#PERCEIVE ME LIKE OFF SCREAMING HIS LUNGS OUT

[stormyoceans]

@ whoever paired them up i hope your pillow is always cold on both sides your charger works at every single angle you never stub your toe you get a raise and have an amazing year because YOU DESERVE ALL OF IT

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Mr. and Mrs. Shadowsinger

Azriel x Reader - Angst - Smut

His eyes are cold and restless, his wounds are almost healed, and she’d give half of Prythian just to change the way he feels. She knows his love’s in the Hewn City and she knows he’s going to go. But it’s not a female he’s leaving for, it’s his damned duty to the Night Court.

Warnings: sexual content, grinding, dom/sub dynamic, language, bondage, grinding, fingering, toxic couple, using intimacy as a form of persuasion

Her mate was strong but gods damn it, so was she. Perhaps that’s why by some cruel twist of fate, she was mated to the infamous Spymaster of Night Court. A male that could torture the secrets out of seasoned liaisons with even the highest of clearances. Nobody in Prythian was better at the game than him, and he wouldn’t allow anyone a moment to doubt it. “Cold”, “Calculating”, “Ruthless”, those that feared him would whisper.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Azriel?” she screamed at the top of her lungs.

His cold, stony gaze fixed on the door behind her as she pressed her body against it, blocking the exit.

Placing two palms to his leather covered chest, she shoved - perhaps she was the only one who didn’t fear him. In fact, she loved him and that was the fucking problem. She wished she didn’t, wished she could let his ass walk right out that front door and not give him a second glance. Instead she was so hopelessly devoted to him that she couldn’t fathom letting him go without a fight. The irony wasn’t lost on her that she needed him, like he needed to draw information from anyone he perceived as a threat to the Night Court. Those that respected him would call it honorable. She called it fucking insufferable.

To his credit, at the belligerent outburst of his mate, a slight tick of his jaw was the only sign of his irritation - a large hand raising to each of her shoulders.

“You just got back! This is fucking bullshit and you know it!” She huffed. She wouldn’t cry, wouldn’t let him see her weak. No, not today. Let him read the resolve in her eyes.

“I’ll be back tomorrow night.” His firm tone left no room for argument.

Too bad for him she didn’t give a damn about personal space as she made room to retaliate anyway.

“You’re not even healed! Your left wing is tattered in two places. Never mind the fact that I’ve barely seen you this past month. What the hell, Azriel? Do I not matter to you?”

His cold, restless gaze faltered for a moment. “That’s unfair, Y/N, and you know it. You matter and so does ensuring the safety of the court we live in. It’s my duty.”

She pushed a finger into his chest, emphasizing her next words. “No, Azriel, what’s unfair is the way you are walking out on me again. Fuck this court and every person in it, I only want you.” Rage seeped through her, rising to a boil beneath her heated skin. Azriel’s lips remained pressed in a firm line, a slight rustle of his wings the only show of frustration.

Lifting a scarred finger and tracing it lightly along the side of her face, he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You don’t mean that.”

Her brow creased at the implication. “I do and you know it. You are all I care about, you’re my fucking mate, not the people of this court, not the city of Velaris, YOU.”

Shaking his head, he remained calm, letting out an exhale. “We can’t keep doing this, Y/N. You’ve known my duties since well before we mated. You don’t see me complaining when you’re away on missions for the Valkyries.”

Oh- he struck a nerve with that. Bracing himself for the recoil he stood firm, crossing his arms in the warriors stance he and Cassian had both perfected over the years. With a cock of his head he continued, “Did I strike a nerve there? Let it out, Y/N. Let’s get this out of the way so you’re not stewing the entire time that I’m gone.”

“You are infuriating!” She howled, her power rolling off her skin in waves, Azriel’s shadows recoiled but he didn’t flinch. “You know why you don’t complain? Because you’re still fed, fucked, and fawned over every single night you’re home. Do I get the same treatment in return? No!”

“So that’s why you’re upset?” He challenged. “You need me to fill your pretty cunt? Is that it baby?”

He hit his mark with the statement. A rush of arousal barreling into him before she clamped down on their bond, rage again lining her sharp features. “I can get off well enough on my own, Azriel.” she spat, his name dripping off her lips with venom. He wanted to bite those lips, suck the venom coating right off of them.

He leaned in, centimeters away from her ear, running a thumb gently up and down her forearm. “You sure about that? You seem a bit-“ hazel eyes roved hungrily up and down her form, from the exposed flesh of the thighs her negligee did very little to cover, to the hint of areola peaking over the deep cut of lace trim, disheveled in her haste to catch him before he left the house. He closed the distance, his lips now caressed the shell of her ear. “-tense.”

“Fuck you.” She snarled.

“Oh, did I not make that clear enough?” He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, his hazel eyes boring into the depths of her own. “That’s what I’m offering.”

“You can’t fix this with fucking! I’m going to get Rhys, now. You’re not leaving. Not this time.” She stormed to their bedroom, the curve of her ass teasing him as he followed her through the house. Throwing open the armoire door she grabbed a silk t-shirt and leggings, hurriedly putting them on over her slip. Azriel’s tall form leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, watching his angry little mate with a smirk.

“I’m not fucking joking.” She scowled. “I don’t give a shit that he’s your High Lord. You’re MY mate first. Or did you forget that?” She marched toward the doorway shifting to slide past his towering frame. Just as she thought he’d let her past he flung out an arm. “How could I forget, my love? Your fiery rage is the soothing balm warming my own forged of ice.”

She hissed as she barreled into his arm, no match against the 500 years of hard-earned, corded muscle beneath. “No you don’t.” He hauled her over his right shoulder as she kicked and beat her clenched fists against the defined muscles of his back. “Put me down!”

He smiled to himself with satisfaction at the fact that though his mate was livid as all hel with him, she still was careful to throw those fists away from the sensitive membranes of his wings.

Reaching the edge of their oversized bed and much to her dismay, Azriel cradled one hand to the nape of her neck, and looped the opposite arm beneath her ass, dropping her onto the bed, his shadows darting out to restrain her.

“This isn’t going to work!” She yelped.

He hummed, a look of pure male arrogance crossing his gorgeous features. Leaning over the edge of the bed, he braced his weight on his left arm, tracing a calloused finger down the valley between her breasts. “Is that why the sweet aroma of your need is filling every inch of this room?”

Gritting her teeth, she fought the shadows pinning her to their bed.

She loved this and he knew it. His mate was wild, untamed, only yielding within the safety of their bedroom walls.

He placed a knee between her thighs, spreading them, and placing just enough pressure against her core to earn a whimper at the friction.

“Tell me what you need, Y/N.” he demanded.

The female shook her head.

“I may be a patient male, love, but I don’t have time to wait for you. Going to need you to use your words.”

She only scowled at him and he didn’t miss the way she almost imperceptibly arched her back, raising her chest, pebbled nipples peaking from beneath her silken shirt.

“Very well.” He tsk’d, turning his back, wings flaring slightly to remind her of just how accurate the rumors about wingspan were.

He stepped outside the door frame, turning the corner when a pitiful “Wait.” came from their room.

Her scent flowed to him from their room, his cock jerking at the win, at the fact that her submission and desire for him was so evident. He waited a moment. Oh yes, he was going to make her wait for this. Spymaster duties could hold off long enough to punish his girl for her outburst, in all the ways she loved to be reprimanded. She needed the attention and her behavior was a clear sign of it.

So he sauntered back into their room, oozing with confidence as he took in the sight of his mate, defenseless in her binded state.

“Can you be good for me, baby?” He asked in a condescending manner.

She nodded her head, apology dancing in her eyes.

“Promise me, baby.” He teased. “Show me just how good you can be.”

“Yes, sir.” She spoke submissively.

Pride sparked in his chest at her changed behavior. Releasing his shadows, he looked to her with faux empathy in his eyes, seating himself at the edge of the bed. “Strip.”

She did as he requested with no argument.

“Good girl.” He cooed, patting his thigh. “Now c’mere”

He took in every inch of exposed skin as she strode toward him, avoiding eye contact in a show of deference. Very well, the subtle bounce breasts with each step was captivating his attention anyway.

His submissive girl was so fucking good for him.

She spread her legs, straddling his thigh, dropping her weight down onto it, waiting patiently for his next command.

Looking into her eyes, he whispered in a low voice that sent chills through her, his palm cupping her jaw, thumb running across her lower lip. “You’re so delicious, you know? Those pretty lips make me want to devour them until they’re puffy and red.”

He was setting the bait. The next sentence determining whether she’d be rewarded or not based on her response. “But, unforunately” Azriel let out an exasperated sigh, “I don’t have all day. Our court needs me.”

He caught the flash of violence in her eyes, the rage warring within them. But to his surprise, she didn’t react. Not one single word of resistance falling from that pretty mouth.

He placed a hand on either side of her hip, situating her center over the seam of his leathers. “I know you didn’t like that, sweet girl. But look at you, you’re being so good for me right now. You’re learning.”

She smiled coyly at the praise, biting her lip and looking up to him with fluttering eyelashes.

“You can move now, baby. Take your pleasure.”

So she did, finding that perfect angle and rhythm to bring the friction she so desperately needed to her aching core.

Her body began to tense, little moans and whimpers spilling from her lips, brows furrowing as she focused on her pleasure. “Azzie.” She whispered innocently. “Please, may I come?”

He brought a scarred hand to the back of her head. “Such good manners, baby. So proud of you.”

She beamed at the praise.

“Yes, my good girl. You may.”

A whimper fell from her lips as his thumb found the sensitive bud of her clit, moving it in those rhythms he’d long ago perfected, bringing her to the edge in no time.

She cried out his name through shattered moans, her head falling to the crook of his neck, breasts heaving against him. When her panting settled, she whispered, “Thank you.”

Opening his mouth to accept her gratitude, he was taken back by something pulling at his wrists, ankles following suit.

His mate hopped off of him, heading to the closet. “What the hell?” Azriel shouted.

“Some Spymaster you are.” She chided, eyes rolling with contempt. “When would I ever submit so easily? Think with your other head next time, Az.”

Throwing on a set of leathers that typically would have had his cock at full attention by the way they hugged her like a second layer of skin, she flashed him a vulgar gesture and left the room, leaving him pinned to their four-poster bed by his own damned shadows.

He fought against the binds but the traitorous things were having none of it.

“Y/N! Come back!” He yelled but the only response was the slamming of the front door echoing down the hall.

——————————

Hours later a disheveled Shadowsinger found himself in the Hewn City. After much convincing his shadows had finally let him free of their restraint when he promised the lecherous things their share of playtime with their favorite little mate - their mate who was absolutely going to be punished later.

He was fuming, embarrassment weighing heavily upon him like an anchor. He almost felt bad for the subject Rhys has sent him to elicit information from today. They expected it would take at least a day, if not two to work on this one. Azriel guessed a day based on the less-than-generous mood he was in.

His heavy footsteps echoed off the walls of the Hewn City dungeons as he neared the cell of his subject, shadows promising violence, an obvious attempt to win back his affections after their betrayal.

Azriel gaped as he rounded the corner to find his leather clad mate sitting in a chair outside the cell, seated in a relaxed show of dominance with one leg crossed over the other, irreverently picking at her cuticles with fucking Truth-Teller.

“What the hell?” He fumed at his mate. “Where is the prisoner?”

“Oh, him?” She flashed a wicked grin.

“He’s gone. I got the information Rhys needed.”

His brows furrowed with disbelief. There was no way. It had only been a couple of hours. “How?”

She stood, swishing her hips as she sauntered toward him, brushing her chest against his. “I have my ways. Certainly you would know that.” She flicked her gaze to his swirling shadows who quickly hid in shame. “Your shadows surely do.”

Gripping him by the front of his leathers, she pulled him into a kiss, claiming his mouth with her own. The Shadowsinger too dumbfounded to argue.

“C’mon Shadowsinger.” She quirked an eyebrow, as she looked into his eyes with challenge. “You’re mine. Now, let’s go home.”

—————————————-

A/N: you get extra credit if you know where the summary for this story came from.

General tags: @lilah-asteria

[yukioos]

MIS

SUMMARY: jayce talis x reader // your mother takes the brunt of the attack from jinx, causing your mother to pass from the wounds. her death leaves you grieving. once all your pain builds up and the pressure becomes too much to handle, you find yourself face-to-face with a panic attack. your boyfriend, jayce, stays with you throughout all your troubles and comforts you when you need him the most.

AUTHORS NOTE: hi! i hope you guys enjoy this oneshot, i felt in the mood to write some angst and comfort :) thanks for the request, sorry if you wanted me to write something more happy and fluffy. i haven’t had a panic attack so i don’t fully know what it’s like to have one, but i tried my best! this is 2.4k words

WARNINGS: not proofread, panic attack, death, grief, guilt, cussing, pet names

ASK: gurll i love this, for the next one can u please make it the other way around (jayce comforting reader) 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 i need jayce huggie toooo!!

the sky was dark, and the moon was an unusually deep shade of red. the bland sky didn’t stand out to you, opposite to how it would be filled with stars any other day. hot air filled your room, causing you to tug and pull at your tightly fitted clothes. you threw old clothes onto the ground, planning to give them to the undercity, where they lacked what you perceived as normal. you giggled at the thought of your younger sister, caitlyn, who thought she was sneaky bringing in a woman from zaun into her room, claiming she was only hurt.

your mother didn’t know about this, however. she didn’t have enough time in her schedule to know about caitlyn’s relationships, only you and jayce’s, as word spread quickly. you were pleased to know that she accepted the relationship once she sat the two of you down and asked about jayce’s intentions with you. she just wanted you to have a good partner, someone who could live up to the kiramman expectations and life. knowing jayce ever since he was young, she immediately knew you were a perfect match.

when you were young, she wasn’t as busy being a councilor as she is now. you used to tell caitlyn about how mom used to be fun, and she would always laugh at the stories in disbelief. sometimes, she would flat-out tell you you were lying, like when your mom had enough time to teach you how to shoot targets. as she became older, her time with you became shorter and shorter, and caitlyn hardly knew her mother.

but even as you were scavenging through your dresser and walk-in closet, a sinking feeling weighed you down. something was off, something felt wrong, unusual. you rubbed your eyes, hoping you were just imagining when you saw a bright blue light shine through the sky like a shooting star. the sound of it flying through the air reminded you of fireworks before they explode. you tilted your head in curiosity. you had never seen a shooting star before—

suddenly, a loud sound erupted in your ears, causing you to duck and cover your head. you panted, whimpering as you had no idea what had just happened. you slowly raised your head from the ground, glancing around your room to see if any damage had been done. when you stood back on your feet, you glanced outside the window to see a huge hole in the administrative building where meetings were held.

fuck, that’s where jayce and mom were.

your eyes widened in terror as you immediately pushed your double doors open and down a flight of stairs. alarms began to alert the city of piltover, and screams and crying from citizens made your blood run cold. your legs ached from running, panting as your lungs burned with pain, unable to catch a breath. once you ran to the top floor of the administrative building, you slammed open the partially broken doors.

heart racing, you paused in your tracks once jayce carried viktor in his arms, with tears filling his eyes. your heart raced, and your throat tightened, you managed to ask, “where is my mother? mom? mom—“ as you walked around, searching for bodies covered in rubble, dark blue hair and short pink hair caught your eye.

you were about to walk over to them, but you staggered as smoke filled your throat, causing you to cough. before you could pause, a large, warm, and familiar hand laid on your shoulder. there, your boyfriend stood with ash on his face, and an almost dead man in his arms, his best friend. he cupped your face with one hand and stared at you, “hey— hey, we’re both alright, that’s— that’s good—”he tried to lighten the mood by chuckling. he then continued, even as his fake smile didn’t reach his eyes, “i need to help viktor—“

you interrupted, “jay, it’s okay, go, i think i see my mother—” you gazed into his glossy eyes, his lip trembled with fear.

you placed your shaky hand on his cheek and gave him a quick kiss. as you gently patted his cheek, he mumbled, “promise you’ll stay safe for me.” while looking into your equally terrified eyes.

you responded, “i will.” and with that, he ran to the science lab to supposedly heal viktor. you then ran over to the dark blue hair, assuming it was your sister. she turned around and hugged you without uttering a word. you gripped her back just as tightly, and the pink-haired zaunite stared at your mother with sorrow. her face was covered in ashes, and bricks left bruises and blood-stained clothes. you pressed your finger up to the side of her neck. once you felt nothing, you checked her wrist.

she didn’t have a pulse.

your breathing sped up, but your world slowed down as if it paused. your body felt numb, and your hearing drained from your ears. a hand squeezed your shoulder, the hand of your sister, trying to shake you back into reality. shutting your eyes for a moment, you tried to imagine anything but her lifeless body in front of you. the woman who lived her life saving and protecting others, the one who watched you grow up, the one who carried you for nine months, was now dead.

it seemed unreal to think about.

but you opened your eyes and imagined it was someone else in front of you, someone with less of an impact on your life. you slowly stood up and stared at your mother’s closed eyes and scarred face. you then turned your back on her and brought your eyes up to the two women in front of you. you mumbled, “we need a medic.”

the next few months after your mother’s death were a living hell. although it was sweet to see children placing flowers near your mother’s grave, honoring her dedication to the city, you hadn’t been in a healthy mental state. normally, things came easy to you. however, for the past few months, all you had heard from others were condolences for the death of your mother. you tried to act as if you weren’t bothered by it at all, and to continue your everyday life. that’s what your mom would’ve wanted you to do, anyway.

but as you were walking to your residence with jayce after spending time with one another at a restaurant, a news reporter came up to you. the man attracted many other reporters to huddle up in front of you, almost barricading you into the wall. you shuttered at the lack of space, and reporters yelled and stuck microphones and cameras into your face.

one asked, “miss kiramman, do you have any plans on becoming the leader of the kiramman house anytime soon?” as if it wasn’t a sensitive question, relating to your mom’s passing.

you frowned as another question followed, “how has your mother’s death affected you?”

“will you join the council to replace your mother’s spot?”

tears began to spring in your eyes as you backed up, becoming closer and closer to the wall. yet, the reporters wouldn’t stop asking questions and entrapped you, all around you, unable to move. suddenly your boyfriend loudly announced, “that is enough. go along with your day and leave.” his eyebrows were furrowed with concentration and he balled his fists up.

one of the reporters interjected, “mr. talis, all we want is to ask miss kiramman a couple questions—“

he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, then glared at the man. he suddenly understood and nodded, appearing embarrassed. they all followed after the man, who ran away once he saw councilor medarda, who wandered around the streets with her companion, lest.

jayce gently rubbed your shoulder with his large hand and mumbled, “sorry you had to see that. are you okay?” he knew you didn’t like talking about her death often, as it was recent and it’s all anyone would bother you about. however, when he saw your glossy eyes and your hands wiping them, he knew something was wrong. you hadn’t normally acted like this around him, nevertheless anyone.

you slightly nodded, just enough for jayce to see. you lowered your head, not wanting to be noticed by anyone else as jayce held the door open for you. a lock clicked behind you, and you traveled up the flight of stairs to your room. your heart pounded as you were reminded of the night when you saw your mother’s lifeless body on the ground, feeling like your heart was going to jump out of your chest. too much heat was in the room, maybe you had to open the window. you quickly sprinted over to the window and opened it, still feeling so hot all over your body.

god, everything was too much. you whimpered as you felt liquid dripping down your cheeks, and your throat began to tighten up as if barbed wires wrapped themselves around your neck. you wiped your forehead with your sleeve, only to feel the warmth on the cloth from sweat. ringing filled your ears, causing you to ball your fists up as you sat on the ground, starting to hit your head to stop the ringing. unfortunately, you couldn’t stop the noise in your head.

you couldn’t hear anything, and your body became numb. as your throat continued to tighten, you rubbed your throat in pain, wanting to tell your mom that you were sorry. why the hell weren’t you there when she was dying? you could’ve prevented her death, couldn’t you? maybe you could’ve blocked her body with yours from the hit, then you would’ve taken most of the damage. it would’ve been better that way. she was more influential, more powerful, and more important than you. what would’ve happened if you were there to save her? would you be at dinner right now? would you be hugging her? telling her a stupid joke she always laughed at? would you be dead?

it pained you that there was no way to know what could’ve happened.

jayce heard sobs as he washed his hands in the bathroom, screams, even. his heart raced and he dried his hands, then he ran out of your large bathroom to see your head in your hands, hitting it with your fists as hard as you could. you were sobbing, “i’m sorry, mom, i’m sorry,” repeatedly, over and over on a loop. your body shook like you were the most delicate thing in the world, like you were about to break any second. your arms dripped with sweat, and you seemed to be dissociative, as you didn’t respond to his calls of your name.

he then realized they were common signs of a panic attack. must’ve been from all the reporters bugging you with their never-ending questions and from the passing of someone so important in your life. he didn’t know how to handle a situation like this, but he knew you needed someone to help you and ground you. he gently placed a hand on the crown of your head and rubbed it gently, as if you were a child. you slowly looked up at him, eyes and face all red from crying. you sniffled, mind still racing, as you tried to focus on the words that came out of his mouth, not recognizing the ones that came out of yours.

you were full-on sobbing, dry tears laid helplessly on your skin, waiting to be rehydrated with new ones. you closed your eyes and cradled yourself, still crying out, ‘i’m sorry,’ so jayce slowly wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pulled you close, not knowing if he was doing the right thing. he asked, as he gave a kiss to your shoulder, “why are you sorry, sweetheart?” you unconsciously leaned into his warm frame, although you felt far too hot for your liking.

your wailing became quieter as you continued talking, listing all the reasons why you should’ve been the one who took the hit, you should’ve been better to her, you should’ve spent more time with her, and you should’ve been there before she died. he continued to ask you questions so you could open up about your feelings until your throat hurt from sobbing and talking for so long.

you leaned your head against him for a few minutes in silence, not wanting to say anything more. he rubbed your shoulder and turned, staring into your red eyes. you whimpered and wiped your eyes, staring up at him with a pout on your face. he softly smiled, then gently placed a hand on your wet cheek. he placed his lips against yours, the most intimate kiss you’ve shared. once the two of you pulled away, he helped you stand up, expecting to carry you to bed.

but to his surprise, you hugged him, causing him to stumble back with the amount of force you used. you mumbled into his chest, “i love you so much, jayce.” your voice was strained, using the rest of your words and power to thank him for his help and love.

he wrapped his strong arms around you and petted your hair, “i love you too.” he couldn’t have felt more affectionate or loving than now, and you felt the same. after a few minutes of staying in the hug, he slowly undressed you and changed you into more comfortable clothes. he carried you to your bed, then changed into his clothes that he kept in your drawers for when he stayed the night. he just changed into a pair of sweatpants, taking his shirt and everything else off.

turning the lights off, he walked over to you and pulled the sheets down, causing you to quickly huddle up to him and trap his leg with yours. you wrapped your arm around his waist, wanting to feel as close as you possibly could to him. as jayce’s breath began to even out, you knew he was the only one who could calm you down, bring you out of that headspace. he was nervous, he’d never comforted someone like that before, but his dedication and patience showed you he was the one for you.

