#me: i can totally draw this in one hour yeah

[geummi]

stageplay kagehina hugging got me…

[sysig]

He’s my little meow meow, my darling, my bbygirl (Patreon)

[todayisafridaynight]

You know your art of Daigo makes me want to get into Yakuza, but I have no way of playing the games and no time to watch walkthroughs ☹️ maybe I’ll just research Daigo and get a the basic summaries from the wiki like I did with snake and Metal gear. Btw I’m not that Daigo Anon from a few days ago. But seriously your art of Daigo is so gorge it hurts it makes me sad he don’t look like your art in games 💙🌙

feels bad man that you cant play the games or watch a playthrough, but if you're only interested in daigo then you don't have too much to worry about in terms of missing out: at max he's only in the series for about six or so hours over the span of 10 games (two being spin offs) that average at about 20-40 hours of gameplay each installment

i DID have a daigo compilation of all his scenes in the games but i didn't save it right and lost the file, so as much as i'd like to have been able to drop that on you to watch over time I Cannot :(

if you have time to read though, i have some RGGO (Ryu Ga Gotoku Online) stories for you that center around daigo that i’ll put in the Read More below !

MAJOR and i mean HUGE shoutout to the lovelies who took the time and energy to translate these stories (RGGO is a japanese-exclusive mobile game, so it's a huge labor of love these chaps have done and i cannot thank them enough for it)

NOTE: while most of the stories obviouslly contain minor spoilers, one story contains a MAJOR spoiler that i've labeled as such since it's a key element of the game's ending. i recommend you find out yourself through playing the game or watching a playthrough, but if you don't care about spoilers read on

The Trials of Daigo Dojima (Pre-Yakuza 2, 2001) translated by Dojima Dragon's Girl

Daigo (2006) (Yakuza 2, Dec. 2006) translated by @|cryingcow

A Man's Promise (Post-Yakuza 2, Dec. 2006~Early-Jan. 2007) translated by @|maddogofshimano

Character Story - Daigo (Post-Yakuza 2, Pre-Yakuza 3. Jan. 2007) translated by @|cryingcow

i'll also include RGGO stories involving yoshitaka mine and yayoi dojima since daigo features in them as well and can help give an idea of what his character was/is like

Character Story - Yayoi (Yakuza 2, Dec. 2006) translated by @|cryingcow

The Man Called Yoshitaka Mine (Pre-Yakuza 3, 2007~2009) translated by @|skelabra

Character Story - Mine (Pre-Yakuza 3, 2007~2009) translated by @|cryingcow

Mine and Daigo - Kirin's Dream (Yakuza 3 + Yakuza 3 Epilogue, Mar. 2009) (Contains MAJOR spoilers for Yakuza 3's ending) translated by @|cryingcow

have fun readin !

[b4kuch1n]

Seing your recent Sonic Frontiers comic made me 🥹🥹🥹 I just recently beat the game and man....that hit right in the feels!! (I'd love to see more sonic art 👀) have a lovely day!!

thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed the comic haha

[ridher]

jj maybank running into the sweet new girl when stopping by a local smoothie shop

it was only your second day on the job, the first one where you were on your own to serve those strolling the hot summer beach packed with both kooks, pogues, and the occasional touron.

you hadn't even had a chance to make any friends beyond the other young girls you worked with, but even that wasn't more than friendly conversation. you'd gotten a job straight after moving to the south side of kildare — your family needed the money.

it was getting a bit stressful as soon as it hit late afternoon. the crowd of people in line along with the heat beating down during its prime hours, plus being so inexperienced, was overwhelming and starting to get to your performance.

pushing through, you get to what seems like the last group of people for a bit. by now, pieces have fallen from the messy updo of your hair and a thin sheen of sweat coats your body — even through the lenient dress code that allows you to wear a dainty tank top and jean shorts.

still, you greet them with a sweet smile that's mostly directed at the boy in front with brown, curly hair, sporting a bandana around his neck. your lips part to recite the words you'd been trained to welcome customers by when a blonde boy pushes his way up from behind and flashes a crooked smirk.

"um, what can i get you guys today?" you hesitate and it comes out less confident than when said to all the customers before.

"yeah.. let me get a uh— y'know, what do you suggest?" the same boy responds, arms crossing while his brows pinch like he's thinking awfully hard.

based on the expressions of the group accompanying him — two other boys and one girl — this behavior from the sun-tanned boy isn't an uncommon occurrence.

"this week's special's been my favorite recently." something about the attention of his intense eye contact has you nervous, shifting in your stance and brushing loose strands of hair from your face.

"shit, aight, gimme four of 'em." his haze only briefly darts to the little stand showcasing said smoothie before he agrees.

"wh—" the other boy behind him is ignored when he attempts to speak up, the girl only rolling her eyes and directing her attention elsewhere.

nonetheless, you get started on four of the same drink, back turned to the group as you move about — mind full thinking about the smallest interaction between you and the boy.

soon enough, you arrange the smoothies across the counter and ring up the price on a company tablet. that's when you finally look back up at the boy with a small but genuine smile and relay the total.

hassling the previous leader for money, he places the cash on the surface between you two, tonguing at his cheek with an almost amused look when his lips turn up slightly.

the smoothies get distributed and their change is returned, yet that one boy lingers across the counter.

"jj. you're new, yeah?" he finally asks, sticking out the hand that's not holding a drink.

you nod, shaking his hand and checking behind him to make sure nobody is waiting on the exchange before pulling your hand away and telling him your name.

jj nods, not so subtly taking in your full appearance with a sip from the straw. his eyes finally land back on yours and his expression is ever so smug noticing the flush on your cheeks.

knocking on the counter with his knuckles, he shakes his head to himself and starts to walk off in the path his friends went.

"i'll see ya 'round." drawing out your name at the end of his departing statement and winking, jj finally leaves.

it's all you can recall the rest of your shift, especially when you catch his stares from various spots across the beach before being punched in the arm or smacked on the back of his head by what you see now to be his group of pogue friends.

you can't help but smile to yourself, knowing he's just as intrigued by you that you are him — even if it just makes the hands on the clock move faster daydreaming about a cute surfer boy.

[wombywoo]

Ok! I've finally decided to put together a (somewhat) comprehensive tutorial on my latest art~

Please enjoy this little step-by-step 💁‍♀️

First things first--references!

Now I'm not saying you have to go overboard, but I always find that this is a crucial starting point in any art piece I intend on making. Especially if you're a detail freak like me and want to make it as realistic as possible 🙃

As such, your web browser should look like this at any given point:

Since this is a historical piece, it means hours upon hours of meaningless research just to see what color the socks are, but...again. that isn't, strictly, necessary 😅

Once I've compiled all my lovely ref pics, I usually dump them into a big-ass collage ⬇️

(I will end up not using half of these, alas :'D)

Another reference search for background material, and getting to showcase our models of choice for this occasion~

When picking a reference for an actor or model, the main thing I keep in mind (besides prettiness 🤭) is lighting and orientation. Because I already kinda know what pose I'm gonna go with for this piece, I can look for specific angles that might fit the criteria. I should mention that I am a reference hound, and my current COD actor ref folder looks like this:

Also keep in mind, if you're using a ref that you need to flip, make sure you adjust accordingly. This especially applies to clothing, as certain things like pants zippers and belt buckles can be quite specific ☝️

Now that we've spent countless hours googling, it's time to start with a rough sketch:

It doesn't have to be pretty, folks, just a basic guideline of where you want the figures to be.

The next step is to define it more, and I know this looks like that 'how to draw an owl' meme, but I promise--getting from the loose sketch above to below is not that difficult.

Things to keep in mind are--don't go too in-depth with the details, because things are still subject to change at this point. In terms of making a suitable anatomically-correct sketch, I would suggest lots of studying. This doesn't even have to be things like figure drawing, I genuinely look at people around me for inspiration all the time. Familiarize yourself with the human form, and things like weight, proportions, posing will seem a little more feasible.

It's also important at this stage to consider your composition. Remember to flip the canvas frequently to make sure you're not leaning to one side too often. I'm sure something can be said for the spiral fibonacci stuff, which I don't really try to do on purpose, but I think keeping things like symmetry and balance in mind is a good start ✌️

Next step is just blocking in the figures. Standard. No fuss 👍

Now onto the background!

It's frankly hilarious how many people thought I was *hand-drawing* these maps and stuff 😂😂 I cannot even begin to comprehend how insanely difficult that would be. So yeah, we're just taking the lazy copy and paste way out 🤙

I almost always prepare my backgrounds first, and this is mostly to get a general color scheme off the bat. For collage work, it's really just a matter of trial and error, sticking this here, slapping this there, etc. I like to futz around with different overlay options until I've found a nice arrangement. Advice for this is just--go nuts 🤷‍♀️

Next, I add a few color adjustments. I tend to make at least 2 colors pop in an art piece, and low and behold, they usually tend to be red and blue ❤️💙There's something about warm/cool vibes, idk man..

Now we move on to coloring the figures. This is just a basic block and fill, not really defining any of the details yet.

Next, we add some cursory values. Sloppy airbrush works fine, it'll look better soon I promise 🙏

And now--rendering!

I know a lot of beginner artists are intimidated by rendering, and I can totally understand why. It's just one of those things you have to commit to 💪

I've decided to show a brief process of rendering our dear Johnny's face here:

Starting off, I usually rely on the trusty airbrush just to get some color values going. Note--I've kept my sketch layer on top, but feel free to turn it on and off as you work, so as to not be too bound to the sketch. For now, it's just a guideline.

This next stage may look like a huge jump, but it's really just adding more to the foundation. I try to think of it like putting on make-up in a way~ Adding contours, accentuating highlights. This is also where I start adding in more saturation, especially around areas such as ears, nose and lips. Still a bit fuzzy at this point, but that's why we keep adding to it 💪

A boy has appeared! See--now I've removed most of the line layer, and it holds up on its own. I'll admit that in order to achieve this realistic style, you'll need lots and lots of practice and skill, which shouldn't be discouraging! Just motivate yourself with the prospect of getting to look at pretty men for countless hours 🙆‍♀️

I'll probably do a more in-depth explanation about rendering at some point, but let's keep this rolling~

Moving forward is just a process of adding to the figures bit by bit. I do lean towards filling in each section from top to bottom, but you can feel free to pop around to certain parts that appeal to you more. I almost always do the faces first though, because if they end up sucking, I feel less guilty about scrapping it 😂 But no--I think he's pretty enough to proceed 😚

They're coming together now 🙆‍♀️ Another helpful tip--make sure you reuse color. By that, I mean--try to incorporate various colors throughout your piece, using the eyedropper tool to keep a consistent palette. I try to put in bits of red and blue where I can

Here they are fully rendered! Notice I've made a few subtle changes from the sketch, like adjusting the belt buckles because I made a mistake 😬 Hence why you shouldn't put too much stock in your initial sketch~

The next step is more of a stylistic choice, but I usually go over everything with an outline, typically in a bright color like green. Occasionally, I can just use my initial line layer, but for this, I've made a brand new, cleaner line 👍

And the final step is adjusting the color and adding some text:

Tada!! It's done!

All in all, this took me the better part of a week, but I have a lot of free time, so yeah ✌️

I hope you appreciated that little walkthrough~ I know people have been asking me how I do my art, but the truth is--I usually have no clue how to explain myself 😅 So have this half-assed tutorial~

As a bonus, here is a cute (cursed) image of Johnny without his mustache:

A baby, a literal infant child !!! who put this wee bairn on the front lines ??! 😭

Anyway! peace out ✌️

[akuma-coffee]

may i request for !tattooartist geto :333 love your writingggg !!!

suguru geto x reader tattoo au!!

sfw, reader gets tattooed, totally a cute comfort scenario! geto and reader totally end up dating at some point after this >.<

geto suguru, an artist you've followed for a little while; a respected figure within tokyo's tattoo scene. after contacting him regarding a flash piece, he'd responded quickly to say his books were full, but as you're a friend of satoru's, he would fit you in after hours.

the date preoccupied you all week, a churning within the pits of your stomach when you envisioned the needle puncturing your skin. this isn't your first tattoo but it's your first with geto - someone you had only admired, never spoken to. satoru was usually the one to push ink under your skin, a friendship blossoming somewhere along the way when he'd invited you out for drinks.  "not, like a date - other people will be there..." the machine stops and he withdraws, and you laugh.  "yeah, alright." 

some years later and you're still reaping the perks of befriending the gojo satoru; discounted tattoos, and now, you're able to get inked by someone you've admired for a long while.  you've been in the shop after hours once or twice (day sessions running a little over schedule), though never with anyone other than satoru. 

it's odd seeing the shop from the outside while it's lingering into evening, streetlights brighter than the ebbing sun, the shop's florescent white peering through slats in the blinds. your fist rasps over the glass door, eyes lingering momentarily over the closed sign before geto's pushing keys under the handle and your lips are forced upward into a friendly smile. 

"hi, it's me..." you're a little awkward, but geto's already been briefed on your personality through satoru; he knew what to expect. he returns the smile and steps to one side, allowing you to pass through the doorway before it's closed behind you, locked again. 

there's the usual dividers in the shop, though at this time they're no longer housing artists and clients, instead darkened by the lack of headlamps or ring lights, the framed ink of each person's flash or prided art less vibrant by the missing luminosity. one station is still well lit, though. 

"mind just filling this one out?" geto picks up a clipboard from a seat in the waiting area, a pen latched between the metal teeth. you take it from his hands, pulling the biro out and glossing over the sheet of paper - nothing you haven't done before. "i'll just set up over here, take a seat." 

you do as he says, the small wooden bench by the door groaning as you allow yourself to perch upon it, legs bouncing a little from nerves. your handwriting scrawls over the white page, name, date of birth, allergies... a form you've filled out tens of times. there's the tearing of kitchen roll and you're pulled from your entrancement from the health declaration form and instead gazing at geto. the bed is out of your sight but you can see his height, occasionally dipping down as he leans, setting up clingfilm, pouring ink into the small pots. lastly, he removes his gloves and tugs at the loosened bun that'd been hanging at his neck, placing that little black elastic between his teeth and re-tying the bun much tighter than before.

"all done?" he asks as he glances over his shoulder, and you nod, taking your lips silently between your teeth. hopefully he hadn't noticed you staring. "i'll do the stencil now." he comes to the front desk's computer, and you hear the printer stutter. he takes the clipboard from you, glancing over your answers. "perfect. come on over."

the placement is over your left shoulder, a large spider lily beginning on the shoulder and ending over the collarbone. geto's gloves are on once more, black latex clinging to the skin, and he grabs a small bottle of gel, pouring it over his own fingertips to run over your shoulder. you sit in silence as he draws a small line in sharpie to figure out the central point, occasionally moving your arm. eventually, the stencil is on, and you're glancing in the mirror to check. it's beautiful, perfect.

laying down, you're forced to look at the ceiling tiles. you feel your throat tighten with anxiety, even with experience, getting a tattoo is nerve-wracking. there's that familiar hum of the machine, and your eyes glance to your side as geto's dipping the needle in the pot of ink, allowing black to collect in the tip. "ready?" he asks, flickering from his focus on the machine to you. you're a little lost in his eyes before you're responding, the deep brown hues mesmerising. they're mellow and friendly, relaxing to your anxious state. you nod.

the needle finally penetrates the skin, but despite your discomfort you remain still and loose, focusing on your breathing. in, out. the pain is only a stinging, a prickling that you've grown used to over the years. nothing that you can't handle.

"all okay?" geto asks, and you appreciate the check-in.  "yeah, good thanks." he stretches your skin with his left hand, steadying his right to control the needle. his touch is delicate, gentle as if to ease your nerves, hard focused on the artwork over your skin with a stoic but pointed expression; a furrowed brow. there was something about being tattooed by geto that was so different to satoru, he was so much calmer, almost timid. by now satoru would have to stop from laughing too hard, or offering you candies for the hundredth time. geto was mellow, and it was nice. not to mention the face of concentration he held was cute, his pretty features a match to the art he drew.

"how did you meet satoru?" geto's voice hangs in the air a few minutes after you'd been sat in silence, though his gaze is still transfixed on his work. you smile at the memory, a puff of air from your lips. "he was a regular at the cafe i used to work at, i started in winter and by spring he had buddied up with me. the first time i didn't wear a jumper to work he this god-awful tattoo i got on my 18th birthday, it was my star sign, but looked more like a blob. offered to cover it up at a discounted cost - or if i gave him free chocolates for the week." geto smiles and you don't miss it, peering through your peripheral. "what did you do?" he questions, and you raise your free arm. "i got tattooed."

the hum stops, silence enveloping your ears as geto's attention is diverted to your inner arm, covered in ink he'd recognised to be his close friend's. he squinted as he tried to spot the cover up, and when looking closely he could see the older, blown out ink hiding under more controlled lines. "wow, it looks great. looks like you came back, too."

you nod, relaxing your arm. the buzzing doesn't start straight away, and you peer back to him. "what about you?" you questioned - it felt like he'd been waiting for you to ask. he smiles now, shaking his head. "there's no fun story, we just went to school together. one day i didn't know satoru, the next he was my brother." he raises the machine a little, left hand meeting your skin once again. the thrumming returned, and he glances over your expression before the needle meets your flesh.

"he was a pain in the ass, but he was the reason i went to school every day." a small piece of hair has escaped from the bun, hanging over his forehead. "i almost dropped out, but he kept me in check." you picture satoru in your head, trying to place them together as highschool buddies. they're so different, you wouldn't believe they were so close if satoru hadn't already chewed your ear off over his best friend, and their history together. they've gone through a lot, though you're sure there's so much more you don't know.

"was he as high maintenance in school?" you ask, in attempts to continue the conversation. geto laughs, his teeth peeking through his lips. "worse, somehow. he mellowed out in his twenties." the machine is pulled away and placed on the table beside him, his gloved hand wrapping over a sheet of kitchen roll, a small squeezy bottle in the other. the paper is placed over your shoulder, the liquid poured over alleviating the hot stinging of your skin.

"gonna start on the shading now." geto's eyes bore into your own, and there's a fluttering in your chest.

"are you still working there?" the needle is different now, as is his technique, the machine dragging in faster sweeping motions as he uses a stippling effect. "at the cafe? no, after giving satoru his free chocolates i got fired." geto's expression widens. "it's fine, i work from home most of the time now, no more annoying customers." you inhale sharply as he works on a sensitive area, swallowing back any discontent and putting on a brave face. 

