. This is unedited/not proofread. Here ya go~
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stargirllanaa · 9 months ago
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୨⎯ "Bad Liar" - R.C
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❥ Masterlist
Warnings: NONCON smut, Dark!Rafe, Toxic relationship, abusive relationship, Domestic violence, mentions of drinking, rafes pretty bad as usual
Summary: You snuck out to hang with the pogue’s… bad idea. Idea is from a comment on this post.
A/n ✎: OMG thank you for 200 followers!! I started writing Rafe like 3 weeks ago but the overwhelming support has been so motivating <333 love you all sm! Please reblog and comment if you enjoyed!!! Btw my request are open again, don’t be shy ;)
Wc: 2.1k
18+ MINORS DNI YOU WILL BE BLOCKED!
You quietly entered your house, locking the door behind you. It was 2 am, and you had just driven home from the other side of the island because you had to sneak around to hang out with your friends. Your boyfriend Rafe didn't like your choice of friends, often calling them ‘dirty pogues’ and claiming that they were all ‘trying to turn you against him,’ and that pissed you off.
Just because Rafe had a problem with Pogues didn't mean you had to, and frankly, his reasoning for hating them so much was stupid; because of his issue with them, you were frequently isolated. Still, you wouldn't let Rafe stop you from having a social life outside of him, so you would sometimes sneak out late at night, go to the cut, visit your friends, and return home like nothing had happened.
You did feel guilty about going behind Rafe's back, but what could you do? You weren't going to cut all your friends off because Rafe told you to. It wasn't like you were cheating.
You made sure to cover all of your tracks. Knowing Rafe had your location, you left your phone at home every time you snuck out. You always left at night so you could text Rafe ‘goodnight,’ and he wouldn't suspect anything from you not responding, and you would always make it back in three hours at the most just to be careful. You knew if Rafe found out about you sneaking around, he would be furious; you had been disobeying his wishes for months and lying to his face.
As you crept up your stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible, you couldn't help but smile; even though you hated to admit it, you and Rafe never had fun. I mean, you two had ‘fun’ in his way, like going golfing, parties, ‘Rafe stuff,’ but you two would never do anything you wanted to do, and with The Pogues, it was the opposite; you got to get messy, get drunk on the beach even do girly things like braid Sarah's hair or have Kie paint your nails, things that you could never do with rafe. It was a relief to do something you enjoyed.
You opened the door to your bedroom, which was pitch black; you had turned all your lights out before you left; you felt around on the wall for the light switch, flipping it upwards. The lights momentarily blinded you, but you jumped when you saw the manlike figure on your bed. When your eyes finally focused, it was worse than what you expected.
Rafe was sitting on your bed, staring directly at you; his face was unreadable and emotionless, which was terrifying. Your boyfriend was usually expressive, the type to lash out when angry; you had never seen him this calm, and you certainly didn't expect him to be calm after catching you going behind his back.
You stood frozen in the doorway, unable to tear your gaze away from him or move. This didn't feel real.
“Where were you?” Rafe asked, breaking the silence; his voice was monotone, empty of emotion as he sat on your bed, just looking at you.
Your throat felt dry, and your tongue heavy with unsaid words. You struggled to find your voice and form a coherent response, and the utter shock and fear rendered you speechless.
“I don't want to repeat myself,” Rafe mumbled under his breath; he was allowing you to come clean and save yourself from whatever he had planned if he caught you in a lie.
“I was…” you blinked a couple of tears back, thinking of what to say. “I went to the gas station… to get some.” you looked up and then back at him, fidgeting with your hands. “snacks.” you lied, voice cracking from nerves.
Rafe smirked, slighting, breaking his calm facade. Did this amuse him?
“Right.” Rafe nodded, looking at his lap as if he was thinking about what you just said. “So you went to the gas station, right?” he asked, awaiting a response.
You nodded, but you couldn't stop the tears from glazing your eyes and your whole body from trembling.
“And you left your phone at home?” Rafe questioned you, head tilting slightly and his eyes narrowing.
You completely forgot that since Rafe was waiting for you in your room and most likely saw your phone on your nightstand. Your lies were falling apart before your eyes.
“I forgot-” You mumbled quietly, still standing in your doorway. You hoped you weren't loud enough to wake anyone in your house, but you were too scared to get closer to Rafe.
“Y/n,” Rafe muttered, pushing himself off the bed, now standing in front of it. “I'm done with the lies. Alright?” the blonde sighs, now talking with his hands. “I've been here for,” he looks down at his expensive watch, taking in the time. “2 hours,” Rafe admits, fist clenching to his side.
Your face fell when he said that, he had caught you; he had to know; there was no excuse or lie you could think of to justify why you were at the gas station for 2 hours in the middle of the night. Your heart started to beat faster, and your tears finally spilled over; you weren't just scared, you were terrified; you didn't want to admit to hanging out with the Pogues, but what else could you do? You had tried lying and failed, making the situation worse, and Rafe probably already expected the worst. I mean, you were sneaking out in the middle of the night. That would look like cheating to anyone.
“And I don't see any snacks either.” Rafe sighs as he combs his finger through his hair.
He was right; you didn't even think of that; you were a horrible liar.
“So I'm going to ask you one more time.” Rafe’s posture was stiff, and his hands were shaky, “where. Were. you.” his tone was sharp, and his breathing was speeding up as he waited for your response.
“I was at the chateau…ok?!” You blurted out loudly, quickly covering your mouth after realizing your door was still open. “John B’s place, it was me, Sarah.” his eyes rolled when you mentioned his sister, “Kiara, Pope, JJ.” You were now half whispering and hyperventilating simultaneously; your tears were prevalent as you told your boyfriend everything. There was no point in lying anymore, he had caught you, and he was pissed.
“We were just hanging out, and I'm sorry; I know I should have-” You were just saying anything that came to mind, trying to improve this situation, word vomit.
“Come here.” Your boyfriend mumbled, cutting you off; his voice was low and shaky.
You shook your head. ‘No,’ you didn't want to be anywhere near him right now; you had just admitted to lying to him multiple times and didn't want to face the consequences.
“Ok,” he shakes his head before running his hand through his hair again and saying something under his breath that you didn't quite catch.
Before you knew it, he was charging at you. You tried to run out the doorway, but as soon as you turned, one of his arms was wrapped around your waist, pulling you against his stiff chest, and with the other, he used his hand to cover your mouth in one swift motion before using his foot to shut your door.
“You were lying to me.” he hissed into your ear, pushing you against your wall, back facing him. “Calculating plans behind my back.” he used the hand that was around your waist to grab a chuck of your hair, forcing your head to snap to the side. “To hang out with dirty Pogues.” he was now gripping your hair so tight you felt it might come out of your head. “And probably sleep with them behind my back.” His voice didn't raise once as he automatically assumed the worst.
You couldn't deny his claims; his hand was over your mouth tight, your parents were right upstairs, and he knew that.
“How many times? Huh?” Rafe questioned you, pulling your hair back just enough to make eye contact, and when you looked into his eyes, they didn't look normal; they were dark. “How many times did you fuck those disgusting Pogues while you pretend to be asleep?” he was dead serious.
He slowly moved his hand from over your mouth, waiting for you to respond, but when you let out a loud cry instead, he quickly covered it again before slamming your head against the wall, which was also noisier than he expected.
In Rafe's mind, he couldn't accept the fact that you and another guy could just be friends, especially not you and a Pogue; in Rafe's mind, you 100% cheated on him, and there was no convincing him otherwise. He was disgusted; who knows where those pogues had been or who they had been in? They were filthy and grimy; who knows what you could have given him.
“You're disgusting.” Rafe whispers in your ear before flipping your body around to face him, stuck between him and the walls.
“I can't believe I trusted you.” His hand was now grabbing at your hair again, gripping the top of your scalp and using it as leverage to push you down on your knees in front of him.
You fought back, trying to stand straight, but Rafe quickly overpowered you. And before you knew it, you were kneeling before him like he wanted.
“I'm going to let go of you, and if you make any noise…” he paused momentarily, looking deeply into your eyes. “I'll kick your fucking teeth in.” he threatened, voice still shaking. “Understand?”
You nodded to the best of your ability with his tight grip on your hair and face.
When he let go, you tried your best to stay quiet, letting out little cries and whimpers, but not enough for him to fulfill his threat. The tears hadn't stopped since he'd caught you, and you were so fucking exhausted from all the fun you had earlier and now the pain, accusations, and tears. But when you looked up to see Rafe unbuttoning his pants, you couldn't keep quiet.