[ma1dita]

feed the fire

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader prev -> somebody's angel | next -> bedtime stories words: 1.2k summary: (pre-established relationship) The one where his focus is not on spilled food, but on you. The fight never ends, but food service does, and well, you’re pretty when you’re mad. Lucky for you, your dad doesn’t really need offerings. Lucky for Luke, you’re in a sharing mood.  Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader a/n: Chiron isn’t gonna bet his kids against each other he on the side of love wym -.- (unbeta'd and purely made by caffeine) (posted 1/22/24)

—

“If that was your definition of fun, Castellan, you are most possibly the worst person alive,” you grumble, bumping past Luke in the dinner line. The weight of his plate is as heavy as his stare, eyes following you as you turn to look at him and he knows you’re pissed after his team won capture the flag. 

Again. 

After years at Camp Half-Blood and years of arguing with you, everything gets a bit repetitive. But he can’t help but bite back a grin at this routine you two have created—it’s never boring when you’re around. You get as close as you can to his large frame, nose turned up for another face-off and he shouldn’t find your anger…so attractive. He shouldn’t be so interested in someone who looks like they’re about to wring his neck. However, Luke eats up the attention from you like he’s starving and wanting seconds, so he eggs you on just to see how this turns out.

“But a damn good demigod right? You’re just a sore loser, Trouble. Gonna have to do better than that to impress me,” Luke jabs at you, holding his tray in one hand. His grin gets impossibly bigger once his half-siblings rumble with laughter behind him, and the frown on your face deepens.

Where you two are involved, there’s always a spectacle. Rumors of campers placing bets and keeping score to the point of updating Mr. D with the count of who comes up on top each time you two argue. He’s past the point of assigning you two extra chores and taking away leisure time since you’re much older now (and essentially run the camp for him), so the god has resigned himself to placing bets with the kids (without Chiron knowing). But every week after capture the flag, Luke unknowingly bumps up several points just by existing. It’s damaging Mr. D’s stakes so much that he might have to bet against you, his own child, next time.

Plus, there’s just something about Luke that always riles you up.

“Who said I was impressing you?” You scoff, blocking him from walking to his table and he looks down at you (both figuratively and literally) with a raised eyebrow.

“I don’t know, with the way you won’t let it go, some people might think you’re obsessed with me, sweetheart. Can’t blame you, though.” Luke’s words slip through his lips like water, and this time he’s unable to place what the expression on your face means as you stare back at him blankly with your fists clenched.

The only thing he’s able to perceive as a warning is the twitch of your eye before you’re on him, climbing him like a tree as you slam into him, knocking him to the ground and screaming, “YOU’RE SO FULL OF IT, CASTELLAN!”

Luke braces for impact as your hands are flying at him though there’s no intent to cause injury—he’s felt your right hook before and it took the air out of his lungs. This, was just you being petty, hands slapping him across the head and chest before you pulled him in by the front of his shirt, and then…it was over before it even started.

“KID! What do you think you’re doing?” Mr. D’s voice rings across the dining pavilion and your eyes meet Luke’s as you both remember where you are.

On his lap, with everyone watching. 

Air escapes him again as he feels the weight of your hips against his hands and he doesn’t quite remember when he moved them there, or when in all of these arguments he’s stopped fighting back. 

But was it ever really a fight, Luke wonders looking up at you, not even hearing anything coming out of Mr. D’s mouth right now. Your hair is framing your face and the harsh overhead lighting in the dining pavilion surrounds you like a halo. You look like you’ve been blessed by Aphrodite herself, ethereal and strong… and a new funny feeling in his chest makes him suddenly unsure of everything you two have ever done together. This isn’t part of the routine.

Shit. 

He’s in trouble.

The fist in his shirt loosens and he falls hard, head bumping against the hardwood floor. Luke can see his tray facedown on the ground, the grapes and his dinner roll bouncing away underneath the tables.

“He did it,” you blurt out like a kid caught with their hands in the cookie jar. You can feel Luke’s chest rumble with laughter under your fingertips and you push up off of him, extending a hand to help him up. Your dad is gesturing at you to clean the mess, but by the time you finish your angry gestures and eye rolls to turn towards the utility closet, Luke’s already back and sweeping up the fallen food without any complaints. 

“You know, for the strongest swordsman in 300 years, I took you down pretty easy, huh, Luke?” You say cheesily, bumping his shoulder as he chuckles.

“You just caught me off guard—throwing yourself at me like a deranged satyr.”

“Oh because you’re a dainty nymph in distress,” you bite back, walking away to get dinner.

By the time he’s done cleaning up the mess, food service is over. He scratches the back of his neck and goes to sit next to Chris, who’s wolfed down most of his meal already, but to his surprise, you’re sitting in his usual seat with a plate piled high enough for two and some extra prayers.

“You here to rub it in? Gonna have to eat air for dinner because of you.” He falls onto the bench, leaning on his hand as he gazes at you with a slow smile, and then watches you brandish two forks in the air.

“I’ll gouge your eye with a fork if you don’t start eating.”

Your knees are touching under the table and his hand slightly shakes as he pulls the utensil from your fingers. 

“Sometimes I think I like it better when you’re mean to me,” he jokes but takes a hefty bite of pasta anyway.

“You love it.”

He can’t help but agree.

—

Clarisse walks over to Mr. D who’s watching you two from across the dining pavilion with an emotion akin to confusion and possibly disgust. You’re both laughing at something indiscernible to everyone else around you, together, not at each other…and it’s unsettling. The daughter of Ares stands in front of the Olympian with her palm extended.

“Pay up. Luke clearly won again.”

Mr. D’s eye twitches as he holds onto his drachmas. He was supposed to be entertained by this, not be the entertainment.

“Did he though? They both look like they’ve tamed down. This is starting to get boring.”

A hand comes out of nowhere, snatching the drachmas out of the god’s hand, and Clarisse’s eyes widen at Chiron, who’s been behind them all along.

“I’ll take that. Don’t think either of them are gonna win this in the end.”

The three of them watch Luke say something to you with a mischievous grin and you gape at him as you shove a bread roll into his mouth angrily.

Mr. D tuts and it catches your attention, your middle finger directed at him as you push the rest of your plate towards Luke.

“What, no offerings for your dear father?” He calls out disgruntled by your audacity. 

“You clearly eat enough, D!”

Luke elbows you as he laughs behind his bread roll, and Chiron smiles, knowing what’s forming between you two, even if you both don’t see it quite yet.

—

“There’s something between us; a sort of pull. Something you always do to me, and I to you.” F. Scott Fitzgerald

ask to be added to the general/luke taglist! 🥹

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[candyswirls]

Return of the Phoenician

Pt 1 - Next - MasterPost (For all my other fics and writings)

Warnings: mentions of blood, self depreciation, negative self talk

Failure. Naive. Unwanted. Fake. Annoying. Weak. Too much to handle. Unlovable. Just an experiment. Unwanted. Just a copy. An irritant. Nothing like the original. Unwanted. Gullible. Idiot. Nothing like the original. Disobedient. Unlovable. Clone scum. Disgrace. Unwanted. Shameful. Disgusting. Unlovable. Stupid. Object. Unwanted. Burden. Unlovable. Stain. Unwanted. Traitor. Unlovable. Unwanted. Murderer. Unlovable. Unwanted, unlovable.

He was unwanted so therefore he was unlovable.

He sniffled as he slowly came into full consciousness. His joints were stuck as his muscles stung. The freezing crackle could still be felt in his nervous system. Green lights danced across his blurry vision.

He coughed and seethed as his lungs burned. Iron flooded his mouth and he slid across the wall till he lay on the floor. The scarabs crawled forth to pull him back up to his sitting position.

They skittered around, not paying attention to him.

He squeezed his eyes shut, any light irritating his throbbing migraine. Tears escaped down his cheeks.

He could still hear the Necron’s yelling and arguing beyond the room. Trazyn had been livid by whatever just happened. Raging at another.

He winced at the confusing and terrifying ordeal. All he could recall was being awakened by pain. Like he was being burned and electrocuted at the same time. A powerful source coursed through his veins. It warped his body and mind. He had never felt pain like this before. He screamed until it stopped. The feelings still echoing throughout his nervous system.

He could barely see. Every part of him singing with pain. He could see metal. There was fighting and screaming. He was dragged into this room and left as shots rang out.

As he regained movement and awareness he could feel his body desperately trying to repair itself. Several things were definitely wrong, that was a given, but there was something else. How he perceived the room. The scarabs. His body felt off. In a way not expected. The tunic he wore now was baggy. Falling off of one shoulder.

Even the inner workings of his body felt different. Like they weren’t up to full capacity. It was as if he had… shrunk.

He grimaced, taking note how his facial structure didn’t feel as it should be. He managed to reach up and feel his cheek. Everything tingled but he notated the lack of thick stubble. He usually kept clean shaven but his skin felt like it had never grown any hair. As if he were but a boy before reaching maturity.

He paused. He processed all he knew and focused on a particularly shiny scarab.

He grabbed it as it squeaked and protested. He held it up to him to see his reflection.

He was younger. A teenager.

He dropped the scarab unceremoniously and slowly slid back down to lying down. The other scarabs tried to come sit him up again. He batted them away.

“Leave… me alone,” he croaked.

Despite the raspiness, he even sounded younger. Whatever it was he was in had de-aged him.

He choked as bile exited his stomach. The acrid taste lingering in his mouth. Bile. Fabius Bile. Teacher. He had… given him away. Like he was nothing. To a necron. To be kept. Like an object. He was merely an object. Unwanted by anyone. Just an experiment. Unloved.

He sniffed as his lip trembled. Hot tears began flowing again as he wallowed in his misery and woe. He gagged as his stomach purged more. His abdomen clenched and he could feel sweat dripping down his back. He felt as though he was burning again.

He coughed, unable to move as the pain rippled. It didn’t stop until he was dry heaving. Nothing left in his body to give.

He gasped and tried to slow his breathing. The burning stopped and his sweat suddenly felt very cool. His muscles relaxed. He closed his eyes, relishing in the pain relief.

His moment of respite was interrupted as the necron he was given to, Trazyn, came storming in.

He yelled somethings in his language, still mad at whatever had transpired.

He crouched down before Fulgrim.

“Look at what he’s done to my Primarch,” he hissed.

Fulgrim gritted his teeth and struggled to roll over.

Trazyn hummed and reached out to grab him. Fulgrim attempted to smacked his hand away.

“Don’t… touch me,” he whimpered.

“You’re in need of medical attention,” Trazyn muttered. He spoke as if he wasn’t even there.

He tried crawling away from the Necron.

“I don’t know what you think you’re going to accomplish,” Trazyn said. “You’re wounded, have no where to go, and I’ll be putting you back in place soon.”

Fulgrim spat blood at the collector.

“What did you do to me??” He demanded.

“Nothing, there was a malfunction with your pod due to… interference. Annoying interference. It exploded and the stasis field overloaded. Rather than holding you in suspended animation and prevent aging, it did the opposite it looks like. Reversed you to late adolescence. Pity. Perhaps I’ll keep you out a bit till you mature. Then you’ll be placed back in the exhibit.”

Fulgrim managed to pull himself to a corner. Seething as he rubbed his legs. He hadn’t used them yet it was like they were on fire!

Trazyn moved to leave, “I will be back.”

Fulgrim huffed and leaned against the cold metal wall. Tears began to pour again. This was ridiculous. Stupid! Why?! Why did everything have to turn out like this?! He deserved better than this!

He paused as he came to a self realization and groaned. He was even thinking like a spoiled brat.

Grief and despair overwhelmed him again. He curled into a ball and sobbed again. He was hopeless. Just like the original.

Teacher’s last words echoed in his mind. How he was already set to fail like the original. He would fall. He would already fail. He was a failure. He didn’t want him anymore. He was too much of a burden. He was sending him to Trazyn to have as part of the Necron’s collection.

His head spun. He had no use, no purpose, no meaning. No one wanted him. Therefore, he was unloved. Maybe it was best to be kept in suspended animation. Then he wouldn’t falter. Couldn’t disappoint anyone. Not like the original.

He screamed in rage, breathing picking up. No! No! He refused! He had sworn he would be better than the original. He would make things right! He would make different choices. Things WOULD be different. His sons were willing to follow him. He had started a revolt! He was the Phoenician, a Primarch, a son of the emperor. He had brought his entire world into compliance without the use of violence.

He WOULD be better than the original. He already was. He’d made up his mind.

He shifted uncomfortably, running all he could recall of necrons and his short time awake here.

He couldn’t fight them. Too many and he was wounded. His legs. Could he even use them anymore??

He shook his head and gripped the wall, trying to stand.

To his relief, the scarabs came to his assistance. He was almost standing but the pain was unbearable. He let out a string of the most vulgar chemosian swears and insults he could.

His knees gave out and he fell backwards. He seethed for a moment as he crushed a few scarabs then rolled off of them. He looked up to see them dead, being teleported away. Some on their back twitching.

He burst into tears, intense grief overwhelming all emotions at accidentally killing them. What was happening??? This was embarrassing! Crying over Xenos vermin?!? But they didn’t deserve it! It was an accident!

One was still there, some of its legs now broke. It flailed its working ones as it struggled to get off its back.

He sniffed as he picked it up and tried to bend the broken legs back to their right angle. He set it down and it scampered away.

He continued to hiccup and rub his aching legs.

Come on. Think. Ignore the scarabs! I have to get out of here. I can’t fight. It’d be unwise. Leman would laugh at him for such a thought. Lion would mock him. Perturabo would scoff.

He covered his mouth as the doubting words of his brethren echoed in his mind.

He slammed a fist down. No! He could do this. He didn’t fight or battle at all to bring Chemos into compliance. His greatest weapon had been diplomacy. He still had those skills.

The Necron Collector was obviously a high ranking Necron. He had skills. He could mine. He knew how to forge. There had to be something he could do or say to convince him of his freedom. If it doesn’t succeed… well that never stopped him. Find another angle or try again later.

His lip trembled as he dared to think his next thought.

Father, Emperor of Mankind, please hear me. It’s not a prayer. Just a plead for help. For mercy. Help me get out of here and back to you. I miss you. I miss you all. I swear I am better than the original. This clone will not disappoint you. Please. I just need a chance. Give me strength.

He rubbed his eyes and scooted to a sitting position, waiting for Trazyn to return.

[un-petit-sanctuaire]

Bound

Pairing: Sylus x f!MC

Genre: Angst (with a tinge of fluff?)

Rating: General

Word Count: ±800

Summary: You have to do what needs to be done.

Author’s Note: My second fic for the LADS universe! This fic is heavily inspired by Goo Goo Doll’s Iris, so go ahead and listen to it for extra feels. :')

Your mind is hazy. Your vision is blurry.

It feels like you’re being pulled by an invisible force through endless layers of distant memories.

The cave. The pit. The darkness.

Everything around you burns.

…

Smoke curls around you like restless specters. Flames lick hungrily at the air, casting a fiery, eerie glow. Your head pounds, your body aches. The acrid smell of burning fills your lungs, and you cough, choking on the stifling heat and dread. Your hands tremble uncontrollably as you glance down, the sight stealing the breath from your chest.

Blood.

So much blood…

A familiar voice cuts through the blaze.

“… You must press on.”

A figure kneels before you, battered and bruised. His chest rises and falls in labored breaths as he speaks again with great effort, each syllable strained as he rasps,

“Because if you don’t… there’s no going back.”

—and then you realize what’s happening.

“S-Sylus…?”

A massive claymore is embedded in his chest. The handle juts out grotesquely; its blade is bathed in crimson, glinting faintly in the firelight. Yet Sylus does not flinch, does not cry out. His hands, trembling and pale, reach for yours, guiding them to the weapon’s hilt.

“Sylus, stop—don’t—”

Your voice breaks, panic taking hold. Every fiber of your being screams to pull back, to refuse.

You don’t want to do this. He doesn’t want you to do this.

But he must make you.

He has to.

The world blurs, the edges of your vision burning white-hot with tears. Your brain refuses to think, overwhelmed by the sight of him now. Sylus, who has always been invincible, untouchable. Sylus, who has always been there to shield you, to fight for and with you, to laugh off danger with that infuriatingly smug grin. But now, there’s no grin, no tease, no fire in his bloodshot gaze. His eyes, dull and dimming, hold only pain, as if life is draining out of him.

“Sylus, no—”

It’s only a façade, obviously…? It’s one of his tests again, right? Just like that time he told you to find the brooch. Just like when you went to the auction with him, posing as his plus one. There is no way that he is in actual pain, that his blood is real. You know he can heal himself.

But he isn’t healing.

Why isn’t he healing?

“Sylus—”

His name spills from your lips over and over, a desperate chant. Hot tears brim in your eyes as your trembling hands reach out, cupping his sunken cheeks in your palms. His skin is cold, far too cold. You search his eyes for a spark, for a hint you may recognize. For a sign that this can be undone, that there is another way out.

Yet there’s nothing. His gaze is resolute.

“Listen to me,” he speaks again in ragged breath. His body shakes as he leans forward, his arms wrapping around you weakly, as if anchoring himself to you for just a moment longer. His touch is light, almost ghostly, but the weight of his presence is crushing. “Our fates… were always bound,” his gaze lingers on you as he desperately takes your hands again. “This—has to be done.”

Oh, if he could, he would give up everything—his strength, his pride, even his invincibility—just to feel you one last time. To feel the warmth of someone who holds his heart so dearly. To memorize the way your touch grounds him in a way nothing else ever could. You are the closest thing to salvation he’s ever known, his only light in a world that always seems out of reach, that has never perceived him as who he is.

He doesn’t want you to see him like this. It pains him to see you like this, as much as you do him.

But you both know this is it.

Even as the shadows creep closer, as his strength ebbs with every shallow breath, all he wants is for you to remember him the way he is—before the end comes.

Slowly, painfully, he leans forward, his breath mingling with yours in the heated air. For a moment, the world falls silent—the crackle of flames, the roar of chaos—all drowned out by the space between you. When your lips meet his, it isn’t desperate or hurried, but soft, tender… and devastatingly final.

He pours everything into it—his love, his regret, his unspoken words—all the things he couldn’t say.

His body clings to you weakly, as if the kiss could anchor him to this moment forever. When he finally breaks apart, his forehead rests against yours, and he whispers, “I’ll—come back to you. When you see me again, remember this—remember us.”

Then, with a shaky breath, his hands guide yours back to the hilt; his gaze, unwavering, never leaves yours as his palms wrap around your hands.

A sharp, guttural sound escapes his lips as the weapon sinks further.

“Goodbye, my beloved.”

[zoropookie]

HOW HATERS ARE BORN (HHAB)

♡ chapter sixteen — doxxing is okay sometimes 💋

The entire drive back to your house, Scaramouche wondered why he was always put into compromising situations. It wasn't the late hour, or the otherwise deserted roads other than the usual few vehicles being dime a dozen.

No...it was that he was chauffeuring the only person he didn't want to be within a ten foot pole radius from. Softly, your laughter was still emitting from your lips as your head lolled back and forth.

His eyebrows knitted together in frustration, grip tightening on the steering wheel. He was annoyed, but knowing this was the quietest that he'll ever see you was more comforting than not being perceived.

Texts from his phone illuminating a section under his arm as his eyes kept flicking back and forth, he knew it was Ei bothering him again. Her poking and prodding the gnawing that he always felt being around her.

Pulling into your driveway, he brought his car in enough to quickly get you out. Tohma quickly headed into eye view to hurry towards the other side of the door. "Thank you so much. I don't know what I'd do if they weren't able to get home."

He sighed in response, turning off the engine. "Is that all?"

"Yeah...(Y/N)?" Tohma paused, his gaze lingered on you. "They're completely out."

"Keen observation." Scaramouche sarcastically quipped.

Tohma looked at the other before hesitantly rounding you up, careful not to jostle you as he helped your limp body out of the car. Your body soon enough became less languid, eyes slowly opening.

You mumbled something unintelligible in response, your words slurred. "Scaramouche," You made out, blinking blearily before you felt a certain rage overcome your body again. "Where is he?!"

Your steps were unsteady as you leaned against Tohma for leverage, but you were also thrashing to turn and find the person you were screaming at through Twitter earlier.

"(Y/N)...take it easy-!" His words were drowned out by your fervent rage, your gaze was wild as you scanned the surroundings, only to see the very person you were talking about.

"YOU." Your voice rose to a shout, staggering towards him. "Had some nerve coming to my house!" You shouted, tears welling in your eyes as your vision went in and out, "My friends hate me because of you! I will fucking see to it that you are destroyed by my very hands!" You screamed, causing Tohma to panic.

"I'm really sorry! Thank you...again-! (Y/N), please stop." Tohma struggled out. He felt like he was on the verge of a brain aneurysm any second now.

He lunged towards you to hold you back from attacking Scaramouche, but as soon as you did that, you were about to speak again. And then you regurgitated, your body convulsed until you were retching violently, doubling over.

"Oh my god," Tohma mouthed silently, his body frozen.

It was a sight to behold - Scaramouche's dark clothes were colored in a murky brown shade of vomit. But instead of what Tohma thought he was going to do, it was the complete opposite. He didn't recoil in horror, he didn't scream or curse, he simply just stood there, expression unreadable.

He was probably so pissed off that he forgot that he was initially having a horrible day.

"Okay! Okay!!" Tohma said in between two deep breaths, holding you in between his arms even tighter despite your struggling. "Scaramouche. Please let me help you clean up before you leave."

“No.” He replied with a sudden urgency that seethed through his teeth, flicking some of the chunks of sick off of his fingers. “Absolutely not. I’m going home.”