"you're doing really well." he comments on your easily discernible unease, and those words of affirmation go straight to your head. geto flickers up at you, then back down to his work. there's silence for a little while more, the hum of the machine growing to hypnotize you as your vision hangs over the white ceiling.

"want anything? water, or some music?" his voice almost makes you jump as you realise how heavy your eyes had been. they're torn from the tiles above you to meet his face, and the white noise stops. "music would be nice." you reply, and he peels back a glove, using the free skin to unlock his phone. a soft guitar tone meets the air, you vaguely recognise the melody and listen as the chugging continues. it's accompanied by buzzing only moments later.

"it's deftones." he explains, weight shifting on the pedal to gain the momentum the machine had previously held. "how long have you been tattooing?" you try and further converse. "coming onto ten years, got an apprenticeship at twenty. tried art school and dropped out - showed up to some shithole with my portfolio and worked for free until i got good enough. opened this place about six years ago with satoru."

"do you enjoy it?"  "of course, i get to do what i love as a job... that's everyone's dream, isn't it?" he pauses for a moment, wiping over the skin with a scrunched piece of kitchen roll before the needle is brought back.  "yeah." you're quieter as you picture your own dream job. admin certainly wasn't it, but it pays the bills and isn't too taxing. 

"okay, i think we're done." suguru speaks, and repeats the same steps as before, washing the ink with solution before wiping it over. the coolness causes goosebumps to prickle over your skin, a balm applied with gloved hand as you know this will be the last time his fingers linger over this part of your shoulder. you're glad the session has finished, though as you make your way over to the mirror to peer over geto's art, you feel a little heartbroken this is coming to an end.

"oh, it's perfect." the words leave your mouth as you stand in awe, admiring the new ink embedded in your skin. it's breath taking, and exactly what you'd needed to fill in that area. you flicker up to meet his gaze through the reflection, eyes jolting downward when they meet his to instead linger over his arms - you hadn't paid all too much attention to the black lines covering his skin until now. his sweater sleeves are rolled back to his elbows, allowing you to peek at his forearms. it looks like satoru tattoos geto too, his style clear in his work. 

"will i see you around?" geto asks, his demeanour shifting back into shyness. you allow yourself to meet his eye, butterflies coming to swarm within your belly as he awaits your answer.  "definitely." you smile - you're definitely going to be asking satoru more about geto once you're home, you can picture him sussing out your crush instantaneously, though.

pleeease let me know if you want more from this au cause i loved writing this omg!!

[iichfilwypj]

take me home | percy jackson

ღ percy jackson x daughter of hypnos! reader ღ warnings: none! pure fluff ღ wc: 832 i tried to make it shorter sorry :( pt 1 - pt 3 - pt 4 - pt 5 - pt 6 - pt 7 - pt 8

The dining hall was especially… noisy. 

By next week, many campers would be heading home, and everyone was excited. She wasn’t happy about it; with no one to return to, she planned to stay at camp alone and sleep—just sleep. 

“What? I’d win!” she sat beside Percy at his table, engaged in a silly conversation. His confidence to defeat Superman was stupid; he was aware of how unlikely his victory was, but he remained stubborn.

“Percy, he can fly. You can’t walk a straight line!” 

“I can swim.” she burst out laughing. It echoed through the dining hall, drawing a few amused glances from other campers. 

Percy glanced at her, a grin creeping onto his face that he tried to suppress by frowning his eyebrows. He couldn’t let himself be exposed. 

Did he think he’d win against Superman? No, that man would wipe the floor with him. But she was laughing, so he wouldn’t mind coming up with more arguments. 

You'd think that the stronger your feelings grow for someone, especially if it's your best friend, the further you’d distance yourself. 

What's the point of getting your hopes up? 

Well, that was not Percy’s case. Ever since what happened last week in his cabin, he couldn’t manage to stay away from her. He made it his responsibility to wake her up, help during her tasks, and ensure she got enough sleep. He chatted with her, made plans, and even shared naps with her. He was sure he had managed to get at least fifteen hours more of sleep than he usually did. 

It didn’t matter, nothing did. He just wanted to be with her. 

But he had started to grow desperate. The desire to be with her had escalated into a need he couldn't ignore. And he was exhausted from holding back. ‘You have to tell her!’ his friends insisted, but how? The idea of confessing made him sick.

‘Hey, I’m in love with you. Wanna be my girlfriend?’ Yeah, no, that is cringe.

“Beth could totally beat Superman” the sweet voice of his friend jolted him from his thoughts. The dining was now empty, and the silence was a bit scary. “She’s very stro-”

“Do you wanna come home?” he stammered, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. His mouth fell open, his eyes wide open. 

OMG? WHAT THE FUCK PERCY!

“What?” she asked, also confused. He stood quiet, not wanting to look at her. 

Weird, considering it was the only thing he wanted to do lately.

“Not any home. To my house, during the holidays.” he dared to say. She was silent; did he overstep?, was it too soon? “I don’t want you to be alone, and I’m sure my mom would love to meet you. You can say no if-”

“Ocean breath” he immediately stopped talking, examining her features for any hint of rejection or disapproval. What he found in her eyes was something that resembled gratitude, fondness –he wouldn’t dare to say love yet. They were glossy, and while she wiped them, he wished it was just because of her tiredness. “I would love to.”

NOT A CHANCE! She said yes! And not only yes, she said she’d love to!  

“Oh, cool” he couldn't find any more words. His heart raced, and a smile settled on his lips, the joy he felt was something he had never experienced before.

She leaned her body against his side, eyes closing and letting out a soft sigh. However, he couldn’t stop himself from making a joke.

“You'll have to sleep on the balcony. You know, safety reasons. A stranger in my house? Pff, what a scandal!” 

“Oh, cool” she mocked him, and he nudged her in the side. 

Percy leaned his head against her shoulder, and softly rubbed her back, knowing she loved that. A few seconds later, soft snores could be heard, and her head would have hit the table if he hadn’t caught her. He leaned her head onto his shoulder now, before leaving a small kiss on her temple. 

He closed his eyes. For a moment, he was sure this was what heaven felt like.

hi hi hi! :) i'm very bored, please recommend me books! love u all, have a pretty day.

[quintinh43]

All My Heart | Quinn Hughes

Summary: Quinn has been off the ice for two weeks, and he isn't dealing with it well.

Pairings: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Anxiety/panic (attack?), general questioning of existence. Feelings, Angst, the whole roster basically.

Notes: yall please be careful reading this one! I did not mean for it to go the way it did but here we are. Please please please keep the warnings in mind, and if ever you need to stop reading please do. Take care of yourselves first loves. More notes at the end!

Wc: 1.6 k

---

Quinn felt like he was going insane. He'd been off the ice for two weeks due to an upper body injury, and it felt as if the restlessness had buried itself beneath his bones. He currently lay in bed, staring at the ceiling with tired eyes and a mind that wouldn't relax.

His foot shook incessantly beneath the blanket as he tried to fall asleep, but the thoughts kept whirling. He had been having trouble sleeping since he'd been benched. The constant string of anxious thoughts preventing his mind from quieting down enough for him to slip into a blissful sleep.

"Quinn." You grumble, voice laced with sleepiness. His constant foot shaking had been pulling you in and out of sleep since the two of you had settled down for the night. But you had kept quiet in the hopes that he would be able to fall asleep eventually.

"I'm sorry," Quinn whispers sheepishly, his fingers start drawing soothing circles into your waist, from where his arm is wrapped around you. "I didn't mean to wake you," he murmers, pressing his lips against your hair in a gentle kiss.

"It's alright, love. But can you please please stop shaking your foot?" You mutter, still half asleep.

"Yeah, sorry baby," he murmers sheepishly. He stills his foot, and somehow, the thoughts become ten times more intense. He's going on a full week with a total of maybe four hours of sleep. It's fucking hell. He's been getting snappy during the day. Although you mostly leave it be, because he usually apologizes right after, and you know he doesn't mean when he says it, and it's just his anxiety about not being able to play.

Deciding that there is no use in trying to sleep, he waits until your breathing evens out into a quiet snore before untangling himself from you and slipping out of the bedroom quietly. Quinn finds himself in the kitchen, with no plan on what to do. It's nearly three in the morning.

He settles onto the floor in favour of stretching. Hoping that it will help calm him at least enough so that he's no longer obscenely jittery. Unfortunately, it does nothing useful for him. His next idea is to watch a movie. Maybe something stupid and mind-numbing will put him to sleep.

He makes himself a cup of chamomile tea and sinks into the couch, turning on the first Despicable Me movie. It's perfectly stupid enough to get him no longer thinking about hockey. Except, then there's a freeze-ray. And then Vector's in-house shark aquarium is reminding him of the Canucks.

He pauses the movie and puts down his empty mug on the coffee table with such a deep sigh. It feels as though his bones are rattling. He presses his palms to his eyes in desperation, wishing oh so terribly that he could be skating and playing hockey. He feels chained, having not been allowed on the ice for so long.

His second home, his freedom. Where it feels like he's flying. Where he feels invincible, like he can do anything. Quinn springs up from the couch, and he's pacing. He paces around the living room with such fervor that he might wear a hole into the floor.

He needs to get on the ice. Now. Or he's going to rip his hair out. And then, on top of being injured, he'll also be bald. Which would be the second worst thing to ever happen to him. The first being the fact that he hasn't been allowed on the ice for two full weeks.

With no coherent plan, he creeps around the apartment, throwing his skating equipment in a spare duffle bag. He's grabbing his car keys and slipping on his shoes when the bedroom door opens with a creek.

"Quinn?" Your voice is tired and confused. You're hugging your arms around your body to protect yourself from the chill of the apartment.

Quinn looks like a deer caught in headlights. His hair is sticking up in every which direction, his eyes are red from exhaustion, and his eyebags are so so dark. He's wearing two different shoes, and for fucks sake he's not even wearing a shirt.

You amble over to him cautiously, gently tugging the duffle bag from his hand. You can see the blades of his skates sticking out of the bag. "Baby, what are you doing?" Your eyes dart over to the time on the microwave. It's 3:47 am.

"Y/n" he breathes, it's desperate and pleading, and all you want to do is wrap him in your arms and take away all his pain and worries. "I need to go- I need to get out. I'm going insane." He whispers. There's a tremor in his hands as he runs them through his hair.

"Ok, my love, we're gonna go. Let's go put on some proper clothes first." You say lacing your fingers with his and tugging him towards the bedroom. He sighs, squeezing your hand tightly. Like he needs the physical reminder that you're with him. Otherwise, you'll disappear.

You successfully coax him into a hoodie and a touqe and pull a pair of sweatpants and one of Quinn's hoodies over your (his) t-shirt. Making sure Quinn is wearing the correct set of shoes, you grab the keys off the hook, sling his duffle bag over your shoulder, and grab his hand. As soon as your hands are linked again, his grip is tight. And you wouldn't have it any other way.

You throw his bag in the back seat and slide into the driver's side while Quinn slips into the passenger seat. As soon as he can, he grabs your hand again. You hold your intertwined hands tucked under your chin while you drive.

"Talk to me, Quinn," you murmur softly, stroking your thumb over the back of his knuckles.

Quinn sighs shakily. He wants to talk to you. He really does. But he's so used to burying everything down, to not be a burden. He's the oldest. He's supposed to be the leader, the strong one. He knows in his heart that if there's anyone he can talk to, it's you. You don't push. You know he'll talk when he's ready.

His leg is bouncing, and he's running his hand through his hair nervously as he formulates his thoughts into coherent sentences. "I feel like i'm going insane," he mutters. "i need - i need to get on the ice. It's my freedom. I feel chained to existence because I haven't been able to skate for so long."

Your heart breaks for him as you squeeze his hand, letting him know that you're listening.

"I'm sorry, that doesn't make any sense," he sighs.

"No baby, it does, I get what you're saying," you say softly.

"It's like, I'm being punished for something. Am I a bad person?" His voice is cracking, and if you thought it impossible for your heart to break further, you were just proven wrong.

"No, Quinn, you aren't a bad person. Injuries are inevitable. You didn't do anything to deserve this. I promise you, my love." You kiss the back of his hand, hoping that your lips can pour all your love and reassurance into him.

"Where are we going?" Quinn asks, squinting curiously at the rapidly passing treeline. You had exited onto the highway a little bit ago, with no plan or intention.

You shrug your shoulders, "No idea, I'm just driving."

Guilt washes over Quinn like a tidal wave. He tugs his hand from yours and covers his face, with embarrassment and exasperation at himself. He sighs into his hands, and all of a sudden, the emotions are too much again.

"Quinn?" You glance at him with concern. He's breathing deeply, trying to keep the anxiety from spiking again.

"I'm so sorry, I woke you up and dragged out at such an ungodly hour. And fuck- you have work in the morning. Baby, I'm sorry, I'm sorry -" he sounds like he's on the verge of hyperventilating.

"Quinn, baby, look at me." Your voice is so gentle as you wrap your hand around his wrist and tug it away from his face, "You are the most important thing to me. Forever and always, especially especially right now. Please, please, please, don't beat yourself up about it. I would drop everything for you in a heartbeat, my love."

His breathing is still shallow. You rest his hand on your chest and take deep, slow breaths. "Copy my breathing, Quinn."

It takes a minute for his breathing to match yours, "Good job Honey" you smile, keeping his hand pressed against your chest.

"Can we go home?" He whispers, intertwining his fingers with yours.

"Of course, baby, whatever you want." You take the next exit and head in the direction of your shared apartment. The drive is mostly silent, only the sounds of deep breathing and the occasional shuddering sigh fill the car.

As soon as you're back in the apartment, Quinn is pulling off his hoodie and toque, "I need you to lay on top of me," Quinn all but begs.

"Alright, lay down wherever you want." You say, stripping if your own hoodie and sweats. He lays on the floor. The bed is too soft. He can't handle the sinking feeling. You lay directly on top of him, and he let's out a relieved sigh, his arms tightening around your waist.

"Love you so much, Y/n," he murmers into your cheek.

"I love you too, Quinn, with all my heart," you say gently, stroking his hair soothingly. He falls asleep within half an hour, and you pass out right after him.

And when the two of you wake up, if you take him skating. Well, that's no one's business but your own.

---

I know I said I probably wasn't gonna post for like a week and a half cause of school, but the inspiration hit, and I wrote this in like... an hour. So if it's really bad, well...

And just cause I haven't said it before, everything I write is purely fictional! I don't know how the hughes act in real life! I am simply writing them as characters.

I might end up taking this one down, so...

Anyways. Please take care of yourselves, yall. Leave comments! And as always, Love Soph.

[morlao]

Sisterly advice

▪︎Luke Castellan x fem!reader

▪︎daughter of Aphrodite

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

You and Luke have always been close. So close, in fact, that newcomers automatically assumed that you were dating. The surprised look on their faces when the older campers told them you weren´t, was according to your siblings hilarious.

It's evening and you're sitting on your bed, your legs crossed, while Silena is braiding your hair.

Of all your half-siblings she is your favourite one. Loving, gentle and kind. She is the perfect definition of a daughter of Aphrodite, as she embodies everything that comes to your mind when you think about love - and you want others to feel the same way. They should also think of her and not your other siblings with their childish plays and cruel rituals of breaking others hearts. Maybe they themselves don´t understand what it means being the child of love.

Silena´s fingers run gently through your hair, parting it and intertwining the individual strands together.

“So… what about Charlie?”

You don't have to see her face to know that a smile flashes across her lips at his name. “What about him?”

“Did he finally ask you out?”

She laughs, trying to pretend that she finds the idea absurd. “We are just friends.”

You turn around and give her a look that expresses your��opinion about it all too clearly. Don´t try to fool me, darling. I see what´s going on between the two of you!

Again, Silena laughs, gently turning your head forward again to finish the braid. “Okay, other topic. What about you and Luke?”

You copy her laugh. “What about us? We´re just friends.”

You could feel her rising her eyebrows. “Let me give you some sisterly advice: Just friends don´t look at each other like that.”

“Who did you quote? That sentence is so cliché!”

She laughs, taking a hair tie from your bedside table and wrapping it around your braid. “Well… maybe it is but it totally fits you and Luke.”

You turn around, giving her a skeptical look.

Silena shrugs and sits down beside you. “I mean… have you seen his smile when he looks at you? Also he constantly finds excuses to touch you. He improves your posture in archery, even though you are at least as good at it as he is. And – “ she looks at you triumphantly, “He gives you a kiss on the cheek every time he greets you or says goodbye.”

You feel your cheeks flush and cross your arms, trying to think of a counter argument. “A lot of people do that.”

“Yeah, but you´re the only one where Luke does that. Haven´t you noticed?”

To be honest: no, you haven´t. But now as you think about it in detail... it is true. When Luke greets one of the other girls, he just smiles at them.

“In addition, he immediately drops everything when he sees you”, Silena adds, “Yesterday he left in the middle of training because he saw you walking by and wanted to talk to you. Or on Friday, he was in the middle of a conversation with Chris and you waved at him. And what did he do? Exactly, he immediately jogged over. Also last week…”

“Enough!” You laugh, trying to make her shut up by covering her mouth.

Silena dodges you, laughing as you reach into the void. "He let you draw hearts on his sneakers! He watches the sunset with you! He bought you a bracelet for your birthday! You know, I could go on with this for hours." She steps closer, cupping your cheeks with her hands. “Believe me, sis: He´s in love with you!” Her voice is melodic, angel like even. Loving, gentle and kind.

You feel the heat rising to your cheeks and embarrassed you pulls away and cover your face with your hands. “I´m pretty sure he isn´t! You´re overinterpreting!”

“Nope, I´m a daughter of Aphrodite, I can feel it!”

“So am I! And I don't feel anything!”

Silena grabs her cherry lipstick. “Your reaction makes me think that you like him too!”

Did you like him? You weren´t sure. Of course he meant the world to you, but did you like him more as than a friend? Wouldn´t that be weird kissing him since you know him for so long?

"I'm not sure", you finally manage to say, rolling off your bed and taking a look at the clock. Fortunately, you can at least put the topic off for today. "Oh, damn! Come on, we are already late!”

Silena grabs your hand and leads you outside of cabin 10. It´s already dark and in the distance you can see the flickering flames of the campfire. Most of the campers seem to have already gathered there, their drink in their hands and a smile on their lips as they talk to their siblings and friends.

“Finally!”, one of the Apollo girls greets you.

Chris Rodriguez grins. “Why are the Aphrodite girls always late?”

That is definitely not true! You're not always late. Just most of the times. God, you hate being a cliché.