“No-” You protested quietly, as you started to hyperventilate, tears now fully clouding your vision. “Rafe-” You couldn't even catch your breath. You were panicking.
“Shut the fuck up,” Rafe demanded quietly, but his tone was still harsh as he pulled down his pants.
“I can't breathe-” You were cut off by Rafe pushing your head, causing it to slam against the wall; you immediately rubbed the back of your head to soothe the pain as you cried harder.
Rafe was getting more annoyed with you by the second, jaw ticking every time he looked at you. He grabbed your chin roughly, pulling your face closer to his crotch.
“I told you to shut the fuck up.” Rafe sneered as he used his other hand to pull his boxers down and begin stroking his cock right in front of your face.
You couldn't stop crying. You couldn't believe this was happening; just an hour ago, you were out with your friends, having fun, not even worried about your boyfriend. You had gotten away with sneaking out so many times already; how could you have known today would be any different?
“Open your mouth,” Rafe demanded as he held his cock right in front of your lips.
You tried to turn your head to the side, but Rafe wasn't having it. His grip on your chin got tighter and tighter until you tried to cry out in pain, but as soon as you opened your mouth, he got what he wanted.
His hand holding your chin was back on your hair as he guided your head up and down at a quick, harsh pace. Sounds of gags and rafes and low moans filled the room. It was music to his ears but traumatizing for you.
“Fuck y/n.” Rafe moaned out, “I'm gonna miss this.”
You were a little confused, but if you were being honest, you were barely listening to Rafe anyway, too emotionally broken to pay attention to whatever he was saying.
“Can't be with a bitch who would fuck a pogue,” Rafe grunted out.
༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶
Enjoyed my fic? Leave feedback! Comment/reblog!
Wanna see more? Check out my fic Sweet little lies.
Also tagging @necroflame (bc I lied about the post time to many times 😭) and @fabienne6656 for the idea!!! Thx bye..
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trippinsorrows · 9 days ago
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looking through your eyes + twenty four
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authors note: this one gets pretty heavy. the next two chapters will also be heavy at points. please heed to cw/tw's.
cw/tw: fluff, angst, brief discussion of childhood sexual assault and child abuse, scene of violence against women
*this author does not condone nor support intimate partner/domestic violence.*
song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes
masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form
words: 12k
“Roman…” His name leaving her mouth is the perfect combination of breathy and whiny. “We–re gonna be late.”
For the first time in what feels like an hour, Roman lifts his head from her neck. She hates how noticeable the absence of his mouth is. “You really think I care about that?”
No. She knows he doesn’t care. But, she also dislikes being the reason for them being late. Because she's certain he has plans afterwards, and it doesn’t sit well with her knowing that she could play any type of role in any inconvenience he may encounter.
Her eyes shut as he brings his mouth back to her neck, sucking the spot that he’s clearly realized she has the most visceral response to. Toes curling, clawing at his shoulders and arms, it’s hard to tell who’s enjoying this more. Him or her.
Still, she manages to protest. “But, I—I care.”
Big hands traveling her body, she sighs quietly when he cups the swell of her breast giving her a gentle squeeze that has her thighs unintentionally gripping his waist. “You should have thought about that before you put this damn outfit on….”
Said outfit isn’t anything crazy, nothing fancy, just a cropped, sleeveless hoodie and dark yoga pants. However, it's the stretchy material that clings to clearly every part of her that he seemingly finds irresistible. Namely her ass and chest. Still, it's the typical type of outfit she would wear to train, which is exactly where they should be headed to right now. Though it seems her husband has another much more carnal destination in mind.
Blush growing, she tries again. “Roman, I—I’m serious.” His tongue circling across her inflamed skin as she groans against him. “You’re gonna l–leave another mark.”
“Good.” His response doesn’t entirely surprise her. Neither does the explanation. “You’re mine, and everyone needs to fucking know that shit.”
Mine
There’s something about that, something about his delivery, so strong and borderline aggressive that makes her insides melt a tad. Makes her smile grow. A good bit, she’s certain, stemming from the fact that it still blows her mind sometimes that a man like Roman Reigns could want her. Does want her. Even with all her….baggage.
He wants her.
Loves her.
For some reason, this makes it a bit easier to slide into that space of comfort and indifference he has regarding time and obligation. Makes her arch her chest into him as he stays true and firm to his determination in leaving her with his mark. 
Though she’s not sure just what about this current situation makes her decide to bring this up now, it’s something she knows she really shouldn't push off anymore.
“R–Ro?”
He makes a sound against her. “Yes?”
“I—I need a favor.”
He sighs against her, lifting his head from her neck to match her nervous gaze. “Solana, doing things for you is never a favor.” He brings his hand to her chin, thumb caressing her skin. “It’s my job as your husband.”
His response, thus far, chips away some of the anxiety. Some. “But, this—this is kinda big.”
Eyes narrowing slightly, he asks, “how big?”
It feels kind of silly, Solana briefly dropping her gaze to his black shirt that’s stretched against his broad chest. “I—I need money.”
Roman just looks at her for a second, a huge smile breaking out on his face. “You need money?” 
She nods. Slowly. “It’s—it’s a lot of money though.”
“I think we have different definitions of what a lot is, but go on.”
He’s probably not wrong, but that doesn’t negate the fact that the proposed amount of money probably needed is substantial compared to the average loan. Solana sits up fully, forcing Roman to also stand upright. He tugs her to the edge, her hands on his chest. “It’s…..it’s for Dr. Stratus.”
At that, she’s clearly lost him. “You need money for your psychiatrist?”
“Not—not like that.” Solana closes her eyes, taking a deep breath as she tries to gather her thoughts. “The girls were telling me they overheard that Dr. Stratus couldn’t secure an investor to keep the facility going and may have to shut down.”
He remains confused. “Okay…..”
“Roman, I don’t want that to happen.” She closes her eyes, thinking back to some of the information Gail has provided her as well as readings from her book. “Did you—did you know that 1 out of every 6 American women has either been raped or survived of an attempted rape?” Closing her eyes, she murmurs, “I was one of the ones.” Taking another breath, she notices his expression is darker. “But there are a lot more ones out there, Roman, and they need help just like I did. Dr. Stratus has a really great thing going, and I don’t—I don’t want to see it go away. I want—”
“Okay.”
She frowns. “Okay?”
“I’ll do it.”
Her stomach flutters. “Really?” She’s not sure what she was expecting, but for some reason, him so easily agreeing seems almost too good to be true.
Roman shrugs, pushing back some of her hair. “It’s important to you, and it clearly is, so I’ll do it.” That’s it. Nothing else. Just acquiescence.
“But, you don’t even know how much—”
“Doesn’t matter. You want it. I’ll make it happen.”
It’s overwhelming, really. Solana didn’t really think he would be upset with her request. She figured he’d want or need to think about it, which makes sense given it’s probably going to be in the six, maybe even seven figure range. But, that’s not the case. Instead, he’s just agreed without a second thought simply because she wants it.
Because it’s important to her.
Eyes watering, she throws her arms around him, hugging him. “Thank you.” It’s such a simple thing to say for such a big task. But, she also means it from the deepest part of her. For a man who doesn’t seem to think he’s a good person, she thinks the world of him. 
The same way she’s certain their child will. 
“While we’re on it, there’s something I need to talk to you about, too.”
And just like that, her smile is wiped, Solana pulling back and looking up. "Oh—okay.”
Something tells her she’s not going to like what she’s about to hear.
Roman’s intense eyes are focused on her, his index finger tracing along her jaw. “I have to go out of town next week.”
Yeah……definitely not something she wanted or expected to hear.
“Oh.” It’s all she knows how to say initially. Finally, more words arrive. A necessary question asked. “Where are you going?”
He hesitates. “Italy.”
Her eyes widen. That definitely isn’t what she expected him to say. Domestic travel was the guess, international never even being something that crossed her mind. “Italy?”
He nods, explaining on the edge of a heavy sigh. “I have some…..business to take care of with the Cosa Nostra.”
Solana is quiet, sitting on his words, partially hoping he’ll say more. Granted, it’s not a necessity as she’s able to piece the puzzle together herself. “That’s why your cousins were here that night…..isn’t it?” His silence is all the answer she needs. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
“No.” Though his answer is immediate, there’s something about it that was too instantaneous. Like he blurted it out without even thinking about it. “Just…..something I need to handle.”
It’s a bit manipulative. She knows this, but it’s hard for her to have something like this sprung on her and not ask any follow up questions. “Can….can I come with you?”
Again, his response is something she already guessed before even fixing her mouth to ask. Another heavy sigh as he gently cups her cheek. “Not this time.”