“I’m saying this with all due respect despite everything you’ve done. You can’t go home looking like that, I won’t let you.”

previous ♡ masterlist ♡ next

YOU ARE on your way to being one of the hottest streamer in your nation at the moment, racking a monthly average of 10 million viewers, but something specific bothers you about it. you know that a lot of people hate you, but there's this one account. one account that's been following you since the early days of your career. they leave a flood of rude comments in your stream, your moderators banned each account they made, but they keep making more. you are at the end of your tether. but you are yet to find out that this persistent cockroach is none other than your friend's friend (and the only other streamer that's bigger than you), scaramouche.

taglist ♡ @thystarsshine @veekoko @gumickajolli @simonisferal @kamiboo @justpeachyteastea @feiherp @pinkismyfavcolor @aether-darling @melpomenelurks @keiiqq @mine-lu @featuredtofu @danhenglovebot @k4zushi @kyon-cherri @1lellykins @iiinaurate @quacking-simp @auroratumbles @kookiibun @ulquiorraswife @pichulakkjkk @simplysm1le @h3xi2g0n3 @alatusorrow @scaranthropy @mellowberrie @magica-ren @vernith @kabukipookie @bananasquash @suqarlaced @dellalyra @lightyagamifan @yourfavoritefreakyhan @heartsforseo @yomishen @pwushizz @swivy123 @strxwberryfetish @ibyobi @ashfrommars4 @chemiru @ainnofinway @agaygothicmushroom @levianamor (bold users means i'm having trouble tagging you)

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Rusty | Chapter 22 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N - I promise that despite what it seems, I am not turning this into an Ralvez fic no matter how much my brain tries to lead me in that direction. And despite how bleak things seem, I swear there will be a happy if not bitter sweet ending for Spencer and reader. This is really going off the deep end, huh?

Summary - Spencer struggles to tell the difference between reality and his imagination whilst trying to piece together what’s wrong with him. Luke receives a surprise visitor.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - strangers to friends to lovers | angst | smut minors DNI

Warnings - heavy mentions of past rape, blood, spontaneous urination, catheterisation, sedation, swearing, Spencer’s really losing it, some uncomfortable medical talk, talk of dissociative identity disorder (DID), respiratory distress.

WC - 6k

Chapter 22 - If Tomorrow Never Comes

“Oh cariño, am I glad to see you.” 

For the next few minutes everything suddenly moved at rapid fire. One minute Luke was speaking, kissing Spencer’s dry knuckles and the next the man in the bed snapped and all hell broke loose. 

Spencer snatched his hand away from Luke’s hold, recoiling at the use of his pet name. In an instant it wasn’t Luke Alvez, his former love standing next to him, it was his rapist. 

They weren’t all that similar in looks but there were certainly similarities there, ones in which Spencer had never drawn on consciously, but subconsciously he must have seen it. 

They were both of Latin American heritage, dark hair and eyes with caramel complexions. But Luke wasn’t as thick and wide as his tormentor, not quite as tall either. Luke wasn’t tattooed like him and Luke’s accent was from the Bronx while the other man had a thick Spanish timbre. 

Really there wasn’t a need for him to equate the two, the similarities were so faint but they were there. And clearly he’d been pushing this thought beneath the surface all this time but now his subconscious had brought it to light there was no way to unsee it.

“Don’t call me that.” Spencer shook his head, his voice a hoarse whisper. “Don’t say that!” 

He reached for whatever was covering his mouth, yanking the oxygen mask off of his face and scrabbling to sit upright. 

“Spencer, you have to leave that on, you almost died, you can’t-” Luke reached forward but Spencer’s arms started thrashing wildly, smacking Luke away. 

“Don’t touch me!” He screamed. “Why are you here? Why are you always here?” 

“I don’t…I was worried about you cariño.” 

“DON’T CALL ME THAT!” He yelled as loud as his ravaged lungs would allow, scratching at the IV in the crook of his arm. 

Before Luke could stop the inevitable, Spencer had yanked the needle from his vein, a little trickle of blood following as he dislodged it. 

“Spencer, you need to calm down, please?” Luke spoke softly but it didn’t work. 

“No! I can’t calm down! You have to leave. Why are you here? Have you not done enough damage?” He was sobbing out of nowhere, trying to climb out of the bed but the catheter he was attached to kept him rooted in place with a tug at his crotch. 

In a fit of rage he threw the sheet off of himself and not much caring about the lack of dignity in his desperation to get away from who he perceived to be the man who raped him, he forcibly removed the tube inserted in his bladder. 

The pain that swelled in his genitals as he yanked the device was like nothing he had ever felt before and he collapsed on the floor with a sudden scream of agony. 

Luke was hurriedly rounding the bed, jamming the button for a nurse before running to Spencer’s aid. He was crumpled on the floor, blood and urine leaking from his exposed penis and writhing and whining. 

“Spencer, why did you do that?” Luke placed his hand on Spencer’s shoulder but in an instant, the younger man was shoving him away. 

“Don’t touch me! Don’t look at me!” He fought to pull his hospital gown down to cover himself. “Please, please don’t make me do it again.” 

“Do…do what?” Luke sat back on his haunches, the fear in Spencer’s eyes causing his stomach to turn. 

“I’ll do anything, just please don’t rape me again.” He sobbed. 

Spencer’s words floored Luke. He realised then that Spencer didn’t know who he was. He wasn’t seeing him as Luke, when he looked at him, he saw the man who had abused him. 

Luke felt the tears welling in his own eyes as he stared at the cowering man on the floor, still bleeding and urinating uncontrollably and groaning in pain. 

The door flew open a moment later and a nurse came rushing in. When she tried to help Spencer off the floor he started kicking and screaming in agitation. 

He had to be sedated again and Luke watched horrified as he was injected against his will, screaming as loudly as his poor lungs could manage while flailing away from the nurse. 

And then he suddenly stilled, flopping back to the ground in a pool of blood and urine.

***

When he awoke from his sedation, Spencer was alone which after what had happened previously, was most certainly for the best. 

His head was swimming from the vivid dreams and he couldn’t work out where he was or how he’d ended up here. 

Is this just another dream? Is that all death is, a series of intense, wild dreams? 

Gotta be dead. I drowned. I remember passing out, everything went black. 

He thought it was over when he’d opened his eyes and all the bodies faded away, thought he was finally going to be allowed some peace. 

But then his abuser found him again, he always found him only this time he’d restrained him. He tied him down to the bed so he couldn’t get away, spoke softly to him as though to lull him into a false sense of security. 

He’s strapped me down, what the hell is going to do to me this time? Oh no he’s going to do worse than have me suck him off this time, isn’t he? No, no I can’t, I can’t let him have me in that way! 

He’d clawed the mask off of his face and whatever the hell had been in the crook of his arm, he couldn’t make it out; he just needed it gone.

It was to his abject horror he found the man had inserted something into his penis as well. 

Why use such flimsy restraints? It’s like he wanted me to get away. Maybe he wanted a chase? He’s gotten bored of just having you suck his dick, Reid, he needs to up the ante. 

What the hell did he put inside of me? Was he trying to force an erection this time? He needs me to be hard so he can enjoy it? 

He’d tried to comfort him. When he’d fallen to the ground that monster was actually trying to sooth him. 

And who was that woman? Not Cat, not Diane. Are there more of them now? Oh god please, they’re enough on their own. 

He started to register the mask on his face, something itching the crook of his arm again and…yes there was that thing in his groin again. First things first, his arm. 

Rolling his head to the side he blinked several times as he tried to focus on what was on his arm. No, not on his arm. In his arm.

Must be Tobias, he’s drugging me, wants to make this easier on me. Whatever they plan on doing to me, he’s trying to help me forget. Maybe I should lean into it, alcohol was only doing so much. Dilaudid is better, dilaudid will make the pain go away. 

But what is in my damn cock?

He tried to sit himself up but his lungs burned viciously at even the smallest movement. He tried to power through, pulling the sheet off of his body and rolling up the gown he wore.

What am I wearing? Is he dressing me up now? Wants to dress me like a woman before he fucks me? What is this guy into?

The tube exited the tip of his penis and seemed to trail down the side of the bed, Spencer followed it to a clear bag hanging on the metal rails beneath the mattress. The bag was almost entirely empty with a small amount of yellowish liquid in the bottom.

Is that urine? Is that my urine? What is this for? Why would he…fuck why does my stomach hurt? 

He groaned behind the mask, falling back against the pillows. A pinching pain could be felt in his stomach and lower back. Each breath seemed to aggravate his lungs, it felt like someone was sitting on his chest with how hard it was to take a breath. 

The mask…is that helping or hindering? 

His shaky hand raised to the mask over his nose and mouth and he started trying to lift it but before he could, the door opened and Spencer froze his movements, looking wide eyed at the young woman who just entered the room.

She paused when she saw him looking back at him, both of them blinking at each other for a few moments before she smiled and continued towards him.

“Doctor Reid, I’m glad to see you’re awake.” She spoke in a chipper voice.

Doctor Reid? No one’s called me that in a long time. 

“How are you feeling?” She looked between him and a machine which was beeping a little frantically. She adjusted a dial and it quietened a little. “Hmm, you seem a little agitated?” 

Who are you? What do you want? How can you tell how I am from a machine that won’t stop beeping? Where am I and why do I have all of these…oh. Oh. 

“I’m not…not d-dead?” His voice was so quiet and hoarse she could only just hear him.

“You most certainly are not dead.” She smiled softly at him. “You’re at Canyon Vista Medical. Why don’t I get your doctor and he can explain more okay?” 

“Mmm’k.” Spencer nodded, his head cloudy. “Can I…w-water?”

“I’ll have the doctor bring you some.” She gently patted his arm before turning on her heels and exiting the room. 

The beeping makes sense, that’s your heart. Mask is probably oxygen helping you breathe after you nearly drowned yourself you dumb fuck. The needle is an IV, not dilaudid, can’t deny I’m a little disappointed. And you’re attached to a catheter, you ripped it out you moron. 

No wonder your stomach hurts you probably tore something, can’t urinate properly now and the pain is your bladder filling up with urine you can’t pass, you absolute goddamn fucking IMBECILE. 

No, no, must still be a dream. I’m dead, I’m DEAD. I saw him, right here in this room. He was right there trying to touch me, calling me cariño, trying to get me to…if I were alive he couldn’t be here. He’s still in prison, can’t be here. Must be dead. 

You drowned you jackass, you’ve fried you’re fucking brain to pieces. If you are alive your brain is no better than a goddamn potato at this point. You can’t trust your mind, can’t trust what you’re seeing. 

You’ve really gone and done it this time, Reid.

The door opened again and a man around his age in a white coat stepped inside, hugging a clipboard to his chest and holding a plastic cup in his other hand. 

He was tall and in shape with a dark complexion and shaved head, he oddly reminded Spencer of Morgan. 

Must be dead, Derek isn’t a damn doctor. You’re losing it, you are fucking losing it. 

“Hello Doctor Reid, my name is Doctor Ryan, I’m a neurologist. I was told you wanted some water?” He held the plastic cup towards Spencer.

Spencer reached for it, his hand trembling as he tried to clutch it. He brought it to his lips, or at least tried to, but hit the mask instead. 

“Careful, you can take it off for a moment while you drink but you need to take slow sips. If you find it hard to breathe, please put the mask back on right away.” Doctor Ryan, who still looked suspiciously like Derek Morgan, told him softly. 

Spencer nodded and cautiously lifted the mask before bringing the cup to his lips and taking a sip. Even the smallest drop of water felt glorious in his dry mouth. 

“Do you understand where you are? What happened to you?” 

Spencer took another sip, gasped for a breath before he remembered the mask and quickly fixed it back on his face before sucking in a deep lung full of oxygen. 

“D-dead?” He croaked. “Am I?” 

“No,” Doctor Ryan smiled sadly at him. “You’re in the hospital. We believe you fell asleep in the bathtub after consuming a lot of alcohol and fell beneath the water. You drowned.” 

He thinks it was an accident. At least they aren’t going to cart you off to some psyche ward and have you on suicide watch. 

Spencer wasn’t sure if the voice in his head was his own or if it belonged to one of the ghosts. His head was still blurry and he couldn’t decipher the voice. He supposed it didn’t really matter. 

“Are you in any pain or discomfort?” Doctor Ryan spoke again. 

“Hmm,” Spencer hummed. “Lungs sore.” 

“That’s to be expected. We removed the fluid from your lungs and you were on a ventilator for a while. But your respiratory activity is still not where we would like it to be. You may also feel some pain in your chest from the CPR administered to you. Nothings broken but scans show some bruising on your sternum.” The doctor spoke and Spencer screwed his face up. 

He was saying a lot of words and not all of them Spencer was able to comprehend. It felt like a thick veil was shrouded around his brain, not allowing all the information to pass through. 

You’ve really scrambled your brain. You can’t make sense of any of this. How many brain cells did you kill off? 

“I…okay.” He sighed, rubbing his eye with the hand not cradling the water cup. 

“Are you experiencing any other discomfort?” 

Spencer nodded.

“S-stomach. Back.” 

“Hmm,” Doctor Ryan frowned, bending down to inspect the catheter bag and seeing it was almost empty. “You may have done some kind of damage when you removed your catheter. The nurse noted some swelling when she reinserted it. Can I take your temperature?” 

“Hmm.” Spencer didn’t have the strength to fight it. 

The doctor moved closer to Spencer’s bed, setting his clipboard down on the side table and retrieving an in-ear thermometer from his pocket. He removed the sterile cap with his gloved hand and leaned in towards Spencer, gently inserting the little tip in Spencer’s ear. 

A moment later he was standing back and looking at the reading with a mildly concerned expression.

“It seems your temperature is a little high. My guess would be that you’ve torn or stretched your urethra in the removal of the catheter and this has led to either a urinary tract infection or urethritis which has narrowed the passage for urine to pass through. We’ll need to insert a suprapubic catheter through a hole in your abdomen to allow urine drainage. We’ll need to do this as soon as possible and under general anaesthetic. I’ll order an ultrasound so we can see more of what’s going on. It should be easily treatable with antibiotics as long as it's nothing more serious.” Doctor Ryan once again spoke too many words and Spencer struggled to keep up. 

Ryan pressed the button to call a nurse in while he picked his clipboard back up and inspected it. 

“I do need to ask you some questions, ascertain if you have any neurological deficits from the loss of oxygen. Would it be okay to start while we wait for the nurse to come to prep you or is the pain a little too much?” 

“No.” Spencer sighed. “S-start.” 

Let's just get it over with. Let’s find out how fucking crazy I am now. 

“Okay, we’ll start easy. Can you tell me your name?” 

“D-Doctor Reid.” He inhaled sharply behind the mask. “Doctor S-Spencer Reid. Spencer W-Walter Reid.” 

“Okay, that’s good. Can you tell me your date of birth?” 

Spencer’s eyebrows knitted together as he contemplated this one.

Come on genius, it's not hard. When were you born? You know this one. And if you don’t they are only going to get harder.

“O-October.” He closed his eyes briefly. “T-twelfth?” 

“And what year were you born?” Doctor Ryan encouraged. 

Goddamnit this shouldn’t be this hard. Think, think! 

“N-nineteen…eighty.” He frowned. “No…eighty one?”

The information was all there, he was sure of it, he just struggled to bring it to mind.

“And where do you live?”

“B-Bandera.” He spoke but then, “wait no, Tombstone?”

“That’s it.” Doctor Ryan nodded. 

The door opened then and Spencer was glad for the distraction of the nurse coming back in with a soft yet sad smile. 

“I think we’ll continue this later, okay Doctor Reid? My main concern right now is getting your bladder drained and assessing any urethral damage if that’s okay with you?” Doctor Ryan asked him.

As if I have a choice?

“B-brain scram…scrab…scrambled?” Spencer wet his dry lip with his tongue. 

“Clearly there are some memory blockages but that could be explained by the sedation you’ve been under. I’ll be back and we can speak more after your procedure, okay?” 

“Hmm,” Spencer simply hummed, closing his eyes against a wave of tears. 

***

Doctor Ryan explained to both you and Luke what he believed had happened in Spencer’s catheter removal and told you he was being taken for a short procedure to insert the suprapubic device to help him urinate. 

If the issue was a blockage caused by a tear like he expected, medication would be able to treat it and he should be able to have the catheter removed in a few days if they were lucky.

What he didn’t say, what you and Luke read between the lines, was that if they weren’t lucky, he would most likely have to live with a permanent catheter. Neither of you said as much though. 

Luke had given you the abridged version of what happened when Spencer woke up and freaked out before having to be sedated again. 

He hadn’t told you that Spencer had confused him with his rapist because honestly he wasn’t sure he could say it out loud. It was one of the hardest moments of Luke’s life hearing Spencer scream those words at him. 

“I’ll do anything, just please don’t rape me again.” 

But it all came out on the phone to Emily like he knew it would. He filled her in on what happened, that Spencer was in surgery having his new catheter fitted through his stomach and then the rest just came flying out. 

“Em it was so…fuck. He thought I was him, he thought I was one of those men that…he begged me not to…not to r…I can’t even say it. It’s worse than we thought, I think he’s too far gone. I think he’s lost to some kind of other world and I don’t know if we can get him back this time. 

“It’s got to be DID, coming off his meds and the heavy drinking, it’s caused a fracture. The dissociative amnesia was one thing, but full blown dissociative identity disorder? Em, this is bad. This is really fucking bad.” 

In typical Emily Prentiss style she managed to half talk Luke off of the edge he’d been threatening to jump over since he found Spencer in the tub. 

That’s why she’s the Section Chief, she’s so good at these things. Wish she was here, god how I wish she was here. 

“We’re still stuck on this case, I think it’s going to be a long one. But I can send Garcia out? If you need some kind of back up, even just some company?” 

Honestly the thought of seeing Penelope, her splash of colour on this otherwise dreary and depressing situation filled him with a momentary joy. But of course he couldn’t have her here, she’d seen your photo, she’d know who you were.

“It’s okay, you need all hands on deck. I’m not alone anyway, Reid’s…friend is here.” 

“Friend? You mean girlfriend?” There was a hint of amusement in her tone. 

“Uh, actually I think they are more than that. I noticed she was wearing what looked to be an engagement ring.” His stomach turned the same way it did every time he looked at that ring on your hand.

“Oh wow,” Emily gasped. “That must be weird for you.”

Weird? That was certainly an understatement. Luke had been planning on proposing to Spencer since their third date. He’d even told Spencer that night he intended to marry him one day. 

Even after everything that happened, even after they broke up and Spencer moved out to Texas, Luke still believed they would be able to work things out and that he would still one day get to marry the younger man. 

Best laid plans, huh Alvez?

“I guess weird is one word for it.” He sighed. “I hate this Emily, I don’t think I know how not to be in love with him.” 

“But he’s moved on. And I thought you had too?” 

“I’m…trying I guess. Grant is incredible, really, but I guess he’s not Spencer.” 

“No, he isn’t.” Emily agreed. “He’s far less complicated. He’s not struggling through a multitude of mental illnesses. He’s stable and he has his life together and the two of you could really have a future together Alvez, if you’re just willing to put Spencer behind you.” 

“Yeah, yeah I know.” He nodded. “Trust me when I say I want to have all that with Grant and I am trying. Things were great before I got that fucking phone call.” 

“You’ll be okay, Alvez.” 

“You don’t know that.” 

“Yes I do.” Emily laughed. “I know you’ll be okay the same way I know Reid will be okay. You are both incredibly strong, stronger than either of you give yourself credit for. I know for a fact you will both make it through this. Spencer might have an uphill battle on his hands but it’s nothing he can’t handle. And you are going to be happy with Grant, more than happy. I know you believe Reid was the love of your life but he isn’t Luke. But Grant might be.” 

“I hate it when you’re right.” Luke grumbled. 

“No you don’t.” Emily laughed again. “Anyway I’ve got to get back. Keep me updated and keep your chin up okay?”

“I’ll try. Thanks, Em.” He hung up the phone and returned it to his pocket. 

He padded back down the hall and found you in more or less the same position he’d left you in, slumped in the chair in the waiting room. 

He sat back down next to you, eyes drawn back to the ring on your finger and he could no longer bite his tongue. 

“He, uh…did he?” He nodded towards your hand. 

You looked at him from your seclusion in your oversized hood and instinctively curled your fingers into your palm. 

“Yeah.” You gnawed on your bottom lip. “But we all know I’m never actually going to be able to marry him.” 

“I had a ring.” Luke confessed for the first time out loud. 

You glared at him from inside your hood, eyes wide. 

“You…you did?” You croaked. 

“I was gonna propose to him but then he went to Mexico and got arrested. And after prison…there was never a good time. I still have it. It’s so dumb because it’s been years and I’m with-”

“Grant.” 

“Exactly. I know I should get rid of it but I-”

“No, Grant.” You nodded your head behind Luke and Luke stiffened. 

Slowly he turned to look over his shoulder at the man hovering in the entrance way of the waiting room. Grant looked slightly worse for wear, like he hadn’t slept, his clothes wrinkled just like his forehead. Luke jumped up and the two men took a few steps closer to one another.

“What are you…why are you…?” Luke’s voice cracked.

“I should have called, I’m sorry. I was just so worried about you and suddenly I was on a plane and now here I am.” Grant sighed. “I’m sorry.” 

Luke continued to stare in disbelief at his boyfriend here in this Arizona hospital while his ex was in surgery and he was making friends with a fugitive. Nothing about this scenario was normal so really it shouldn’t be a surprise that Grant was here. 

All of Luke’s emotions came flooding to the surface. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed the other man until right now, how much he’d needed him. Emily’s words swam through his mind as his tears broke free. 

“I know you believe Reid was the love of your life but he isn’t Luke. But Grant might be.”

“Oh my god, I am so glad you’re here.” Luke crumbled, collapsing into Grant’s arms as he started to sob.

Grant held him up, cradling him against his chest while his large hand rubbed up and down Luke’s spine. He made soft cooing sounds as Luke cried into his shirt. 

“It’s okay, I’m here. Let it out, hon. I’m here.” Grant whispered into Luke’s matted hair, placing kisses on his crown. 

Luke wrapped his arms around Grant’s waist, holding onto him for dear while you watched the two men with slight misty eyes. There was no doubt in your mind that these two cared for each other deeply, it was sweet but it made you a little wistful that you and Spencer wouldn’t have the kind of future the two of them could.

As soon as Spencer was out of the woods, Luke was going to have you arrested and you’d never see Spencer again. You didn’t have a future and your last remaining memories of him would be of him in hospital. 

God you were going to miss him. 

Luke continued to sob against Grant while Grant did his best to hold him up when his legs shook violently. The strong arms keeping him on his feet made Luke feel safe, he felt like he was home. 

It never felt like this with Spencer. I loved him but it never felt like this. This is what I’ve been searching my whole life for. Ever since I was fifteen years old and coming out to ma. This is what I’ve always wanted. I love him, I really fucking love him. 