Luke lifts his head as he hears his brother say “Aphrodite girls”. He spots you and his face lights up like a Christmas tree. Immediately he walks up to you and hugs you, his lips placing a soft kiss on your cheek.

From the corner of your eye you can see Silena rising an eyebrow, as if to say "Well, what did I say?"

“You look amazing”, Luke whispers in your ear, before breaking away from the hug and greeting Silena with a smile. “Charlie is already waiting for you!”, he grins, nodding towards said boy.

Silena giggles, before walking over to him. Gods, it was so obvious that she was head over heels for him.

Luke takes your hand and leads you over to his place next to Chris, where he had already a blanket spread out for the two of you. “Mylady” He pretends to bow.

You can feel your cheeks blush as you sit down. “Thank you so much, Mister!”

Gods, somehow Luke always manages to put a smile on your face. You sit down and stretch out your legs, feeling the comforting heat of the fire.

As Luke takes a seat next to you, you can feel him slide closer, his arm touching yours. Feeling him beside you was comforting, the closest feeling you had to "home".

Luke Castellan. You tilt your head back and look up at the stars as if you expect to see his name engraved up there. You have always liked his name. Luke Castellan. It feels like a secret incantation on your lips.

You can feel his eyes on you. The flickering flames make his face look almost golden. Golden boy. Why didn´t you notice before how handsome he is?

The next song starts and immediately everyone joins in. They lie in each other's arms and rock back and forth, bawling Country roads.

Well, maybe it was just because Silena had told you, but Luke really seems to find exuses for touching you. He leans against you, his arm around your shoulders - even after the song has already ended. You enjoy feeling him so close next to you. The heat he radiates. His soft skin against yours. The realization hits you straight in the face. You had fallen in love with your best friend.

He looks at you and you can't help but smile. Fascinating how beautiful an evening with a campfire could be. For a moment it feels like gods and monsters didn't exist. For a moment everything seems peaceful.

 “Can I talk to you for a second?” You can feel Luke´s warm breath on your neck as he whispers in your ear.

Your heart skips a beat. Did he notice the way you looked at him? Did he suspect something? Was Silena wrong? “Sure!”

Your voice sounds more enthusiastic than you feel.

Luke takes your hand and leads you away from the campfire, away from the singing and the laughter of the others.

You look at him, smiling nervously. “Sooo… what is it? Or did you just want to escape singing Knocking on heavens door.”

He shakes his head, laughing. “No, why would I want to miss Drew´s wonderful voice?”

You cringe at the thought of your sister singing louder than everyone else – and on top of that terribly wrong. She doesn't hit a single note.

“No, actually… Y/N…” He runs a hand through his hair, trying to find the right words. “Gods, you´re so beautiful.”

It´s not the first time that somebody told you that. In fact, being a daughter of Aphrodite, you had heard it thousands of times already.

Still his words felt special to you. Special because he wasn´t just anybody. Ä

He was Luke. Your best friend Luke. Luke who was always there for you, who comforted you when you had trouble with your family, who managed to make you laugh when you lay in your bed crying your eyes out over something your stepmother had said. Luke who you trusted with all your heart.

“I wanted to ask you if you'd like to go on a picnic tomorrow?” He avoids looking at you.

Why is he so shy about going on a picnic? That's quite strange since you´d done this a few times before. You had even found your very own spot with a fantastic view over the sea. There was nothing more beautiful than watching sunsets while drinking juice and eating biscuits. So why does he seem so insecure?

Luke seems to notice your confusion. “I meant as a date”, he clarifies.

You raise your eyebrow, your heart racing. “Are you asking me out?”

“Yeah.”

For a moment you stood there, perplexed. Why was it so obvious to the others while you had no idea?

"So... what do you say?" Luke looks at you, biting his lip nervously. He seems to assume that you aren't answering because you're looking for a way to reject him as gently as possible.

Quickly you step forward, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. "Yes, I'd love to go on a date with you."

"Really?" Immediately he blushes deeply. That must have slipped out.

"Sure, why wouldn't I?" You giggle, taking his hand. "I've known you for years now. You're kind and brave and one of the most caring people I know."

A laugh escapes his lips. "Wow, if I had known that, I would have asked you way earlier." His hand slowly reaches for your cheek.

You hold your breath as he leans forward and places a soft kiss on your lips. It didn't feel weird at all. The opposite, actually. Seems like sometimes best friends can turn into lovers.

You wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer. Soft kisses become more passionate. His hands run through your hair, slowly brushing loose strands out of your face.

When he pulls away a huge smile creeps across his lips. "I love you, Y/N"

You return his smile, taking his hand and intertwining your fingers. "I love you, too."

As you walk back to the campfire holding hands, Silena beams at you. "I told you, Y/N, friends don't look at each other like that."

You shake your head, laughing. "Your advice really is the best."

[seeingivy]

so high school

satoru gojo x f!reader

**part of my gojo as taylor songs series

an: so sorry to the dream girl fans, had to expedite this one. taylor as gojo anon its your lucky day.

--

you were always under the impression that people like satoru gojo were perfect. 

flawless even. 

at times, you were even inclined to think that it was unfair; that some people were born with perfect looks, charming personalities, with intellect and intelligence to match. that they didn’t have to struggle. 

though it seems at the current moment, you stood corrected. because the so-called rumors that you had heard about satoru – that he always participated in class, that the teachers loved him – they might have still stood true, but the underlying implication that was always insinuated, that he was naturally intelligent, wasn't. 

it slightly cracked a sheen into the persona. you wondered if the girls in your english literature class would still giggle about him the way they did under their breaths if they knew. though knowing them, they probably would find some way to make his ineptness endearing. 

“this is the quadratic formula. did you understand this one when we went over it in class?” you ask. 

“yes.” satoru responds, seething. 

“okay, so if that’s the case, can you solve this problem for me?” you ask. 

you slide the paper over to satoru, eyes hopeful, as you watch a blank expression spread over his face.  it’s something that he does often, or at least in this setting from what you can tell of the total of two hours that have passed. 

the entire session seems to be a lot of talking into the air – with him opting to listen to you explain the question rather than try it on his own or admit where exactly it is that he needs help. 

you’re not surprised that he has an ego about getting forced to do remedial tutoring. 

“you know, listening to explain it over and over again won’t really help. you have to be able to struggle your way through the question on your own.” you respond. 

satoru gives you a shrug, before taking the paper into his own hands. 

“this is bullshit. and i get that i have to like know this shit because like…societies and shit before me knew it all but i don’t really understand the point. coach is just making me do this bullshit to keep me from playing more. 

you pinch your lips into a line. the algebra teacher and basketball coach, masamichi yagi, had, in confidence, told you the exact opposite. that satoru was bright and talented – on the road to where he wanted to go – but his grades were going to hold him back if he didn’t try harder. 

you can still hear his words in your head. 

he can be tough to work with when he’s frustrated, but just try to get through to him. he’s smart enough to do this. 

“i mean, the past societies and stuff learned it and emphasize passing it on because it’s actually really relevant to what you’re doing right now.” you respond. 

“yeah, maybe for nerd shit that you do, but it’s not really relevant to where i want to go.” satoru responds. 

you roll your eyes. he didn’t have to be irritating about it. 

“and where’s that?” you ask. 

and in a split second, you see satoru smile for the first time, this close. you weren’t a stranger to him at all – almost no one was with the way the basketball team's pictures were plastered all over the school in the yearbook – but you had never sat so close to him before, at least not in years. 

he a dimple on the right side and three freckles on the left. 

“i’m going to be a starting point guard on an nba basketball team.” satoru whispers. 

“you want to go pro?” you ask. 

“hell yeah. it’s all i’ve ever wanted since i was a kid.” 

you smile. you had heard it before – that he was electric on the court – but you didn’t realize that it was serious enough to pursue a basketball career. 

“i hate to break it to you, but the quadratic formula will be really useful to you in the future.” you respond. 

satoru scoffs. you take the board from him, drawing out the trajectory of the line, as he explains. 

“the reason that you use the quadratic formula is to find the solution of the equation. it can actually tell you more than you think – about where something needs to be in space, how fast it needs to move. if you’re standing all the way at the end of the basketball court, as far away from the net as possible, you’re not going to shoot right?” you ask. 

“obviously not.” satoru responds, sarcastically. 

“and you’re not going to try from right underneath the net?” 

“not if i want to get my ass beat by coach.” 

“so you know that you have to find the right spot to try from because it’ll give you your best possible shot at getting it into the basket. that’s how the equation works – figuring out the best possible spot to where your solution works.” 

satoru rolls his eyes at you. 

“so?” 

“so. you should think about it like that. don’t make it so abstract because it’s honestly way too boring to try to do it that way. finding applications will help you get through how difficult it is. if you want to get scouted for division one basketball, you have to have good grades.” 

satoru clicks his tongue in his cheek. 

“do you want me to do the quadratic formula in my head every time i make a shot?” 

you roll your eyes. 

“obviously not. but you have to admit that something like that would be helpful. and it is helpful, for people who do engineering, fly planes, all of that type of stuff. the application will just make it more interesting or relevant for you.” you respond. 

“how do you get through it?” he asks. 

you pause. 

“what?” 

“your application or whatever. to make you do it without getting bored.” 

you can feel your cheeks burn. 

“i actually don’t have one. i was just making that up.” 

satoru’s eyes widen. 

“you gave me a whole inspirational lecture with shit you pulled out of your ass?” satoru asks, eyes incredulous. 

you note that there’s a whisper of a smile on his face. 

“part of the job is motivating students! and i don’t have one because what i want to do actually does have no application to this..” you respond. 

satoru nods, before leaning forward on the desk, his cheek in the palm of his hand as he smiles.

“so what do you want to do?” he asks. 

“what?” 

“in the future. i’d love to hear whatever it is that doesn’t have a real life application to math, so i can use it as a backup plan if this whole basketball thing doesn’t work out.” 

you glare at him. 

“this is a tutoring session, not social hour.” 

“oh come on. you’re no fun. i promise i’ll actually try if you tell me.” satoru responds. 

you debate lying. 

you debate lying because you know this is how he is, because you’ve seen him do this since the second he had his growth spurt in the sixth grade. tell different girls that they’re pretty, flatter them by asking them personal questions, and flirt like it was the air he breathed. 

and it makes you mad – only because you were that girl in seventh grade. giggling to yourself about how he said your braids were pretty, asking about if you were going to the dance, and everything in between. 

the only reason that the girls who whispered about him in your english literature class annoy you is because they remind you of yourself. though that stopped dead in his tracks when you realized that it was something that he did with everyone. 

satoru’s eyes are expectant, waiting for an answer, and you convince yourself later that night that it’s why you gave in and told him what you’ve never told anyone before. not because he really was attractive and charming – but only because he told you his first.

“scout’s honor you won’t tell?” you ask. 

satoru signals with the little cross over his heart, before giving you a nod. 

“i want to be a singer.” you respond. 

satoru’s eyes widen. 

“you’d be great for that!” 

“what?” 

“oh, come on. you’ve been the lead of every musical since like freshman year. and i remember that song you wrote about cheerleaders or whatever in sixth grade, it was really good.”

you widen your eyes. 

“you remember that?” you ask. 

“what was it called? i just remember it was like cheer captain and bleachers or something like that. mei mei got really mad at the time because she thought you were talking about her.” 

you laugh. 

“it was called you belong with me. there was a lyric in it, she’s cheer captain and i’m on the bleachers. and she was right to be mad, because it was about her. i can’t even believe you remember that.” you respond. 

satoru smirks. 

“do you just think i’m some asshole? we’ve gone to the same school since preschool. i like to think we’re friends – that’s why i picked you to be my tutor.” satoru responds. 

you didn’t know that part. you had figured that yaga had just reached out to you because you were one of the top students in the class.  

“i don’t know. i didn’t realize you remembered all that! i kind of thought you didn’t even know my name.” you respond. 

satoru smiles. 

“your name is y/n. you used to wear pigtail braids in first grade with ribbons in them. you’re really smart and you always have been. you went to the dance in seventh grade with that robotics nerd nanami kento. and one time you picked me for heads up seven up in fourth grade.” satoru responds. 

you feel your cheeks warm up. 

at the heat of your infatuation with satoru, you had made your move in the only way that you knew how – by picking him in heads up seven up. 

once in a while, you would get to play the game in class – when it was someone's birthday or you were waiting for an assembly to start. the teacher would pick seven students and the rest would put their heads down at their desks, with their thumbs up. the people who were selected got to pick anyone they wanted in the room and tap on their head. if the people who were tapped were able to guess who picked them correctly, they got to switch in. 

you picked satoru. and he guessed correctly. 

“kind of had a big fat crush on you after that, if i’m not going to lie.” satoru jokes. 

“what? over the heads up seven up?” 

satoru nods. 

“you picked me out of a room of forty people. i was ready to propose marriage.” satoru jokes. 

you snort. 

“don’t say that. i totally would have said yes. i obviously picked you for a reason.” 

satoru looks up at you, eyes wide in something you can’t really place, before he grins at you brightly. 

“you bitch! we could have been childhood sweethearts at this point if you weren’t such a chicken.” 

“me? you should have made a move. the ball was in your court after i tapped on you in heads up seven up.” 

satoru sighs. 

“oh ten year old satoru. dropping the ball as always.” 

you roll your eyes, before sliding the worksheet back over to him. satoru groans, before sneaking the paper closer to him, and scratching his head as he looks at the paper. you lean over the tiniest bit of the desk, trying to make a mess of his scribbling, and making sure he’s on the right path. 

“why’d you pick that one as c?” you ask. 

“was i not supposed to?”

“i mean, no. i just wanted to figure out why so you don’t do it next time.” 

it goes like that for the rest of the hour. he tends to make silly mistakes or get hopelessly lost in the middle, but answers one question correctly by the end of the session – which he takes as a win. 

he says one thing that sticks in your mind before he leaves, with the same expectant eyes waiting for an answer as he hangs off of the door frame. 

“y/n?” 

“yeah?”

“when you become a big famous singer, will you invite me to your first show?” satoru asks. 

you smile, before looking down at your hands and twisting the silver rings on your fingers. 

“if that happens, sure. only if you invite me to the first game where you get to start.” you respond. 

satoru grins brightly, his eyes crinkling in the smile.  

“i'm betting on it. you and me.” 

--

three months into tutoring – and a few ice cream cones and movies here and there – satoru invites you to go to a party with him.

“you know, i’m not really into the party scene, satoru.” you respond. 

“but you’re into me, because i’m the love of your life, so you should come anyways.” 

satoru does that often. flirt, make jokes about how the two of you are meant to be, and everything in between. troy and gabriella because you’re a brainiac and he’s an athlete. the best love story, since you’ve liked each other from the start. 

but you know that he’s joking, because he does that with everyone. it doesn’t mean that it isn’t nice to pretend that it’s true sometimes. 

“look, mei mei has a bunch of drinks that her dad bought for the party, so you should just come and let loose.” 

you widen your eyes. 

“you know mei mei hates me right?” 

“it’s okay, being around her will give you more material to write for your songs. then you can sing it on your sold out world tour.” satoru jokes. 

he also does that often. talk about your dream like it’s most certainly going to come true. talk about how he’s going to be front row, how you’re going to be the half-time show for his championship games, and how fans will adore your love story and humble backgrounds in tutoring. 

“come on. i’ll pick you up at six, okay?” 

at six pm, satoru honks the horn of his shitty honda civic for six minutes before you oblige and give in. and the party goes well – with satoru sticking by your side, introducing you to his best friend suguru, and making you do shots with cheap tequila. 

it goes well until they start playing a mixed version of truth or dare and spin the bottle. you have two options when the bottle lands on you – kissing the person who span it or getting a truth or dare from them. 

it’s not your idea of fun. because while you would have easily opted for just being asked truthful questions all night, you realize that the stuff that they ask and insinuate is no joke. 

and after an hour, satoru kisses suguru – much to suguru’s dismay – and shoko gets dared to prank call her ex-girlfriend, utahime, which goes insanely horrible. it felt like intruding to listen to the two of them argue so openly on the phone. 

when mei mei spins the bottle, it lands on you. 

“please don’t try to kiss me.” 

you pinch your lips in a line. 

“i wasn’t planning on it. i’ll do truth.” 

she breaths a dramatic sigh of relief. you shoot satoru a smile, who shakes it off as plain joking, before you swallow hard. 

“fuck, marry, kill. satoru, suguru, and choso.” 

you feel your eyes widen. 

“was the game not kiss, marry, kill?” you respond. 

“if we’re in the sixth grade.” mei mei responds.

you fidget with your fingers in your lap, all three of them expectantly looking at you, as you feel your voice shake. 

“um. marry satoru. and then i guess…i’ll kill choso? and you know the last one.” you respond. 

“and i thought we were friends.” choso responds, voice dripping with sarcasm as the group of them snicker. 

“we can go do that right now, that’s not a problem. should we switch the game to seven minutes in heaven?” suguru responds, snickering over his shoulder with shoko who doesn’t entertain one second of his nonsense. 

satoru is the only one who doesn’t say anything. and they move on just as fast, spinning the bottle over and over again, while you overthink what just happened – how awkward you were being, how satoru slightly shifted away from you on the hard carpet, and how you very desperately want to go home. 

when you spin the bottle, you hope to god it doesn’t land on him. but it’s just your luck, because it points directly at suguru, who is now very smugly seated next to satoru. 

“are you going to kiss me?” suguru asks. 

you know that he’s joking. you know deep down that this is just something that makes them laugh, that deep down, you wouldn’t really have to if you didn’t want to, but that doesn’t make it any less embarrassing to be cornered like this. 

“no.” you respond. 

suguru feigns hurt. 

“why not?”

you look down at your hands. 

“i’ve never kissed anyone before.” 

“i can fix that.” suguru responds. 

you shake your head. and in the split second that passes, you can feel satoru’s hand wrapped around your wrist, tugging you down the stairs and out the door, and leading you down the street to where he parked his car. 

he’s quiet as he rummages in his pockets for his key, angrily yanking on the door, as you stand on the pavement. 

“come on. we’re going home.” he responds, leaning his hands on the open door as he gestures for you to move to the passengers side. 

you shake your head, feeling hot burning tears in your eyes, as you look at him. 

“are you mad at me or something?” you ask. 

“what?” 