“Because it’s dangerous.” And there’s the manipulation component. Solana has realized that will always be the dealbreaker for Roman when it comes to her. Safety. So, him saying no makes her concerned not for her wellbeing. 
But for his.
Anxiety growing, she asks, “are the twins going with you? You can’t go alone.”
“I won’t be alone.” That helps her feel a little better. Just a little. “But, they’re not coming. I need them here. Handling shit.” It’s hard for Solana to wonder if any part of what went down between Roman and Jey has impacted this decision for them to remain here while he travels abroad. 
Still, that’s another thought for another day. She has a much bigger issue at hand.
“So who—”
“Solana.” Roman’s voice silences the next set of anxiety riddled questions scheduled to leave her mouth. He lowers his volume, his tone softer than anything anyone outside of her would ever hear. “I’ll be fine.”
For some reason, that only cranks her anxiety up from a 6 to a solid 8. And it’s without much thought, she finds herself asking, “do you have to go?”
He truly looks apologetic. A visible thing that also matches the verbal. “I’ve been pushing it off. I can’t push it off anymore.”
She swallows, emotion thick and bubbling. “Because of me?”
“Because of a lot of things, Sol.” And to her surprise, there’s some semblance of emotion present in his voice as well. “The—the story with that side of my family is…..complicated.” As it seems are most things when it comes to his family. Either side, apparently. “Trust me, going there is the last thing I want, but it needs to be done.”
Solana hates this. For a lot of reasons. The biggest one, however, is because she just knows there’s something he’s not telling her. A key part he’s omitting, probably for fear of worrying her. Never mind the fact that she’s already an anxious mess thinking about him being so far away without at least the twins there to have his back. She’d bet this Dwayne and Matteo person will be present, but she doesn’t know them. Doesn’t trust them. Doesn’t trust them to have her husband’s back. 
Not like Jimmy and Jey.
Even with the altercation between Roman and the latter, she still believes in her heart of hearts they’d look out for each other.
Like brothers.
“How long will you be gone?” Because trying to convince him to stay or even allow her to accompany him is the equivalent of beating a dead horse. 
More hesitation. “A week. Maybe two.”
The duration truly could be worse, and it makes sense such a long trip wouldn’t warrant a short turnover, but that doesn’t make the idea of him being gone for that period of time any easier to stomach. 
When she says nothing, he brings his other hand to her hair, pushing a section behind her ear. “Nia will stay with you until I return.”
And the surprises just keep coming. “Nia?” She knows the list of people Roman would ask to do such a thing is pretty limited, nonexistent maybe, but Nia is the last of the last she’d have considered. “She—why would she agree to that?”
Nia’s behavior around and toward Solana has shifted moderately since their first meeting so many months ago. She’s still not the nicest, per se, but Solana has learned a large part of that is nothing personal. It’s just Nia. So, while she’s not against it, she does, however, not understand it. 
“I told you before, people do what I want them to do because no one wants to deal with the alternative. Nia is no different.” Forced. He’s forced her to do this. That’s all Solana took from that, the frown on her face deepening it. “She’ll really just be here to administer your meds and make sure you get to therapy.” 
And she figured as such, figured that would be the basis as to why he would ensure another person is present in his absence. Still, Solana can’t stop herself from trying to broach an option she’s almost certain he won’t want to hear.
“Ro, I don’t—I can take care of that mys—”
“No.” It’s so firm and final. Even his gaze has shifted into something almost hardened. “That’s not an option.”
She figured it wasn’t. She also wonders, however, if it ever will. It has to, at some point. Solana wants to also ask why it can’t be Bayley again, or even Naomi, but it’s most likely to earn her the same type of shutdown. 
If not worse.
Roman steps back, guiding her off the bathroom counter. Standing back on her own two feet, Solana is taken back for a second by the almost instant lightheaded feeling that comes over her. Or less lightheaded and more…..exhaustion.
“You alright?”
She looks up, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. I’m—I’m good.” That’s debatable, because Solana is all of a sudden feeling exhausted from literally doing nothing but making out with her husband. 
Roman, as expected, looks unconvinced. “You sure?” He goes into his spiel that she’s heard at least three times now. “You know you don’t have to jump right back into things. I still think you should take more time off—”
“No.” Her hand shifts to her stomach, Solana grateful this doesn’t seem to trigger something for him. “I—I want to fall back into my routines.” Even more, and most important, if she truly is pregnant, Solana doesn’t want to waste any time left she has to do so before being too far along to train.
But, he can’t have that explanation. Not yet.
And now she has to figure out just when said explanation can occur, because how does she tell her husband they’re expecting days before he’s set to go out of town for possibly two weeks?
Damn.
————
“You’re late.” It’s the first thing to come out of a smirking Bayley’s mouth as Solana walks in with Roman into the training area. ‘But, the outfit is cute.”
Solana smiles at that, a bit of a laugh leaving her considering Roman nearly had a heart attack at her outfit when she stepped out the bathroom. Hence why they’re late. Among…..other reasons. 
“I’m sorry. We got caught up with something.”
“Mmmhmm,” Naomi sounds with that knowing look. “I’m sure you did.”
Solana looks away, wanting and needing to hide her blush as Roman asks in an annoyed voice, “where is he?”
“Here.” The four of them redirect their attention to the sound of Jimmy and the other two men he’s with: Jey and Carmelo.
Naturally, Solana goes to observe the indirect interaction between Jey and Roman, searching for any sigh of contempt. It’s definitely there. She can see it in the way Roman’s shoulders tense and how Jey looks away, Solana noticing the faded bruises on his face as well as the bandage over a still healing cut.
Swallowing, Solana moves over to them. “Hey.” 
Jimmy pulls her into a side hug without needing initiation, but it’s not missed upon her how Jey seems to hesitate to hug her, the tension in his body as well as the way he almost awkward way he clears his throat and looks away. 
She tries not to make too much of it, but it’s hard not to.
Carmelo steps forward, giving a nod. “Ma’am.”
That makes her smile return. “I told you before, you can just call me Solana.”
“Ma’am is fine,” Roman’s deep voice cuts through, Solana not needing to turn around, hearing his heavy footsteps behind her. “You’re late.”
Carmelo swallows. “I’m sorry—”
“I don’t care,” Roman is instantly dismissive, focusing his attention on his wife as he goes into an unnecessary introduction. “Solana, this is—”
“I know,” she cuts him off with a gentle smile, explaining, “I met him at the party.”
At that, Romans’ thick eyebrows cave inward. “What?”
“He was there, Big Dog.”
‘“I–I was there, sir.”
Roman scowls, completely ignoring his cousin and the other irrelevant man. “He was?” He looks over at his wife, asking, “you invited him too?”
Solana nods. “I asked the twins to invite whoever it was you found to help me train, because I wanted to meet him beforehand,” she explains, turning to Carmelo again, “thank you again for—agreeing to help me.”
Carmelo opens his mouth, unsure just how to express that he didn’t really have much of a choice in the matter. Or one at all. 
“He was there the whole time,” Naomi shares from where she stretches on one of the mats, Jimmy focused on her ass as she bends over. 
“You were too busy trying not to kill and cuss everybody out,” Bayley walks over, earning a hardened look from Roman that she pays no mind to. “Alright, so Solana is obviously a small human being, but she’s fast and hell and can maneuver quickly. That makes her hard to catch. Those are her strengths. She’s also pretty damn good with a knife.” Solana is a bit unsure how to feel about that part. “But, she’s only ever trained with women, hence why you’re here, Melo.”
“She also wants to learn how to do the spear.”
Roman’s statement earns a round of surprised expressions from everyone except Carmelo.
He looks terrified. “The—the spear?” He gestures with a crooked, slightly trembling index finger. “From—from you?”
“Who the fuck else?” Is Roman’s objectively rude reply, Solana having to stop herself from placing her hand on his forearm. He could try to be a little nicer. 
“You supposed to get a spear from him?” A new voice sounds, Solana not recognizing the man with a deep complexion, multiple piercings and an….interesting hairstyle. He shakes his head. “You gon die!”
Solana’s mouth drops as Bayley and Naomi laugh aloud. Jimmy is the one to ask, “R Truth, where did you even come from?”
He scowls, pointing downward. “Boss man said meet him here.”
“I said at the office, Truth. Not the Warehouse.” Jey finally speaks, Solana realizing it’s the first time he’s done so. He sounds annoyed, and she’s not sure if it’s just because of the scene unfolding before them. Or something that he’s clearly still not over.