Luke peeled himself away from Grant’s chest so he could meet his gaze. Despite his tears a faint hint of a smile ghosted his lips.

“I love you.” He blurted out for the very first time. “I know this isn’t exactly the time or place to be making confessions like that but I need you to know. I love you, I am in love with you.” 

Grant smiled softly, bringing one hand to cup Luke’s cheek and brush his tears with the pad of his thumb. 

“I love you too, dummy. I wouldn't have moved across the country for just anyone.” Grant drew him closer and placed a featherlight kiss on his lips. 

Behind your hood you silently cried at the outpouring of emotions between the two men. You toyed with the engagement ring on your finger as your stomach churned. 

Perhaps if you’d known what was waiting for you out there, if you’d known one day you would meet someone like Spencer and fall in love so profoundly, you wouldn’t have gone after Sayers. 

If you’d known where your life would end up then maybe you wouldn’t have pulled that trigger. But because of that one stupid mistake, you and Spencer would never have a future, you barely had a past. It was only a matter of time before Luke took you in and your short yet torrid love story with Spencer would be over before it had a chance to begin. 

Luke and Grant were just at the beginning of their tale, while your ending was currently being penned for you.

***

Hospital. Hospital. You are in the hospital. Not dead. Still alive. Hospital. 

Spencer repeated this mantra after waking up with a pain in his stomach and remembering the surgery he was having to insert the suprapubic catheter. 

Not dead. Not in limbo. Alive. Hospital. 

But if that’s true, why are the ghosts here?

He couldn’t see them thank god but he could hear them. A violent cacophony of voices blared inside of his head as they all fought for attention. 

Why are you here? If I’m really alive, why are you here? 

“You know why, Spencie. You didn’t completely destroy that delicious brain.” 

Fuck, have I had a schizophrenic break? Aren’t I too old to have my first break? Not unheard of, just rare. You always have been an overachiever.

“It’s not schizophrenia and you know it. You lived with it long enough, you know this isn’t what your mother had.” 

What is it then? It certainly feels like it. 

“Oh jeez, you really did fuck your brain cells didn’t you?”

He couldn’t comprehend which voice was saying what, his head was too foggy to discern the voices from each other. 

“Just think about it, logically. You know what this is.”

Spencer inhaled sharply, trying to focus on the symptoms in order to ascertain a cause. 

Disconnected from my surroundings. Foggy memory. Couldn’t even remember my date of birth at first. Uncertain in myself, in who I am. Multiple and distinct personalities fighting each other inside my brain. Dissociations. PTSD. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

DID. I’m suffering from dissociative identity disorder. Fuck, no, no not this too. It’s too much, its too fucking much. 

He was spiralling, floating out into the ether. His vision grew fuzzy at the edges, his stomach coiled into thick knots. 

The door swung open and he peered at Doctor Ryan through eyes that weren’t his own. Someone else was with him, a woman he had never seen before.

“How are you feeling, Spencer? You may feel a little discomfort from the insertion but that’s to be expected.” Doctor Ryan smiled at the man he had no idea wasn’t Spencer in that moment. 

“Spencer’s gone away.” The slightly haggard, older voice spoke from Spencer’s mouth, words laced with frustration. “Couldn’t hack it. He never could. My son is so weak.” 

Doctor Ryan and the woman exchanged a look and the woman took a step forward. In speaking to Luke and you they had understood the fear that Spencer may have succumbed to DID, which was why Ryan had invited Doctor Vikram, the hospital's head of psychiatric care, to assess Spencer.

“My name is Doctor Vikram but you can call me Dahlia. Can I ask what your name is?” The woman smiled appeasingly at the man who was not Spencer Reid.

“William. William Reid.” 

“And you are Spencer’s father?” She jotted down some notes. 

“For my sins.” The man in the bed rolled his eyes. And then in another voice “boys a goddamn sinner through and through.” 

“And your name is?” 

“Raphael.” The man spoke in a clipped tone. 

“Okay, are you here to protect Spencer?” 

“Protect him?” Raphael spoke through Spencer. “Why on earth would I want to do that? Thorn in my side that man. His daddy’s right, he’s a weakling.” 

“I don’t think that’s true. I think Spencer is a little scared, probably overwhelmed. I think he is using you and Mister Reid to hide from us. But I would very much like to speak with him.” Dahlia stayed calm, it was her job after all. 

She’d dealt with DID more than she cared to have, knew its workings and also knew how hard it was to diagnose. But Spencer was making it relatively easy. Whether or not this was just a passing phase or if it was permanent would be the hard part of the diagnosis. 

With his reported alcohol intake and the quitting his medication, she was hopeful that this would just be temporary. The variables had added up and created a shift in his mind but with any luck once he was back on the right medication and not drinking so much the symptoms may ease off and potentially never come back. She hoped it was just a brief break from reality and that it wouldn’t last forever. 

“With all due respect, Doc,” a sassy female voice left the man's lips now. “Spencie can’t handle it. Whatever you need to tell him, you’ll have to go through us, sweetie.” 

Again Vikram and Ryan exchanged a look. The personalities were rapidly presenting, hurriedly flitting between. That was three distinctive voices now in a matter of minutes. And there was no way to truly know how many people lived inside of Spencer’s head. 

“Spencer, I know you are in there and I need you to come out. Stop hiding behind these other personalities. You are safe, you are in the hospital. Whatever it is that you’re trying to hide from can’t hurt you here, I promise you that.” Doctor Vikram spoke slowly and calmly, daring to place her hand on Spencer’s bare arm.

His eyes flicked down to where she touched him. Her hand was cold, almost icy and it sent a shiver up his spine. His eyes fluttered closed and he suddenly went completely limp, muttering under his breath while he collapsed against the pillows.

“He’s too weak, not strong enough. He can’t handle it. We’re here to help.” 

A moment or two later his eyes shot back open and he looked frantically between the two doctors at his bedside, one of whom was touching his arm. The heart monitor started to increase its rhythmic beeps and he breathed heavily into his oxygen mask. 

His hand came to his chest, pressing against his bruised sternum and he groaned whilst trying to fight to catch his breath again. 

“Fuck, why…hurts. S’hurts.” He panted, a look of pain lacing his features. 

“Spencer, is that you?” Doctor Ryan stepped forward.

“Y-yes.” He nodded, still pressing against his chest. 

“Where does it hurt?” He asked, raising his voice to be heard over the beeping and Spencer’s erratic breaths.

“C-chest. Chest h-hurts.” 

Doctor Ryan whipped his stethoscope out of his lab coat pocket and hurriedly put it in his ears, holding the other end to Spencer’s chest while Spencer’s hand fell back to the bed. He moved it around a little, listening to Spencer’s uneven breath sounds. 

“He’s in respiratory distress. We need to get him up to the ICU stat. Page Doctor Wells to meet us there.” Ryan barked at Vikram. “Spencer, you're going to be okay, I just need you to try and stay calm. We’re taking you to the ICU, we’re paging the on call pulmonologist but I believe she will recommend you go back on the ventilator. You have to try and stay calm until we can sedate you.” 

Stay calm? You want me to fucking stay calm! Are you serious? My lungs feel like they’re going to explode! Fucking Christ just leave me here to die, wouldn’t it be easier? Fucking calm, how can I be calm? 

Internally he was screaming but he made little more than a whimper out loud. Everything seemed to speed up and slow down all at once and his head was a ravaged mess of voices and emotions and he didn’t have the energy or the willpower to pick through them all. 

There was a rush of light, was he moving? Were the walls moving? Something was moving. 

People came and went from his vision while he tried to fight for a breath. His lungs were on fire. He felt like he was drowning all over again. 

Somewhere in his mind Tobias tutted and shook his head at Spencer. Cat rolled her eyes and whispered something in Diane’s ear. Merva simply shook his head and his father muttered something about him not being strong enough. 

His abuser loomed over them all, that wicked smile on his face as he reached out a calloused hand and brushed Spencer’s eyelids until his eyes were closed. 

The pricking of a needle in the crook of his arm was the last thing he was conscious of before everything went dark and the ghosts came out to play. 

@kalulakunundrum @katrina0-0 @bakugouswh0r3 @prettyboyandthefangirl @zooni92802 @babyspiderling @pleasantwitchgarden @djsjjsjsjsjsnsnsns @bringitonhomejohnb @chineray1234

[lost-inthedream]

Helping SF9 heal from a bad breakup

but reader has bad intentions 🌶

Context: you and him were friends for a while, but now that he is single again you feel a hard crush striking you (again)

Pairing: sf9 x gn reader

Genre: more suggestive than explicit smut, there's angst but it isn't the focus.

Warnings: bad words, mentions of cheating, mentions of sex, suggestive touches, alcohol.

Bonus song rec: XO, by I.M

Youngbin:

He is the type to stay home and not talk much about the breakup while he recovers. He is moody and doesn't want to infect you with his vibe. Yet even he had to admit that it was lasting too long so he started seeing you after work with a smile on his face.

You perceived his fakeness but didn't comment on it. The way he kept you company on your way home was adorable. You were becoming closer with each passing day.

At some point, you only needed a small move to kiss his neck in the middle of a goodbye hug, and so you did. He stuttered your name and you just shushed him "You should get in, Binnie"

He let you walk him in and resume your hot kiss on his neck while comfortably sitting on his lap. "You're so good to me, y/n" he sighs. You felt his fingers squeezing your thigh.

Inseong:

Inseong almost fooled you, he gave you the news about his breakup with a quite calm tone even though the history was awful. He immediately started seeing you more often, just like you did when you two were single.

You even dragged him to buy new gym clothes because he was like bubblegum, glued to you. You had to admit you liked his silly face following you around, but at times you noticed hints of sadness in his expression.

"Hey, Seongie. I'm in doubt about these two shorts. Do you think this one will look better on my... butt?

He genuinely laughed at your jest, he couldn't see you had a true interest in him. So you asked if his ex was bold enough to take him to a dressing room and make out there. You ended up pinning him up against the mirror.

Jaeyoon:

He in fact believes that he might recover faster if he fucks around. But he won't tell his best friend that he has been seeing a new person. Especially if he doesn't like them much.

You haven't seen him a lot since his chaotic breakup but you heard rumors about him, then you openly asked him about that.

"That's nothing serious, y/n. I'm not introducing them to my family or something"

"You know what?" you asked him touching his hair a bit. "I know a way to make you feel better than this"

Jaeyoon definitely didn't want to give you any part in such a situation. However, as soon as you looked at him with those curious eyes and a promise on your lips he changes his mind.

You take his t-shirt off and start sucking on his abs, chest, nipples...

Dawon:

Dawon becomes just a shadow of what his true self is. Your best friend, who is the life of the party, is now sipping his drink at the corner. "Don't wanna scream your lungs out at the karaoke like a normal person?" you asked him after bumping his shoulder with your own. "Maybe it will help"

"I'm fine, y/n" he lies.

"I see" you respond. "I'll stay here with you if you don't push me away"

He would never. In a gesture of gratitude, he smooched you on the cheek.

You got closer until your body was pressing his, but he didn't move a millimeter. You looked up to see his face and he was already studying you.

"There are things I wanna do to you"

"Hope they are very nasty things" he spat back and offered you his drink.

You drank from the glass while piercing him with the gaze of an animal. He was no different, deep down all he needs is a good blowjob.

Rowoon:

Seokwoo was slightly embarrassed with the way things ended. One day he was the happiest man alive, then the next day his girl changed him for another guy.

"I'm not saying you have to take revenge, but you can do it" you suggested while you all had a relaxing walk around his neighborhood.

"Even if I wanted to... I don't see how" he answered with a weird delay.

You chuckled and took his hands, interlacing your fingers with his.

"She has an ego after all, she may think me and you had a thing while you were with her"

That started with casually walking up holding hands where his ex could see and ended with him under you and begging to have you. "I don't know, Seokwoo... maybe sex is too much" you provoke.

Zuho:

It's like he is losing all his talent, he told you in a moment of weakness. "I shouldn't be bothering you with my problems" he apologizes right after. He felt like working in his music could help him out of that breakup but where is his inspiration when he needs it?

"That's alright, I'm not bothered. I think you need to clean your mind from those hard feelings before you can make something new." You squeeze his thigh in a signal of partnership. His tattoo was under your palm and you lingered your eyes there for a while.

He placed his hand over yours and rubbed your skin with his thumb.

"Any idea?" he questioned with anticipation.

You moved your hand to smoothly feel his inner thigh as well, which made his shorts lift a bit.

"You're not bothering me, neither using me, okay? I want you."

He gave in and let you touch his body freely, you could feel how curious he was about what you would do next.

Yoo Taeyang:

"I hope you're doing better now" you voiced after giving your friend a warm hug.

Since that breakup everyone heard about, Taeyang hasn't been spotted but now you were together.

"I do" he answered with a sigh. "I'm even wearing the t-shirt she hated!"

You melted inside. Taeyang has always been an adorable guy. His sensitive side makes you want to protect him.

"You look hot in it" you strike just to see him chuckle. "I mean it, I would hit you if we weren't just friends."

"What's the problem about being friends?" he unexpectedly replied.

You came closer nodding at his consideration. "You should kiss me wearing this tee or take it off..."

Hwiyoung:

Unlikely Zuho, Hwiyoung spends his days writing his little emo songs about his ex. "That's my way to cope, y/n" he explained to you when you visited him. "Do you wanna read them?"

"Sorry, babe, but I'm not here to hear more about that girl"

"Oh, you're right. I'm dumb"

You hold his face between your hands and shook your head no. He wasn't dumb at all, he was a gorgeous man who did not deserve to suffer. "I've been thinking about kissing away these dark circles around your eyes."

His lips parted in surprise but he didn't attempt to move away. You could lean in and Hwyoung simply let you explore his face, brushing your mouth against his cheekbones and eyelids while he held on your waist.

Chani:

You were afraid that Chani's bedroom would become empty. He couldn't stop finding things to throw away.

"Fuck her, I should set fire to all this shit but I don't wanna contribute to the global warming"

You held your laugh because above all, he was sad.

"Chani, come here". You saw his demeanor change to something softer at your call. "That girl was a bitch but you will be fine"

He stood up and faced you, that was so clear that he took everything you ever say in consideration.

"You're right. I'm too stressed out"

You took both his hands and interlaced your fingers with his.

"Why did we stopped hooking up?" You smoothly asked.

Chani shrugged and moved your arms to the top of his shoulders, so he could kiss you more naturally. That was a needy kiss, his tongue traced your lips before intruding in.

[ryololart]

Tex Losing Her Legs

Tw: childhood trauma, gore, trauma in general, angst

My head is woozy, I can feel the blood draining from my forehead. It falls like rivers of red making paths down my cheeks to my chin where it drips off like a waterfall. Stars explode in front of my face. They cry and sing out for me, but their words are sharp and prick my ears. The sparks shine, coating my face in ash and dust making my eye itch and water. I try to stretch out my arms but they are limp to my sides. I am a phoenix rising from embers but forever cursed to wallow in her grave. It is sort of  beautiful to be stuck in such a state, unable to do a thing but watch as the world swallows me whole. 

“Up! Up! Texas let’s go,” the star's sorrowful plea is strained and exhausted. My mouth opens to say ‘I can’t’ but I have lost the ability to, instead a groan escapes. The sound does not appear as it has come from me, the pitch not familiar. The normal rasp is not equipped, instead it is wet and desperate. The dark around the stars becomes shaky. The once opaque landscape is translucent, colors shifting and changing behind a curtain. I can see time passing me by as I sit, unable to perceive the change. 

I heard a story once, about a man who lost connection to the International Space Station. He was on shift to repair something on the outside and his tether was not attached correctly. He floated out into space for three hours before someone was able to rescue him. He describes the incident as one of those life changing moments, where you realize everything is finite. One day you are at the top of your physics program, and worried about the upcoming test, the next you are with your family cheering that you got into the NASA Astronaut program, and then you are floating off into space, alone, in silence, where nothing matters. You look back at Earth now, from way above, no one knows that there is a man just floating above the atmosphere. Is that what God feels like? To just watch from above as patterns shift and change? This is what I imagine he felt like, time running away, no way to calculate how long it has been. No way to tell the people in your life how much you love them, no way to look back at all the things you have done in pride, no, you just drift away, empty, watching forever. God must be lonely.

I hoped that death would be like falling asleep after a long car ride and your parents carrying you to bed. You try to hide the smile that shows you did it on purpose to be carried, to feel the love that comes from that unspoken devotion a parent has to their child. The warm hands that could not be mistaken for another embrace your skin, unbuckling you from the seat. The being is so careful to climb up the stairs and to not let your creaky bed door ring out. Those same hands tuck you into bed as the body they belong to whispers a soft good night like a lullaby. 

“Wake up, wake up, wake up,” the stars scream again, this time in the form of people. Their hands grip my shoulders as lights shine in my face. Not like the beautiful show from before, now like bombs going off overhead. The stars explode and shriek, bursts of color here and there. It overloads my senses and I feel myself sinking further into my grave. All the sudden you are not floating in space anymore, you are running with everything you have left to give.

Death is like a march to the finish line, not the gentleness of a parent’s love. Not the soft warmth of being carried home. No. It is the  pop of the gun that goes off before you are ready to run. The heart starts racing, the mind is on overdrive, the fight to survive flowing through your blood in the form of adrenaline. The lungs gasp for air, trying to climb out your throat to reach the oxygen, no amount that you gulp down makes a difference. There is a sitch in the side that is unwelcome telling you time is up, give in. Just give in. Yet the body keeps going, the perfect machine, determined to win against nature. 

“Evangeline,” the glaze that was once over my eyes evaporates into the air and I see the first familiar thing, a pair of dark gray iris’s pouring into mine. “Do not look down.” 

A pair of gloves that appear to be bleeding before me tilts my head up, completely disorienting me once again. I want to close my eyes and go back into the comfort of my dark escape, but my body is running the race, forcing myself to acknowledge the world. I try to let my lungs expand to open to the world but I choke on something thick and boiled. I try to spit, pushing my lips together but the muscles scream at me to stop moving. I give an involuntary cough at the uncomfort in my throat and my body lights up like a christmas tree. Every single nerve explodes into fireworks, expanding and contracting, trying to connect with the sky by reaching up into the atmosphere. Yet they stay trapped in my body, paralyzing me.

There is someone else there, I can feel his movements in the sensory receptors that is making up for my lack of awareness. He keeps my face tilted up towards his and I can hear sounds coming out his mouth but they do not mean anything. The gibberish is not familiar but his voice, so rough and brutal as I am used to,  is instead sorrowful and desperate. Something is wrong, I know this, but I crave the comfort of being unknowing. I choose that it is okay in this moment to accept that I will never see that starry night my brain made for me, I will only ever see the smoke clouding the ceiling like a mirror reminding me of my state. 

The pain fades for a second as I take my first breath and what must have been hours. I can feel the shakiness of my chest as it expands. My skin is hot and wet and I can’t grip onto anything. As my conscience awakens I frantically try to take in my surroundings. Gray cement floors. White walls now painted in abstract red. Black-covered bodies run in the room. As the relief floods the pain returns and I gasp loudly. The cough comes again, harder this time and blood follows out my mouth. It is sticky and warm, coating my chin and the hand holding up my face. 

“How much longer, Roach?” He exclaims, using his thumb to wipe the blood away.

“I need another minute, we gotta set what we can or we may lose half of her.” Roach yells back. That is when I realize I can’t feel below my waist, all the pain that is shooting through me is only from there up. I managed to look as far down as a can, only to be met with Roach’s body crouched over my legs. Or what seemingly remains of them. 

My hand flies up to grip Simon’s vest and he catches it reflexly. I look at him in shock trying to remember how to breathe, my legs, they are just masses of blood. My boot is twisted backwards on the right side, my left is bent at the femur. 

“No, Evan, stay with me. You are in shock, we are going to get out of here.” He holds my hand bringing it to his masked face. All my thoughts scream however, you are stuck, you are stuck, you are stuck. Suddenly I am no longer in the Karoknoze Mountains, I am in Sanderson, Texas.

 My childhood bedroom was characterized by lead paint and mold. The walls were a pale pink that was chosen by my mother. She was so excited to have a daughter, finally, after a boy who caused her so much trouble. Mason got in so much trouble, whether in school with other kids and teachers, or with our father. All my mother wanted was to raise a baby girl, a child that was one of her kind. One that would have her back and be on her side no matter what. The love between a mother and daughter is like no other, they are intertwined from birth. A daughter is the soul captured when it left her mother, the soul that is fighting over and over to remain innocent, however, all souls only exist to be corrupted.  It is the deer in headlights, trying to move, but stuck, in ever revolving hell. The car keeps coming and coming, yet you watch in awe, the lights are so beautiful. Let them come and take me, I’d rather bathe in this unforgiving light than live this light of fight. Women fight every single day to just exist peacefully, and every day it gets harder. Every single mother and daughter suffer the cycle, bending time in hopes that the original sin will be forgiven. However God is considered a Man. Men are not friends of women. The daughter carries her mother’s sins to try to become anew, to only suffer the same fate with the best of intentions. They are doomed. The door knob that has been broken off so many times twists and makes a horrible sound. 

“Mason, you are in the wrong room,” My 14 year old body sits up as I watch from the back of my mind. My thin, thread-bare, white tank top starts to fall off my shoulder as a small hand, worn and torn, pushes it back up. I can smell the drink on him, the alcohol writing over the damp smell that always sits in this room. I call him again as he opens  the door fully.“Mason.”

“Hola, Princessa,” He takes a swig from the bottle that swishes in his hand. His wife beater stained brown from the excess he indulges in. He tries to go for a Spanish accent but fails miserably, I’m not sure if it is the drink or the fundamental lack of ability. It is ultimately impressive that he cannot speak Spanish when he spends more time in Mexico and dealing with the Mexicans than in Texas.

“Mason, go back to your room.” My body sits up against the wall pulling the covers up with me. Fear is stricken in every joint as they creak and groan with the movements. I feel frozen physically, my bones molded together with metal. His heavy footsteps made the floorboards scream as he entered my room, the light from the window forcing a shadow behind him.

“I have missed you sister, you are always gone when I’m home,” His words slur as he approaches the bed. A hand gripping the covers, pulling against my own strength. My face quivers like a doe, his body just one big light. “You owe me little girl.” 

His bottle falls onto my bed as a knee breaches the soft blanket. I swing my legs over the side and my feet touch the floor as his hand lurches out, grabbing me by the face, my mouth covered in its wake. I scream but no one is here as he pulls me back. I am stuck. I am stuck. I am stuck. 