“i don’t know! i didn’t know what to say when mei mei asked me that. i don’t ever want to offend you or hurt your feelings or anything. and i wasn’t going to kiss your friend, you didn’t have to drag me out of there like that because i wasn’t even going to consider it.” 

satoru sighs, leaning his cheek against the window, as he gives you a halfhearted smile. 

“i’m not mad at you. or what you said.” 

“okay, because i thought that was the best option! marry is objectively the option you save for the best person in the options because that’s the person you have to kiss too. like when you marry someone you obviously have to kiss them and you’re not going to kill them, so you save it for the best.” you respond, rambling. 

satoru grins. 

“you think i’m the best option?” 

you groan. 

“shut up. i don’t even know choso. and suguru is…suguru. no.” 

satoru smiles, walking away from the open door, before reaching for your wrists and squeezing hard. 

“i’m not mad at you. i just got…annoyed back there for a second.” satoru murmurs. 

“at?” 

satoru tries to stifle his sigh. 

“i didn’t want suguru to kiss you.” satoru responds. 

“that makes two of us, genius.” you respond, earning you a laugh from him. 

“i wanted it to land on me. i know it’s just a game, but really. i wanted it to be me.” satoru murmurs. 

you laugh. 

“okay, satoru. truth or dare. i can give you one right now.” you respond, giving him a peachy smile as you wait for him to respond. 

but he doesn’t. because all you see in the dim lamplight of the street is satoru, frowning at you. his eyes are expectant, but not waiting for an answer this time – but for you to understand what he was trying to say. 

that he wanted you to kiss him. 

it takes you five seconds. five seconds of bright blue eyes to get it. 

“oh.” you respond. 

you pause. 

“really?” you whisper. 

satoru shrugs. almost like he’s embarrassed. 

you lift your hands, gesturing for him to wait right there, as you duck into the car from the door that he opened, and reach over the seats for the water bottle that you left in there a few days ago. 

“fuck, ow.” you whisper. 

“are you okay?” satoru asks, leaning closer to peek his head through the door. 

“yeah. yeah. just looking for something.” 

you find it underneath the seat – a wrinkled mess of plastic from the heat and three sips of lukewarm water left. you push out of the car, holding up the little bottle in between the two of you, to which satoru gives you a confused look. 

“i wouldn’t drink that.” satoru responds. 

you shake your head, before crouching to the ground, and placing the bottle on the ground. you gesture for satoru to join you, the two of you hunching over with your heads pressed together. and you reach forward and spin the bottle, only for it to point towards the car. 

“you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” you murmur. 

you readjust the bottle, manually pointing it towards satoru, as you look back up at him and give him a smile. 

“i don’t get it.” satoru responds. 

“it landed on you.” you respond. 

you watch satoru’s throat bob. 

“what?” he whispers. 

“i spun. it landed on you.” you respond. 

you swear he’s blushing in the moonlight. 

“y/n.”

“are you going to kiss me, satoru?” you whisper. 

it’s a split second before satoru reaches forward, pulling you up by the wrists, and yanking you into the backseat of his car to do just that. you can taste the remnants of the cheap tequila on his lips, the feeling warm in your chest as he smiles – no, laughs – into the kiss. 

in the seconds that pass, you lean your forehead against satoru’s, the two of you lightly panting as you catch your breaths – his hands warm on your waist and yours underneath his biceps. 

“did you really pick me out of everyone to be your math tutor?” you whisper. 

satoru laughs. 

“i knew what i wanted. and i got her.” satoru whispers. 

you get signed on to a record label a year later, two months before you graduate high school. it breaks your heart to leave him behind when the fall comes around. 

--

four years later 

“did the tour bus get stalled?” you ask. 

yuki looks up from her clipboard, switching off the little knob on her earpiece, as she takes the open seat next to you. 

“yeah. they’ve got it stuck inside the fencing outside the stadium, they’re just trying to push it through now.” yuki responds. 

“can’t we just walk out to the car?” you ask. 

yuki shakes her head again. 

“fans go out the same way. if you want to avoid getting mobbed on the way out here, it’s best to wait.” yuki responds. 

“if we have to wait, i’m just going to go lie down in the dressing room. come get me when it’s here?” you ask. 

yuki gives you a nod as you walk off to the other side of the stadium, the heels of your feet aching from the high stiletto boots you were wearing breaking halfway through the performance, as you shake through the messy tresses of your hair. 

“it was so nice to meet you, man. you said she was over this way?” 

you feel your eyes widen as you turn your head to the left – to the voice that you can recognize anywhere – and feel a dry patch in your throat. at the sight of satoru, an obscenely tall version of satoru, standing three feet away from you, talking to one of the members of your crew. 

you watch as satoru gives a polite smile and walks down the way towards your dressing room, already six whole paces in front of you from how long his legs are now, as you follow behind him, wiping away the darkness of smudged makeup under your eyes and brushing down the beads of your dress. 

it can’t be him, can it? you desperately wished there was something else to wear besides the bedazzled bodysuit you were wearing currently. 

you watch as satoru knocks on your door, expectantly waiting for a response at the door, as he wipes his hands against the sides of his pants. and you walk up right behind him, nervously clearing your throat, as he turns around and gives you a wide smile. 

“ah. right, hi! i was just looking for you. my name is…” 

“satoru.” you finish. 

there was no way he thought you actually forgot him, did he? 

satoru unclenches his shoulders, an immediate pang of relief spreading through his face, as he gives you a smile – a dimple on the right and three freckles on the left – as you feel a pang of hurt in your chest. 

he looks good. he looks even better than you left him, his striking white hair longer than it was before and the smallest amount of wrinkles around his eyes. 

“you remember.” satoru responds. 

you bite on the inside of your cheek, to stop yourself from smiling at him fully. 

“do you just think i’m some asshole? we’ve gone to the same school since preschool.” you respond. 

satoru rolls his eyes at the words – the same ones he said years prior – as he crosses his hands over his chest. and you can’t help but contain your excitement and lean forward, a gesture he returns as you bury your face into the crook of his neck and squeeze hard. 

“satoru, oh my fucking god. you should have told me you were coming.” you respond, leaning back as he reaches up to cup the side of your cheek and smile down at you. 

“how could i?” he asks. 

“you could text me. i have a phone.” you joke. 

satoru gives you a smile. 

“you know, when you change your number, that means i can’t text you.” 

you groan, smacking your palm against your forehead. 

“shit. i totally forgot. i was just so stressed out at the time because…” 

“because someone leaked your phone number and people were calling you at every hour of the day. i know.” 

you feel your chest pang, mainly at the fact that satoru was here – that he thought you forgot him and, in earnest, you really had forgotten him. that he was keeping tabs, that he knew everything that you were up to in the years since you separated – from your phone number getting leaked to the fact that you were performing tonight – and you couldn’t say the same. 

you frown. 

“right. i’m sorry, i meant to give it to you, i just…” 

“were going through a lot at the time. first world tour, six grammy nominations, and some friends who weren’t the greatest, i gathered.” 

you sigh. 

“you don’t know the half of it.” you respond. 

satoru shakes his head. 

“i mean, i do. but i’d love to hear it from you, if…if you ever wanted to tell me?” satoru asks. 

he has that same look in his eyes. timid, expectant eyes, shy and waiting for an answer. 

“of course i would want to tell you.” you whisper. 

satoru smiles. 

“good. i’d love to hear it.” satoru responds. 

it doesn’t feel real. it doesn’t feel real that four year ago satoru kissed you in the moonlight on a horribly paved street, that you had to leave him behind on that same cobblestone four years ago, and now he’s standing in front of you – the two of you the same as before, satoru the same, maybe even better, than the way you left him. 

“what are you doing here, satoru?” you ask. 

he smiles, before reaching into his pocket, and pulling out two little pieces of paper. he hands them over to you, as you read the fine print. 

July 19th 

San Francisco Golden State Warriors versus Los Angeles Lakers 

“i’m the starting point guard for an nba basketball team. i promised you an invite to my first game.” he murmurs. 

you press the tickets close to your chest, as you give him a nod. 

“y/n. the tour bus is here!” yuki screams at the end of the hall, frantic hands waving you over, as you turn back to satoru with a pinched look. 

he smiles in response. 

“don’t worry. i’ll see you in a week.” he responds. 

--

the week that follows is agonizing. 

you scavenge every corner of the internet to find out everything about him known to the public. where he lives, what he’s been up to, what team he plays for. 

he’s the starting point guard for the lakers, his hometown team for where he’s lived for the past four years. it seems that he had made his escape from the suburbs around the same time that you had, by playing division one basketball at the university of southern california, before getting a straight bid into the nba. 

he’s the youngest starting point guard in history. he’s broken his own all time record multiple times and was one of the youngest people to get signed on with the league. 

he likes to cook. suguru made his way onto the team with him. the two of them are a dynamic duo – famous for their hilarious interviews. he’s a father. he adopted two kids that lived in his neighborhood after their dad tragically passed away – megumi and tsumiki. 

and most of all, he’s the same as you left him. because in every interview you watch, you hear the same thing. 

“satoru, which artist is on your pregame playlist?” 

“if you could go to any concert, which would it be?” 

“who do you dream to collaborate with in the future?” 

it’s the same answer every time. 

y/n l/n, of course. 

you can hear his voice in your head already. 

i knew what i wanted. and i got her. 

--

the stadium is an overstimulating amount of loud – something exacerbated by how nervous you are – as you walk down the steps to the court, stomach erupting into a nervous mess of butterflies. 

satoru gifted you courtside seats to the opening game. and if he was going to follow suit like he always did, his kids would be sitting right next to you, dead center to watch him play. 

you catch sight of his white tufts of hair at the center of the court, fans in the stands excitedly pointing at him practicing free throws with his teammates, and snapping pictures. you see a group of girls in his jersey giggling at the side, zooming in to take photos and loudly talking about how hot he looked when he pushed his hair back with a headband during the game. 

girls on twitter loved the headband. it seemed that among most things, one thing never changed – how much people adored satoru. 

as you get closer to the lights, you can tell that people notice your attendance, hushed whispers and pointed fingers at you as you make your way down to the waxed court, your shoes clicking on the wood, as you walk over to your seat. 

you hope satoru doesn’t think it’s too forward that you decided to wear his jersey – with his last name spelled out on the back – as you take a seat. 

you wipe your sweaty hands on the pleats of your white tennis skirt, fiddling with the beaded bracelet on your hands, as one of satoru’s teammates eyes widen at the sight of you, before they all but run over to smack him across the shoulder. 

satoru looks over at you, giving you a soft smile, as he drops the ball and starts making strides over to where you’re sitting. you can feel your cheeks burning as you stand up, waiting for him to fully approach and he does the same thing he used to – wrapping his hands around your wrists as he leans forward, the smallest sheen of sweat on his forehead. 

“i’d hug you, but i’m a little gross right now, brainiac.” he murmurs. 

you shake your head. 

“no problem. these are nice seats.” 

he smiles. 

“i’d let you bring a friend, but i had to save –” 

“the other two tickets for your kids. megumi and tsumiki. they’re your neighbor's kids, who you adopted after their dad passed away.” you finish. 

satoru widens his eyes, before poking his tongue in the side of his cheek, and giving you a grin. 

“did your research, did you?” 

you shrug. 

“i did. but i’d love to hear about it, if you’ll tell me...” you respond. 

satoru laughs. 

“tsumiki is a really big fan. megumi doesn’t believe me when i said that you and i used to date, but he doesn’t believe anything i say anyways. they’re my favorite people in the world. and i love to make dad jokes.” satoru responds. 

you smile. of course he does. 

“i’m excited to meet them. i’ll give tsumiki a whole personal concert. signed cds or vinyls, whatever you want.” you state. 

“i’d withhold that for now. i think she’s going to have a heart attack from excitement all at once when she realizes daddy is dating her idol.” 

you feel like you’re in high school. you feel like it’s thursday after lunch and satoru’s walking you to class, making jokes about how the two of you are going to end up together. saying you’re troy and gabriella, about how no one will understand each other like you, about how you’re going to be at the halftime show performance at his championship game. 

“one last thing.” satoru states. 

“what’s that?” 

he reaches into the pocket of his shorts, procuring a set of blue earplugs and placing them in the palm of your hand. 

“i remember you hate how loud it can get. and this is going to be ten times worse than our shitty school gym, so wear these.” satoru states. 

you can’t help but frown at the thoughtfulness, looking back up at the bright smile he’s giving you, before squeezing his hand. satoru leans forward and pinches the softness of your cheek, before running back to the center of the court and practicing with the team. 

you can tell that some of them are jeering at him – giggling behind him as he shoots from different parts of the court, and you memorize the permanent smile that seems to be etched on to his face. suguru gives you a wave, before blowing you a kiss, which earns him a hard shove from satoru on the court. 

--

two months later, the two of you follow the same routine. satoru travels around the country for his games. you do the same for your tours – and whenever the cities overlap, which coincidentally every week they almost do – the two of you get dinner, eat breakfast. he insists on sleeping on his couch so you can take his bed, but you convince him to stay and just share.  

satoru says the overlap is fate. you tell him that he’s ridiculous. he says that it has to be fate – that you have to be meant to be, because you get back into it just as quickly as the two of you fell into it. 

satoru tells you that he’s proud of you. your fans post videos of him at your shows – bright smiles on his face as he sings along to all of the words of your songs. you decide to surprise him at the third show he comes to, by singing his favorite song – you belong with me. you both joke about how mei mei is pissed wherever she is. 

you tell satoru that you’re proud of him too. you watch every game courtside and really, are just in awe of him as you are when you were seventeen, blue paint splattered on your cheeks as you cheer him on – the muffled sounds of the crowd in your ears. you always carry three pairs of ear plugs, the extra two for megumi and tsumiki. 

you think you love him. you think you always will. you realize that no one was ever going to have your heart like he did. 

satoru has a home game in los angeles in late august. and his manager invites you to the afterparty two minutes away from the stadium, your transportation arranged with megumi and tsumiki. 

you think they’re adorable. you think satoru is the best dad. 

at a whopping seven years old, tsumiki reminds you of satoru. full of energy and light, she talks a hundred words per minute. the second you walk into the afterparty, you watch as she beelines to the big group of people, suguru quickly picking her up as she starts chattering loudly. 

megumi’s the opposite. a little shy for his age, you swear that he squeezes your hand harder as you stand at the doorway of the crowded room. and true to satoru’s words – he really didn’t believe that you and satoru used to be friends, let alone date, but states that it must be because satoru did some black magic on you. 

he makes jokes like that all the time. 

“you okay?” you ask. 

“yeah. have you seen my dad?” he asks. 

you frown. 

“no.” 

megumi gives you a halfhearted sigh. 

“okay.” 

megumi gets nervous. the only people he feels comfortable around are satoru and tsumiki. 

“you know, your dad never changes. he used to do this to me all the time too.” you state. 

“do what?” 

“drag me to parties. it’s not really my scene.” 

megumi smiles. 

“really?” 

you nod. 

“i wouldn’t even know most of the people there. one time he took me to the birthday party of a girl who literally hated me.” 

megumi laughs. 

“of course he did. some romantic he makes himself out to be. but really, i don’t care. i just hate waiting for tsumiki to come back.” megumi states. 

you smile in response. 

“well, how about we wait in the kitchen? there’ll be less people there.” 

you tug megumi along to the kitchen, quickly lifting him to sit on the counter, as you rummage through the fridge – trying to catch your breath from whatever alternate universe you’re living in. 

you’re in satoru’s house, with all of his friends. his kids seem to like you. he scored the most points out of the game, including the winning shot with six seconds left on the scoreboard. you have no idea where he is or what you’re doing right now or – 

“hi.” 

you slam the door shut, only to find suguru getou towering over you, with a smile on his face. 

“hi.” you respond, reaching up to tuck the hair behind your ears as you take a step back. 

“it’s been a long time, girl scout.” 

you try to stifle your sigh. 

“sure has been.” you respond. 

“satoru’s really keen on hiding you away.” 

you awkwardly nod, twisting the silver rings on your hands, as you give him a smile. 

“we’re just getting to know each other, that's all.” you respond. 

suguru widens his eyes. 

“what is there to find out? you’ve known each other since you were toddlers.” suguru responds. 

you shrug. 

“i don’t know. a lot of time has passed.” you murmur. 

suguru pinches his eyes shut, in frustration. 

“you’d think that would make the two of you more eager.” he responds. 

“what do you mean?” 

“if it were me, if i felt the way the two of you obviously do, then i’d get a move on. i’d be unable to contain it.” 

you glare. 

“you don’t know how we feel. and there’s a lot on the line here.” 

suguru crosses his arms over his chest. 

“do you like him?” suguru asks. 

“what?” 

“because he loves you. basketball has always been his dream, but even more so when he realized that it would be a reason to talk to you again. he’s listened to all of your albums the second they came out, seen you perform every time you came around these parts, and cursed the hell out of every movie star asshole who has talked shit about you publicly or hurt your feelings.” suguru responds. 

you sigh. 

“i’ll ask you again. do you like him? because he. loves. you. you make him so nervous that he won’t make the first move, just like he wouldn’t when you were sixteen.” 

“of course i do. i –” 

“do i need to threaten to kiss you again?” suguru asks. 

it’s right at that second that satoru parades into the kitchen and you can tell from the way that he yanks suguru back by the year that he only heard the very end of the conversation. 

“that joke doesn’t get any funnier the fifth time you say it.” satoru seethes. 

“get a move on before i do, dumbass.” suguru responds, giving satoru one last shove before walking off. 

you don’t have time to think about his words, but one thought crosses your mind – that suguru might have been so insistent at that party all of those years ago, because he knew it would push something forward between the two of you. 

he sure had a strange way of being a wingman. 

at the sight of satoru, megumi’s holding his little hands out – something satoru obliges to as he picks him up – before turning over to face you. 

“do you want me to kill him?” he asks. 

you smile. 

“i know he’s just kidding.” you respond. 

satoru rolls his eyes. 

“i was kind of hoping you would say yes.” 

“did you used to date suguru too?” megumi asks. 

you widen your eyes. 

“absolutely not. just your dad, no one else.” you respond. 

“god megumi, that’s not just something that you can ask someone.” tsumiki murmurs, padding into the kitchen with pink cheeks, as she wraps her arm around your leg. 

you return the affection, reaching down to push her bangs away from her forehead, as you look back at satoru. he stares a little too long, before looking over at megumi and whispering. 

“can you and tsumiki take a walk real quick?” 

megumi gives him a nod as satoru sets him down, the two of them walking away hand in hand to the other side of the room, as satoru turns back to you, reaching forward to wrap his hands around your wrists. 