“Yo? Forreal?” Jey runs his hand over his face. “That’s—that’s my bad.” He looks to Roman, nodding. ��Tribal Chief.” He looks at Solana, again nodding, “Mrs. Tribal Chief.” He then gestures to the rest of the group. “Ya’ll be safe now.” Pointing to Carmelo, he adds, “‘cept’ for you, you already dead.”
Solana has so many questions, even as this strange man walks away, Jey muttering something incoherent before he seems to follow after this R-Truth person. 
Once those two men are gone, Carmelo nervously clears his throat. “Tribal Chief, if I can, who better to train her than y—”
“Shut up,” Roman says it so lazily. It’s as he crosses his massive arms over each other that Solana has to briefly look away, finding herself growing….distracted. He’s so damn muscular. “She’s comfortable with me. That won’t help her learn.”
Roman easily transitions into providing basic information about the spear, best ways to time it, stances, ways to land it and whatnot. She’s following, as best she can, at least. Because this exhaustion she’s experiencing is making it ten times harder to be present in the moment, and that’s made evident by the gap in her focus when one moment Roman is explaining, and the next he’s rushing towards Carmelo.
Solana gasps as Roman spears the other man with a ferocity and intensity that seems almost animal-like.
Eyes wide, hands over her mouth, Solana has to wince at a pain she didn’t even experience. But, one didn’t have to be on the receiving end of that to know it had to hurt like hell. 
Roman stands up so unbothered and nonchalant, readjusting his almost always perfect bun.
“Gotta give him his props. No one does a spear quite like Roman,” Bayley chuckles, arms crossed as Solana continues to stare in shock.
Jimmy casually walks by and peers over an unmoved Carmelo. “Ayo, Uce, I think he dead.” The faintest sound of pained whining fills the air, prompting Jimmy to correct himself. “Never mind. He alive.”
“Barely,” Naomi mumbles.
“He shouldn’t be so weak,” is Roman’s pompous defense as he redirects his attention to a still startled Solana. “Make sense?”
There’s a brief delay in between the time she nods slowly and speaks. “But, I—I don’t think I can do that.”
A small smile falls on Roman’s face as he explains, “it’s not going to be the exact same, Solana. I’m significantly bigger than you. Plus, spearing a man is different than spearing a woman.”
“What if I need to spear a man?”
His expression hardens as he affirms, “he’d have to get through me first to fucking touch you.”
Solana doesn’t say anything after that. Just waits for Carmelo to recover as they transition to the one-on-one portion. Solana is rolling her shoulders, trying to get in as much stretching as she can to hopefully loosen up her body more and shed away the almost fatigue she’s feeling.
It’s unfamiliar and inconvenient as hell considering what she’s about to do.
She’s in earshot range too when Roman grabs Melo’s arm and warns in the chilliest tone, “leave one fucking mark on her, and I’ll break every bone in your goddamn body.”
A heavy sigh leaves her body. She understands Roman’s protectiveness, but truthfully, Carmelo is doing them a favor. He doesn’t have to be here. 
Then again….maybe he does.
She doesn’t put it beyond her husband to threaten people on her behalf. 
Not in the slightest.
And on one hand, she’s partially grateful for the obvious care and mindfulness Carmelo is utilizing as he trains with her, it’s definitely helpful from her trauma standpoint. Helps for them to not be as physical as she typically is with Bayley and Naomi. 
However, it's painfully obvious that Carmelo is doing his damn hardest to minimize any and all physical contact between the two of them. A part of her appreciates it, but a larger part of her finds it a bit annoying. It’s sparring. Not interpretive dancing. 
Solana manages to swipe Carmelo off his feet, growing a bit frustrated when he intentionally takes longer to get up. “This doesn't help me,” she sighs, hands on her hips as she takes a second to steal a much needed breath. “Roman, can you please tell him—”
She’s cut off by being swiped by her ankles, tumbling forward to the floor. Carmelo is suddenly over her, flipping her onto her back, Solana not hesitating to move her knee between his stupidly open legs. He groans from the impact, and she takes that opportunity to bar her forearm across his neck, switching them so that he’s on his back with her hovering over him.
However, anything more is cut short by that small interaction alone knocking the wind out of her.
Climbing off him, she moves onto her hands and knees, eyes shut and head dropped. Neither from feeling triggered or even being in pain, just exhaustion.
She’s so damn drained. 
In what feels like seconds, Roman is at her side, hand on her back. “Solana, what’s wrong?”
She shakes her head, answering quickly, “I’m just—tired.” More than what’s normal for her. Training is usually draining, but considering they haven’t even been at it that long, she’s confused as to why she’s getting so winded. Lifting her head, she offers a small smile. “I’m fine.”
“No.” Roman dismisses it with the quickness, directing to the others. “We’re done for the day.”
“Roman, I’m fine. I’m just—probably out of shape.” Maybe, but this feels beyond that. She’s just so fatigued. He helps her to her feet, Solana trying to bargain, “at least let me finish with Bayley?”
He’s not hearing it. “No. You clearly need to ease back into things.” She frowns. I thought I was. “Head to the showers.”
“Roman—”
“He’s right, Solana,” Naomi suddenly sounds, walking over with Bayley. “You’re clearly tired and just need to ease back into and relearn some things. That’s okay. We can do this another day. When you’re at 100.”
“Or maybe she can just continue to train with ya’ll—”
And in perfect synchronized dismissiveness, Roman, Bayley, and Naomi all shut Carmelo down with a simple, “shut up.”
It cracks a smile on Solana’s face. The fact that the majority of them are in agreement is enough to make her realize that they’re probably right in that she should try another day. Maybe even easing back into it. Not necessarily the part about relearning. She remembers everything. Recall is not the problem. This fatigue is, but a part of her is starting to think she knows what it might be.
Just why she’s so fatigued.
And in true Jimmy fashion, he blurts out with the ill timed question, “aye, Soso, what’s for dinner today?”
————
“So why exactly are you fighting again?”
It’s not the first time she’s asked this question. No, it’s been posed at least three different times prior to this occurrence. Just different wording. A different question that’s garnered the same kind of answer every single time. 
A part of her recognizes this, but a part of her also doesn’t care.
Solana has always been under the impression, and has essentially been told by several people, Roman included, that he doesn’t really fight in the ring anymore. That he doesn’t need to. That he doesn’t have anything to prove to anyone, and those words came from him directly.
So, she was and still is, confused when he told her of a match he was competing in. The theme of the fight night being Bad Blood not helping much. At all.
Still, there was no way in hell she would miss attending. Even if her presence wasn’t something that’s technically mandatory. She wants to support him. She’s just nervous about the notion of him being in the ring again, recalling the last time she witnessed such a thing. It was brutal and bloody, and while he came out with the win, relatively unscathed, it still makes her nervous. Because there’s always a chance something can go wrong.
Because she always worries about him, and she’s pretty sure she always will. So long as he is who he is.
Roman, however, couldn’t give two shits about this fight with Drew. Tonight is more of a political move than anything, Roman needing a very public and brutal display of his prowess to remind everyone why he sits at the Head of the Table. It’s truly just an added bonus that he gets to kick the shit out of Drew in the process.
Or worse.
Roman is more focused, borderline distracted, by Solana. The sexy red dress she has on leaves little to the imagination with the low neckline, tight fit, and short length that stops about mid-thigh, rolling even higher as she’s propped on the bathroom counter. Her hair is pinned up, and her makeup is on the lighter, almost undetectable, side. His preference. She’s stunning with and without it, but there’s something he enjoys most seeing her in her natural state.
She just looks good as hell, and if not for the importance of this evening, he’d say fuck this damn match and Drew and spend the rest of the evening with her. A much more desirable and preferable option, truly. But, duty and obligation before anything. 
Even his fine ass wife.
Roman waits until he’s slid the black hoodie over his head, smirking a bit at the slight disappointment that appears on Solana’s face at him no longer being shirtless. He decides to slide through that crevice of brief deflection.
“You know the same way you look at me is the same way I look at and think about you.” He’s walking toward her, big hands carefully spreading her thighs so he can step in between her legs. This close, he’s granted a perfect view of her equally perfect breast. “All the damn time.”
He’s unsurprised when her cheeks redden nor when she says anything. “A challenge was issued, and I need to send a message.” That’s a much simpler way of explaining the full scope of just what tonight is, but he also doesn’t want to bombard her with information she doesn’t necessarily need to know.
She licks her lips, and he hates how sexual such an innocent act looks, especially when he knows that’s not her intent. “What—what kind of message?”
A potentially brutal, bloody message, but painting that picture for her beforehand might create some unnecessary anxiety. “A message that won’t need to be repeated.”
That seems to register for her as she asks, “Are—are you nervous?”