Then the door opens again but this time it is another beast with its own lights, however they are worn and dim. The lights speak to each other as I raise my hooves to his hand and let my teeth bite down as hard a possible. Blood sprays my face and he jumps back. I hit the floor and get to the window, pushing it up, and make my escape. Just as I get outside a bottle hits the window and the glass sprays everywhere. I gasp and hit the hard floor of the desert before limping out into the darkness, not bothering to check behind me.

Before  I can realize I am being pulled across the cement, the gentle hand that is holding my face has left me. Instead I can feel someone else’s reach under my back and pull me up. I try to rip myself away with the little strength I can muster but only a fool tries to run on broken legs. I am a horse to be shot for sure. I am no longer useful. 

Then I see the glint of the sunglasses in an already dark room, the shine of a gun being forced into my hand, a tap on the side of my face that only means one thing. Get home. When Roach realizes I am no longer fighting him he wretches me up and over his shoulder. I lay limply there, just my torso making contact with his strong body. My fingers squeeze my gun as I keep my eyes on the back of his heels. He pats the side of my thigh and he moves quickly and precisely. The hallways zigzagged like a maze. It’s all shaky, hard to perceive. Colors and lights dancing in front of my eyes as we make our escape. 

[bookishzelda]

Words I’ve Been Saving for a Rainy Day

Summary: The Dragonborn has managed to escape Cidhna Mines… and her most loyal follower is waiting for her with open arms. (Farkas x OC Dragonborn)

Word count: ~3300

Hurt/comfort but like mostly fluff

CW: brief mentions of injuries

A/N: Guys something about the Cidhna Mines questline captured my imagination. Being separated from my follower, talking to the other prisoners about why I have to get out, and seeing my friend run up to me as soon as I escape… I had to go in-depth. And the only way I know how to do that is by writing something completely self-indulgent. It also has lots of pining added in because that's truly all I do irl. Um anyway...

Frida blinked hard in the sunlight that seemed to burn her eyes. She had already grown accustomed to the dim lantern-light of Cidhna Mines, even though she could only have been trapped inside for a few days.

She took in a deep breath of the cool, open air. The dirty smell of the city and the faint rotting odor was preferable to the thick atmosphere of dust, death, and unwashed bodies that permeated the mines, inescapable and almost tangible. The clean air with which she greedily filled her lungs nearly brought tears to her eyes.

Madonach and her fellow escapees ran ahead of her, weapons drawn, locked in battle with Thonar and the guards. For once, Frida didn’t join the fray, instead leaning against the stone wall, her newly-returned pack of belongings dangling from her arm. Her body still cried out in pain from her fight with the guards before she had been beaten down and dragged off to the mines; the flowering bruises on her midsection where they had repeatedly kicked her while she was down, the shoulder that she had had to force back into place, and the several barely healed wounds from their swords. In this moment, her bloodlust had been replaced by pure exhaustion. She didn’t want to fight—she just wanted to get back to Breezehome and forget about all of this. But how could she get back to Whiterun? She had made her way to Markarth in a drunken stupor, completely unaware of her actions. She could only hope there was a stable near the city with a carriage to rent. And more importantly, where had Farkas gone? Hopefully back to Jorrvaskr, since the city was so dangerous, especially for a friend of a perceived criminal.

Farkas.

The raven-haired man was the one person who never left her mind while she was fighting for her life in Cidhna Mines. She needed to get back to the other Companions, of course, and Lydia, and her other friends. They had all resided in her mind when she had to summon motivation to escape. But Farkas, her sweet, strong shield-brother, was constantly on her mind, the one person she just had to see again. While she lay sleepless on the hard ground, his gruff voice echoed in her mind, reminding her why she had to get out. She needed so badly to see him again—to receive assurance that he was safe. She needed to feel his calloused hand on hers, hear the rumble of his voice, lose herself in his ice-blue eyes….

“Frida!”

Her head snapped in the direction of the voice, her heart soaring when she saw her shield-brother sprinting toward her. “Farkas?” she breathed, dropping her precious bag.

When he reached her, Farkas wrapped her in an embrace. Immediately her bruised ribs screamed in pain, and she took in a sharp breath. “Ow, ow, ow, ow.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Farkas immediately loosened his grip on her, still keeping her in a gentler embrace. “I’m so sorry. I just… I’m so glad to see you again.” He pulled away, resting his large hands on her shoulders to look at her. Frida’s heartbeat sped up as his intense gaze met hers.  “I… I swear I spent so long trying to find a way to get you out, but I couldn’t; and I was about to go get the other Companions so we could bust you out but, uh… u-um, I’m glad you’re okay.” He trailed off and shifted his gaze as his mind seemed to catch up with his emotions.

Frida smiled at his sudden shyness. “Don’t worry. Thank you, Farkas, but I’m okay.” She lifted a hand to rest on his jawline. “I’m okay.” Her heart pounded hard in her chest as his ice-blue eyes stayed fixed on hers, the wild concern in them almost intense enough to knock her backwards. Damn. Only one person in all of Tamriel was capable of rendering the Dragonborn into such a vulnerable state. The most powerful woman in Skyrim… brought to her knees by a simple but handsome warrior.

Farkas leaned his cheek into her palm, then inclined his head to slowly look her up and down. She suddenly felt exposed before him. Her roughspun tunic and ragged pants felt too thin and revealing to stand up to his careful scrutiny. She escaped his gaze by wrapping her arms around him and pulling herself against his chest. His metal armor was cold against her skin. This was the first time she had ever embraced him—in all their travels together and all the time they had spent together in Jorrvaskr, they had never touched each other in such a way. Not that Frida didn’t think about it—she did, more often than she would admit to anyone. At night, as she laid in bed wishing the beast blood didn’t fend off rest, or in the middle of a long trek across the tundra when her mind began to wander. She would imagine a moment just like this, his hot breath ruffling her hair, his rough hands pressing softly against her back, his wolfish smell of leather and sweat.

It felt good. It felt right.

“Frida,” Farkas said in a low voice, as if he was worried that he would frighten her. “Um… I know you’re the Harbinger and you give the orders, but….” He pulled away and looked back into her eyes. “Come on. You and I are getting out of here. Let’s get you back to Jorrvaskr.”

For once she didn’t protest, the fatigue in her mind only letting her say, “Okay.”

Farkas hoisted her bag onto his shoulder, then moved to her side and held her close to him, letting her lean her weight on him as they walked. There were a lot of steps—by the time they reached the front gates of the city, her legs were trembling. Even as the pain rippled through her body, she couldn’t help but glance down at his hand pressed firmly against her waist.

By Talos, she was finally in the arms of the man she admired, and all it took was a near-death experience and a life sentence.

When they had finally, finally made it out of the city, and Frida had flashed a middle finger at two different guards, Farkas released his protective hold on her, opting instead to place his hand on her shoulder. “Look, a cart,” he said, pointing. They approached the carriage, and the driver looked down at them.

“Need a lift?” he asked.

“We need-“ Farkas began before Frida cut him off.

“Excuse me, I still have some of my dignity left.” She took a step away from Farkas. “We’d like to… whoa…” Her head spun and she staggered backwards into Farkas’ waiting arms. “…Um—hire your carriage.”

“Of course. Where to?” the driver asked.

“Whiterun.”

“20 septims.”

Frida reached for her bag on Farkas’s other arm, but he held her back as he produced a handful of coins from his own money pouch. Frida glared at him as he handed them to the driver.

“Climb aboard,” said the driver.

Farkas guided her around to the back of the cart. “All right, come on,” he said. Before Frida was aware of what was happening, one of his arms had caught behind her knees, sweeping her off her feet so she was draped bridal-style across his arms. She yelped in surprise, but he just chuckled, a low noise that began deep in his chest like the purr of a saber cat. He carefully climbed into the back of the carriage, carrying her effortlessly.

Frida couldn’t help but glance up at his face. It was so close to hers, close enough for his long hair to brush against her cheek, tickling her skin. His face was set in stone as he focused on carrying her as delicately as if she were made of glass. She saw his eyes flick down at her, then straight ahead again.

He set her down gently on the carriage seat and sat down across from her. She heard the flick of the reins and the carriage began moving.

Taking them home.

Frida reached for her bag and withdrew a loaf of bread. She took a huge bite and closed her eyes in ecstasy. It had been days since she had eaten anything that tasted this good. She took a few more ravenous bites before rummaging around in her bag again to pull out a red apple. She bit into it greedily, willing the sweetness to restore her energy.

Farkas watched her with a smile. Frida held out the remainder of the loaf of bread. “You want some?”

“No, thanks. You need your strength.”

Frida shrugged and tossed her apple core over the side of the cart. She laid down on her side and stretched across the seat. The wood was rough under her cheek. They rode in silence for a few minutes, listening to the rumble of the stone path under the wheels.

Frida broke the silence. “Thank you, Farkas.”

He looked at her, puzzled. “For what?”

“For waiting for me. Making sure I wasn’t alone when I got out.” She shifted her gaze to the floor, hoping it would remove the feeling of vulnerability.

“Don’t be stupid,” he scoffed, making her chuckle. “Of course I waited for you. Frida, I would go to all ends of Tamriel with you. Remember our oath when you became a Companion? ‘I’ll stand at your back, that the world might never overtake us.’ I mean that, sister.”

Frida’s heart fluttered in her chest. Yes, she remembered. Of course she did. She had replayed his words in her head every day since she had first been accepted into the group. It was a script that they were made to say for every new member, of course, but that evening as she lay in her new bed, she had let herself imagine him whispering them to her, just her.

“And you’re sure you’re all right?” he asked, interrupting her reverie.

“Yes, Farkas. You don’t have to worry.”

“What about the other prisoners? Those men who were in there with you, they never…?” he trailed off, but his eyes held a certain fear that she rarely had the opportunity to see.

“No,” she said firmly. Although the men who she had shared the space with had been deprived of female companionship for months or even years, most of their energy had been so drained and their bodies so broken from the hard labor that they posed no threat to Frida. At least nothing that she wasn’t able to fix with a few precise blows from her fist. “No, nothing happened.” She saw his eyes narrow with doubt, studying her face intently to find any sign that she was lying. She smiled softly. “I promise. I was stronger than them, even with my injuries. Do you even know me, Farkas? I fought them if they even looked wrong in my direction.”

A corner of his mouth turned up. “I know, I know, you can take care of yourself. Thank the Nine that no one hurt you. I just… I do worry about you, Frida. I know you don’t see it, but when we’re walking through the city, I see the way the men look at you. You’re a pretty lady, and I can tell exactly what they’re thinking.”

Frida grinned, her cheek rubbing against the rough wood. “You think I’m pretty?” she asked teasingly.

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head, sister. The point is… I care about you. Probably more than you know. I know you’re strong enough to look after yourself, but, well….” His eyes shifted away, and Frida swore she saw the ghost of a blush creep over his face. “You mean more to me than I have the words to say. Knowing you were in trouble and there was no way I could help you… it tore me to pieces inside. I couldn’t think of anything but seeing you again, safe with me. And it wasn’t just then. I’m always worried for you. I do my best to protect you, and I want to always be there for you.” His eyes closed. “I’m sorry, I’m not good with words.”

“No,” Frida breathed, hardly audible over the pounding of blood in her ears. “No, I think you’ve said it plenty well.” She always knew, of course, that Farkas cared for her; as did Vilkas and Aela and all of the Companions. It was just part of being in the group. But there was a shyness in his voice, a defenselessness in the way he carefully chose his words, that made her stomach flutter. It brought to mind all the sleepless nights they had shared together, sitting across from each other by a campfire, sharing stories of their past battles and laughing until the sun showed its face once more. The feasts they had attended in Jorrvaskr, where she would glance at him across the table only to see his eyes darting away. The battles they had fought, two against ten, each of them throwing themselves in harm’s way to deflect the enemy from the other. All that time her admiration for him had only grown… had he always felt the same?

She took a deep breath. “I… I feel the same way, Farkas. I want to be there to protect you. I want to be by your side. I always have.” She sat up slowly, gripping her tunic to hide the fact that her hands had begun to tremble. She swallowed, wishing that she was facing a blood dragon instead of confessing her feelings to her shield-brother.

Farkas gave a small smile. “It’s more than that. The way I feel for you is stronger than just as a shield-sister. I… I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re strong and brave and smart and selfless and… beautiful.” His skin had taken on a full blush now. “Frida, when you were away from me, I realized… I love you.”

Frida’s breath caught in her throat. He loved her. All this time she had spent convinced that he thought of her only as a friend, while she wished he was holding her, and he felt the same way. All the moments that they had shared together that she secretly treasured, he had kept in his own heart. “I know it’s more, Farkas.” She swallowed hard. “I know because I feel it, too. I have for a long time. You’re the kindest person I’ve met on my journey. You’re my most faithful companion. I’m so grateful that our paths have crossed, because I admire you, so, so much, more than I can ever say. And I do—I-I love you.”

His face split into a grin. “Really?”

She smiled, relief washing over her after finally uncovering her affections. “Really.”

Farkas pushed himself off the bench and knelt at her feet. Reaching for her clasped hands on her lap, he enveloped them in his own. His pale eyes locked onto hers, and without breaking her gaze, he pressed her hands tenderly to his lips. Frida’s heart raced. This couldn’t be real. One hour ago she was still in a labor prison; now the man she had feelings for was anointing her with kisses. She almost couldn’t process it.

“My hands are dirty,” she blurted out. It was a stupid thing to say, of course, but she suddenly felt self-conscious.

Again he gave that chuckle that she loved so much. “Doesn’t matter,” he said before pressing another kiss to the back of her hand. The contact shot through her veins like a shock spell, making her heart palpitate and her skin tingle. Now that her skin was against his, she never wanted to break away. Maybe they could stay here forever.

She reached down to cup his cheek, running her fingers over his stubble.  “Gods, you’re so handsome.”

His skin took on an even brighter shade of pink and his pretty eyes shifted away from hers, clearly trying to fight off a pleased smile. Frida couldn’t help but smirk at how flustered he became at her praise. She had wanted to tell him that for so long. Now that their feelings were out in the open, she intended to say it as much as she could.

Farkas mimicked her, bringing up a hand to rest on her cheek. His hand was rough and calloused, but Frida had never felt anything more heavenly. “How long?” he whispered.

She smiled, a little embarrassed. “Since Dustman’s Cairn,” she confessed. “When you fought off all the Silver Hand and protected me. And when you shoved me out of harm’s way, and you were so apologetic after. You were so strong and I… well, I couldn’t help but be attracted to you.” She turned her head to touch a soft kiss to his palm. “But my feelings have grown ever since then. That was infatuation. This is something different. Bigger.”

He smirked, bringing his hand back down to clasp hers. “Dustman’s Cairn, huh? That feels like ages ago. All this time, and you never said anything to me?” She nodded silently, with no real defense. He smirked. “You really are a fascinating woman.”

“And what about you?” she asked. “How long have you felt this way?”

His brow furrowed thoughtfully. “Well… to tell you the truth, I was attracted to you from the moment I first saw you. When we first found you outside of Pelagia Farm, I knew you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever laid eyes on. I always felt a little nervous around you, even though you were new blood. There was just something special about you.” He scratched the back of his neck. “But it was one normal evening in Jorrvaskr when I realized I had real feelings for you. I doubt you even remember it. You and Ria had just come back from a job. Your face and your clothes were stained with fresh blood, and you had this giant wound on your arm that Aela fussed over—but you had this massive grin on your face. You kept talking about how the battle made you feel so alive and you couldn’t wait for your next job. And you had a huge new sword that you had found and you wanted to show it to everyone who would look at it. That’s what made me realize how special you are. It was sudden and unexpected, but I felt like I really saw your spirit that evening.” He rubbed his hands over hers. “That was only a few months ago. It feels like I’ve loved you my whole life.”

He released her hands, but his warmth remained on her skin. Gods, it had only taken her a few minutes to grow accustomed to his touch, and now her body longed for it when it was gone. She wondered if he knew how powerful he was over her.

Farkas pushed himself up and sat beside her on the bench. He took her chin in his hand, and she felt the same jolt of electricity. His eyes locked with her own once more before his lips met hers, stealing the breath from her lungs. His kiss was soft and gentle, but the touch of his lips sent the  blood pounding through her veins. Her eyes fluttered closed and her hands wandered to his shoulders, the cold armor presenting a sharp contrast to the heat of her flushed skin. This was everything she wanted. This very moment was what she had envisioned for so long.

He broke away just enough for her to gasp for air. His fingers traced over her cheek, memorizing every scar and scratch. “I could never believe the Dragonborn would love me,” he whispered. “But I swear to you. I will always watch over you. I will always be here for you.”

He sealed his promise by bringing her in for another kiss. There was a hunger behind it, a primal, desperate desire, and with a sigh, Frida surrendered to it completely.

[ladylaviniya]

The Negatives of Shooting People

Chapter 1 ll Masterlist || Chapter 2

Chapter Summary: Among the rain and misery at the bus stop you meet a stranger named August Walker, and he is 'awfully' concerned...

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Explicit, Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Smut, P in V intercourse, No Contraception, Manipulation, Older Man/Younger Woman, Implied Suicide, Suicidal Ideation, Drugging, Loss of Virginity.

Pairing: Kingpin!August Walker X F!reader (No Description)

Word Count: 10.4k

Author Notes: This story has been published in the past on Tumblr on my old account @milknhonies-old-account since I have created a newer account and I am currently editing the entire story because it doesn't suit my vision as the author. If you'd like to be included in or removed from the Taglist, please comment below

Inspiring Song: ‘Daddy Issues.’ – The Neighbourhood

A rush of air sucked out from your lungs as your hands and knees collided with the gravel pavement. Your stupid kitten heel snapped and your handbag had flown a couple metres in front of you.

Your heart thudded against your ribs as you poorly attempted to catch your anxious breath.

“Dumb. Very stupid. I perceived you to be smarter than this…” his voice dripped into your burning hot ears.

He was behind you, you knew that…with his hands in his suit pockets. His expensive leather shoes crunched on the rocky path the closer he neared you.

You hissed when the chilly night air whistled against your cut up palms. Blood rose up from your skin, shining in the light of the city lamp.

You flinched as his two fingers traced along your spine and pressed harshly down on the back of your neck.

‘Please no!’

With watery eyes, you watched him walk pass and collect your handbag. His lithe fingers dove inside and pulled out the phone. His lips pursed as he let it fall from his hand before crushing it under his foot.

The salty tears raced down your cheeks, gliding into your trembling mouth.

If only you could’ve screamed for help. If only there was someone in the alley way to see what had unfolded.

A hiccup escaped you and he softly cooed, “It’s alright now, I think it’s about time you received an education, my darling.”

You shook your head and felt the rise of bile in your throat.

“Please,” you begged with a raspy voice, “I won’t tell anyone. Let me go. I swear I won’t go to the police, just let me go!”

He tutted his tongue and wagged his finger. He crouched down, his soft hand combed into your sweat-soaked hair and tugged your head up. Your eyes met his icy gaze.

Hopelessness filled you. Begging had fallen on deaf ears.

“That’s right, you won’t tell anyone…but I’m not finished with you yet.”

As a gasp lifted from your lips he chuckled, “You’re precious if you think I’m letting you go after seeing that.”

His cold palm grabbed the sides of your throat and began to choke you. As the oxygen restricted, your little hands clawed desperately at his callous hand. Your feet flailed against the gravel. Tears raced down your face. It was impossible to scream out without any air to cry with. With every passing second, a dizzy blanket was clouding your mind and filling your eyes with black spots. His glare made your knees buckle. Exhaustion from fighting was taking over, your nails left his hands, your eyes were finding it difficult to stay open. Eventually your lashes shut, and you let your mind drown in the airless space of time....

2 Weeks Prior.…

05:12pm Monday 5th August 2024, Fortitude Valley, Brisbane, Australia.

“Y/N you haven’t met your requirements…again…” Your job seeking agent sighed with heavy disappointment, “This is your second demerit…if you can’t meet the quota next fortnight your Centrelink government payments are going to be entirely cut off, do I make myself clear?”

Your fingers pinch at each other, the skin falling away and your nails short as can be. Nodding your head, you bashfully hummed, “I just thought, my circumstances might’ve been enough reason for me not to find a job at this current moment?”

The woman looked at you sharply through her thick rimmed glasses and huffed, “Ah yes that’s right…your friend died, right?” her nose lifted in a light sneer. Her chipped nails clacked at the keyboard, in the reasons for inadequate job search results.

“Family member…actually,” you said, sucking in a deep amount of air to push down the tears forming behind your eyes…just thinking about him made you want to sob your heart out…

“Unless you can supply their death certificate to me, it’s not a good enough excuse.”

You inhaled sharply and nodded in defeat, “…how many jobs do I have to seek out again?”

Her lips twisted, she must’ve thought you were some idiot or bludger of the system. You wanted a job. You just had a tough time finding one. No one wanted to hire the girl that had fuck all experience in anything…no one wanted to hire you even though you had references all proving you were a hard and honest worker. You didn’t have the same networking and nepotism as the kids you went to high school with. They were all in university or in their family businesses. Some even had kids of their own now....

You were nineteen...still so unsuccessful.

You resented those fuckers…and hated yourself more for it. You were a classic for self-loathing and as much as you loved to preach about your confidence, it was all in vain because you knew deep down that you weren’t as smart, you weren’t as pretty and you would never ever be as rich as those around you. You knew you had to work three times as hard to make it through the world…but when…he died…that flew out the window… you were tired. You didn’t want to have to live in such a lonely world. You just want to sleep and sleep until there was nothing of you left.

Depression, one of the many stages of grief.

“To meet your government requirements, you need to hand out at least twenty-five resumes….by the end of the fortnight.”

You swallowed hard and shoved your hands into your jumper pockets.

“I’ll try my best,” you offered with a sickly smile. You rose out of the foam chair, slinging your bag over your shoulder and shuffled to exit her office.

Her brows lifted as she glared you down, “Don’t try Y/N, just do it.”

05:30pm Monday 5th August 2024, Fortitude Valley, Brisbane.

You were rushing to the bus stop shelter.

You wanted to cry. You were overstimulated and stressed. You could barely afford rent. The cost of living was in crisis, and you were finding it nearly impossible to find the courage to put forward your shitty resume.

You were frustrated. You didn’t understand the employment advocates role, they were meant to help you right? Help you write and hand in a decent resume to find a job; not make you feel like a failure.