“hey.” he whispers. 

“hi.” you whisper back. 

he leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. 

“did you enjoy the game?” 

“sure did. tsumiki and i shared rainbow airheads. and megumi gave me a really big hug after you won, which almost made me cry.” you respond. 

“i’ll say. i almost cried when i saw all three of you hugging on the jumbotron.” 

you lean forward, pressing yourself against his chest, as you link your arms together behind his back. you can hear suguru’s words racing through your mind – if it were me i wouldn’t be able to contain it, do you like him? because he loves you – and it makes your skin burn. 

“hey. you okay?” satoru asks. 

you say the only thing that you can think of. 

“yeah. i’m just…really happy..” you whisper. 

satoru pinches your cheek.

“me too.” he responds.  

“ever since i left, my life has changed, so drastically, so quickly. i went from being a girl from a small suburb in new york to being someone that…that a lot of people knew about. wanted to know about. sometimes this stuff makes me feel like i’m not really that person anymore.” 

you pause. 

“but every time you look at me i can…i do feel like that again. like someone who was in high school, who hated school dances, and did the morning announcements. someone who loved you. who was with you.” 

you sigh. 

“no one’s ever had me like you. i don’t know if you’re joking when you say it, but it really is fate. you really are….are my soulmate or my invisible string or whatever. you…you’re it for me.” 

satoru lets go of your wrists, before reaching for the closest cupboard and reaching for a bottle, and placing it flat on the floor. he’s crouching on his knees, your chest so full of love you can barely stomach it, as he gestures for you to crouch on the floor close to him, his cheeks pink in the light. 

you watch as he spins the bottle, only for it to miss and land on the fridge. 

“you’ve got to be fucking kidding me...” satoru responds. 

he reaches forward, twisting the bottle so it faces you, before looking at you expectantly. the same way he looked every other time – waiting for you to tell him what your dream job was, waiting for you to kiss him, and now waiting for you to confess for a second time. 

“are you going to kiss me, y/n?” 

you whisper it against his lips. 

“guess what?” 

“what?” 

“i knew what i wanted. and i got him.” 

--

an: our very first ttpd gojo as taylor <3 this post was sponsored by @yuutito, @neptuneblue, and @um-no-ok through my participation in fics for gaza! thank you so much for donating - I hope you liked the piece!!! i went a little bit over the promised wordcount as I started writing, but left it as is to be posted since we met the goal. a reminder that i'm still taking submissions for my wips (i'll be putting a new one up) and for requests!

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[lunargrrrl]

Lights, Camera, Magic

Agatha Harkness sits in the director's chair of some of your favourite movies. Your world suddenly turns upside down when you're invited to audition for her latest screenplay, "Witching Hour".

Chapter 16

director!agatha harkness x fem!reader | slow burn | power dynamics | eventual smut | oh and agatha is a top in this, ofc | praise kink | smut | thank you all for your patience | i'm really bad at posting on tumblr

Dinner is served in a grand dining room, with elegant chandeliers casting a golden glow over the tables. Soft jazz plays in the background, mingling with the clinks of silverware and chatter. You glance at the set name placeholders, realising you’re seated slightly away from Agatha, opposite her and a few seats down, next to none other than Rio Vidal—the captivating woman you encountered on the roof terrace just moments ago. She exudes confidence in a tailored dark grey suit that perfectly complements her striking features and cool energy.

“I'm really glad I’m sitting next to you instead of some of these lizards,” Rio says, her voice light. “At least you know how to keep a conversation interesting. The last guy I talked to just wouldn’t stop bragging about his latest blockbuster flop.”

You chuckle. “I can imagine. It’s refreshing to talk to someone who’s real. I’m just trying to enjoy the moment and not get caught up in all the Hollywood nonsense. It’s all just… so intense.”

Rio nods. “Totally get that. It can feel like everyone’s just playing a part, trying to outshine one another. I mean, I love this industry, but sometimes it’s exhausting.” She glances around the room, lowering her voice. “I swear, if I have to hear one more person talk about their ‘vision’ for a film that’s been in development hell for years, I might just lose it.”

You laugh softly in reply as she leans in closer, a playful smile on her lips. “So, tell me, what do you do when you’re not charming the socks off everyone in this room?”

You take a sip of your drink, feeling the warmth of her compliment. “Well, the past year has just been so crazy, I don’t even know anymore. One minute, I was working for some tech company in my first job out of college, and the next, I’m here, auditioning for movies after some guy spotted me in a coffee shop. It feels like a dream that I’m just trying to keep up with.”

Rio raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Talk about a plot twist. Honestly, I see why someone would want to scout you. It’s no wonder people can’t help but notice you.”

You laugh, feeling a flutter of connection. As dinner progresses, the conversation flows easily, filled with laughter and shared stories. As you chat, you can feel Agatha's gaze on you from across the table, her expression a mix of interest and something else—jealous, perhaps. 

That familiar, possessive gaze that refuses to leave.

-*-✨-*-

Dinner draws to a close as the servers begin to prepare the table for dessert. Rio is mid-story when her hand brushes against yours as she gestures animatedly. “And then I told him, ‘If you think that’s impressive, wait until you see my next project!’” she finishes, a grin on her lips.

You burst into laughter, and the moment is light. Friendly. But then, you catch Agatha’s eyes flicking toward you, narrowing as she engages with the heavyweight next to her, flashing a smile that feels a touch too flirtatious for comfort.

You try to shake off the discomfort, refocusing on Rio. “So, what’s next for you? Tell me about that project you’re crewing up for next year?”

“Oh yeah, it’s a new script that I think will turn some heads, I reckon you’d be a perfect fit for one of the roles,” Rio replies, her enthusiasm infectious. “It’s a dark comedy about—”

But your attention drifts as you catch another glimpse of Agatha, who is now leaning a bit too close to her companion, laughing a little too hard at something they say. Her fingers graze their wrist, and you feel a knot of annoyance tighten in your stomach.

You turn back to Rio, forcing a smile. “That sounds amazing...”

As you attempt to redirect the conversation, Agatha’s laughter rings out again, this time drawing out her iconic cackle, and you feel the heat of frustration bubble up inside you. You steal another glance at her, catching her playing with the producer’s fingers, and that’s it.

“Excuse me for a second...” you mutter under your breath, pushing back your chair with a noise that draws attention. You stand abruptly, not caring if anyone is looking, and storm away from the table, the air around you suddenly feeling too stifling.

As you pace towards the exit, the soft murmur of conversation behind you fades, drowned out by the thudding of your heart in your chest. You reach the elevator, and the doors begin to slide shut just as you take a breath to steady yourself.

And the second that the doors almost close, is the same second that a hand shoots out, catching the door and forcing it back open.

Agatha.

Your mouth goes dry, and your heart skips, responding to her presence like clockwork.

“Going somewhere?” she asks, her voice smooth as silk, laced with an undertone that makes your pulse quicken.

“I just needed some air,” you reply, trying to sound casual, but the way she’s looking at you makes it impossible to hide the tremor in your voice.

“Air?” she echoes, stepping closer, her gaze steady and piercing. “Why? You seemed pretty… relaxed out there with Rio.”

Frustration bubbles up inside you, and you do your best to hold your composure. “And what about you? I saw you flirting with that producer all dinner.”

Agatha tilts her head, an amused smile dancing on her lips. “Flirting? Hardly. I was simply being professional, and sometimes you need to play into their hands in this industry.” Her expression furrows as she steps even closer, the air between you thick with electricity. “But I’ll admit, it’s adorable how you think you can tease me and get away with it, pet.”

She continues, leaning in, “Two can play at this game, sweetheart. Do you think I didn’t notice the way she looked at you? I think you were forgetting who you belong to.”

Your breath hitches at her words, the possessive undertone igniting within you. “Well, maybe I’m not so easy to claim.”

“Oh, but I think you are.” She steps closer, closing the space between you, “You just need a little reminder.”

Before you can respond, Agatha closes the distance between you with one swift, powerful motion, slamming you against the wall of the elevator. The cool metal presses against your back, causing you to gasp.

“Agatha…” you breathe, but she silences you with her lips, crashing into you with a fervour that ignites every nerve ending in your body. The kiss is urgent and demanding, her hands framing your face as she tilts your head to deepen the connection. You melt against her, responding with equal intensity, the frustration and heat of the moment fuelling your desire.

You gasp helplessly into her hot mouth as she brushes her tongue against yours, igniting a wildfire of longing that tears through you. Her kiss is a heady mix of passion and desperation, each sweep of her tongue sends shivers shaking all over you. You feel her breath hot and rapid against your skin, mixing with the soft sighs that escape from your lips.

Every second stretches into eternity as you lose yourself in her, the world outside the elevator fading into darkness. You explore the intoxicating taste of her lips, rich with the hint of the champagne you shared; the overwhelming strength of her hold wraps around you like a spell. You run your hands up her blazer, your fingers reaching and tangling in her long brown hair, pulling her even closer.

You want to surrender yourself to her completely.

A soft moan escapes your mouth, echoing in the confined space, and Agatha responds immediately, deepening the kiss. It’s as if she craves the sound, as if every whimper from your lips is a reward she cannot resist. Her mouth captures every ounce of your breath, each kiss a sweet torment that leaves you aching for more. She pulls your bottom lip into her mouth, teasingly grazing it with her teeth, sending a rush pooling through you that makes you whimper louder.

And the second that sound slips past your lips, is the same second that Agatha can’t contain the low, throaty sigh that escapes her.

Time seems to compress, each heartbeat reverberating in your chest, leaving you breathless and aching for more, as if every inch of you is ablaze—and only Agatha has the power to quell the flames.

And then, without a word, she reaches into her pocket, retrieving a sleek hotel key card. You manage to catch a glimpse of what it swipes on the elevator panel:

Penthouse Suite

Your breath catches.

Your heart thuds.

Every inch of you pulses at the implication.

Breaking the kiss once more, Agatha pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, her expression a mix of possessiveness and desire.

“It’s time to show you who you really belong to.”

Continue reading on AO3:

[midnighthazee]

Greenridge ABO Series

a/n: I'm sorry if the pace of this story is slower. Most ABO fics I've read have the person of trauma acting totally normal and comfortable after like a day or two with the new pack. I wanted to have a more realistic approach where she gradually warms up to them. :/

Series Masterlist Masterlist

Warnings: angsty, explicit language, mentions of past abuse/neglect, fear, name calling, violence

WC: 4122

Chapter 5

It was the next day when you woke up. Doctor Quinn had brought you some clothes yesterday so you decided to shower and get dressed in one of the outfits. They were a little big, but you didn’t mind. Afterwards, you made your way downstairs and Felix was quick to ask you if you wanted to watch more Harry Potter. You nodded, but Changbin insisted you eat some breakfast first.

There was another spread on the kitchen island and you filled your plate the same as yesterday’s. The food was so good and you wanted to eat more but your stomach was full. Hyunjin had joined you and Changbin for breakfast, clearing your dishes for you when you were done.

“Thank you.” you muttered.

“Anytime.” Hyunjin flashed that cute smile of his and you looked away blushing.

Felix ushered you over eagerly, the movie already queued up. You went to sit but Jisung scooted away from Felix and patted the couch between them.

“Sit here.” He smiled.

You hesitated, not wanting to be trapped between two of them. 

“We don’t bite.” Felix chuckled.

“Don’t lie to her.” Changbin called from the dining table.

Your eyes grew wide and Jisung started laughing.

“You’re scaring her!” Felix glared at Changbin before reassuring you. “We won’t bite you.” 

 Swallowing, you cautiously sit on the couch between Felix and Jisung. Felix hits play on the movie and soon you were too into what was going on to worry about what Changbin had said. 

The three of you decided on a marathon for the day. Hyunjin joined too, his sketchbook in hand. You watched as his hand moved the pencil across the paper in calculated strokes. You couldn’t see what he was drawing, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious what it could be.

“Hyunjin is our artist. Painting, drawing…he does it all. And he’s so talented. That art up there on the wall, he painted that.” Jisung pointed to the right hand wall.

You looked over at the canvas displayed, admiring the art. It was abstract with dark colors, a pop of red mixed in. You didn’t fully understand it but it was still beautiful. 

Meanwhile, Felix was too distracted by his phone as the movie played. He leaned over, showing you his screen and insisting he has to buy you merch for your house so you can represent. You didn’t really understand why you would need it but he was too cute when he was excited so you didn’t object.

A couple hours passed as you binged the movies. Most of the others were all scattered doing their own thing or working. Chan surprisingly wasn’t working. Instead, he was fixing himself a snack in the kitchen. He kept an eye on you, making sure the boys didn’t get too rowdy near you. Last thing he wanted was for them to spook you.

“Y/n, you hungry?” Chan asked.

You shook your head.

“You sure? You had a small breakfast.” Chan frowned.

You nod.

“You need to eat more, y/n” Hyunjin says, mouth full of popcorn.

“Just wait until you start working out with me.” Changbin smirks.

Your eyes widen.

“Yeah, we gotta get you in shape girl. That way you can fight back and hold your own.” Changbin nods, sipping the smoothie he made. He offered you some but you just shook your head.

The idea of not being so weak was appealing. Maybe you could even get strong enough to kick Hayes or Milo’s ass.

The doorbell rang, interrupting your thoughts, and you wondered if it was the Doctor here to check up on you again. Didn’t she say in a few days?

Chan hopped off the arm of the couch and disappeared behind the stairs to answer it. You listened in, hearing him open the door.

“Hello. Can I help you guys?” he asked.

“Hopefully. We are looking for a lost member of our pack. We believe she got injured and wasn’t able to make it home last night.”

You froze.

You’d recognize that voice anywhere. It was Hayes. Crap. They found you. The blood drained from your face, heart pounding in your ears. You felt like you were gonna be sick. Feeling a hand on your arm, you flinched hard.

“It’s okay. It’s just me.” Felix pulled his hand away.

“What’s wrong?” Jisung whispered.

Changbin looked at his phone, only to abruptly stand up. He came over to you and slung you over his shoulder before you could get away. He moved quickly, getting you outside and on the back deck. You squirmed in his hold, praying he wasn’t giving you back to your old pack. You wanted to scream, but then that would alert Hayes. When you got outside, the fresh air hit you and you stopped fighting. He put you down and gestured to everyone to come outside as they sat on the couch staring in bewilderment. 

Minho heard the doorbell and listened out to see who it was. When he heard the man at the door say he was looking for a lost pack member, he knew who. He immediately texted in the group chat to get you away from the front door and out of sight. Then he made his way down the stairs, ready for a fight if it came to that.

Changbin had been the only one who saw the message and moved quickly. He could see you were frozen in fear and had to act fast. When everyone came outside, Changbin explained, the pack growing tense. You had squatted down behind the group, shaking and hugging your knees to your chest.

Minho was next to Chan, listening in on the conversation. Both Hayes and Milo were here, looking angrily at them.

“There’s nowhere else she could have disappeared to.” Hayes argued.

“I don’t know what to tell you man. She’s not here.” Chan insisted.

Hayes, growing tired of dealing with the “drama” you cause, forces himself into the house. Milo pushes against Minho, instantly regretting it as he gets knocked back down to the ground. Minho then saw at least ten others approaching from the driveway. He shut the door and locked it before coming over to pin the intruder down so Chan could deal with him.

The door swung open, nearly falling off the hinges as the wood splintered. One of them had kicked it open. Minho looked up to see Alpha Lewis.

“Find the girl.” he seethed.

His goons spread around the house, Minho fighting a few of them.

“Hayes, this one is mine. Find that little bitch and bring her to me.” Lewis said.

You watched from the window, Changbin standing in front of you. The others moved into the house to fight off the intruders and keep them from you. It wasn’t until Hayes saw you, that you knew you were done for. He would kill anyone that gets in his way.

You were shaking as Changbin took a defensive stance, fists bawled and ready to throw a punch as soon as Hayes gets close enough.

“Finally have someone standing up for you? I’m impressed.” Hayes stepped outside onto the deck. 

You don’t say anything.

“You’re not taking her so fuck off.” Changbin growled.

“That bitch belongs to us. Not you.” Hayes gritted through his teeth.

Changbin lunged at him, catching his jaw with a right hook. Hayes stumbled, wiping his lip and seeing blood on his finger. He chuckled.

“That’s the only one you’ll get.” Hayes taunted.

They began fighting and you scooted back, afraid of all the growling and punching. This was all your fault. You brought them here. And now these innocent people were getting hurt. Maybe you should go back…

You look inside and see Lewis with his foot on Chan’s chest as he smirked down at him. The world was slowing and yet it felt as if everything was happening too fast. It made you feel sick. You had to do something. But what?

Lewis lifted his leg and, with force, slammed it down-

You jolted awake with a scream. Sweat on your forehead, you looked around to see yourself in a bedroom - your bedroom. Light trickled in from the bathroom where you left it on, illuminating your surroundings. You place your hand on your chest as you try to catch your breath. What time is it? You look at the nightstand and the clock’s LED lights tell you it’s 3:25 am. Your door opens slowly and you look up.

“Hey…you okay?” It was Seungmin. “I heard you scream.”

You nodded.

Seungmin slipped in, closing the door behind him. He made his way over to the side of your bed. “Bad dream?”

You nod, running your fingers over the comforter absentmindedly.

“You ever going to talk to us?” he asked with a little chuckle.

“Sorry.” you mumbled.

“You don’t have to apologize. I just like hearing your cute voice. I wanna hear it more.” He sat down on the edge of your bed next to you.

You look up, blushing, and see Seungmin smile. You smirk, looking down at your hands in your lap.

“I get a smile too?” Seungmin feigns shock. “I am so lucky.”

You shake your head at him, rolling your eyes.

“Want me to stay with you till you fall asleep?”

You nod but then quickly add, “Yes, please.”

Seungmin smiles as you remember to speak for him, moving over to the chair in the corner of your room. “Sweet dreams, y/n.”

You snuggle back into the bed and try to not think about the nightmare you just had. You prayed they would never find you here. 

Seungmin watched you, listening to your breathing and still elevated heartbeat. He could only imagine how bad your nightmare was, wanting to comfort you desperately. But he knew the time would eventually come when he could hold you in his arms and sleep. 

For now he just listened. It took a while but your heart rate finally slowed, your breathing steady as you slept. He was so sleepy, he ended up falling asleep to the sound of your heartbeat.