That actually makes Roman laugh. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt that emotion. It’s been years. Many decades. Moving his hands to her waist, he tugs her closer to him. “I don’t get nervous, Solana.”
“Ever?”
“Naw.”
She’s still looking at him with that same level of trepidation, maybe even a bit more heightened actually. “But….but you’re still careful, right?” It seems like an otherwise silly question with an obvious answer, but Roman can see where she’s coming from. The fear that fuels it. “Like….like you pay attention and stuff?”
“Of course,” his answer is gentle and patient. Two things reserved strictly and solely for her. “Solana, I’ve been fighting my whole life. I know what I’m doing.”
Her eyes widen, and he just knows he’s in for an unnecessary apology. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean—”
“Baby.” Yup. Just as he predicted. Bringing his hand to the back of her neck, Roman extends that tenderness, explaining, “I know what you meant. You’re worried, and you shouldn’t be. I’ve got this. Alright?”
She nods a little, and he’s relieved to see some of her apprehension has melted away. With the hand still on her hip, he gives her a light squeeze. “Come on.” Roman stays close as she carefully slides off the counter, her heels giving her a bit of a height boost, but not enough to make a substantial difference. He still towers over her.
And it’s in looking down at her from this angle, and the quick glance of her ass in this dress through the bathroom mirror, he makes a face. “Then again….” Roman slides his hand from the back of her neck, down until he’s palming and squeezing her ass. “Maybe this will be a bit of a distraction.”
“Roman!” She yelps, and he groans at the feel of her. She’s so damn fine and thick in all the right areas that it doesn’t even make sense.
He moves to take her hand, kissing it before guiding her out of the bathroom. “Come on. Before your fine ass makes us late.”
She giggles, holding onto his arm while he hits the light switch. “I didn’t even do anything.”
Roman says nothing, because if only she fucking knew.
If only.
————
Solana was half expecting to be separated from Roman once they reached the warehouse, him needing time to prepare for the fight and whatnot. And while the latter part was true, the first wasn’t. She’s thoroughly surprised when he instead guides her to the back with him to his sizable, impressive locker room.
Roman directs Solana to make herself comfortable, which is almost impossible to do.
It’s hard because she can’t stop thinking about the fact that her husband is going to be in the ring with that man who looked like he would have killed Roman right there on the spot, if he could. The same expression she’s certain he’ll have tonight when it’s just the two of them. 
A part of her is starting to wish she would have sat this one out. Stayed home tonight. Her hand falls to her stomach. That irksome, borderline nauseous feeling has been with her all day. On and off the past week, really. Since trying to return to training earlier in the week. She’s certain a chunk of it has been nerves, but the rest of it, maybe most of it, she’s almost certain, is early onset pregnancy symptoms. 
Just thinking about the fact that a baby, her baby, their baby is growing inside of her belly warms her entire soul. Temporarily distracts her from worrying about Roman. To wondering. Wondering which of his features their child will inherit. Will he or she have his dark, raven, wavy hair? His smoldering brown, almost hazel like eyes? Will the baby take after her brunette locks? Her nose?
In all honesty, she only wants a healthy child. That’s the most important thing, but it’s also hard for her to not lean more on the side of wanting the baby to be a boy. She knows how important producing an heir is. For the Bloodline. For Roman. Especially with how he’s gone above and beyond to keep pressure off them, off her regarding their lack of an heir.
It’s the least she can do for him. He deserves it. 
And she’d love more than anything to give it to him.
Roman stepping back into the vicinity briefly pulls her from her thoughts.
“You alright?”
Naturally, her hand falls from her stomach as she manages a small smile and nod. “Yeah.” She takes in his appearance, noticing his hair is wet and drenched, water droplets rolling down that nearly perfect body she’s grown to love pressed against hers. Not even just for sex. Just in general. Roman’s touch is calming to her. 
Climbing down off the table where she sits, she moves over to him. “Are you?”
He chuckles, hand to her hip. “Always.”
She has to believe that. 
Solana goes to kiss him when the Wise Man walks back in, forcing her to settle for a hand to his cheek. “Be careful.”
He clearly hears the presence of someone else and only nods, his eyes conveying the unspoken ‘I love you.’ She just offers him a warm smile before she retracts her hand and moves to leave the room, only providing her husband’s chief advisor a quiet ‘hello.’
Security escorts her up to the same VIP seating area as the last couple of times she’s attended events like this at the Warehouse. And as usual, Bayley and Naomi are already sitting and waiting for her. 
“Had to give your man that good luck quickie right before, huh?”
Bayley’s comment makes Solana blush and aware of the hickey on her neck she didn't even bother trying to hide. Or the one near her breast. 
“She didn’t deny it either,” Naomi snickers, playfully shoving Solana. 
Instead of acknowledging their innuendos, she utilizes an actual productive use of time. “I was thinking.”
“Listening,” Bayley responds, the two ladies keenly focused on the new topic. 
“Roman has to go out of town next week for……business.” She tries to not think too much about that. It’ll only spike her worry. 
“Who’s going to stay with you?” Naomi asks, gesturing to the two of them. “He didn’t ask us.” 
Solana swallows. That's definitely something she wants to work on with him. The fact that he still blames them for what happened. “Nia.”
“Nia?” 
To be fair, Solana had a bit of the same reaction when Roman first told her his cousin would be staying with her. She’s certain it was…..an interesting discussion, to say the least.
Solana shrugs. “She’s not that bad.” And it’s true. Solana has received much worse from people, in terms of treatment. “And it’s really just….to give me my medicine and stuff.” Because Roman seemed vehemently against and shut it down so fast when she even approached the idea of being able to handle it on her own. Not that….not that she can blame him, per se. “But, I was thinking. What if we went to Isla Mujeres for the weekend? Like that girls trip we were talking about.”
“You talk to Roman about it?”
Solana shakes her head, explaining. “Nia would be with us, so I’m sure he’d be fine.” Because she is. Now, if Nia doesn’t come along, then that’s another story. Though something tells her that once she tells Roman she wants to do this, he’ll find a way to make Nia go along with the plan. 
“I think it could be fun,” Naomi shares, rubbing her hands together. “From the pictures you showed us, the beach looks beautiful.”
“It is,” Solana smiles. “I want to invite Cam, Mickie, and Melina too.”
“So do it,” Bayley encourages. “It’s your girls trip. You decide on the guest list. Melina has always been cool. I didn’t know she…..struggled the way she does, but I’ve always liked her.” Solana is appreciative of Bayley’s handling of Melina’s mental health struggles. “And Cam and Mickie seem cool too.”
“They are,” Solana agrees. They really helped her time spent in the hospital and the treatment facility go a lot easier than it could have been. 
As per usual, conversation flows naturally between the ladies only to minimize once the night begins, all three paying attention to the various matches, mostly the ones that pertain to the Bloodline. 
So, really, Jimmy and Jey’s tag team match against two men that Solana doesn’t recognize, which, of course, the twins come out with the win for. And Roman’s match, the last of the night, because no one comes after the Tribal Chief.
The complete shift in energy when Roman enters the space is truly something to behold. His power and dominance is felt in every square inch of the building. Undeniable excellence and power penetrating almost. She can’t take her eyes off him, his face stoic, determined, focused.
She can see why he doesn’t get nervous. He seems so in his element in this space. Even as Drew comes out with that same level of determination, an almost hatred splayed across his face as he looks over at Roman with ardent vitriol.
Her husband, however, is unbothered.
As he is with most things in life.
Still, the fact that Drew is about what and what with Roman in regards to build and size has her anxiety festering. She knows and has seen for herself how flawless Roman is in the ring. That doesn’t mean she can’t worry though. Can’t wait for this to all just be over with so they can go home.
So she can start figuring out just how she wants to tell him about the pregnancy.
But, that’s a then thing, and this is very much here and now.
The sound of the bell fills the Warehouse as the boisterous crowd continues to erupt, excited to see their Tribal Chief in action.
If only she could relate. 
For the most part, the match starts off as expected, Roman being in the lead, staying one or several steps ahead of Drew, expertly dodging or countering hits. Solana is practically on the edge of her seat, chewing on her bottom lip, watching every single piece of the fight. From Roman’s steps to Drew’s lunges to the way both men who seem too large for life go at it like two titans.
Of course, despite looking like one, Roman is no God. He’s still a man, a man who takes several hits from Drew, one making Solana wince. However, she learned from the night of WarGames, Roman hates being hit. It only pisses him off more than he naturally is at any given point. 
And that’s proven in the increased brutality of Roman’s hits, Drew being the first to have blood spilled as Roman smashes his head in the steel staircase. 