Tears crawled up behind your eyes as you felt rain from the dark looming clouds fall. Starting to sprint there was a hope the rain wouldn’t drench; however, you still weren’t fast enough. The feeling of cold icy breeze mixed with your self-disappointment had you letting those pearly tears loose. You stumbled under the bus seat shelter and landed yourself onto the freezing metal bench.

You sobbed into your hands and asked yourself, “Why?”

‘Why did you leave your umbrella at home you stupid thing?! Why did the funeral have to cost so much? Why did rent have to cost so much? Why did the water bill have to be so fucking high? Why didn’t you talk to him sooner? Why was the milk that was clearly off not been thrown out? Why didn’t you see the signs? It was all your fault, right? Of course it was! You had to knit pick everything he did, you had to criticise and argue with him over things that truly didn’t matter...why, why, why?!’

‘Because you are a terrible person. An unlovable creature. No one gives a shit about you. Why would they love someone as ugly as you who resented everything in her life and didn’t take a chance to be grateful for anything. You were a mistake, and you shouldn’t be alive…you should run away…you should starve yourself or eat until you explode…you deserve nothing but punishment…you are evil…’

“Bad day, love?”

You jumped at the sound of a stranger’s voice. Peaking up from your warm snot covered fingers, you met man folding close his umbrella.

You frowned and wiped your mucus on your knees and embarrassingly whispered, “I’m alright.”

“Pardon?” He asked and sat down beside you. Your puffy eyes started to clear up and you noticed he was in fact holding a piece of fabric…a handkerchief to you.

He was handsome in a gentlemanly way, and he was ridiculously tall even while sitting beside you. His accent was pronounced and mannerly. British. You figured he was a tad bit older than you, be roughly at least ten years. Boys your age still had acne and didn’t dress in fine three-piece business suits.

He had a fuzzy moustache and a relaxing closed smile.

Your fingers tremble as you take the offering.

“Thankyou,” you said wiping your hands and blowing the last of the green sickly gloop from your noise. You felt embarrassed he could hear the grotesque noise come from your blocked nostrils.

With narrowed eyes you tried to hand back the disgusting handkerchiefs. He shook his head and winked, as if to gesture you keep it, which was fair…

“So…what’s his name?” He laughed lightly.

“Huh?” You weakly sniffled.

“Or her…I definitely don’t judge!” He held up his hands. When you looked at him dumbly, he leant his head down and whispered, “The moron that’s dumped you?”

A surprised giggle poured from your throat, “Oh, no, no one’s dumped me.”

“Ohhh, so you’re miss heartbreaker?” he drawled as he winked and nodded charmingly.

You quickly shook your head, “God no, never been in a relationship before.”

He tapped the side of his lip in thought remarked in dramatically put on surprise, “Then what’s a stunning girl like you sobbing for?”

You froze and shook your head. The lawyer said to keep it to yourself…you weren’t sure if you should’ve just lied to him. But it was his eyes, those sweet smiling lips that broke you down. You sucked your bottom lip and just let loose…

“My um…ugh... dad…he um…he….” You started to break into more tears as you felt forced to acknowledge what occurred, “d-died, he died, and I miss him.”

Your shoulders shook like leaves. The frigid air on your wet body was torturous.

His demeanour softened further, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

He offered you a hand and held yours with a tight squeeze as you just lost it in your weeping. Your nose started to clog up.

Dear God, how many times had you already heard someone say that? ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’ ‘It’ll get easier with time.’

Everyone you knew who knew about it would say it as if they knew the bastard…squeezing your eyes shut when you opened them you felt them roll and you noticed how he stared at you.

“Sorry,” you croaked. You wiped your face with the handkerchief again before you stuffed it back into your pocket.

He didn’t seem uncomfortable, his smile was soft, his eyes kind.

“You’re allowed to cry…” he suddenly said amongst the loud silence in the rain. He scooted closer to you and carefully placed his hand over your wrist. He tilted his head and murmured, “Did you know that?”

‘I know that, I just don’t deserve to. Not after what I did.’

You swallowed hard and looked away from him as you felt more tears come. You should’ve been disgusted by the way he was so informally getting to you, how his hot hand wrapped around your wrist and the other pinched your jaw, guiding your face back to look at him.

“I-” you choked and twisted your face as you started to wheeze, “I hate him so much…but I miss him and love him at the same time…I just want him back…why can’t I have him back, oh god.”

His eyes kept straight on you.

The bus was starting to pull up. When you noticed, you started to fumble to try and find your bus go-card pass. He let you go and watched you anxiously dive into your bag.

‘God where is it?!’

“Hey, hey! It’s okay.” He touched your shoulder, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll buy you an uber, how’s that sound?”

You uncontrollably blurted, “Sounds like you’re pitying me.”

You glanced back at him to the bus and tried to stand up. His fingers curled around your jumper and tugged you back a little.

You flinched when you expected anger. A slap. A yell. Anything but his jolly laughter.

“And you think you don’t deserve it? You’ve lost someone you care about. You’ll never see him again. And the least I can do is get a smile back on a pretty girls’ face.”

You smiled and wiped your face as he shooed away the bus driver who was waiting. The bus driver rolled his eyes and threw up his hands before pulling away. The bus took off leaving you both to bare the strength of the rain and wind beneath the shelter.

“Besides…you can’t tell me the bus would’ve gotten you home faster, eh? Assuming you’re going home?”

You nodded and shivered, “Now the uber is gonna be pissed off, I’m dripping wet.”

He smirked, “Believe me. If he’s pissed off, I’ll just have to kill him.”

Now that…that was weird. Perhaps he was trying to exaggerate his gentlemanly nature to you, you wondered. Maybe, because he said it so casually, so it must’ve been a joke.

He took out his phone…sleek…the newest on the tech shelves for sure.

“So, um…where’s your address? Or do you wanna punch it in yourself?”

You told him outright where you lived. He smiled and typed away. He didn’t look like he posed a threat to knowing that information.

He just was a kind soul that gave you a bit of comfort through the day. You weren’t total sure where you sat with spirituality and faith, but you liked to imagine maybe your dad had sent this stranger.

‘Maybe he's an angel in disguise?’ you mused to yourself.

He put his phone back in his pocket.

“Actually, now that I realise, forgive me but I never got your name…I’m Walker, August Walker.”

You couldn’t help it…it was so unexpected, you burst into giggles and replied in a deep manly voice resembling James Bonds classic line, “I’m Y/L/N, Y/N Y/L/N, a pleasure to meet you.” And you stuck out your hand to him. He shook it tightly enough to make you wince and whine a little “Ow.”

His smile widened, “You have a fantastic laugh Miss Y/L/N. So other than dealing with your current grief, what else have you been doing today? You look like you were in an interview?”

You shook your head, “Oh no, it’s a little embarrassing but…I was just at the employment agency group over there.”

He followed your line of sight and nodded thoughtfully, no shame or disgust in his face, “Seeking a job then, are we?”

You smiled, “Yea, but no one’s hiring…”

‘Because I never put in a single resume…not anymore...what’s the point? Not when I won’t be around soon with how my thoughts are headed...’

He looked out into the stormy street with thought written on his face. His lips pursed and his brows descended. Without looking a back at you he then asked, “What type of work are you looking to go into?”

You shrugged, “Anything I guess…I have a talent for social media and a bit of amateur photography. I don’t mind the thought of working in a warehouse and stacking shelves neatly either. If I had the money, I think I’d study journalism.”

Sitting up straighter he rubbed his fingers over his moustache in thought, “Ever thought about not working at all?”

You snickered, but he didn’t find it funny.

“You’re joking right?” You lifted your brows, “Listen, if I didn’t have to work life would be a lot easier. But I’m living off the government right now. If I don’t find a job soon, they’ll cut me off.”

He looked down at you and softly asked, “But honestly…if you didn’t have to work, didn’t have to worry about rent or your next meal…would you be satisfied with not having to work a job? Some people use a job to escape their life, others use it to put food on the table and a roof over their heads. Some love and others hate their jobs. I’m just trying to figure out where you would sit in the equation.”

You liked him. For the first time in weeks, you felt unjudged, you felt comfortable, you felt safe and like life would be okay…you felt heard.

You jokingly replied, “Listen man, if I found myself being some sugar baby overnight, I’d happily take it. No work. There’s nothing better than I can think of…I know it’s shallow to wish that, makes me sound like a gold digger honestly. I just would prefer to live in stability.”

He nodded and chuckled, “I agree!” There was something warm and refreshing being here with him…you felt tingly...down there. A small blush grew in your face.

You saw a fancy black car roll up beside the bus stop hut. It was definitely not your average uber. It was an elite vehicle; it was a tesla. You tilted your head when you saw your new friend rise from the bench and open the umbrella.

“Well come on now, don’t dawdle,” he playfully scolded.

Practically leaping from the bench, you scurried under the umbrella with him. He placed his hand dangerously low on your back guiding you to the back seat of the car. It was fancy enough that the windows were to tinted black outside and the handles were flat on the door…and pushed out so you could open it. Very futuristic, you noted. You wondered just how much it cost to higher an uber of this type and class.

“Hope you don’t mind if I join you for the ride? I’m headed home myself as well,” he said as you slid inside. The warm heated seat greeted your cold wet bum happily. The driver you barely got a look at except that he appeared very professional with his driving gloves, and a driving cap.

You didn’t mind that August was going to join you. It was something you found yourself enjoying…besides you didn’t like the silence of an uber alone.

“Thankyou, honestly,” you suddenly said, “I was having a really shitty day, and you just seem to be my knight in shining armour. Thankyou for your kindness August.”

He leaned forward and turned up the heater and pointed the fans in your direction. A subtle sign, he cared…he was trying to warm you up.

He smirked, “It’s the least I can do. You’re too sweet to leave alone on the street. Anyone could’ve plucked you up and do God knows what.”

You accepted his compliment the best you could. Something buzzed inside of you. You wanted to ask for his number, but reconsidered.

You shouldn’t be feeling that…arousal…‘you’re not thinking straight, your dad just died, you’re clearly just clingy cause you’re broken…now you’ve become someone else’s burden for the day… god you’re a terrible fucking person.’

The car drove on and hit a set of lights.

“Y/N?” You liked hearing your name come out of his mouth, it sounded…sexy. His blue eyes glanced back at you.

“Y-yea?” your throat tightened.

He smiled at the stutter, “Would you mind joining me for dinner tonight? I know it’s quite forward but, I want to keep an eye on you. And listen, I can help you find a job, I do have a lot of connections.”

Your throat constricted. These types of invitations had other motivations attached to them. You weren’t very experienced in that department.

‘Say yes, c’mon girl.’

“I’m sorry but I don’t believe I’m in the right head space for dating right now.”

‘For fuck sake do you want to die alone huh? Maybe you should follow your dads’ footsteps you cold shrew.’

You anxiously recounted, “um, ugh, um. Listen, want to um, come back to my place? I have frozen lasagna and I um…I…no wait…I really don’t want to go back home.”

You couldn’t believe you rejected him so quickly. You were scared he was going to shut you out or kick you out of the car. Your heart wouldn’t stop racing. You wanted to say yes so badly it hurt. Why did your eyes sting? You didn’t see how badly you were breaking down. You were flustered beyond belief. Tears sprinkling out of fear and your mouth wouldn’t stop blubbering until his large hot hands covered your mouth and the back of your head.

Your eyes widened. The driver was watching from the mirror. The hand wasn’t harshly pressed, it was very gentle, you were just unmotivated to move away. His hand on your mouth smelt incredible and his skin on your lips tasted like a sweet salt.

You whimpered and kept crying.

“I need you to breathe through your nose,” he stated sternly… his voice was deeper, more in control, “Deep breath darling.”

You blinked back your tears and nodded, trying to calm yourself down and you took a deep breath into your lungs and coughed into his hand, you tried again and managed to succeed. You grounded yourself for him.

“That’s a good girl,” he said, “Now. I’ll ask again in a different way. Would you like me to take you to dinner tonight? Or would you like to go home? I’m being honest, I don’t think you should be alone tonight with the state you’re in.”

‘Good girl…’ your chest ached. You’d give anything to hear him say it again.

You felt small…without thinking you lifted your feet onto the seat and hugged them to your chest. You buried your nose into your knees and started to sulk. You didn’t know. You didn’t want to say the wrong answer.

“Jude, pull over,” You heard him say and felt the car pull out to the side of the road.

‘Jude…it’s impressive August cares enough to learn the uber drivers name, and that the uber driver obeys his request.’

The rain was getting heavier on the roof of the car. It was calming. You however were shaking. Your mind was racing a mile a minute.

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered.

He undid his seatbelt and rubbed your back, “What for?”

A stuttering ensued from you, “I- I don’t even know you- and-and you’re super nice and- you- I just- I’m sorry for wasting your time and letting you spend the money on the uber. I can’t even pay you back, I’m so sorry. I can leave. I-”

Jude glanced over his shoulder at August who held up a hand to stay silent, the driver turned back and smirked at you in the rearview mirror

“Y/N,” August softly said, “I don’t care about spending money, I didn’t waste it. You’ve clearly been through a lot recently. And it doesn’t sound like you have many friends that are supporting you if you’re behaving like this….”

Finally, he pressed his lips to your ear and whispered, “Do you need help deciding what you want to do?”

You nodded pitifully and tried to compose yourself. His breath was so hot on your face and yet when he pulled back the rush of cold air attacked that spot.

“In that case… Miss Y/L/N, you’re coming to my place tonight, I have a large spare bedroom and bathroom. I have a nice television with all the streaming services. I also have a pool. And you and I are going to do whatever you like. We can order in food. We can talk until the sun comes up or watch as many movies as you like. Tonight, I’m going to be like your best friend. Tonight is about you.”

It stunned you by how causally he tapped your nose.

Your bottom lip trembled.

He smiled softly as reminded, “You’re allowed to cry, would you like a hug?” he opened his arms and moved his leg up onto the seat behind you, laying himself back a little on the door.

The driver did not protest to his passengers’ lack of seatbelt. He switched off the seatbelt alarm.

“Oh god, please, yes,” you hiccupped as you crawled into his arms. You laid your head onto his chest and felt him rub his hand up your spine and down again over and over. His chin sat on your head. He was huge and he made you feel safe….

As you felt the car move away back onto the street you shut your eyes…he was so warm and covered you like a blanket, you felt ridiculously safe…

06:10pm Monday 5th August 2024, Robertson, Brisbane.

You didn’t notice you drifted off until you heard the car door shut from the driver.

Your eyes fluttered open before you weakly rubbed the crust that had built on your eyelashes. You groaned and released soft displeased noises.

“Did you have a nice nap?”

In fact, you did. It was the best sleep for the first time in weeks. It had been too long where you had lost rest over the horrible memories and nightmares.

It had stopped raining, but the smell was still thick in the air. The sky was dark, night had set in.

‘How long was I asleep?’

The car was parked inside a round driveway. A large house…a fucking palace…a mansion you’d see the cartel owning in a movie was in your eyesight as you say up. It was pre-modernist, cream and white stone and marble. The lawns were green, and the courtyard was massive, surrounded by hedges, a true botanical garden and a tall black fence gate.

“Where are we?”

The car door opened, and August sat you up so he could slide out and offer his hand to you, “My place.”

You blurted, “Woah.” And heard him chuckle.

“I imagined an apartment inner city or a townhouse north side but not this…”

He said he didn’t live that far from you, but this felt like the middle of nowhere...in a neighbourhood on the Northside...but the area...the building aged style. It must’ve been the southside. You decided this had to be near Sunnybank.

You smiled at the smell of wet soil in the air. It filled your lungs as you stepped out of the car.

Your head hurt…you cupped your eyes as the lamp lights hit them. You hissed. A headache was coming on, “Do you have any ibuprofen or paracetamol I can use? I’ve got a headache is all.”

“Of course,” he said gently.

August took one of your hands and guided you across the white gravel driveway to his front French door that was twice as tall as him. The foyer had your jaw dropping.

To the left was a grand staircase. To the right were two more large doors. And in the centre was a decorative lounge set. The ceiling had a round banister and on the top ceiling was a crystal chandelier.

He took you to the left immediately and entered an enormous kitchen.

The house you noted would’ve had to been influence by ancient Grecians aesthetics with the pillars that held up the second floor.

It was gorgeous. The benches were white marble with gold inlay and the grout on the back splash inlayed with the same materials. He wandered over to the top of a big black matte fridge. There was a cupboard above it. He pulled down a basket filled with little boxes of necessities like Band-Aids and alcohol wipes. August handed you a box of Panadol and fetched a glass of water as you awed at his kitchen space. A big island with two sinks really impressed you.

“This is massive!” You praised before downing two of the white tablets.

This was a billion times nicer than the flat apartment you were living in.

He took the glass back from you and placed it in the sink. He waved his hand, “C’mon I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping tonight!”

You toddled behind him aweing at the rest of the rooms you passed. He took you up the stairs to the second floor where you both passed the banister that looked down to the bottom floor.

He gently touched your back and guided you across the living room on the second floor. There was a more modernised setting. There was carpeted floors and a coffee table with a L-shaped white lounge. It was so pristine and clean. The television on the wall you swore was as big as a wall in your apartment. You floated to the glass French doors that held. Balcony and sitting area.

He came to a halt at a light wooden door and cracked it open. The room was amazing! The bed was a queen, and the bed was covered in a fresh made set of cream coloured covers. You liked the design and art. It had a European Victorian era feel, like you were walking into a royal bedroom…but in Australia.

‘Interesting design choices.’

You laid your tote bag on the duvet and sat on the edge. To your left was a bathroom and to your right was a big window that opened the view of the back yard. At the foot of the bed there was a spacious closet to hang coats and dresses. You couldn’t stop smiling until it really hit you….men are never nice….not for free.

“Um August?”

“Yes love?” he said as he opened the curtains wider and jiggled a lock to open the window. Cool air flowed into the room. The sound of frogs and cicadas filled your ears.

“…Are you um…expecting….” You breathed out a tight bundle of air and fluttered your eyes shut, your fingers started to fidget, “Um do you….are you wanting…ugh.”

He patiently stared at you from the window with his soft smile.

“Do you expect to have sex with me? Is that what this is? You ugh, pamper me? Play nice? And then guilt me into sex? I just don’t roll that wa-”

His hand held up to stop you from continuing. He laughed and shook his head.

“Y/N no, of course not, I don’t expect a thing from you tonight…I just hope to help you. You need help. And I think tonight.” He crouched down to your feet and held your hands, “…I can help you.”

You unleash the breath you were holding and grinned. It was too good to be true…maybe he was gay?

He stood back up, “You can leave your bag in here if you like, let me show you the rest of my- um actually.”

August rubbed the back of his neck and bit his lip with a quick thought, “Did you want to change into something else? I can throw your wet clothes into a dryer. I don’t want you getting sick.”

You looked down at yourself and felt guilty for dripping down onto his nice carpet.

“It’s okay! I need to change too! You kinda got me all soaked when we cuddled in the car,” he tapped your shoulder.

You nodded slowly, “but what…would I wear? Do you have anything that would fit me? I mean no offence you’re just a really tall guy…”

The hairs on the back of your neck rose. Was this some ploy to get you nude? He just told you he didn’t want sex...

“Oh yes, just moment!” He said and he left the room. About five minutes of ringing his carpet in your wet state he returned. In one hand was a large white T-shirt and towel and in the other he was pinching light blue men’s boxers.

“I don’t have…ladies’ underwear on hand. The bottoms are new so it’s okay if you wear them. They’ll be covered by the shirt. Oh, and a towel.”

You nodded and skipped off to the shower that was beside the toilet in the next room.

You locked the bathroom door behind you and stood under a spray of total heavenly warmth unaware of the actions of a sick man just in the room beside you…

When you finished. You slid into his clothes easily. The clean scent of fresh linen invaded your nose.

You abandoned your clothes on the tiled floor along with your shoes you felt guilty for not taking off the moment you stood inside his beautiful home.

Coming out you tiptoed to the window and looked out at the view of the patio and what you suspected was a pool house or a car garage.

You felt your hands having to go to your hips and waist and pull up his boxers. Even for your size they were too big…how huge was he below the belt you suddenly wondered.

A soft knock on the door spun your head around. August was in the doorway. No longer in a suit but rather a pair of cotton shorts and a button up shirt which he left unbuttoned.

He lifted his brows at your hands clenching your hips.

“The bottoms keep falling down…sorry!” You tried to laugh it off.

He smiled and took your dirty clothes from off the bathroom floor. “Let me chuck these in the dryer and I’ll show you more around yea?” he skirted out the room after your confident grin.

You stood out in the living room area waiting for him to return. You heard him close and turn on his dryer, before seeing him steer around the corner, “Please, come right this way.”

Going downstairs and rounding the rooms you were exposed to an office, another bathroom, another, living room and a games room with walls lined with bookshelves and a billiard table in the centre.

You both stepped out onto the patio. There was chairs and tables and a cooking area and bar.

He held out his arm, gesturing you to walk down some stone steps. As you walked, beautiful warm lights glowed awake in the gardens. He held out his hand and flexed his fingers....he wanted to hold your hand.

And you wanted to be held again badly. You put your hand into his and walked beside him on the concrete path. You passed a beautiful fountain with angels pouring the water from vases.

“What do you do- work wise- to afford all of this or is it generational wealth or-” You recounted, “I swear I’m not trying to be rude. I just…you must be a millionaire...or even a billionaire...”

August smiled proudly and chuckled, “Please, I’m very grateful and happy to have all that I own. I’m just a very hard worker. I know how to talk to people. I started out as an actuary, but nowadays I’m crushing the market with my investment properties and stock exchanges.”

Your eyes widened, “You have more than one house!?”

A sting of annoyance hit you. Of course, he owned investment properties. That’s how all these rich scumbags survived off the working class during this cost-of-living crisis.

‘He’s definitely a billionaire in this economy. Ain’t no way he can afford a property like this and more as a standalone millionaire.’

He laughed and nodded and winked, “Yes, I do, but I make more money off my clubs. I run a few elite groups. Night clubs, boat clubs, a golf club and more unique clubs, a lot of them are overseas...Oh and a the little Asian restaurant in Sunnybank.”

‘Dad used to deliver there...’ you tried not to dwell on his memory. Quickly you wanted to change the subject in your own mind.

You lightly giggled, “Oh is that why…you ugh…said you could get me a job? Mr boss man?”

He bit his lip and shrugged, “Yes and no.”

He didn’t elaborate. You were waiting for him to offer a bartending or cleaning career. Instead, he showed you the pool inside his giant pool house across from a lengthy tennis court.