Morning came and Seungmin woke up from the light shining in through your windows. His room had a darker theme, and his curtains were always closed as night so the sun wouldn’t wake him too early. This was too bright for him. He leaned forward and found you sleeping soundly. He couldn’t help but notice the way your lips were slightly parted. They looked so kissable that it took all his resolve to not move closer to you. 

Instead, he stood quietly and snuck out of your room and back across the hall to his own. His room was dark like normal and he happily climbed back in his bed, body stiff from the chair he had slept in. Within minutes he was back asleep.

He only managed to sleep another hour before Minho woke him up and called him downstairs. Groaning, he got up and headed downstairs. Everyone else made their way downstairs as well, some already awake and some still sleeping. Hyunjin nearly ran into the wall twice since he was still half sleep.

They all gathered out on the back deck, the morning air awakening their senses. Chan had made coffee for those who wanted it, and tea for the non coffee drinkers.

“Did anyone else hear a scream last night? Or did I dream that?” Jisung asked, rubbing his eyes.

“It was y/n. She had a nightmare.” Seungmin informed as he sat down.

“What?!” Hyunjin and Changbin were awake now.

“She’s fine. I fell asleep in her room waiting for her to fall back asleep though.” Seungmin yawned.

“Morning everybody,” Chan joined everyone outside. “We need to have a discussion about y/n.”

“Is this about her nightmare?” Changbin asked.

“No.” Chan shook his head. “She’s okay though, Seungmin?”

“Yes. Sleeping peacefully.” Seungmin smiled.

Chan had heard her scream last night, Minho too, but when they went to check on her, they heard Seungmin in there. Chan eavesdropped outside for a bit before heading back to his own room. He worried for her too but eventually fell asleep.

“We are keeping her, right?” Jisung asked.

“She’s not a pet…” Changbin glared.

“I didn’t mean it like that….” Jisung rolled his eyes.

“She is staying with us, yes.” Chan stated. “She is a part of this pack now. We do not abandon our own. And I want to thank each of you for being on your best behavior. You guys have been very welcoming and patient with her. I can see she is slowly getting used to us and opening up.”

“I can’t wait for her to trust us enough for hugs.” Felix sipped his tea.

“She’ll get there.” Hyunjin comforted, rubbing Felix’s lower back.

“Now… Raise your hand if you feel the soulmate pull to her.” Chan looked around.

Felix shot his hand up and slowly everyone else’s hands were raised, Minho slowly raising his last.

“Wait, where’s Innie?” Chan looked around, taking a headcount.

“Must still be asleep.” Minho answered.

“Aish…I’ll get onto him later.” Chan grumbled. “Anyways, I’ve been watching everyone and I had my suspicions. Looks like she’s a rare case of an omega with multiple soulmates. I know we are all mates and we have found a way to balance and care for everyone’s needs so we will do the same with y/n. I don’t want any fighting over her, understand?”

“Yes.” They all agree in unison.

“Great. And if you’re out on the property, keep your ears open. I don’t want any surprises. If you’re outside with y/n, remember to be aware of your surroundings. Last thing we need is for her to be spotted or snatched away. Stay far from the Nyko territory.”

“Does that mean we can take her swimming in the lake?” Felix asked.

“If she wants to, I don’t see why not, Lixie.” Chan shrugged. “But don’t go alone. If you’re outside the house, one or two members with you.”

Felix clapped his hands excitedly, making Hyunjin smile and kiss his temple.

“You wanna come with us?” Felix asked Hyunjin.

“I’ll go if Hyunjin is going.” Changbin was quick to interject.

“Yah! Because of you I couldn’t walk back the last time.” Hyunjin pointed an accusatory finger.

“You found the cave. AND THEN was telling me harder...faster. So who’s fault is it really?” Changbin mocked Hyunjin’s pleas from their previous time together.

“I don’t sound like that.” Hyunjin pouted.

“You do.” Felix, Minho, and Changbin all agreed in unison.

Hyunjin sat back in his chair, arms crossed.

“Let’s get breakfast started.” Chan said before heading towards his office.

Minho and Felix got up to start working on breakfast. Jisung set the table, and got out the juice. Changbin decided to go for a quick run. Hyunjin went back upstairs, wanting to sleep more and Seungmin went to take a shower.

Meanwhile, you had woken up and stretched. You grabbed the bag of clothes from the floor and dumped them on the bed. Doctor Quinn had in fact given you clothes yesterday so you picked out an outfit and went into the bathroom to shower. 

The water was warm and soothed your muscles and joints. You took your time, lathering the soap and standing under the waterfall. Eventually you got out, looking at your reflection in the mirror. You wrapped the towel around you and took your braids down from where you pinned them up. You then reached for the moisturizer Felix said to use after your shower and applied it to your face. It wouldn’t cover the bags or small scars but you did it anyway.

Afterwards, you slipped on the clothes, tying the drawstrings as tight as you could on the pants to help them fit. The pants were a bit big but you didn’t mind. After getting dressed, you removed your hair from the braids, letting it fall in waves down your back. You adjusted the front and sides before being satisfied with your reflection. You had never seen your hair look this good - or good at all.

You take a breath, bracing yourself, and open your door. The aroma of breakfast foods hits your nose and you smile. It smelled so good it made your mouth water and your stomach grumble. You quickly hope that today isn’t like your dream as you walk down the hallway. 

You notice the young alpha also heading towards the stairs. Jeongin was walking slowly, wiping sleep from his eyes when he spotted you. His eyes went wide and you caught his scent. You froze dead in your tracks, knowing that scent all too well. It wasn’t exactly the same, having Jeongin’s own scent to it, but the base of it was the same for any male hybrid.

He took a few slow steps forward, closer to the stairs than you were. You begin to back up, studying his movements. You swear his eyes flash red and then he charges at you. You yelp, running from him. The chase only entices him more and he loses himself.

You reach your room, but before you can enter, he lunges at you. You both tumble to the ground, Jeongin pinning you down. Wow he’s fast. Terror filled every cell in your body as every previous time with the Nykos flashes in your mind. You cry out and sob, squirming underneath him.

He growls, silencing you as he pins your arms above your head. Jeongin leans forward, sniffing at your neck above your scent gland. He groans, enticed by your smell. He leans down to kiss you-

“Jeongin, NO.” a deep voice roared in the hall. 

Jeongin’s red eyes faded back to his usual dark brown but he didn’t release you. Chan and Minho were quick to grab Jeongin and pull him off of you. He fought their hold, growling. Chan growled back - an alpha growl - and pinned him to the wall. Jeongin blinked rapidly, instantly stopping all protests.

“Wha-” he panted out confused.

Felix had run up the stairs with the others when they heard your scream. Seungmin quickly threw on clothes, stepping in the hallways as they pulled Jeongin off you. Now, Hyunjin and Jisung hurry over to your body, as you’re curled up in fetal position. You shook, your eyes squeezed shut, as you tried to push the awful memories away. They reached out to help you up and you flinched, yelping.

“Seungmin.” Minho said.

He hurried over, switching places with Minho and keeping hold of Jeongin. Jeongin wasn’t fighting them, instead panting as he watched them tend to you. Minho squatted next to you, releasing calming pheromones. The shaking subsided but you didn’t open your eyes.

“We’re gonna lift you now.” Minho said in a calm voice.

Minho nodded at Hyunjin and he reached out to pick you up. He too was releasing calming pheromones and you found yourself relaxing into his touch. They brought you into your room, Hyunjin placing you on your bed while Jisung stepped inside and closed the door.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.” Jeongin sobbed, sliding down the wall as they let go of him.

“It’s okay, Innie. We know…it’s your rut instincts.” Chan comforted with a clenched jaw.

Felix was fidgeting behind Chan, biting his lip as he breathed heavily. Jeongin’s heightened smell from his rut was getting to him. He smelled so good, Felix couldn’t help but get hard despite the situation. Seungmin too was hard, but he focused with all his resolve.

“I don’t understand. It’s too early. And now she’s going to hate me.” Jeongin hid his face in his hands.

“Innie…it’s okay. Sometimes omegas can induce an earlier rut. It was bound to happen to one of us. And you’re still learning control. She will understand.” Chan moves Jeongin's hands from his face and wipes his tears.

“He’s going to have to go to the rut house while she’s here.” Minho notes.

Chan nods.

“I’ll go.” Jeongin says, standing up with drooping shoulders.

“Who do you want to go with you?” Minho asked.

“No one.” Jeongin says. 

“You’re going to need someone to help.” Seungmin reminds.

“I don’t deserve it.” Jeongin says, walking down the stairs and out the basement doors.

Chan sighs, looking to the others.

“He’ll be okay. I’ll check on him in a bit.” Minho says.

“Y/n….?” Hyunjin whispered. 

You didn’t say anything.

“Can we check you? Make sure you’re not hurt?” Jisung asks.

You don’t move.

“Innie is still learning to control himself as a new alpha. His rut makes this harder. He didn’t mean to….scare you.” Hyunjin explains, choosing his words carefully.

“I know.” you whisper.

“Are you hurt?” Jisung asks.

“No.” 

“Okay.” Jisung pouts and looks at Hyunjin, unsure what to do.

Knock, knock.

You jump, but Hyunjin instinctively rubs your back. You let him as the door opens, Chan coming in.

“Y/n? Are you okay? He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Chan rushes to your side, Hyunjin moving out of the way.

“No.” you sniffle.

“Let me see.” Chan says, lifting your arms.

“I’m fine.” you say, pulling your arms back towards your body.

“Okay. Well he won’t be in the house for a few days. So you don’t have to worry about running into him again.”

“I got him in trouble?” you question.

“No. He’s not in trouble. We have a little house on the property that we sometimes use for our ruts, if we need to be alone, or just want some privacy. He’s gonna be there until his rut is done.”

“Oh…” you sit up.

“You sure you’re okay?” Jisung asks, scanning your body for any injuries.

“Yes. I’m fine.” you say, not used to being doted on so much.

“Hungry?” Hyunjin asks. 

“No.” You say.

“Liar.” Jisung smirks. “Let’s go get breakfast.”

Reluctantly, you follow Jisung downstairs and fix yourself a plate. As you sit at the table you nibble on the food, not really wanting to eat. 

Jisung didn't push you to eat more, knowing your morning was rough. 

Hyunjin informed Chan that he would go be with Jeongin for a while, helping him and making sure he's not punishing himself. Chan nodded, thanking him for his help and telling him to take some food with him. 

Chan had wanted to have a conversation with you and all the members, informing you about the soulmate pull he knew you were feeling too. But with Jeongin and Hyunjin out for a bit, he figured he would wait. If it came up naturally, he would address it. But for now, they would just focus on making sure you’re comfortable.

Felix had come downstairs after you finished breakfast, cheeks flushed a light pink and a smile on his face. He fixed himself a plate as Seungmin came and stole a strip of bacon off it. Felix groaned, grabbing another one before sitting down. 

Changbin returned from his run and looked around.

“Everything okay?” he asked, taking in the tense atmosphere.

Jisung pulled him aside and explained what happened. Changbin was appalled and came back to the kitchen to check on you. But you weren’t there. They panicked, searching the house for you and eventually found you in your room.

“You okay? I heard what happened.” Changbin came into the room.

“I’m fine.” you mumble, wiping a few tears so he wouldn’t see.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

You looked over at him confused. “Why are you sorry?”

“I promised myself to always protect you. I’ll be like your own personal bodyguard. No one will hurt you ever again.” Changbin stated.

You smiled. “Thank you.”

“I’m going to shower. Then we are going to hang out, okay?”

“Okay.”

Changbin nodded, heading off to his room down the hall.

You were quiet the rest of the day despite having left your room to hang out with Changbin. He gave you a tour of his room and then you joined a few of the boys in the living room. You all sat watching tv for a bit, but you were hardly paying attention. 

Felix wanted to make some brownies and asked if you wanted to help. You had never been allowed to cook so you eagerly went into the kitchen with him. He taught you how to bake, Changbin and Jisung sitting at the island and chatting with you two. You didn’t say much, but enjoyed feeling like part of the conversation.

Chan came in from his office, seeing you in the kitchen and it warmed his heart. He had hoped this incident wouldn’t set back your progress of trusting them, but you continue to surprise him. 

TAGLIST:

@estella-novella @lxvxchxrlxttxbxrsx22-blog @butterflydemons @readr1221 @gaby105-skz @notevenheretbh1 @bah2004 @sinfulfic @bowsnbang @just-a-blackthorn-cookie @dreamerwasfound

Shout out to my beta for inspiring, motivating, and pushing me! @its-the-solar-system

[dira333]

diraaaa mattsun anon here!!!! 🗣️🗣️🗣️

can i please request something seijoh 4 related for your plot bun game? dealer’s choice. go hog wild. your writing’s gonna be fantastic either way!!

hello mattsun anon! How nice of you to chime in.

This is really hard, because I don't knooooooowwwww....

"Poor Iwa-chan," Oikawa teases, "I bet you'd get a girlfriend too if you tried not looking so scary all the time."

"No no," you disagree, "the girls dig it."

Mattsun snorts. "Which ones? The First-Years just run away all the time when he comes close."

"No, they just run away when they see you," Makki says, kicking your foot with his like he's doing his own version of a low-five.

"Very funny," Iwaizumi drawls, squinting at Oikawa. "And who says I can't get a girlfriend?"

"The fact that you don't have one?"

"At least I'm not just liked for my looks."

"At least I have looks people like me for."

"Guys, guys, you're both pretty," you wave a hand in between them, "but we still need to finish this group project. I'm not letting Tatsumo be first in class this year."

"Just date him," Mattsun drawls out lazily, "isn't he totally in love with you."

You pull a face as Makki snickers. Iwaizumi and Oikawa are still lost in their bickering.

-

"You know I'm a girl, right?" You ask Iwaizumi on the way home, Makki and Mattun walking ahead of you, Oikawa and his girlfriend a few steps behind.

"Yeah, why?" Iwaizumi musters you under furrowed brows.

"Just checking."

-

"There are no more chairs," Kindaichi calls out when you enter, "shall I get some more from the basement?"

"No, that would take too long," Oikawa looks like he's been waiting on all of you for hours when it had just been a few minutes. "You can just sit on the floor."

"No way, I don't want to get a UTI," you scan the room, "anyone letting me sit in their lap?"

"I volunteer Iwaizumi," Mattsun hollers.

"Yeah, strongest thighs in all Seijoh," Makki adds and although the ace blushes slightly, he nods, shoulders squared.

"Sit down," Oikawa orders immediately, "I wanna get started. Why do team meetings always take so damn long?"

"You good?" Iwaizumi asks, his mouth next to your ear.

He sounds completely unaffected. You are going to die.

-

"Would you please become my girlfriend?"

You stare down at the chocolate. Tatsumo went through all the effort of drawing your name on it with colored sugar.

"Sorry, I-" There's a noise that has you look up. Iwaizumi's at the door, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Didn't want to interrupt," he says, turning away. When you reach the door he's already out of sight.

There's no use running after him now, so you turn back, rejection already sitting on your tongue.

-

"So?" Mattsun settles in the seat on your left. "Did you confess to Iwaizumi?"

"What did he say?" Makki asks, leaning in from your right. "He looked constipated today."

"He walked in on Tatsumo confessing to me."

"Oh." Mattsun nods. "Well, maybe now he'll realize you're a girl."

You close your eyes for a moment.

"It doesn't matter," you tell them when you open your eyes again. "I've decided that I'm not staying in Japan anyway."

"You're leaving us?" Mattsun blinks, clearly surprised. "Really?"

"Yeah," you nod, fiddling with your fingers, "I just need... I just need to get away, you know?"

-

Your bags are packed and checked in, your passport sits safely in your purse and you've triple-checked that you're at the right Gate.

Nothing can go wrong now on this adventure, you're sure, even if your heart breaks a little.

But surely, on a different continent, in a different timezone, you'll find yourself. Isn't that how it always works?

Someone gets up from one of the chairs. Behind him, you spot a well-known bag, the color unmistakably Seijoh.

"Iwaizumi? What are you... Are you going to California too?"

[da-rulah]

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

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

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Word Count: 11.2k

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

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

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3 | MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He didn’t lie-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why should he try anymore? 

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

Corbin and Asher.  

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

Mary didn’t even look back, but they caught up...  

Corbin grabbed the back of his jacket and slammed him face first up against the shutters of a closed store, the metal rattling under the force. In an instant, he spun Mary around, slamming him again and holding him there.  

“You got a problem, kid?” he asked, cocky and ready for a fight. Mary struggled against his hold, trying to shove at his arms and kick at his shins.  

“Get the fuck off me, man,” he yelled. “You were in the way.” Corbin laughed condescendingly, looking back at Asher who stood there with both of their beers in his hands smirking the whole time.  

“This kid thinks he owns the sidewalk, Ash. From what I’ve heard, he belongs in the fucking gutter...” Corbin landed a fist to Mary’s gut, Mary folding up like a ball of paper as he coughed. “Maybe we’ll put him there.” 

He dragged Mary by his jacket and threw him to the ground, watching him roll around in pain until he tried to get up. Corbin raised his foot as if he were about to stomp on him, but Mary rolled to the side just in time to avoid it and instead reached out and pulled on his ankle, toppling him to the ground with a loud thud too.  

Corbin was older, heavier, but Mary was younger and nimble – quickly he straddled Corbin and started throwing punches, every ounce of anger inside him forcing his fists into Corbin’s face who was yelling at Asher to do something, to stop standing around like a fucking moron and get this ‘little shit’ off him before he ‘beat the crap outta him’. 

Before Asher could get close, Mary was being dragged off Corbin by someone else – someone in blue. Before he knew it he was being shoved against the hood of a car, his wrists clamped together in cold metal rings as the cop who’d stumbled on the scene slapped the handcuffs on him. His partner restrained Corbin just the same, slamming him on the other side of the hood.  

One of them called for another car, unwilling to shove both Mary and Corbin into the back of the same cop car lest they kill each other on their way to the station, but Mary was thrown in first, and taken in for processing.  

“Mary Goore, huh?” was the welcome he got when escorted inside by the Chief, sat behind the processing desk on a late shift. “Was only a matter of time,” he scoffed. Mary’s blood boiled at that. A few minutes later, as Mary was getting processed, another cop rolled in with Corbin in handcuffs. Immediately, Mary tried to lunge towards him, both of them hurling insults at each other while restrained.  

“Pembrook, get this kid in a fuckin’ cell to cool off!” the Chief yelled at the officer restraining Mary, who did as instructed and hauled him off to a solitary cell.  

“No, no wait! I get a phone call!” Mary said, running back up to the locked door as the officer shut it behind him.  