It’s a quick shift though that she somehow misses, because Drew suddenly has Roman in a painful looking headlock. One he seems to take too long to get out of, for her comfort. 
Solana moves to the absolute edge of her seat, panic starting to set in the longer Roman’s airway is restricted. And then she sees the way Drew’s mouth moves, the snarl and subsequent smirk as he says something to Roman. Roman’s briefly stunned eyes flickering to hers, but it’s so short, too short to process. Because just as quickly as he was looking at her, he’s managed his way out of the headlock, sending the other man to the ground. Roman wastes no time jumping on top of him, gaining and taking full advantage of the upper hand, raining blow on top of blow on Drew with a pace and aggression that seems almost inhuman.
The light blue of the mat is suddenly splashed and splayed with blood. Drew’s. Roman’s chest and fist also stained, Solana wincing a bit as even from a distance she sees the way Drew's face has become almost disfigured by blood, bruising, and swelling. 
He’s clearly lost consciousness, but that doesn’t stop Roman.
No, instead a deep frown falls on her face as she watches Roman move outside of the ring and lift up the metal staircase that he brings back into the ring with him. She turns her head right before the impact between the steps and the unconscious man.
Unalive man, because there’s no way Drew is still breathing. Not with the severity of the beating. 
Bayley and Naomi are clearly also taken back by witnessing a live murder but clearly do their best not to make it a thing for her sake. She’s appreciative, but it still doesn’t delete her confusion towards Roman’s behavior.
Overkill. Barbaric. Sadistic, almost. 
And with all of that, the confliction she’s experiencing, Solana can only think of one thing, what the hell happened in that ring to bring about that kind of rage in her husband?
————
Roman doesn’t say much to her.
It’s not surprising. She’s not quite sure what there is to say. Him viciously beating a man to death isn’t, at the core of it, something that needs explaining.
That doesn’t stop her from trying to almost dance around the subject. Asks him if he’s feeling alright, if he wants her to fix him anything, and things of the sort. It doesn’t do much. His responses are minimal, a few words to each statement, at best.
It bothers her to know something is bothering him, that he won’t talk to her, but also, Solana can admit she’s not sure how to talk with him about this.
She’d certainly do her best though, if he was actually willing to open up to her. 
She doesn’t force it though, just welcomes his arms around her as they lay in bed, eventually falling asleep together. 
However, Dulce does what Dulce does best and wakes up in the middle of the night, politely reminding her parents of her small bladder. Regardless of her sleep intrusion, Solana is grateful to be able to escort their puppy out of the room without disturbing her husband’s much needed and deserved sleep. 
But, it’s as Dulce seems to take her sweet time finding the perfect spot to relieve herself that Solana frowns. Lifting her hand to her breast, she’s taken back by the tenderness of the touch. New and out of the norm. 
Another……symptom?
Even with the night’s unexpected events, as much as she’s trying to not allow herself to get too excited at the possibility of being pregnant, it’s hard not to. Especially with the strange onset of symptoms she’s been experiencing all week. Some seen before or during her cycle, but some new and unfamiliar. And a quick google search confirmed they in fact could be early pregnancy symptoms.
But still, Solana has gained enough self-introspection to know that a negative test would be…..difficult for her to process. Something she doesn’t really even want to think about, hence why she’s not allowing herself to fully acknowledge that she’s probably pregnant.
Because the alternative would be…..not the desired outcome.
It’s as she observes the backyard, seeing the reflection of the lights above the pool that a random thought crosses her mind. A question, rather. Would they have to cover up the pool when the baby starts crawling? What other changes around the house would have to be implemented for safety reasons? Most definitely, they’d have to stock up on those baby proof outlet covers. And maybe even block off the staircase.
Something tells her any child of her husband would be mobile. On the run. A small smile settles on her face, her hand falling to her belly as she once again mentally puts together what their child will look like. Him. Her. Both of them.
Both would be her preference. Roman would be a close second.
Dulce’s short legs carry her back into the house, her wagging tale eliciting a smile and small laugh. “Good job—”
“Where the hell were you?”
Solana jumps and gasps. Outside of his sudden presence in the living room startling her, Roman's tone and volume indicate a level of irritation that doesn’t quite compute. Doesn’t make sense. Where else would she have been? 
Confused, she answers, “Dulce had to use the bathroom...”
This didn’t seem to be the answer he neither wanted nor needed. His expression is sharp. “So you went out there alone?”
This brings a frown to her face, a contrast to her almost jovial disposition not even minutes prior. Solana points out in a calm voice, “Roman, I–I always go alone.”
“Not anymore.” She can’t protest, because he adds. “Wake me up, and if I’m not here, let her use the damn crate.”
“But—”
“You heard what I said!”
His voice bounces off the walls and echoes through the hall, but it’s Solana’s jump away from him that seems to trigger something for Roman. His expression immediately softens. “Shit, I’m sorry, I–I didn’t mean to yell at you.”
She says nothing for a good minute before quickly deciding that beating around the bush isn’t the way to go in this situation.
She needs to be direct.
“Ro….what happened tonight?” 
She’d briefly played around with the idea of bringing it up to him or letting it lie. Obviously, the latter is not the best route to go. “You….you were off. You lost control, and that’s….that’s not like you.”
In the ring is when she’s noticed he’s most controlled, never allowing his emotions to cloud his judgment and actions because he recognizes the detriment it would cause. Yes, he’s violent and brutal, but it’s still controlled. Not tonight. …tonight she saw that impulsive, emotion driven man she’d heard whispers about over the years. Tonight, she saw him take a man’s life, and not in a controlled methodical way, but in a moment of pure rage and spontaneity. 
She’d never tell him this, never allow it to leave her mouth, but for a split second, it scared her. Solana wasn’t naive enough to truly think that his kindness or love toward her made him any less of a cold-blooded killer. And she knows, without a shadow of a doubt that he would never hurt her or direct his anger towards her.
But.
 But, the look in his eyes tonight…it was as if he had no soul. 
And that….that is what scared her. 
His gaze darts to the corner of the room, an intentional act to avoid her own, she’s sure. “He pissed me off.”
“Ro….people piss you off all the time, and you don’t beat them to death like you did him.” It’s such a strange experience, speaking with him so casually. Solana can still recall the tightness in her chest every time she was in the vicinity of this man, the fear she struggled to manage when even looking at him, often keeping her gaze downward. And now, she’s pushing him on what is obviously a lie. Or a deep state of denial. “He—he said something to you.” That’s when he finally sets his eyes on her. “I–I saw it.”
“Does it matter now?” 
“Yes—yes, it does, because you just snapped at me for taking our dog out to use the bathroom, something I’ve done for months now.” It’s not until saying that aloud that a thought crosses her mind. “Was—was it about me? Did—did he say something about me?” And when he says nothing, doesn’t deny it or push back or even snap at her again that she realizes that’s exactly what it was.
And it confuses the mess out of her. 
What could have been said to cause him to react so violently? Even more, how could it have been any different from the shit talking they all do in the ring?
“I don’t—I don’t understand.” Her eyes follow him as he moves toward the living room, sitting on the edge of the sofa. Tentatively and without much thought, her legs carry her toward him, but she stops just shy of being at arms length. Noticing this, Roman motions her closer with his index finger. And as soon as she’s close enough, he tugs her onto his lap. Seeing the conflict in his eyes, she moves her hand to his bicep. “Baby, please talk to me…..”
Like many, if not any, interaction with her comforting urge, Roman finds it difficult to deny her. He struggles to push back those words that have secretly haunted him even hours after he put a permanent end to McIntyre. 
“You really think you can keep her safe?” His cruel taunt, wicked smile revealing the blood building in his mouth, coating his teeth. “She’ll die just like rest of your fucking fam—”
“Ro…”
And it's her soft voice that pulls him from the memory as he shares with her what was said. “He said I couldn’t keep you safe, that you’d die like the rest of my family.” She gasps. Whatever was said had to have been bad and most likely somehow about her. She just didn’t know it would be that.
Shaking her head, she pushes his hair back. “He was just…he was just trying to get in your head.” And I think it worked. Solana would never verbalize as such to Roman, but it’s a thought she can’t dismiss. She’s never seen him this bothered. “Nothing—nothing’s going to happen to me, Ro.”