The pool was long and rectangular with inner pool lights that reflected the blue water. It had a heating system and off the side there was a spa jacuzzi.

He held open the glass door. You tiptoed ahead of him and slipped to the ground to stick only your feet into the small bubbly pool.

He joined you and turned the machine on. He pressed another button and the roof seemed to move away. You jaw dropped again, and a small laugh escaped you. The stars were starting to appear against the black night sky. You’d never seen something so advance and magical in technology.

The warm lights of the pool yard flickered on. Steam rose from the bubbling spa and your nose wrinkled as you smiled back at him.

“So….how do you suggest I become a billionaire, take a course in stock market patterns?” You joked which started a bark of laughter in him.

“I just don’t think you’re cut out for it. That stress.”

It might’ve offended you, his cutting brush off. ‘Why can’t men just be honest and say they don’t want women in power?’ however after the death of your father, it was easier for you to just agree and kick your feet in the water lazily. Your stomach growled lightly.

“Guess that’s the dinner bell?” August joked as you sheepishly smiled and embarrassingly turned your face away from him, “Chinese? Italian? Sushi? Pizza, name it and we’ll get some delivered.”

You chose Chinese. Honey chicken was your favourite. He was a sweet and sour pork kind of guy.

You both ate it out back at the house upstairs in the living room. He was finding it difficult to use the chopsticks until he gave up and chose to use the disposable fork.

“Here,” he said stabbing his food and drifting it to your mouth, “What do you think?”

You never felt so comfortable as this with someone since your dad passed. Not even your high school friends were so…casual and inviting?

You smiled and opened you mouth to accept his fork.

You gagged and shook your head, “Now that’s awful! I’d be getting a refund for that, I’m lucky my chicken doesn’t taste like that.”

You burst into giggles as he opened his mouth gesturing that you feed him some of your dish now. You shook your head with a smile and complied.

Why did this feel…romantic…he really was a good guy right?

He winced and gasped after swallowing, “Too sweet.”

After throwing the plastic containers away you and he flopped on the white couch.

“So, what’s your movie request?”

You lazily shrugged and leaned against his arm as he flicked through the thousands of on demand movies.

It’s when you felt it though….something clawing at the back of your mind and gut…You didn’t want to watch a movie at all…

“Hey, can…can you show me how to play poole on your table in the games room?”

His eyes brightened, “Sure! C’mon then.”

‘God, he’s gorgeous…’

07:06pm Monday 5th August 2024, Robertson, Brisbane.

The games room was still as impressive the first time you stood inside. He rounded the opposite side and started laying out the balls.

“Have you ever played before?”

“Yea, but I’ve kinda forgotten the rules?”

He smiled, not annoyed by your lack of knowledge. He looked eager.

“Well, I’ll reach you the easiest game I know, Eight Ball,” he assured as he passed you a cue stick.

He rubbed the chalk on the tip and set the game up.

August guided you gentle by the elbow and lifted the triangle cage frame from the balls clenched together.

“To start the game, we hit the white ball to hit the other balls. There two teams. Solids verses stripes.” He pointed to the two different balls, “which team would you like to be?”

You bit your bottom lip gently, “Hmmmm stripes!”

He smiled, “Then I’m solids.”

He then explained that you had to get all your team balls into the holes by hitting the white ball into them, but you weren’t allowed to let the white ball fall in too or else you missed a go the next turn.

You watched him lean down and start the game. Leaning yourself down you hit your balls in with a streak of luck, beating him.

“Used to play huh? I reckon you were pulling my leg, now Miss Y/L/N…you are whipping me!”

You couldn’t help the giggles flying from your mouth.

Eventually it became head-to-head as your luck ran dry…. Now it was do or die. You and he both only had a single ball left.

You leant down and stuck out your tongue as you aimed your cue… you couldn’t get the right angle though. It was tricky. You were risking hitting his ball instead and that would lose you a go next turn.

As a pair of hot lips touched your ear you jumped, “Need some help?” He purred.

Nervously glancing you licked your lips and nodded. He got behind you. Fuck, he was huge…you felt so warm in the pit of your belly.

His arms bared you to the table practically. His large hands readjusted your hold on the cue and sneakily slid down between your thighs to part them.

“Widen your stance, get really close.”

But his fingers lingered along your inner thighs… your felt sweat bead on your forehead confident he could feel the warmth radiating from your pussy. The boxer shorts you borrowed were also slipping down. You felt the cold air tickle your butt crack.

You aimed the cue and hit the ball….but it missed…

He laughed as you cheekily claimed, “You cheated! You made me miss! Sabotage!”

“Well how about we make it fair then? Let’s make a bet,” he chuckled, he chalked his que tip was he spoke, “If you win, you can have whatever you want out of me, a car, a house, a job, whatever, but if I win?...I get to kiss you.”

Your massive grin fell, and you stood away from the green covered table. Your heart dropped…maybe he wasn’t a gentleman….

“You said I didn’t have to have sex with you.”

His eyes were wide, while his voice was softer with his hand lifted, “And you don’t! I just think it would be nice if I could kiss you…if I win…you won’t even need to kiss me back. Just a peck on the lips is all. Or the cheek if that’s more acceptable?”

You chewed the inside of your cheek and moved closer back to the table, “Alrighty then…”

He bent over the table and aimed his cue…he missed the hole. The ball smacked hard and bounced from the wall.

It was now your turn. You leaned steadily and tried to mimic what he was guiding you to do before. You breathed in and as you slid the long stick across your thumb, you struck home…your last stripe ball fall into the hole and you won the game.

You shrieked with happy disbelief and twirled around giggling, “I win, I win, I win.”

He shook his head smiling. And sat on the edge of the table watching you enjoy your success.

“Girls rule and boys drool!” You snapped with you little victory dance. You spun on your heel girlishly and wagged the cue stick.

You were drunk off your own winnings you collided into him a little too hard. He grunted. His hands peaked out and gently tugged your sides between his leaning legs.

“Now miss Y/N you’ve won the prize, what are you claiming today?” He said it like a game host which tickled your insides. He was grinning wide.

“Tesla, house? How about a fancy little doggy? Or a brand-new iPad?”

Your cheeks grew hot. He said he’d offer you anything…but he must’ve been joking surely…you didn’t want to push your luck by saying something silly as “a million dollars”.

You wanted him to like you, honestly. Your toes scrapped against the carpet in brief thought...you thought about how maybe you really wanted to give him exactly what he wanted...why hide that?

You sighed and glanced up at him and purred, “What about…a kiss from August Walker the most patient, kindest and generous man I’ve ever met in a very long, long time.”

You coyly cocked your head as you leant against him. His broad chest was hard and muscled. You experimentally placed your hand over his chest sliding it up to his neck.

He smirked, “Well I think we can come to some form of agreement for that then, yes?” His face leaned down and he pressed his hot lips to your wet almost drooling mouth. His moustache was rough against your nose and chin. Now you know what they meant in romance novels when kissing men with facial hair tickled. You just wanted to keep giggling as those dark hairs poked your soft skin.

Your wrist fully came up behind his neck. ‘God, this is surreal’.

You felt like you were in a romance novel or soap opera. You melted perfectly. It wasn’t the first kiss you’ve ever had but it was the most comforting and intoxicating one.

“Fuck,” you whispered against him as he pulled back a little before licking your lips softly.

His hands on your waist became hands beneath the shirt. He was slow and steady. Hot palms traced your belly and breasts and back. You gasped lightly into his mouth and felt his light squeezes. He pushed his head back.

“And how was that prize Y/N?”

You nodded and sucked both your lips into your mouth. You felt warm and light, with a bucket of butterflies in your tummy. You felt brave....

You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this good. ‘Lord knows it’s been months.’

Finding his large hands under the shirt you touched them and guided them to grope your naked breasts.

“Not enough, need more,” you huskily begged.

He obliged. He slid off the billiard table and picked you up like you weighed the size of a small dog.

‘God he is so strong…’

He carried you quickly to his room, it was upstairs and across from the guest room he had put you in. He barely had time to turn on his lights with how desperate you were clinging to him, kissing his neck and ear.

He laid you across the bed and bent down over you. He parted your legs and pressed himself against you.

He whispered, “Are you sure you’re okay with this? Do you want this? Because I can stop now but when my cock is inside you, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop.”

You felt your blood pumping and rushing…God, you wanted this so bad…you needed this distraction…there was only one thing stopping you…

“I…I…I’ve got no idea what I’m doing sorry.”

A wave of embarrassment caught you fast. Your hands pressed into your eyes trying to not cry.

You choked up, “Um I’ve never done this…”

You felt him move completely away and you weren’t sure if that was something you regretted saying. You felt so ashamed. You must’ve disappointed him.

He pulled your hands away from your face and with your blurry gaze you managed to see his softened face. His cheeks were pink. He laid a hand on your head and ran his thumb across your forehead.

You whimpered. The humiliation was consuming you.

“Listen to me…” he soothed, “Your kisses,” he lightly chuckled, “That told me straight away you’re not very experienced...I don’t mind. Are you a virgin? I don’t mind if you are or aren’t. I can show you, teach you what to do. I don’t want you to feel scared tonight, okay?”

It was a weight lifted from your chest. You slowly nodded and swallowed audibly.

The grin on his face grew the widest you had seen it, “Good girl.”

Your chest squeezed with warmth. He thumbed away the two sneaky tears that had escaped your eyes. His fingers then hooked the large shirt off your head. It was habit to be modest, your wrists rose up and covered your chest.

With the tick of his tongue, he playfully disapproved. His nose shoved down into your neck and you squealed with a laugh as you couldn’t hold back from his moustache rubbing against the sensitive flesh. You felt his lips smiling against you, his head shaking a little. Large hands rubbed along your back and arms, before carefully pulling your wrists away from your chest. His lips and wet tongue made your toes curl as they drifted across your collar bone and down to your chest. With small fuzzy kisses, he pecked along your breasts.

Your eyes sparkled. He was so nice…he was so safe…making sure to make this easy and fun.

His nose pressed into the underside of your tit, and he breathed in, “God you smell incredible.”

The buzz of praise rose in you.

His mouth leaned up and he looked you in the eyes as he watched his lips around your right nipple. His hand reached up and thumbed the left one.

A deep guttural moan escaped your mouth as you watched and felt his hot mouth play with your buds. When he sucked, you knew you were done for. Your hips jerked. There was no friction but the boxers and air. Your clit was making you want to cross your legs tightly. But the way you sat; your legs would not be able to close.

After what felt like hours, but you knew really were measly seconds, he detached his mouth with a loud pop and sucked at your skin down the line of your belly. He eventually got to the hem of his boxers on your hips.

He was rough and it shot electric energy through you as you felt his hands pull them down with lightning speed.

You shrieked and cupped yourself. Now this was scary…you were hairy, and you felt embarrassed for not being entirely clean.

You could smell yourself and that was humiliating. No matter how many times the doctor said nothing was wrong you or your ph levels, just weren’t entirely sure. You never smelt anyone else’s musk like that before.

His eyes widened. You almost broke into sobs then. Could he smell it too?

He didn’t wait. No, he forced your hands above your head as he pushed you completely back.

He grunted, “keep them back or I’ll tie them back.”

A voice in your head joked that you should test his theory but in the logic of your mind you accepted to obey his request.

You watched as he pushed your knees further away and his mouth pressed into your inner thigh. Your thighs trembled as you bit the inside of your cheek to stop from giggling from the tickling pricks of his face.

He groaned incredible loudly, “You’re already so wet for me? I’ve never met such a girl that could drench her thighs like this,” he lied.

His face was so close you felt his hot breath fan over your lips and clit. The sensation caused you to involuntary jerk back.

He darkly chuckled, “Now, now, we’ve barely begun.”

Without verbal warning, his mouth dove between your legs. His giant flat tongue licked you from your back entrance all the up to your slut. His hands clamped down in your rising hips. He forced your hips to stay still as he licked away at every crevice and nook.

Your eyes couldn’t stay open. Your mouth couldn’t stay quiet. You were his moaning mess.

Who would’ve thought? Your luck…crying at a bus stop became moaning in millionaire bedsheets.

He didn’t seem to care about the hair or unkept scent. You didn’t comment on your legs, or your armpits and he was eating you out like a starved man…wow…those were green flags.

You felt bold…. your hands came down and found his head of curls. Your fingers brushed and combed and lightly tugged him in.

When he looked up, he looked like he was glaring…

“S-sorry,” you whispered as you pulled back.

He shook his head and put your hand back on his head.

You smiled. God he was fucking perfect…what if this was all just a dream?

This was a happy dream. It was erasing the memory of grief. Your broken heart was mending under his care. A man you had only met today, and you were panting under him, yearning to please him for his generosity. It made you feel smaller…but you didn’t feel…guilt…. you enjoyed feeling like you were now protected, and safe…

You felt his nose press against your clit, and you choked as your lower body buzzed and shook out a small orgasm.

“f-fuck!” You whimpered.

He pulled back, his chin was glistening with your wetness.

He abruptly stood tall and gruffly commanded, “Move up a little and lay back, I’m gonna fuck you, okay?”

You nodded and felt your chest tighten with anxious excitement.

You scooted your butt back on his bed. Your knees you fought yourself to keep open as he just stared at you…he was just look at all of you, his eyes flashing around from your legs to your chest to your face.

He made you feel…worshiped. He made you feel beautiful with how unbashful he was as he stared. He pushed down his shorts and started to climb onto the mattress with you.

But what was between his legs surprisingly turned you off…

“Wait…wait Aug-August…I…I don’t think I can take that….you…ugh.”

He was prideful…he sat back on his ankle. His erection jutted to the sky. He tilted his head.

“I have fucked smaller things than you darling. I know my cock will fit.”

“B-but” you whined, “it’s – that’s gonna hurt me.”

He crawled up closer and grabbed your ankles dragging you down to him. You squeaked and looked up at him with flickers of fright… he wouldn’t hurt you, would he? He hasn’t all day. But this was a sticky situation to be in…

He rubbed his hands on your knees.

“Trust me…it won’t hurt.”

Your lips curled into your mouth. You slowly nodded…he was right, surely it won’t hurt. He did just give you lubricating oral sex…you trusted him.

He kissed you again and stole your breath away as he shifted himself forward and spat loudly into his hand. He pumped himself once, then twice and sat the silk soft tip on your clit. He dragged it down to the entrance of your pussy and pushed inside.

Your hands automatically grabbed his arms that were beside your head.

“Deep breath Y/N,” he shuddered, “c’mon be a good girl, relax your body.”

You tried your best to focus. Looking between you was a mistake; he was so huge and intimidating. You were confident he was tearing your opening.

You pressed your eyes into his wrist and tried to breath in and out.

Your skin prickles with goosebumps as you felt the walls of your inside expand.

He was widening you and making you full. Not a crevice within was not full of him.

You felt the brace of your cervix and huffed and tapped his arm. There wasn’t any way he could go further without killing you.

Your eyes started to tear up. He pulled back slightly and pushed back in, taking your breath from your chest in a light gasp. He did it again. This time he moaned now.

“You feel incredible Y/N.”

You nodded, it was hard for you to speak, you didn’t know what to even say.

He pushed in again and you lazily smiled, he was rubbing against your G-spot. Maybe it wasn’t so terrible for him to be so big?

You clenched uncontrollably and heard him hiss with pleasure.

He began to pick up the pace and rock faster inside of you.

“Yes,” you whispered, “god yes, yes, yes.”

When he chuckled, your insides shook with ultimate excitement. You gasped and let out a light moan.

His hand came between you and thumbed your clit. You had to bite your knuckle to stop from shrieking too loudly.

But he growled and tore your hand from you.

“If you scream, it better be for me,” he grunted and licked your neck before nibbling your earlobe.

Your eyes widened. His face was hard and hot with concentration and restrain. His hips rippled the bedding as he fucked you. You mewled loudly.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and moved your hips up. You thought he was hitting your cervix beforehand but surprisingly he now felt somehow deeper inside of you in a plain of pleasure. You threw your head back against the soft mattress and gutturally groaned.

You were confident you were going to cum soon. His brutal thumb kept flickering along your clit and the overstimulation of his mouth on your neck and his grunts and sighs above you finally set you into a blaze of heavenly flow.

You cummed with a silent scream. Your mouth was open and when your lungs found air, an exasperated cry escaped you. Tears fell and you moaned as you felt him continue to move until he himself froze up and sighed out his pleasure….it was when you now realised.

“Oh shit…you’re not wearing a condom.”

His eyes fluttered as he slowly pulled out and kissed your cheek.

“I’m gonna guess from the response you’re not on any pills or the shot? It’s okay I promise, I can get you some plan B. Let me clean you up first.”

It was so different to have met a man like him. He was like a unicorn in legend…he was perfect, handsome and kind.

You trusted in him.

He stood from the bed. You wouldn’t have bothered him to go grab a cloth, but your legs were lifeless. There was no way you were gonna walk on your own.

He waddled back from his master bathroom and kneeled to you. His hands spread your thighs further apart and kissed your skin. You giggled at his wiry moustache tickling your soft sweaty flesh. He took his time before cleaning you. He was staring at you. You didn’t understand why he was staring until a warm trickle poured out of your cunt…you sat up abruptly and tried to look down. You knew what it had to be…his cum…he had stuffed so much you were leaking out on his bed.

He was smirking…

He reached forward with the cloth towel. It was warm and wet on one half which he washed you with and then dried you in the other half. He stood up and said hushed, “I’ll be back.”

His lips pressed to your forehead, hot and wet.

It was maybe five minutes when he came waddling back, now totally flaccid, with a glass of water and a white tablet.

You felt bashful so nude and open on the bed. You thought about curling up in the blankets. You felt light and warm and needing a decent nap.

You looked up at him. He softly smiled.

“Open,” he whispered. Playfully you stuck out your tongue. He laid the pill flat on your pink tongue before pressing the lip of the glass to your lips. Greedily you drank down the pill. You took over the glass from him and gasped loudly when you finished it. You happily fluttered your eyes at him while he sat down on the bed beside you.

He was perfect. And yet…something didn’t sit right with you though.

“You keep…plan B in your home?”

Now that was disturbing…why couldn’t the man use a sheep skin condom? How many women does he sleep with? How old are the pills he’s keeping? How much of a playboy is he? It made you feel worthless.

All your happiness deflated. You were no longer special...you were just a number of his lays. And he took your first time…

He laughed and shook his head, “No, I don’t.”

That didn’t make sense because he just gave you a-

Your hands felt shaky. Your lips felt numb.

“Wh-what did you just give me?”

He took the glass from you before you dropped it. He put it in his side table.

“Aug-August…what was that?” You asked a little firmer, scared he didn’t hear you the first time.

“It’s plan B, right?” You started to beg.

When he didn’t answer you again, you knew something was truly wrong. It was dangerous. Your clothes were in his dryer, your bag down the hall. You were totally naked. You were totally vulnerable.

Your body was starting to experience drowsiness. Nausea was creeping in your belly. You hated this feeling.

You weakly moved down the bed. He didn’t try to stop you. He sat next to you and watched you lazily reach for and clench the borrowed t-shirt off the floor. You felt his hands pull it down your head, helping you dress. But you didn’t want his help, you wanted to know why that pill made you feel like the room was swaying even though you were sitting.

You pushed yourself on your feet and used the wall for support as you left this room. He was slowly behind you.

You knew now this was some sick game…he wasn’t watching over you to protect you, he was watching over you to toy with you.

“G-go away,” you whined as you tried to walk to the guest room to get to your bag and phone. You had been drugged and needed to call the police as soon as possible.

How could he have done this to you?!

You felt so exhausted. You heard his voice, but it was far away and you didn’t catch his words.

You finally got to the spare room but to get to the bed was a task impossible without a support wall. You slowly crouched to the floor and got to your knees. You were cold and naked and scared, but your heart was slow and relaxed by the drug. Your thoughts were racing. It was like your body wanted to be anxious but was too tired to match your thoughts.

Your fingers clenched the carpet as you crawled to the bed. Your bag felt so far away but you knew it was only two steps away.

As your hand reached for the mattress and your bag, August sat on the bed and took your phone from it. He waved it in front of your eyes and as you tried to grab it, he snatched it away.

“St-stop it,” you moaned. He laughed at you.

He shook his head and held the phone out to you, only to tear it back when you tried to grab it. He teased you. You started to cry. Frustrated and scared, you wept and felt your body giving out. Your arms fell forward, your face was pressed into the carpet.

The last thing you saw was his feet and his hand waving your phone in front of your face before your vision became black.

HELPLINES:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

[thehusbandoden]

Or is He? -Dabi x Reader Angst (undecided ending)

A/n: Kind of a dark one to start off with, but I wrote it a fewish months ago and I don't have anything to post yet. Just please note that I haven't consistently written in lonnnnng time so I'm rusty <3

General info: Genre: angst \\ wc: 384 \\ posted: 4/7/2025

Warnings!: undecided ending (reader perceives what they desire), gunshot, murder, screaming, crying, grief, loss of loved one, violence, being held against one's will, self-defense (kicking, biting, scratching, etc), blood (being covered in it). I think that's all, lmk if I miss any! <3

Pic credit: @kelin-is-writing <3

~~

“W-w-wait- no, no don’t do that!” You cry, lunging towards the two men holding your dear husband. One of the men hold him by his shoulders while the other mercilessly beats him. Tears stream down your cheeks as another man grabs you before you can reach your Dabi. 

“LET GO OF ME!” You scream, scratching and biting to try to get free of the chuckling man’s grip. Dabi barely has the energy to open his eyes, gazing at his precious in danger. A fist to the head sends agony throughout his entire body, but he cannot rest, not yet. His (y/n) was in danger.  

As Dabi summons his last remaining strength with his quirk, you cry out in agony as you see the man on his right. He had a gun.  

“DABI! BEHIND YO-” as the firearm goes off you scream in agony. You kick and scream, the man finally drops you as one of the other men give him the order. Blinded by the tears, you sprint towards your beloved.  

“Dabi- Dabi please, please don’t die.” You sob, holding his bleeding head. He was covered in blood- it was all blood. You scream in agony, throwing yourself onto his chilling body. Blood- blood was everywhere- he's gone he’s gone he’s gone he’s gone- everything goes black.  

“(Y/n)!” A familiar voice yells in your ear, jolting you out of your heavy sleep. You don’t know where you are, you’re hyperventilating, covered in sweat, and your eyes were wet like you’ve been crying. The previous events come to your memory, and you begin to sob.  