“You’ll get your phone call when you calm down, kid,” the officer shouted back through the door. It was at least another hour before Mary got his phone call...  

Not that it did him any good. He tried both his mother’s cell, and their motel phone – no answer. Perhaps he’d fucked up the phone when he smacked it off the side table, but still, his mother wasn’t answering her cell, probably passed out for the night.  

Mary was left alone, sat in a solitary cell with fresh bruises and cuts, until the sun had long since risen. He curled up on the bench at the back of the cell, cold and metal and uncomfortable, and barely got a wink of sleep. 

“Goore, let’s go,” he heard through the hatch in the door at God knows what time. He rolled over and sat upright, wiping the exhaustion from his face as the officer – a new one, only having just started his shift – opened the cell door. Behind him, was perhaps the only person Mary could really depend on at all. 

Forrest.  

“You can collect your things from the registration desk. Don’t find yourself back here again, kid. You got lucky, this time...”  

Mary just nodded meekly as the officer turned and walked off, the door wide open and Forrest stood there looking at him with an expression of nothing but worry.  

“Corbin got out last night, heard you were still in here. Got my parents to pull some strings,” he explained with a shrug. “Shit, Mare, you alright?”  

Forrest stepped into the cell and placed his hands on Mary’s shoulders, inspecting him. Mary just nodded again, both too exhausted and too somber to form actual words.  

“I’m gonna kick Corbin’s fuckin’ ass for this,” he grumbled. “I’ll set his eyebrows on fire in chem. He’s the worst fuckin’ lab partner anyway.” Mary huffed out a barely-there laugh at that, his shoulders shaking in Forrest’s hands.  

Forrest was a senior, like Corbin and Asher. He knew they had a reputation, always getting into shit like this but he never thought he’d see Mary heading down the same path. He was the only one who saw what Mary went through, the work he put in at the workshop, the nights he spent nursing his alcoholic mother. He’d taken him under his wing a little, made him one of the gang and tried to offer him some respite from the slurry of shit he found himself in.  

Getting the money from his parents to bail Mary out wasn’t difficult; they threw money at him like it was bird seed on the steps of a cathedral, but it was for that reason he knew loneliness just as much as Mary. On opposite ends of the spectrum financially but somehow, they shared a common ground in just how shitty their relationships with their parents were.  

It shouldn’t have been him who got Mary out of here. It didn’t matter to him who started the damn fight or why; Mary had been through enough as it was, and an outburst like this was simply a ticking time bomb. What bothered Forrest more than anything, was knowing it had to be him walking him out of that police station and not the one person Mary loved most in this world, the one who was supposed to love, protect and care for him. 

This wasn’t the last time he would collect Mary from a cell; there were more outbursts to come, more frustrations and stupid mistakes but if he had to, Forrest would be there for them all. He’d never abandon this kid who cared so deeply about people and the injustices they would face. Mary could have his rebellious phase, get it out of his system – hell, Forrest certainly did, and he wasn’t sure he was even out of it yet. But he needed someone to lean on, someone to reign him in when he started to go too far.  

That night was Mary’s rock bottom, but Forrest jumped down into the pit with him, armed with ropes and twigs, ready to build a ladder to get them both out.  

You were pacing outside the convenience store, desperately calling Forrest with your groceries in one hand, cell phone pressed tightly to your ear in the other. He didn’t pick up the first time, probably ignoring a number he didn’t know but you were getting more and more desperate. The second time you dialled, he picked up after a few rings. 

“Yello?” he answered, chipper and riding off the high of a show well played.  

“Forrest?! Oh my god, thank fuck for that. Listen, it’s me... Mary gave me your number,” you rushed out, barely intelligible at the speed you spoke.  

“Duchess?” he questioned, using the nickname the boys had seemed to settle on when they realised you weren’t going to castrate Jed for creating it. “What’s goin’ on?” 

“Mary’s... I don’t know, he said to call you! I’m at the store, he told me not to come back. Something’s wrong, Forrest... He said it wasn’t safe?” you panicked.  

“Shit...” he muttered. You heard scrambling on the end of the line, like he was getting up and grabbing a few things around him and stuffing them into a backpack. “Listen to me, you don’t go back to that apartment, okay? I’ll be there soon, one of us will call you when it’s safe. Just stay there.” 

“Forrest what’s going on?” Your voice had raised an octave in pitch, your cheeks burning from holding back tears.  

“Those guys at the bar... They know him, they’ve hated him for years and they threatened him. He just needs some back up, it’ll be alright. Just stay, okay? Promise me.” 

You wanted to promise that, but how could you stay there and not try to help Mary? If those guys had turned up at his apartment, he was outnumbered and if nothing else you could act as a distraction. You stayed quiet for a beat too long, and Forrest stopped rustling about his apartment needing to hear confirmation. He couldn’t be worrying about you too when his best friend was in danger. 

“Duchess?” he yelled into the phone.  

“Y-yeah, yeah... Sorry. I’ll stay,” you told him, still unsure if you were telling the truth.  

“Good, just wait for the call. He’ll be fine,” he assured, but the panic in his voice betrayed him too. He hung up without another word, leaving you stood in the street in the early hours of the morning, absolutely petrified for your boyfriend...  

Could you really stay put when he was just a few blocks away? When there was potentially something you could do to help him? You supposed you’d just have to... 

The door creaked as it slowly swung open, betraying Mary right from the start. If someone was in his apartment still, they’d have heard that... No doubt about it. And so, his grip on the swiss army knife tightened, and the steps he took became slower, steadier so he’d be able to plant his feet should he be ambushed.  

Stepping into his apartment, it was still dark. No lights had been turned on, just the orange glow from the street lamps outside streaming in through the windows. He listened out for any sign of movement, but nothing. To his left, nobody in the kitchen... But things were out of place, to put it lightly. Drawers hung open, cupboard doors almost ripped from their hinges. Cutlery, food and crockery lay strewn about the floor and countertops, like it had been ransacked.  

Mary proceeded with caution, noticing that the floor of his apartment was covered in his things... Records, clothes, blankets and pillows; even his tatty little guitar was on the ground in the middle of the floor, the neck broken and strings snapped. He wasn’t sure whether to feel rage or despair, but both hit him like a freight train.  

Slowly, he stepped a little further to peer around the corner that led to the bedroom and bathroom to his right, and then to his left, around the partition between the kitchen and living space. That’s when he noticed.  

A figure, sat on his couch with their back to him. He knew who it was immediately. 

Mary planted his feet, readjusting his grip on the blade in his hand. He was preparing himself for any sudden movement, every single one of his senses heightened. Should he be ambushed from another direction, he was ready.  

“Where is she?” The shadow asked, their voice low and eerily calm. Mary stood his ground; he was in no mood for games. 

“What are you doing in my apartment?” he asked, ignoring their question. The figure straightened up where they sat, no longer hunching forwards as they studied something on the coffee table. They took a deep breath, before answering with another question. 

“Where... is my daughter?” The shadow turned their head towards where Mary stood, between the outer wall of his bathroom and the entryway to his kitchen. The street lighting gave just enough of itself to illuminate the stark features of the man in front of him, the hardened glare pointed his way.  

The Mayor. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mary lied, without much conviction at all but he already knew there was no point. But he wasn’t giving him any information. He could go fuck himself. 

The Mayor cracked a grin; a sadistic little grin, as if he were some kind of comic book villain spoiling for a fight. “Now I know that ain’t true, so you’re gonna tell me where she is, I’m gonna go get her, and I’m gonna deal with you later.”  

“I don't know where she is,” Mary spat, his resentment and hatred for this snake barely contained. 

The Mayor sighed dramatically, slapping his hands to his knees and standing up. He turned towards Mary then, folding his arms across his chest. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, top button undone now he was technically off the clock. But he still wore his expensive suit, save for tie and blazer, as if it would intimidate Mary somehow.  

“Should have expected this from you, Mary,” he chuckled, “Defiance. Attitude. Even coming in here with a damn weapon.” He nodded towards the swiss army knife in Mary’s ever tightening grip.  

“Someone broke into my apartment. Gotta defend myself,” he stated plainly.  

“Nah,” the Mayor scoffed, “it was only a matter of time before you got yourself in trouble again. Cops of this town were always too good to you, lettin’ you off too easy.” 

As if Mary had ever done anything to hurt anybody... Sure he’d been picked up a handful of times for graffiti, or destruction of public property, that one fight with Corbin and Asher – which technically, he didn’t start... But Mary stayed quiet, staring at the threat in front of him just waiting for him to try something. 

“You know,” he started, turning back to the coffee table, “maybe I’m forgetting my manners, huh? Maybe we should catch up first?” He bent down, picking something up from the table and turning back. In his hands, was the photo frame Mary kept on his windowsill...  

The Mayor looked down at it, studying it with a smirk. “She always was a looker, huh? How’s she doing these days?” 

Mary saw red, desperately fighting every instinct in his body that wanted nothing more than to tear into this vile man, rip him limb from limb and cast him to the wolves. His already injured knuckles turned white, the wounds splitting back open as his fists balled up tighter, the handle of the blade in his right hand digging painfully into his palm. But he stayed grounded. He would not make the first move. 

“Get the fuck outta my apartment,” Mary warned. The Mayor was testing his patience, and it had already snapped once tonight.  

“I’m not leaving until you tell me where my daughter is.” His smirk dropped, along with the frame in his hands. He disregarded it without a care in the world, letting the glass crack as it hit the ground with a thud. Mary winced at the sound. 

“Wouldn’t tell you if I knew,” he lied. He was adamant he would never tell him where you were, never give you up if he beat him into a pile of broken bones. You’d been free of him for less than a week, but already you’d come out of your shell so much, found yourself. How could he ever put you back in the box they’d kept you in all those years? 

“Do you think you’re good for my daughter, hm?” the Mayor took a step closer, “You think she’d want someone like you?”  

Mary ignored him. He had to. This was just a manipulation tactic, something to throw him off and degrade him like everybody always had.  

“You’re the scum of this town, Goore. Everybody knows it.” He stepped closer again, circling Mary with slow and calculated steps like a panther on the hunt. “You, and your drunken whore of a mother, your deadbeat father... You were fucking destined for the gutter.”  

Mary watched him as he came to stand in front of him again, just a little taller than Mary but puffing his chest out as if to intimidate him. Mary stayed painfully still, grinding his teeth in rage. One wrong move, he was poised and ready to defend himself.  

“You think you know me... You don’t know shit,” he taunted, “But I know you...” 

“Oh-ho-ho," the Mayor laughed, “You do, do you? This should be good.” 

“Yeah... I know you’re a filthy letch who takes everything from good, honest people and lines his pockets with it.” Mary was getting cocky now, arching his eyebrow and tilting his chin up in defiance as a sadistic little smile crossed his split lip. “I know you used to be a good guy, once upon a time. Beautiful family, on top of the world...”  

The Mayor barely reacted, pushing his tongue into his cheek and looking down at Mary with the same arrogance he always exuded.  

“I know you trapped your perfect little wife up in your ivory fuckin’ tower while you flashed your shit about town like a damn Kennedy brother...” 

The Mayor’s eyes darkened. Now Mary was getting to him. 

“I know you trained your precious little girl like a damn puppy her whole life, only to have her grow up to resent every little fuckin’ thing about you...”  

Mary was about to cross a line. He was about to say something just to get a rise out of him, just to make him snap. He’d never talk about you like this and mean it, but for all the pain and misery this man had caused people through the years, he deserved something that cut him to the bone. 

“You repelled her so much that she crawled out of her pink, frilly cage... and spread her fuckin’ legs to the town scum...” Mary laughed, smug and satisfied when he saw the way the Mayor’s hands tightened around his biceps, his nose wrinkling in disgust.  

Mary took a step closer to him – a stupid move, but he was oozing cockiness, no longer thinking clearly and only wanting to cause as much fucking damage to this prick’s ego as he damn well could. He knew it would turn his stomach to know his daughter was friends with Mary, let alone willingly fucking him.  

Mary looked the Mayor up and down, smirking with barely contained glee as he leaned into him to deliver the final blow. 

“She calls me daddy now...” he whispered, staring directly into his eyes with an impish sparkle in his own.  

The Mayor’s eyes raked over Mary, sizing him up, looking him up and down while he chewed on his cheek, the disgust on his face twisting and morphing into a vile expression of hatred. Before Mary knew what was happening, the blade in his fist was knocked clear across the room, his balance thrown off as two large hands wrapped around his throat. He was spun around and pushed backwards into the small kitchen space, tripping over the mess left there as he tried desperately to fight the power of the much older, much bigger man attacking him.  

Soon enough his lower back was being slammed into the edge of a counter, the thumbs of the hands around his throat pressing down on his airways while Mary did what he could to fight back, clawing and scratching at the Mayor. 

It was getting harder and harder to breathe, spots starting to flicker across his vision as that murderous glare stared back at him. The thought briefly crossed Mary’s mind that he might not stop... Once he was rendered unconscious, there was nothing to stop him from taking the life he’d worked so hard to rebuild over and over again away from him. Just as he’d found a semblance of happiness, too... The Mayor was going to take it all away from him. Again. 

The Mayor’s grip adjusted to just one hand tightening around his throat, the other pulling back and coming crashing down on Mary’s cheek with a blow that reopened old wounds of the evening. Mary was going to lose this fight, there was no contest. Blow after blow landed to his face as the Mayor squeezed the life out of him... 

“Daddy!”  

The Mayor snapped out of his trance, his head whipping behind him with his fist pulled back in preparation for another strike, the other still choking Mary. You looked on in pure horror at what you’d walked into... You had expected to come back to a dangerous situation, but not one that included the attempted murder of your boyfriend at the hands of your own father.  

With the Mayor’s attention on you, however brief, Mary took advantage and lifted his foot to push at the Mayor’s hip quickly, twisting him just enough that he lost his grip on him, and Mary fell to the floor in a heap, coughing and spluttering as the oxygen rushed back into his lungs. It was all too much all at once, the sudden rush of blood back to his head and the pain of the punches hitting him at the same time and he rolled and writhed on the floor as he tried to regain control of his body. But the spasms continued, and he could barely see nor hear anything while he squirmed at the Mayor’s feet.  

You rushed into the kitchen, attempting to bypass your father and to immediately help Mary but you were stopped, a hand wrapped tightly around your bicep and attempting to drag you away. Of course, you fought back, smacking at your father’s chest and kicking at him as if it would help.  

“Let go! Get the fuck off of me! GET OFF!” you screamed over and over, hoping someone might hear from another apartment and come to your aid. 

“You forget your place, girl,” your father snarled, barely affected by you beating at him. You managed to wrench your arm free of his grip and take a step back, your father’s attention on you and you alone while Mary still coughed on the floor, almost vomiting with the way his chest heaved.  

“If you think it’s with you, you’re sorely fucking mistaken,” you growled. “What the hell are you doing?”  

“Teaching this little fucker a lesson in manners,” he spat, pointing down at Mary who spat a glob of red tinted spit to the floor – a biproduct of the hits to the face he had taken. He’d regained enough composure to sit himself upright against the cupboard, letting his head hit the wood as he glared up at your father, chest still heaving. 

Only now did your father take a good look at you, seeing how different you looked in a short denim skirt, a fishnet top, the make-up you’d chosen to wear over what you had always been told to. Once again, his expression clouded into disgust. 

“What has he done to you?” he asked, looking you up and down.  

“Him? You think I’d jump from a life where I’m controlled by a man into another one?” you shrieked. Your father pretended not to hear you, instead leaning down to quickly grab Mary by his shirt and heave him to his feet, holding him against the cabinets again. Mary didn’t fight back; he couldn’t. He was still in too much pain, his body not responding to his commands.  

“You take my daughter from me, and dress her up like one of your scummy little whores?” he screamed into Mary’s face while all he could do was wince and squeeze his eyes shut, trying to steady the swimming sensation in his head.  

You rushed towards them, pushing at your father until you could weave yourself between the two of them. Mary barely kept himself upright against the counter, but you reached a hand behind you anyway, securing it in his and holding it tightly against your back.  

“Don’t you fucking touch him,” you warned.  

“You wanna protect this little shit? Why? You think you love him?” your father mocked, scoffing at the mere thought of it. “I couldn’t quite believe it when I finally got it out of your mother... As soon as she told me she saw you get into a shitty black van, I fucking knew... I thought ‘no, no way my little girl is that fucking stupid’. Of all the decent guys in this town, you choose this?” 

The anger you felt as he berated you, insulting not only Mary but you and your intelligence too... You had no time to be angry at your mother, knowing what your father was like and how he could manipulate anybody to get what he wanted out of them. All of your energy was directed into protecting Mary, standing between him and your father and proving to them both you weren’t backing down. Gone were the days of obeying and staying in your lane. If Mary had taught you anything in your short time together, it was that you could be yourself and stand up for what you believe in unapologetically. And you believed in Mary... 

“He’s a better man than you give him credit for,” you seethed, squeezing his hand behind your back. Your father laughed maniacally at you, throwing his head back and pinching the bridge of his nose.  

“Really? This little shit? If you think he’s any good for you, you’re dumber than I ever imagined. You come from a good, respectable family. This whole fucking town knows me, loves me, and all I ever did was give you everything you ever wanted on a silver platter... But you throw it back in my face?” he argued, throwing his hands around as he yelled. But you stood your ground. “You know where he comes from, right? Deadbeat fucking dad who drank and gambled his money away. A whore of a mother who also drank herself into a permanent hospital bed?” 

“You’d... know all about that, w-wouldn't you?” Mary struggled to speak through laboured breaths from behind you, hunched over but pushing up on the counter to stand upright.  

Your father’s head snapped back to glare at Mary. “Excuse me?” 

You felt a change in the air, notably in your father’s demeanour. His eyes had widened, and he seemed to freeze in place, waiting for Mary to speak again while he caught his breath and used his strength to stand properly behind you. He kept hold of your hand, squeezing it tightly but once he stood up, he used his free hand to steady himself on your waist; both protectively and for stability.  

“You... you think you have a right to judge... my mother? After what you did?” he asked rhetorically, which only confused you. Your brow creased and you turned your head to look back at Mary.  

“What are you talking about?” you asked softly, trying to make sense of what he was saying. He tore his eyes from your father to glance at you, offering you a look of apology laced with fear as if he were apologising for what you were about to hear... When he looked back at your father, your eyes followed to see that same wide-eyed expression. “What did you do?” 