“I told you before that I don’t—I don’t feel things like you. That I don’t—feel anything.” She remembers it vividly. That conversation between them that was during the early days of their love story. Something that feels so long ago now. “I was wrong. I’ve—I’ve always felt anger, but now I’m feeling other things too, and I don’t know how—” He stops himself, clearly changing directions. “I’m sorry I did that in front of you—”
“It’s fine, Ro. I—” Because despite that brief second of ear, her first and foremost concern is him. It’s always him. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
He’s quiet for a moment, sharing in an almost unsure voice. “I count your pills every day before I go to bed.” She’s still, unmoving, unsure how to process such a thing. Because she knows why, exactly why he does that. And it nearly breaks her heart in fucking half. “Losing you is the only thing in this fucking world that scares me.” Voice shifting into something desperate and almost vulnerable, he says with all the conviction. “Because, I can’t lose you, Sol.” His gaze is on her, burning with determination. And need. “I won’t.”
“And you won’t.” Her hands move to his face, beard bristling against the skin on her palms. “I’m not going anywhere, okay?” She places an almost tentative, chaste kiss to his temple, noticing how his eyes close after. As if he’s more at peace. “Roman, I am with you until my dying breath, and that won’t be happening anytime soon. Not for you. Not for me.”
And not for their child growing inside of her.
“Why don’t—why don’t we go see Fetu this weekend?” It’s technically early Saturday morning already, and Solana returns to work Monday, but even just a day or two spent with his aunt could probably make a difference for her husband who she sees needs to get away. “Or even if you just go—I can stay—”
“No.” His voice is still low, but it’s not as weighed down. She’s grateful for at least that. “She’d be pissed if I showed up without you.” The hint of humor in his voice makes her heart swell. 
“We’ll go.” It’s not necessarily a suggestion anymore. It’s a plan. “You’ll clear your head, and everything will be better, okay?” He looks at her, nodding quietly. Solana makes a mental note to make sure to pack one or two pregnancy tests, because what better way to break the news to him than being able to tell Fetu right after? Together.
It seems like a perfect plan to her. 
Noticing Dulce has already left and went back upstairs, Solana suggests the same to her husband. “Let’s go back to bed, okay?”
It’s then that Solana realizes his hand on her hip is moving in slow, soothing circles. She can’t tell if it’s for his comfort or hers. Placing her hand over his, she gives a gentle tug, moving off his lap but never allowing her hand to leave his. 
His movements are slow initially, but he stands up and allows her to guide them up the stairs and back into their bedroom. Solana easily resumes their earlier sleeping position, grateful and thankful when he kisses her temple and murmurs, “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” 
The exact moment when she falls asleep, or even when he does, is unknown. But what is known is when she’s woken up to the sound of grunts and muttered protests.
“I’ve gotta….save…them.”
Solana blinks and rubs at her eyes. “Ro?”
Sitting up, she sees him twisting and turning, an almost distressed look on his handsome face. Her heart drops. A nightmare. He’s having a nightmare.
Naturally, Solana moves her hand to his shoulder, shaking him a bit. “Roman, wake up.” She might as well have done nothing, because he’s continuing to stir, mumbling in Samoan. Voice so low that even if she did speak the language, she wouldn’t hear him. 
Without thinking twice about it, Solana climbs on top of him, straddling him as she continues her efforts to awaken him. “Roman, baby, please wake up.” It’s both familiar and unfamiliar. She knows this struggle very well. Has lived through it almost her entire life, but she’s never been on this end. Been on the side of watching someone go through it.
Least of all, Roman. 
And she hates it. Hates it with everything in her because she knows how heavy and devastating it is to be sucked into reliving trauma. That’s why she ups the ante, raising her voice and essentially hitting him on his shoulders.
“Roman! Wake u—”
“No!” 
It all happens so fast. Almost too fast for Solana to truly process what’s occurring in the moment. It’s only afterwards that she can recount it, can recall what just happened, can process that at the same time she went to try to save him from himself, Roman shot awake with an instinctive swing, a natural, almost protective thing that results in Solana shoved to the edge of the bed, mouth open, holding onto her face. 
It’s an instant stinging sensation, a dull, throbbing pain that she hasn’t felt in some time and never anticipated feeling as a result of her own husband. 
A husband who is now awake and also aware of what just happened. His widened eyes and open mouth are on her as Solana winces a bit and flexes her jaw, trying to gather herself. He’s up. That’s the only thing that matters. 
“Oh my God.” She’s not sure she’s ever heard Roman sound so horrified. “Solana—”
Her name is enough to pull her back to him, Solana climbing on his lap, shaking her head as she cups his face. “It’s okay. I’m—I’m okay—”
“I hit you….”
Even him saying it aloud seems and feels wrong to Solana. “No, baby—you were having a nightmare. It wasn’t like that—”
“I hit you, Solana.” He’s not even looking at her, looking down, perplexed, disturbed with himself, clearly trying to sit on this unfathomable thing. 
“Roman, I’m fine. Really.” Her face is throbbing, and she’s certain she’ll have a bruise come morning, but it’s nothing compared to what she’s received in the past. From the actual hitting she used to be on the receiving end of. From her dad and brother. “Ro, I did the same thing to you, remember? I—I ripped out your stitches.” It’s something she felt horrified at herself for in the moment. Probably close to what he’s feeling even though she’d rather he not because he’s done nothing wrong. “Baby—”
Shaking his head, Roman lowers her hands from his face. “I’m sorry.” She goes to reassure him that he’s fine, that she’s fine, but Roman is fast, easily moving the blankets off him, forcing her to the side, off him. 
“Roman, no—” She scrambles off the bed as he goes for the door of their bedroom, effectively planting herself in front of it. “No, you’re not leaving.”
He closes his eyes, his voice almost desperate. “Solana, please.”
“No!” Raising her voice wasn’t an intentional thing, just a result of her own emotions brewing in this moment. She’s not even thinking about herself, about the pain in her face. She’s just thinking about the man in front of her who looks disgusted with himself. “Roman, I am fine.”
Because she is.
Because even with all of her trauma, having been hurt so deeply and badly by men, Roman unintentionally striking her didn’t fill her with an ounce of fear. Didn’t make her want to put as much distance between them as possible. Didn’t have any effect on how she sees and feels about him.
She could only focus on him and how distressing his nightmare must have been to result in such a response. 
“I hurt you….” It’s the way his voice almost wavers with the word ‘hurt’ along with his fraught countenance that has her chest tightening. She’s never seen him look so upset, and the fact that it’s solely directed toward himself is gut-wrenching. 
“No,” her voice catches in the back of throat, eyes watering. She reaches up and cups his face. “Baby, listen to me. You could never hurt me.”
Something flashes in his eyes, something akin to anger as he asks in a tight voice, “But, I did." She shakes her head, ready to stand here all night trying to convince him that he’s not in the wrong when he takes it a step further. “How is it any different from your dad and brother?”
It’s an active effort to not back away from him, to not drop her hands and for no reason other than putrid disgust. Disgust that he could even fix his mouth to say such a thing. To put himself into that category. 
Solana swallows, specifically choosing each and every word that leaves her mouth. “Roman…I was raped. Violently. For—for hours. I couldn’t—I couldn’t walk afterwards.” She hates talking about this, hates reliving the horrors just from recounting, but she’ll do just about anything to wipe away that gutted, guilty look on her husband’s face. “Wes—Wes was the reason I first started cutting myself, because—” She closes her eyes, having never said these words aloud to anyone. “Because he made me do it. He said it was my—my punishment for getting our mother killed. And eventually….eventually I started to believe him, so I just started doing it to myself, because I thought it was what I deserved.” Another deep, shaky exhale. “My own father tried to kill me.” Roman’s expression slips into something in the vein of surprised. Confused even. Horrified, mostly. “I tried to run away once, and he put me in the hospital for two weeks and told me that if I ever tried to leave again that he’d— he’d make sure to finish the job.”
Roman doesn’t say anything, and truth be told, she’s not sure she wants him to. She just wants him to listen, really listen and allow her words to penetrate his thick layer of undeserved guilt. “You are the first man in my life to never hurt me the way I’ve been hurt, so don’t you ever fucking say again that you hurt me or put yourself in the same category as those bastards. You are nothing like them.” Because she’d rather walk barefoot on burning coal for the rest of her life than for him to ever even think he’s in the same group as them. “So, please, please just—” 
Solana feels it rising, traveling up her body at the most impromptu time. “Shit,” she curses, slapping her hand over her mouth as she dashes to the bathroom, hitting the light, barely making it to the toilet that, thankfully, is already open and ready for her to deposit what feels like everything she ate that day into the commode.
It’s such a miserable, uncomfortable experience, more or less dry heaving over the toilet in the middle of the night. 
Just added to the list of unfortunate things that have happened. A heavy wave of exhaustion washes over her as she lays her head down on her arm that’s stretched across the toilet seat. She feels like shit, and it has nothing to do with what just happened.