“(Y/n)! Please my love, tell me what’s wrong!” Strong hands shake you gently, but enough to pull you from your stupor.  You stare into gorgeous turquoise eyes... Dabi’s eyes. 

“D-Dabi?” You blubber, reaching out a shaking hand to caress his cheek. He leans into your touch, his brows arched in concern.  

“I’m here, sweetheart. I’m here.”  

“Y-you were-” your lip trembles, tears pouring down your cheeks. Dabi pulls you into his chest, holding onto you tightly.  

“Doll, I am here. Feel my heartbeat- see?”  

Lip trembling, you break down into his warm bare chest. Your Dabi wasn’t dead. He was right here- you were in your arms.  

It was a dream, a dream, a dream...  

He’s alive. 

Or... is he?  

~~~

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[stupidsketchpad]

hey guys. im here to rant about how 2econd 2ight 2eer (second sight seer) by will wood is secret life bigb's song because god its eerie how similar the song lyrics are to his character. AHEM (also spoilers for secret life)

My grip on my secrets slipping while I'm speaking in tongues

ok. this is a really good start lol. basically bigb's task don't mean much when he does weird shit anyway for fun and, quote from grian, "writes his own tasks"

Screaming at the top of my lungs in the confession booth

he's saying stuff that litterally makes no sense. even after his task is done he wont tell anyone (confession booth is kinda like people asking about your task after it's done. your confessing your task to someone)

Take it with a pillar of salt, H.A.L.T., it's not my fault

i got nothing man

The devil made me do it, but I also kinda wanted to

THIS LINE AHSHDHSHAH. THE SECRET KEEPER GIVES HIM THE TASKS CAUSE HE HAS TO BUT HE WANTS TO DO THEM ANYWAY ANDDDD MAKE THEM AS CONFUSING AS POSSIBLE. SECRET KEEPER COUNTS AS THE DEVIL HERE

I'm cut from a different kind of meat

More than you can chew, hard to swallow me

"what the hell are you doing??" is a common question he gets asked. hard to swallow. y'know

Forget bored stiff, I got rigor mortis, call it morbid curiosity

How I cannot commit to reality, when my third eye's open and I like what I see

he's doing shit for the sake of doing shit.

Baby, I may be crazy but I didn't lose it, no I set it free

AAAAA THIS LINE TOOO!!! ok so he didn't just randomly start lying in secret life. it was weird before that too! i cant speak for double but LIMITED LIFE he was also confusing people about being the boogeyman. basically that one meme with the "guy weird about everything but its drowned out by how weird about everything the other people are"

I can't ignore what's under dance floorboards, the rhythm of my heart a dead-as-disco beat

But I still move my feet

To slip out of this groove, I'm free

dont got much here but i think this is just him having fun, yknow

Now to row, row, row my boat over the falls

And maybe wake up from but a dream, yeah

"but a dream" is the games. there are three rows in the line. lose your lives to get the game over with.

I'm just a psycho, babe

Come and go out my mind

I didn't lose it babe

There wasn't much to find

once again, this wasnt the first time he was being weird!!!

I'm just a psycho, babe

Come and go out my mind

I'm only passing through

say weird shit, refuse to elaborate, leave.

Oh, oh, o-o-oh

If you knew what I knew, if you saw what I see

You'd look through illusions, hallucinations, and lucid dream

And I know that meaning can be such a pretty thing to keep

But I got facts and I'm not afraid to use 'em, take the good with the bad, take off the back you make a new front

evo, anyone? anyway this man knows about watchers and doesnt care. he knows! he just doesn't give that any meaning.

Some days I'm glad that I am a madman and I'd rather be that than

An amicable animal, mild-mannered cannibal

red lives and how bigb doesn't have the same bloodlust as they do. this guy doesn't kill much, he's like the most passive on the server. /srs

But I'm more level-headed and clever than ever and I'm getting better one forever at a time

how many people guessed any of bigb's tasks? that's right, zero! (if i remember correctly.) he's getting better at the games (btw the games being referred to as "forevers" is just ahshahdghs)

And if sick is defined by what's different, well then pull the plug out and let me die

not much here

Vice-versa, vice versus virtue

Well who I am I choose through all the things I do

AAAAAAAA HE CHOOSES HOW HE IS PERCEIVED BY THE OTHERS BY SAYING HIS STUFF YA GET WHAT IM SAYING

And if it rhymes, it's true, but I hate poetry

contradicting himself. easy peasy analysis here folks.

Now with my moral compass pointing south, I'm going down

With no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no respect for reality

could say this is going red! but also. "going down?" LIKE A HOLE? HE MADE A HOLE?????

I'm just a psycho, babe

Come and go out my mind

I didn't lose it babe

There wasn't much to find

I'm just a psycho, babe

Come and go out my mind

I'm only passing through

I'm just a psycho, babe

Come and go out my mind

I didn't lose it babe

There wasn't much to find

I'm just a psycho, babe

Come and go out my mind

same stuff

A tourist passing through

Well that was fun, goodbye

he died. but hey, he had fun!

anyways thats all thank you for listening to me ramble about songs and minecraft i WILL do this again. sorry if this is incoherent i wrote it at 10:00 pm.

psst... moot... @bigb-enthusiast... would you like this?

[revvnant]

❓ “How could you do that to your own brother? Aren’t you ashamed? Didn’t you ever think of what this would do to me?” [ three questions in one boom ]

i lost the meme dw about it.

When he slips, he slides -- he lunges off the deep end with a ferocious energy. It's embarrassing to him, how little it takes to break his balance, and shatter the control it takes him so long to build ip each time it's destroyed. He doesn't cry ( he never cries ), but he gasps like a drowning man, on his knees in his bedroom, hyperventilating so hard it activates his gag reflex. The round of retching fills the small space, and it creates a feedback loop of mortification. What do you think you're doing? Why are you so upset? He's the one that should be on his knees. You took his son away. But no, here you are, throwing a tantrum, making it all about you. It's always about you, isn't it, Michael?

His eyes sting when the smell of vomit hits his nose, though he doesn't remember his mouth opening or his stomach giving it up. So dramatic. You think if you put on a show, it will make things better? If you're really, really sorry, he'll forgive you? There's no fixing this, Mike. Wake up and smell the antiseptic. And he can, all around him. How long did he spend in that hospital room, frantically trying to convince Evan to wake up, as if the readings didn't speak for themselves? His frontal lobe, gone! Michael was no biologist, but he understood enough to know that you didn't come back from that; and still, he begged his brother not to go. Why? Because you genuinely wanted him to live? Or to avoid the consequences of your actions?

He makes a sound that's meant to be words, I didn't mean to, but it comes out as a sort of wet scream. He's grateful for that. If those words had left his mouth intelligibly, William would have every right to kill him on the spot. He had meant to hurt Evan, to scare him, to make him miserable. Whether he'd wanted him dead or not didn't change the fact that he'd been malicious. He'd used his brother as a punching bag for years, venting his frustrations, blaming him for everything he perceived as wrong or unfair in his life when all along he was the problem. In the closet, he hears the thumping of something trying to get out. He hears the beep of the monitor, flatlining. He feels the blood on his hands and face, sticky and warm. They haven't been to church in years, and no priest would absolve him even if he did douse himself in holy water. The blood would still be there. It's always there.

He hates himself, for the way he just can't take it. His mind throws up a wall in an automatic response to the pressure on his nervous system, and while he foams and shakes and slams his head into the ground, his consciousness gently detaches itself and moves away. He won't remember this tomorrow -- not the details, anyways. The guilt will stay exactly the same. Heart pounding ( unlike Evan's ), thoughts racing ( unlike Evan's ), trying to figure out how to live ( unlike Evan ) with the weight of it all, because William won't just drag him to Fredbear.

[femalestyles]

stunt (h.s.)

masterlist

TW: infidelity, emotional distress

wc: ~3.1k

--

8: providence, ri

Screaming. So much screaming.

The strawberry blonde that had been perched on Austin’s lap mere seconds before now lay crumpled on the floor. He had practically tossed her aside in his scramble to get up, tripping over himself as he lunged for his abandoned sweatpants—like covering himself might somehow erase the betrayal. Meanwhile, I stayed rooted in place, my eyes darting between the two of them, silent. 

Austin stumbled over to me, still jumping into his sweatpants. Words spilled from his mouth—apologies, excuses, frantic pleas—but they were drowned out by the girl's ragged sobs. When his hands cupped my face, I didn’t flinch. His touch, once familiar, now felt foreign, cold. My gaze drifted back to him, finding wild, unrecognizable eyes. His lips moved, but I couldn't make out the words.

I would venture to guess that he was telling me that it wasn’t what it looked like, that nothing happened. Whatever cliches cheating boyfriends tell their girlfriends nowadays.

I had been in shock before. It had felt a lot like this. 

It started with the tingling sensation in the tips of my fingers, crawling up my arms. It would leak into my body, until it dulled into nothingness. My ears would start ringing, as they were right now, an impenetrable force against anyone trying to get through to me. 

I had read about this once, the science behind our body's trauma response. Everyone talks about fight or flight. When choosing to face the threat head on, blood pressure and heart rate spike in response to the body releasing adrenaline. I would be overwhelmed with feelings of intense anger, maybe even respond physically. Flight is all about avoidance, escaping a perceived threat. The body reacts similarly, except I would be preparing to run away. However, there’s a third option, one nobody every talks about--one I was currently facing. 

Freeze.

The body shutting down, disassociating. Watching the scene play out as if from outside myself. A fly on the wall. A stranger in my own skin.

And when the dam finally broke, when the thoughts came rushing in, they weren’t about Austin or his betrayal. Not about the man in front of me who didn’t even have the decency to be discreet. Not even about how I had gaslit myself into ignoring the alarm bells.

No.

All I could think was—Holy shit, this is a PR nightmare.

This was going to be the nail in my coffin. After everything I had done to keep the tour from falling apart, it wouldn’t be Harry who took me down. It would be Austin. The one person who was supposed to be my closest confidante. And it would be my own damn fault for not seeing this coming.

Amid all the chaos, I barely registered that the door to our hotel room was still ajar, the sound of shouting and crying spilling into the hallway. I should slam the door shut. Salvage whatever shred of dignity the three of us had left.

Besides, shouldn’t I be the one screaming and crying?

Finally, I pulled Austin’s hands off my face and turned to look at the girl on the floor again. Squinting my eyes, I racked my brain. I tried to place her, to figure out who she was, but I couldn’t. She wasn’t anyone I recognized, certainly not an actress or a model. She was just... a girl. A fan. She had to be. 

She sniffled, reaching for a discarded piece of fabric, her hands wavering as she struggled to her feet. Her voice was soft, broken.

I didn’t know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

Her voice sounded distorted, almost as if she were far away. She had stopped talking, stopped screaming, only observing me now. So small, so fragile, her hands holding her clothes had a slight tremor to them. 

Minutes had passed, and I still hadn’t spoken, hadn’t moved from my spot in the entrance of our room. 

Austin had stopped talking too, his eyes fixed somewhere over my shoulder, toward the hallway. For the first time since I entered the room, I shifted, turning my head only long enough to see two doors across the hall now open. Niall and Harry in their respective rooms studying us, piecing together what they were watching unfold. 

Instinct took over. I stepped forward, shifting just enough to block the girl from their view. She was still in her underwear, exposed. Vulnerable. Without a word, I guided her into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

Then I leaned against it, bracing myself as Austin started up again, spewing apologies and bullshit I couldn’t hear.

In one ear, out the other.

Numb. Detached.

My head tipped to the side, once again finding the two boys across the hall. 

Niall wasn’t looking at me. His glare was locked onto Austin, his anger etched into every hard line of his face. His jaw was tight, his fists clenched at his sides. I knew him well enough to understand that, despite the fury rolling off him in waves, he wouldn’t act on it—not with me in the room. He wanted to hit Austin, hard, but he knew that wouldn’t fix anything. All it would do was make an even bigger mess for me to clean up. I had enough of those. 

Harry, however, was looking at me. Like he always was.

And for the first time, I saw something in his eyes I hadn’t expected. It was subtle but unmistakable. His lips were slightly downturned—not quite a frown. His brows were drawn together, the faint crease between them betraying his thoughts. His head had a soft tilt, a silent condolence. 

The look of pity.

One I had garnered many times in this life, but never from him.

My stomach churned with a mixture of disgust and anger. I tore my gaze away, grateful for the distraction of the bathroom door creaking open behind me.

All eyes were on me now, waiting.

Instead, I turned to the girl behind me. She had changed into a light blue sweater dress, her red-rimmed eyes wide, her face still streaked with the remnants of tears. She clutched her purse tightly to her chest.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice cracking slightly. 

Just like that, something in me clicked into place. The part of me that felt—the part that hurt—locked itself away. This wasn’t personal anymore, not in this moment. This was business. Another crisis for Mirage’s publicist to handle.

The attention in the room was suffocating, but I shook my head slowly, finding my first words since walking into this disaster.

“Let me take you downstairs.”

A tentative hand on her arm, a gentle nudge toward the door. She seemed surprised at the touch, but she didn’t shy away. Rather she shifted imperceptibly closer to me, her hair brushing against my shoulder. Neither of us spared Austin a glance as we moved toward the hallway. My hand rubbed slow, soothing circles against her arm as we walked.

Three sets of eyes burned into our backs. I didn’t let her turn around. Not when her tears had only just begun to slow.

We made it as far as the stairwell before she finally stopped, turning to me, her fingers twisting in the fabric of her dress.

“He didn’t say anything, I swear,” she stammered, her voice trembling. “I never would’ve... I didn’t know...”

Her breath hitched, panic clawing its way back in. Her eyes welled up again, her chest rising and falling rapidly. 

She hugged herself tightly, shaking her head wildly. “E-Everyone is going to c-call me a slut,” she hiccupped, whimpering softly as she finished. “What did I d-do? Oh my…” The tears were free flowing again as she blubbered. 

Gripping her shoulders now, I forced her to look at me as I grounded her.  “Listen to me. Breathe.” My tone was firm, but I kept it soft. Gentle. She startled slightly but looked up at me, desperate for something to hold onto. I waited until she looked back at me before I continued speaking. 

“Take a deep breath. In through your nose, out through your mouth.” I demonstrated, exaggerating the motion. She mimicked me, shaky at first, but gradually, her shoulders loosened.

“Keep going,” I encouraged. “No one has to find out. Not if you don’t want them to.”

She had every right to walk out of this hotel and tell her story to every news outlet willing to listen. How Austin Black had convinced her to sleep with him, only to discard her when he was caught. How he had unknowingly dragged her into the center of a cheating scandal.

If she wanted to go that route, I wouldn’t blame her. I would deal with the fallout, at the cost of both my personal and professional life. I had no other choice--this was mine and Austin’s problem, not hers.

But if she didn’t want that—if she wanted to remain anonymous—I would do everything in my power to make sure that happened.

One mistake shouldn’t define the rest of her life.

“I’m going to take care of this. What’s your name?”

“M-Macy…” She whispered, her breath still uneven. 

She must think I’m crazy. Any other girl would be falling apart, inconsolable. But I didn’t have time for that. Not right now. My entire career revolved around protecting reputations, curating images—what did it say about me if I hadn’t even realized my own boyfriend was cheating on me?

“Macy,” I repeated, offering a small, sad smile. I reached into my pocket for my phone, quickly pulling up my contacts. Scrolling to Shelley’s name, I pressed Share Contact and handed the phone to her with steady hands.

“I need you to put your number in here, okay?”

Macy hesitated before taking the phone, her fingers trembling as she typed. When she handed it back, I pressed send, a soft ding sounding from her purse.

We started down the stairs again, my hand hovering at her lower back, just in case.

“I’m going to get you a ride,” I told her as we descended. “And when you get home, I need you to call the woman whose contact I just sent you. Her name is Michelle. She’s a close friend of mine.” I met her eyes. “Whatever you decide—whether you want this to go away or you want to speak out—you tell her. She will take care of you.”

This was about to be the world’s most awkward phone call. But I knew Shelley, and I knew that she would do anything she could to help me fix this. 

Macy only nodded, turning to face me once we reached the door to the back alley. Standing this close, mere inches apart, I finally saw her properly. Wide hazel eyes, cheeks still holding the softness of youth, her bottom lip quivering in an unsteady pout. She was young—too young. Maybe eighteen or nineteen, around Lexi’s age. I imagined this was her first time doing something like this, caught up in the thrill of meeting her celebrity crush, only for the fantasy to shatter into a nightmare. My chest tightened for her. I hoped this wouldn’t taint her for future experiences, wouldn’t leave her afraid of something that should have been exciting.

Reaching into my purse, I pulled out a few bills and gently pressed them into her hand—more than enough to get her a cab back to wherever she’d come from. For a fleeting second, I wondered if she was a student at Brown, if she walked the same campus Harper and I had wandered just hours ago.

She curled her fingers around the money, looking up at me with something unreadable in her eyes. I had the sudden urge to brush away the loose strand of hair hanging in her face, the way I always did for my sister when she was upset.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" she asked, her voice small.

The question caught me off guard. I had no real answer. Maybe because I saw myself in her—discarded, humiliated. I knew that feeling, the weight of it pressing deep into your stomach, hollowing you out. The only difference was, I’d been carrying it for weeks.

“It’s not your fault,” I said simply. “You didn’t know.”

A beat of silence stretched between us before I reached around her, pushing the door open. A rush of cool night air swept inside. She hesitated, taking a step into the alley, then turned back. For a second, we just looked at each other. Then, without warning, she threw her arms around me.

My body stiffened, arms hanging awkwardly at my sides. But slowly, I returned the gesture, rubbing her back in soft, slow circles.

When she pulled away, her eyes shone with something like gratitude. Then, without another word, she turned and disappeared into the night.

I lingered in the doorway, watching as a cab pulled away from the curb and vanished down the street.

A heavy sigh left my lips as I turned back toward the looming flights of stairs. Maybe I should’ve followed her lead—walked out into that alley and just kept going. Left this job, this life, run somewhere no one knew my name.

But I couldn’t.

Not because of Austin, not even because of what had just happened. I couldn’t leave because of the other boys, because of Harper and Shelley. Because this wasn’t just about me.

And now, finally alone, the weight of it all came crashing down. My heart cried out—whether in anguish or relief, I wasn’t sure.

I wasn’t crazy.

The signs had been there all along, the feeling gnawing at my gut hadn’t been wrong. But I had been wrong about the who, and that hit harder than anything else. I was so sure it had been Lena. So sure they had been sneaking behind my back. At least if it had been her, I could have rationalized it. She was unforgettable, the kind of person you only got one chance with.

But Macy?

She was cute, sure, but she was just…normal.

A girl not much different from me.

And that, somehow, hurt the most.

My whole body felt as if it was made of cement, my heart skipping when I found myself back at the floor we were staying on. I hesitated before opening the door, not sure what to expect on the other side. I didn’t have the energy to deal with Austin right now, but I already knew he would want to talk immediately. 

As I stepped forward, the sharp sound of shouting made me freeze. My head snapped up to a scene I hadn’t left behind.

Harper, who must have come looking for me, had Austin pinned against the wall beside our hotel room door. Her hands shoved into his chest repeatedly, her whole body trembling with rage. Austin made no move to defend himself, hands raised in surrender as he stood there, fully dressed now, only shaking his head as she screamed at him.

The others—Niall, Harry, and now Louis—stood by, making no effort to intervene. Not to stop Harper. Not to save Austin.

"You piece of shit!" she shrieked, her voice raw with fury. It was a tone I didn’t even know she possessed. "Do you even realize how fucking good you had it?"

Her wild eyes burned into him as she shoved him again, harder this time. He barely reacted. Just dropped his head, exhaling heavily. No excuses. No protests.

Louis finally stepped in, wrapping his arms around Harper’s waist to pull her back. She thrashed at first, arms swinging as if she wanted to hit Austin just one more time. But Louis held firm, his grip a silent plea to let it go. After a moment, she stilled, her breath ragged.

Niall and Harry didn’t move or speak, but both of them had the same murderous look in their eyes. They didn’t need words to convey what they were thinking. 

The door clicked shut behind me, the sound cutting through the tension like a blade. Every head snapped in my direction.

I stepped forward carefully, stopping just short of the chaos.

Austin moved first, taking half a step toward me—until Harper turned and halted him with a single glare. He stopped dead.

She turned back to me, eyes softening as she closed the space between us. Slowly, hesitantly, she reached for my hand, prying my fingers open from the tight grip I hadn’t even realized I’d had. The white gauze wrapped around my palm crumpled beneath her touch.

"Jules…" she whispered, just for me.

I stared at her, expression unreadable. I couldn’t imagine what she saw in my eyes. Shock? Emptiness? I felt cold, weightless. My hands in hers, limp, void of strength.

Our audience shuffled uncomfortably as Harper folded me into my arms, one hand cradling the back of my head. “C’mon,” she murmured, pulling away just enough to tug me with her. She took a step in the opposite direction, pausing when I didn’t immediately come with her. 

I surveyed our crowd once more, holding Harry’s gaze a beat too long. That same pitiful glint made me want to hurl, and the other two boys couldn’t even meet my eyes. 

Did they know? Had they known this whole time?

Last, I looked at Austin. His eyes were on the floor, fixed on his shoes like a coward. 

Look at me. Face what you did. 

In truth, I didn’t know what I wanted him to do. 

This moment, where he could have tried—could have shown even the smallest flicker of remorse, of acknowledgment.

But he wouldn't even give me that.

There was nothing that could be said or done to repair what had broken. We were irrevocably finished. We were in smithereens. 

With nothing left to wait for, I turned away, trailing after Harper. We passed the boys in silence, all of them tracking our every step. I swallowed the lump in my throat, praying my humiliation wasn’t written all over my face.

When we were out of earshot, they began to bicker again, and even then, they kept it as restrained as possible. I heard Niall’s familiar accent shouting as he went in on Austin.

Harper ushered me into her room, shutting the door on the noise, on the mess, on everything. She settled me onto the edge of her bed, sinking onto her knees before me. Her hands rested gently on my thighs, settling over mine.

“I am so, so sorry, Juliet.” 

No empty reassurances. No cursory ‘He’s a douchebag’ or ‘you deserve better’. She just sat in front of me, allowing the silence to swallow us whole. 

And in it, the rest of my heart cracked open.

A raw, gut-wrenching sob tore from my chest, my whole body curling forward as I gasped for air. Harper caught me instantly, pulling me down with her.

And there, on the floor of her hotel room—she held me together as I fell apart.

-

taglist: @indierockgirrl @sassamanda77 @behindmygreyeyes