“You gonna tell her, or should I?” Mary’s voice was a warning, but still, your father remained silent. If he wasn’t going to tell you what the hell was going on, you’d just let Mary. Someone needed to say something, and quickly, before you lost your cool again.  

“Tell me,” you ordered them both, but still you directed your glare at your father.  

“Yeah why don’t we tell her, hm?” Mary’s voice had grown a little stronger, recovered from the hands that had squeezed his neck for almost too long. Adrenaline was kicking in, numbing the pain in his head from the beatings and giving him the strength to get angry, to challenge the Grand High Mayor.  

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he defied. Mary just scoffed.  

“You tricked my mother, and took everything from her...” he spat. You looked back at Mary, confused and shocked. Your father just stood in silence, glaring.  

“How?” you asked, “Tell me everything. Now.” 

“You won’t like this...” he warned, never breaking eye contact to look at you.  

“I don’t fucking care, Mary. Tell me.” 

He took a moment, forcing a steadying breath to calm the rising nerves. He’d never wanted you to hear this, fearing it might just devastate you to know who exactly your father was, the kind of man he could be, and what he was capable of. You hadn’t needed to find this out, but this had all gone too far. He wanted nothing more than to pull the rug from under the Mayor’s feet, to make sure he knew that Mary knew everything, that he needed to be very fucking careful this secret never got out. Mary had him in checkmate, holding the secret in until someone came along who would hear him and believe him – someone with a higher standing in the town than himself and his friends.  

“My mom got clean when I was 15,” he began, “She’d stopped drinking, got herself a job that could keep us going while I was in school, and still working for Mr. Rogers on the weekends. We were living out in the Oak Ridge apartment complexes, and we were doing alright.” 

“Then in came a man in a dapper suit with a briefcase and a fuckin’ God complex, who convinced the landlords to sell up so he could flatten the building and build office blocks instead. He fucked over all the residents, all hard-working people, by flashing compensation to the landlords who just handed out eviction notices. But my mom owned our shitty little apartment outright. She’d just managed to club together the money for the deposit, to get herself a mortgage and have a place that was just ours. She wanted stability, and she didn’t want to sell up. She was the last one who refused...”  

Your father’s eye twitched as he readjusted his stance, like suddenly he was incredibly uncomfortable. “You don’t actually believe this fucking scumbag, do you?” he asked you, interrupting Mary.  

“Shut the fuck up,” you snapped, and miraculously, he did just that.  

“So he... He charmed her. He bought her pretty things, took her to fancy places out of town, told her everything she’d ever wanted to hear... He told her he loved her,” Mary’s voice cracked at that, at the hurt of somebody lying to his mother when that had been all she’d ever wanted, “He seduced her, and told her he’d run away with her and give her the life she’d always wanted with him... if she’d just... sign on the dotted line...”  

You felt sick to your stomach. Not only had he taken advantage of Mary’s mom, their situation, all for his own gain, but he’d cheated on your mother, gone behind his own family’s back to manipulate a damaged but healing woman and ruin her life. Your head span with overwhelm, purely disgusted by what you were hearing. You knew your father wasn’t a good man, but you had no idea he was such a monster... 

“When she signed the deed over, he dropped her and left us both on the streets. He left us with nothing; no money, no home. We had to move into the Quartz motel, and she was heartbroken. She started drinking again, more and more because of what YOU did,” Mary snarled at him, pointing his finger as he raised his voice. “She was too depressed to get back up again, and I had to pick up the pieces. I had to quit school, work full time and give everything up when I was fucking 16 years old just to keep us afloat. She never recovered, and it didn’t matter when I got us this shitty little apartment and finally moved us outta the Quartz, her body gave up.” 

Mary pushed you to one side in his rage and stepped up to your father. You stumbled and caught yourself on the counter, too stunned to do or say anything about it as the truth sunk in. Mary got in his face again, pointing his finger directly at him and screamed, “It’s because of YOU she almost fuckin’ DIED. You piece of SHIT! YOU AS GOOD AS KILLED HER!” Mary slapped his hand against your father’s chest, who just stood there and took it, glaring at Mary as if he were still that same kid.  

You shook yourself from your own little trance and pulled Mary back to you by his arm, turning your back on your father and holding Mary’s cheeks to soothe him, to calm him down as he broke down at the truth. Mary stood there and sobbed, letting you wipe the tears as you shushed him, whispering apologies to him as if any of this had been your fault. But your heart broke for him...  

How could your father have ever been that callous? You thought you’d known him, that he wasn’t anywhere near as bad as it seemed he was. You were aware he leaned more towards right wing politics, and no, you didn’t agree with him. And you’d known some of his associates were bent and unethical in their ways, but you’d never known he was as corrupt as Mary was telling you. All those whiffs of under the table deals you’d gotten over the years were true. He was a crook... A liar, a cheat, and abusive fucking monster.  

“You don’t seriously believe this shit, Pumpkin?” he asked, using a damn pet name of all things to try and get you back on side. You span around to glower at him, rage bubbling up inside you. 

“Don’t you fucking ‘Pumpkin’ me, you arrogant letch!” you screamed. “That explains why you kept disappearing all the damn time, spending your evenings and weekends anywhere but at home. I guess now I fucking know where you went... You missed half of my sweet sixteen, for fuck’s sake! Sped off right after the cake and didn’t come home for two days. Is that where you went? Is that where you always went? To take advantage of a decent woman who only wanted to be loved? To give her kid the BEST FUCKING LIFE POSSIBLE!?”  

“I never went anywhere near his slut of a mother!” he yelled back. 

“Oh, please!” Mary interjected, “You fucked her, and then you fucked her over.” 

“You LIAR!” Your father lunged at Mary again but you stopped him, forcing him back with a push that took all of your strength, all of your anger. He didn’t try it again, instead focussing his anger on you now. 

“You gonna let him manipulate you like this? Lie to you? He’s just trying to come between us, Pumpkin, to keep you away from me. He'll fucking use you and dump you for the next girl who shows him any attention. You’re just some petty fucking revenge he’s taking out on me... He’s USING YOU!” 

“Sounds more like something you’d do...” you growled at him. You had made your choice already, long before tonight. Your place was at Mary’s side, now more so than ever. Fucking revenge. As if Mary would have lied to you all this time... There was no way? 

Your father straightened himself up, dusting his shirt off as if there were something on it, but it gave him a moment to collect himself, to make himself seem the prim and proper one.  

“If you choose to believe his lies and stay with him, then that’s your stupid choice,” he told you as he straightened the cuffs of his shirt sleeves, not even affording you the decency of eye contact. “But know this; you choose him, and that’s it. You will have nothing. No money, no home, no future. I’ll make sure neither of you work in this town. I will cut you off completely.”  

He thought he had the upper hand, that his words would scare you into submission and force you to come home with him. He seemed to forget the heated words you’d exchanged the night of the dinner at the Town Hall...  

“I thought I’d made myself pretty clear last time we spoke... I don’t want to live under your fucking thumb anymore. You told me to leave once before, and what, now you’ve changed your mind? You want to play happy families, and drag me back into the life you forced me to live? I want my own life, and now? I want it as far away from you as I can possibly get.”  

Your father stared at you, his jaw grinding in anger. He’d lost control of you, and he hated it. You were unravelling his perfect ‘family man’ façade that had won him all those elections, tearing down the perception the town had of him as this kind, caring man with a beautiful family.  

As you glared at each other, challenging the other to speak first, heavy footsteps got closer as if someone were running down the hallway outside the apartment and soon, Forrest ran into the apartment clutching a baseball bat and ready to swing. He stopped short at the scene in front of him, not having expected this at all... Mary, beaten and bloodied behind you, squaring up to your father, the Mayor...  

Forrest knew everything and quickly connected the dots, keeping the bat raised and ready in case your father tried anything at all. But now he was outnumbered, and his pride wounded. 

“You’re making a big fucking mistake, madam,” he warned. “You’ll end up a low life like these idiots, and laying in a hospital bed just like his mother.”  

“You need to leave,” Forrest told him firmly. “You got another witness now, sir,” he warned, sarcasm dripping from the honorific.  

Your father straightened up and turned, taking a few steps to stand at the edge of the kitchen where Forrest backed up to give him the room to leave, bat still raised. Just as he was about to leave, he turned back to see you reach for Mary’s hand, holding his cheek gently in yours as you took a good look at the bruises and blood that covered his face.  

“You should get out of town before morning,” he began. “I will pull every string at my disposal to make sure you will never find peace here. This is my town, and this?” he waved his finger around, “is a dangerous neighbourhood. Especially without a deadbolt.” He nodded towards the front door that he’d bust open. 

“Get out,” Forrest reiterated with a look that could have burst him into flames if he had the ability.  

Without another word, your father turned and left, slamming the front door that only bounced back open with nothing left to catch.  

Forrest lowered the bat with a sigh, rubbing at his forehead from the stress. You focussed all of your attention on Mary, checking he was okay. He certainly wasn’t... He’d taken two beatings in one night and was covered in a litany of injuries that needed attention.  

Without saying a word, Forrest dropped the bat on the floor with a clatter and rushed into the bathroom, pulling out an old first aid kid from under Mary’s sink and rushing back with it while you gently guided an exhausted Mary to his couch, forcing him to sit back.  

As you patched him up with band aids and gauze and fed him a glass of water, no one dared to speak another word. After everything that had happened tonight, the silence – however brief – was welcome. But eventually, one of you had to break it.  

“We should get you to a hospital, Mare. You might have a concussion, or a bust nose or something’,” Forrest reasoned. Mary shook his head. 

“I’ll be good, don’t think anything’s broken.” Neither you nor Forrest argued with him. “Fuck, what the hell are we gonna do?” he asked, sinking further down into the couch beside where you knelt on the cushion, hovering over him.  

“He’s just trying to scare you both, right? He’s pissed, just wants you both out but what the fuck can he really do?” Forrest asked from the floor, where he’d picked up the broken picture of Mary and his mom and set it on the coffee table. Mary stared at it, biting back the sting of tears.  

“Anything... he can do anything. He’ll make good on his threat, his security don’t ask questions.” You chewed on your thumbnail anxiously, trying to think of your next move.  

“I’m sorry...” Mary mumbled, looking down at the picture on the table with shame in his eyes. 

“For what?” you asked, shuffling closer to him and gently turning his chin towards you, “What could you possibly be sorry for?”  

“He’s cut you off because of me,” he sniffled, keeping the tears in his eyes at bay. “I’ve fucked your life up for you already...” 

“Don’t you dare,” you told him firmly, “you listen to me. I chose this, I needed to get away from him and I did. This is a blessing, we’ll be okay-” 

“How the hell are we gonna be okay? We can’t stay here anymore, we got nowhere to go and the money I make at the shop isn’t gonna keep us both afloat for long...” he panicked, but you hushed him with a finger to his lips. 

“We’ll figure it out. Money’s not a problem...” Mary looked confused, as did Forrest, the pair of them staring at you. “I’ve... I’ve been saving. Funnelling money away for a while. I knew someday I’d wanna get out and well... I opened a bank account as soon as I was old enough and just kept throwing my allowance into it. I got a trust fund when I was 18, he thinks I spent it. I didn’t, it’s been stashed away for years. We can get a place Mary, we just need somewhere for now.” 

Mary blinked at you dumbly, “You... You want that?” 

“What, to run away with you? Are you kidding?” You ran your fingers through his hair, avoiding the long strands that were clumped together with dried blood. “Haven’t I already done that?” you asked with a soft smile.  

Mary gawked at you, smiling a little himself before he leaned closer to you and planted his bust lips onto yours in a sweet, lingering kiss. Forrest coughed from the floor, bringing the two of you back to reality.  

“That’s great and all, but... where the hell are you gonna go for now?” he asked. Mary processed his question for a second, thinking it over. 

“Well, it’s not exactly a ‘best case scenario’, but... I have an air mattress back at the shop? It’s just a storage unit but it’s outta town. Sometimes I’d work late and be too tired to drive home so I’d crash there. No one really knows where it is, I never have clients come to the unit.” 

“It’ll do, while we look for a place in the city,” you told him. You didn’t care where you stayed or what you slept on, as long as it was safe – as long as Mary was safe. 

Forrest nodded, getting up from the floor and starting to gather some of the mess from your father’s rage. “Better get a move on then... Grab what you need, I’ll help you move it in my van too.” 

Before either of you stood up, Mary sat upright and turned to face you. “You sure about this, doll? Like... really? I can’t expect you to use that money to set us both up.” 

“Oh, shut up...”  you smirked, swatting his shoulder lightly. “You really having second thoughts about taking my dear daddy’s money and running off into the night?” 

Mary’s eyes glinted with a mischievous sparkle, and his lips curved into a smirk. “Well, when you put it like that...” He leaned in as you giggled, welcoming another slow, tender kiss that felt like a triumphant win given the events of the night.  

From across the room, Forrest rolled his eyes, picking up a small pillow and throwing it at the both of you to break you up. When you both yelped and looked up at him, he simply widened his eyes and shook his head, tapping at an imaginary watch on his wrist as if to say ‘hello? Get moving!”. You stood from the couch, reaching your hands out to Mary who used your strength as leverage to sit upright, his whole body aching and protesting after all the damn fighting tonight. Forrest was, of course, right. You needed to pack up what you could quickly, and get the hell out of town.  

So much had happened tonight, and so much had been said that couldn’t remain just a fleeting exchange in the heat of the moment. Revelations of the kind of man your father truly was had to be put to the back of your mind for now, to be dealt with and talked properly about in the coming days. For now, you couldn’t focus on it - the wound too painful to acknowledge until you were out of harm’s way. You couldn’t think about the truth, or what that meant in terms of your relationship with Mary. The thought that perhaps you were just Mary’s retribution couldn’t take root in your mind, lest it grow into genuine suspicion. There was no time to let doubts creep in. Instead, you dove into packing with Forrest, shoving clothes and essentials in whatever bags or boxes you could find to busy your mind. 

But Mary; he stayed put, fiddling anxiously with his rings. Neither you nor Forrest questioned him, figuring after two pretty rough beatings tonight he could sit this one out. But it wasn’t that that held him back...  

His own doubts were seeping in, an anxiety burning in his chest. He’d unveiled a huge part of himself tonight, something he’d never intended for you to know. He’d never wanted to hurt you with this and now that he had, he had to force down the guilt that came when he’d seen the look on your face as the truth spilled. His disdain for the Mayor hadn’t ever been as simple as hating the face of the town that hated him. There was so much more to it than that, but he’d never wanted to make that your burden.  

Part of him now was terrified. The thought had crossed his mind that perhaps – maybe not now, maybe not for a while, but someday – you might think he chose you for this, like some sick revenge on the Mayor. Even he had accused Mary of it, claiming he was using you... Taking his only daughter and defiling her, corrupting her just to get his own back. That night back in the dive bar had started as a bet, yes. The thought had indeed crossed his mind that it was ironic he’d got to fuck you after your father had fucked over his family. But you were so much more than that...  

He was in too deep now. He loved you. Now more than ever, he was afraid he might lose you over this. He prayed that you didn’t think that, that your father’s own accusation had fallen on deaf ears.  

But for now, he just needed to get you both out of town. As long as you were safe, he’d take whatever consequences came his way.  

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8 ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3 | MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

thank u @ckducky for drawing funny art of charlie's silly spear jealously and making THIS mental image pop into my head XD

Vaggie: "Thanks for doing this for us again, Ms. Rosie."

Rosie: "Oh my dear you know I'm just TICKLED PINK to help!"

Vaggie: "Well we really need it."

Charlie: "No we don't. I'm acting completely normally for this situation. I am being Totally Rational."

Vaggie: "Sweetie-

Charlie: "TOTALLY. RATIONAL."

Vaggie: "Charlie, you promised you'd be open minded about this...."

Charlie: "I am open! I just also know Rosie is going to AGREE with me on this!!"

Rosie: "Ohoho I suppose we'll see about that, won't we~?"

Rosie: "Now, why don't we put that spear away, hmm? And then the three of us can settling in for a nice long chat while you tell auntie Rosie all abut it!"

Vaggie: "Uh, actually. The spear has to stay."

Rosie: "Oh?"

Vaggie: "I'm kinda just dropping it off?"

Charlie: "Dropping IT off? Oh thanks Vaggie for coming alllllll this way- for the SPEAR."

Vaggie: "Them. I'm dropping THEM off."

Rosie: "... I'm afraid I don't quite follow? You came here for relationship advice, yes?"

Vaggie: "Right. Charlie's having relationships issues."

Charlie: "IT'S NOT AN ISSUE."

Rosie: "You mean, you and Charlie are having issues?"

Charlie: "THIS IS A NORMAL LEVEL OF FRUSTRATION!"

Vaggie: "No."

Charlie: "I'VE BEEN DEALING THIS THIS FOR Y E A R S AND HONESTLY I THINK I DESERVE A MEDAL FOR IT AT THIS POINT!!"

Rosie: "Charlie and... the spear?"

Charlie: "THAT BITCH!"

Vaggie: "Yeah."

Rosie: "I feel as though I understand even less. Isn't your spear-"

Vaggie: "Inanimate, yeah."

Charlie: "Oh don't let it fool you. It knows EXACTLY what it's doing-"

Charlie: "-SEE? SEE!! Look at it GLEAMING all SMUG in the sunlight, all nice and cozy where Vaggie so very CAREFULLY snuggled it into it's own chair-"

Vaggie: "Anyway thanks again Rosie for helping I gotta get back to the hotel."

Rosie: "I.... darling, I'm not sure this quite my...."

Vaggie: (ignores her) "I'll pick th- I'll pick CHARLIE up in an hour."

Rosie: "Wait-"

Vaggie: (smooching charlie's cheek) "Try to talk things out a bit, okay?"

Charlie: "Hmph! There's nothing TO talk about!"

Vaggie: "Okay. But venting to smeone might make you feel better?"

Charlie: "...maybe."

Vaggie: "Good. That's all I care about."

Charlie: (melting) "Yeah?"

Vaggie: "Yep~"

Charlie: "All you care about huh..." (sulking) "What about the spear."

Vaggie: "Literally just a spear, babe." (smooches her again) "Have fun with this, Rosie!"

Vaggie: (leaves)

Rosie: "......"

Charlie: "......"

The spear: (is a spear)

Rosie: "....right then! For this I think, tea will NOT be precisely what we need!" (pulls out a bottle) "One shot, or two?"

Charlie: "Did you know she RUBS that thing with OIL every night?"

Roise: (smiling and nodding) "Five shots it is then~"