If only she could tell her husband that.
Because Roman is suddenly behind her, hand on the small of her back, asking if she’s alright. Glancing over at him, she shakes her head, mustering up a quiet excuse of it probably being something she ate.
He doesn’t look convinced, and Solana knows it’s because he’s somehow connecting this to what just happened. She’d give anything to be able to wipe that belief from his mind, to tell him it’s just morning sickness, a common pregnancy symptom.
Because with all of the dots connecting, there’s no doubt in Solana’s mind. Any test would just be a formality. She knows her body. 
She knows that she’s pregnant.
But, something tells her that telling Roman this will only make things worse. Make him feel even more guiltier than what he’s already experiencing. Would kill him to know he ‘hit’ her while she’s carrying his child. 
This isn’t the way she wants to tell him, either. Not like this. No, it needs to be…..special. After all he’s done and probably had to put up with in order to explain them not producing a child after almost eight months of marriage. She can’t announce it like this. 
He deserves better.
The wave passes as Solana stands up and flushes the toilet, moving over to the sink to brush her teeth, praying that’s the extent of it. For now, at least. Roman is watching and observing her closely the whole time. 
Mouth clean and stripped, somewhat, of that bitter aftertaste, she takes his hand and guides him back to their bedroom. Gratitude fills her when he doesn’t protest the way she practically climbs on top of him, her body resting on his, an intentional position to prevent him from trying to leave out without her noticing. 
“Stay with me….” It’s the only thing that leaves her mouth, a soft but firm delivery. It’s the only thing she wants and needs in this moment, for his arms to remain around her, holding her, the same way she’s holding him. 
The way she'll always hold onto him.
————
It’s purely a stroke of luck that allows Roman to wake up at the call of his biological clock and find that Solana is no longer atop him but sleeping on her side, back toward him, deeply immersed in much deserved slumber. 
But, it's not even a minute later that a heaviness overtakes him as he’s quickly reminded of what happened. Of what he did. What he did to her.
Roman doesn’t hesitate to carefully climb out of bed and move to Solana’s side, hitting the switch on the lamp for a clear presentation. Something he wasn’t ready for. Not in the slightest.
“Jesus Christ….”
Dread fills him all over again with the illumination of the lamp on Solana’s nightstand. Gives him a full, unobstructed view of the left side of her face. A not even fully formed, nasty looking bruise marring her features.
Roman knew that he had to hit her hard, that she had to be downplaying the impact, but the big ass, dark bruise can’t hide the hideous truth. The extent is ugly and evident. It’s a fucking miracle he didn’t fracture or break something. Because he absolutely could have. Not that that makes a huge difference, because regardless of the severity, he hit her. 
He fucking hit her. 
It feels undeserving, the way he reaches his hand to gently caress her marred face. His stomach clenches as he mutters the three words that could never change, lessen or take back what he’s done.
“I’m so sorry….” Because he is. Because Roman’s list of regrets in life is minimal. Less than the average person, of this, he’s sure. But this, what happened last night is easily at the top of that list. He doesn’t hesitate to turn the switch off, not wanting to have to see the consequences of his horrific actions, even if he should.
Even if he should have to face it. Should have to be faced with the one thing he swore he would never do.
Because that’s exactly what he’s done.
He doesn’t bother waking her up for her medication. Just leaves it in a small, ramekin-like bowl for her to take whenever she wakes up. With the night she had, he hopes she sleeps for a couple more hours.
And he’s grateful for the time he has to himself, to workout, to shower, to think, to act. Even if it’s all a bit of a blur.
Years. It’s been years since he’s experienced that type of rage. Since he’s blacked out like that. Because that’s exactly what happened. Roman remembers Drew’s ominous threat, recalls the beginning of the beating, but most after that is blotchy. Blurred. And the last time he felt that way….was the night he killed Rhodes' family.
Not that he regretted it then or now. Even Drew. No, what he regrets and doesn’t know how to process is that he lost that control in front of his wife. That he lost it with his wife, resulting in her battered face. 
Despite the horrors of trauma she’s experienced at the hands of men in her life and the fact that what happened was unintentional, it doesn’t negate what he did. It was wrong, and she didn’t deserve it. 
She doesn’t deserve to put up with any of the shit he’s dealing with right now.
What happened with Jey was something he hated having to do in front of her, but this….this is entirely different.
A line was completely crossed.
And it can’t happen again.
Much later that morning, closer to noon than anything is when Roman finds her in the kitchen changed out of her pajamas and into short shorts and a shirt. Normally, he’d be focused on how good she looks and how much he appreciates seeing her confidence grow to where she doesn’t try to hide her body. But, it’s hard with the dark bruising on her face.
She’s clearly in the middle of fixing something but walks over to him, warm smile on her face as she places her hand on his chest. “There you are.” She leans up and kisses him, sharing, “I was wondering when you’d come out. I’m fixing us lunch right quick before we get on the road.”
She turns back towards the counter right as he says her name. “Solana—”
“Do you want anything in particular?”
“Solana.”
“I can make—”
“Solana.” He says it a third and final time, seeing the way she pauses. Deflection. It’s intentional. She can clearly tell something is wrong. With a slow turn to look at him again, it takes everything in him to not look away. The fucking bruise. “I’m leaving tonight.”
Her small smile immediately drops into a deep scowl. “Wh—what?” He briefly redirects his gaze, focusing on the laces of his sneakers instead of the disappointment he knows he’s about to lay on her. “You want—you want to get on the road tonight?”
He takes a deep breath and forces himself to bite the bullet. There’s no need in stretching this out. “No, Solana, I’m—I’m flying out to Italy tonight.”
Nothing could have prepared him for the gutted look on her face. She’s clearly confused, smartly pointing out, “but—but you said you weren’t leaving until next week.”
His jaw clenches as he answers so calmly. “Plans changed.”
Her gaze is intense, her eyes never leaving his. “The plans changed or you changed them?” He doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t have to. She already knows the answer. Solana swallows, eyes watering as she walks over to him. “Please don’t do this. Roman, what happened wasn’t your fault. I’m fine.”
“Solana, you are not fine. Have you seen your face?” It’s not intended to be harsh, and the coarseness in his tone is truly directed to no one but himself. “I know my strength. You know my strength. It’s a fucking miracle it’s not worse than what it already is. If I had hit you hard enough and at the right angle—”
“But, you didn’t.” She knows exactly what he’s getting at, and she refuses to allow him to travel down that dark 'what if' road. “Ro, I know you’re upset with yourself, but please don’t do this. You don’t need to leave. I don’t want you to leave.”
And deep down, he doesn’t want to leave. Would love to stay here and just go see his aunt with his wife, but that won’t solve anything. It’s putting an old band-aid on an open, deep wound. He needs to separate himself so that he can turn his feelings completely off. Disconnect and detach. 
Or sort through in a way that is violent and unacceptable here. Especially around Solana.
And that’s exactly what being in Italy, being around those people, could do for him. 
Roman tries to explain as such to his wife without going into too much detail.
“You’re right. I do need to get away. But, going by Fetu isn’t going to help this.” It’s not going to help, because he doesn’t have an abundance of confusion he needs to sort through. He has anger, aggression, rage. All unlocked by fucking McIntyre that he needs to do away with, and being around his aunt, cousin, and even wife won’t do it. “We can go when I get back—”
She closes her eyes. “Roman—”
“Solana.” He’ll be honest, he expected her to not be happy with his decision, but her level of emotionality seems on the higher end of normal. She seems more emotional than usual. “I love you.” And he always will. “But, what happened last night can’t happen again.”
He won’t let it happen again.
“What if—what if I leave?” She suggests, Roman frowning at the almost desperation in her tone. “I can go stay with Naomi or Bayley for a couple days. Give—give you space.”
“Solana—”
“Hell, even Nia, if that would make you feel better.”
“Sol—”
“Just please.” Her voice cracks as she grabs onto his shirt, begging almost, “please don’t leave me.” She buries herself into his chest, Roman holding her, wanting to assure her that he’s not leaving her. He’s leaving the situation to get a clear mind, to figure out what he needs to do. 
Because he wasn’t lying when he said there’s nothing in this world that scares him more than losing her. Than something happening to her. 
He just could have never anticipated that he could ever be a direct reason for something happening to her.
That something bad—or worse—could happen to her at his hands.
Because he swore he’d always protect her. 
And he always will.
Even if that danger is himself.
Even if it means doing what neither of them may want but is ultimately what’s best for her. 
Even if it breaks the heart that will always belong to her. 
Whether they’re together or not.
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