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ashintheairlikesnow · 2 years

Note

⛑ for kauri?

⛑ - Some tender first-aid got this for Chris, too, and I think we should have some Chris and Kauri time

CW: Kauri's Poor Life Choices, drug use, bandaging referenced domestic violence, Kauri's Total Lack of Self-Esteem, accidental whump

Takes place during Chris's time at Nat's safehouse, probably before the end of the second year

"There we go." Kauri soothes, holding Chris's wrist with gentle fingertips just barely touching freckled skin. He wraps the gauze carefully, letting it unroll from its spool even as he tightens it over the gauze pad pressed to the cut. "There, it's okay, Chris. You're okay."

"I just, I, I, I just wanted to, to, to help with dinner-" Chris's face is ruddy with tears, shiny with the tracks drying as he rubs viciously at them with the back of his other hand. Red hair falls over his eyes, growing out by now but not long enough that he'll consent to a haircut yet. He sways to one side, then stops himself, but his hand starts to move, then, rubbing over the seam of his jeans along the outside of his thigh, back and forth, back and forth, seeking the comfort of the rough texture and the thread.

"It's okay," Kauri repeats. "It's okay."

"It's, it's, I'm, I'm so stupid, I can't even c-cut up a bell p-p-p-pepper-"

"You're not stupid." Kauri's eyes are sparkling a little more than they should, his smile is slightly hazy, but Chris doesn't ask what he's on and Kauri doesn't volunteer the information. He had shown up on the front step like this, beautiful and a little scary. "You were just surprised, that's all."

Chris sniffs, hard, rocking forward and back when Kauri lets go of his arm, looking down at the bandage haphazardly applied. Then he looks up at Kauri, slightly sidelong, not quite looking at his eyes. "You, um. Are you okay?"

"Me?" Kauri tips his head to the side, smiling and sunny. Brilliant and sparkling, and he's so high he can barely stand on his own. Antoni is taking a shower, and other than Krista and Ant, Chris is alone in the house, everyone else is out. Krista will fuss and Antoni will press his lips together but no one will tell Kauri to stop. "Of course I am. Why do you ask?"

Chris hesitates, then reaches his uninjured hand up to graze his thumb over Kauri's cheekbone. "You, you, you have a black eye."

Kauri pulls away abruptly, pushing himself to his feet, turning as if to hide the smear of bruising Chris had already noticed. There are more bruises around one wrist. "You're not the only one who's stupid sometimes, Chris."

Chris swallows the pain - he knows Kauri doesn't mean it, not about Chris, even if he always means it when he says it about himself - and stays where he is, swaying side to side. "Did your boyfriend hurt you?"

Kauri laughs, bitter and brittle as glass. "I don't have a boyfriend. Just some guy. Some... just some guy."

"Did he, he, he, um, did he give you-"

Kauri's head whips back to him and Chris swallows the end of his question.

"It's not important," Kauri says, flat. He runs a hand back through the wild tangle of black curls. There's fingernail polish on his nails, black to match, and the leather bracelet that hides his number is buckled so tight it must be painful, too.

There's a speaker playing music off a playlist that Jake made for Chris of all the songs he's mentioned liking since he came here. The song switches, a softly strumming acoustic guitar creating a wistful, pulsing beat with an electric melody over the top before the drums kick in.

I walked through the door with you, the air was cold but something about it felt like home somehow-

Kauri pauses. "I know this song."

"Yeah. Jake, um. Jake says not to to to to tell you. That he has this album. I don't know, um, what it is, but-"

"I do." Kauri throws his head back in laughter that's so sharp and loud it makes Chris jump, his heart skipping a beat. Then Kauri turns and looks at Chris, holding out his hands. He leans over, grinning, but it's a rictus, not an expression. "Jake's sentimental, he just likes to pretend he isn't. Dance with me, Chris."

"... what?"

Oh, your sweet disposition and my wide-eyed gaze-

"Dance! I want to dance. Come here." Kauri moves and takes his hand even though Chris hasn't moved yet, pulls him so close their bodies are pressed together and Chris shivers. Kauri's face is an inch away from his or less. His breath is warm against Chris's cheek.

"Kauri... we, we, we aren't supposed to-"

"I'm not going to kiss you, Chris, I just want to dance."

"... okay. I, I, I can do that."

He's scared of Kauri, a little, when he shows up like this. Too scared to say no.

"Good." Kauri slides arms around him. He moves Chris's arms up around his shoulders, and Chris feels the heat coming off of him like a furnace as they sway to the music. Kauri lays his head on Chris's shoulder even though Chris is shorter than he is or maybe they're the same height. His wrist aches, but Chris bites his lip against the pain. He can't pull away.

He isn't made to be able to pull away.

It'll be fine.

Kauri would never hurt him.

And I might be okay but I'm not fine at all-

Kauri's hair tickles his neck for a while, prickles and irritates where Chris's collar once was, but he never says anything. He lets Kauri lead their slight, soft movements to the beat, feels his own pulse beat not quite in time with the song.

At some point, he feels a shudder go through Kauri. The older man's shoulders are shaking. His breath hitches, soft as a whisper, but Chris knows that sound. He's made it himself, so many times. Chris pulls him even more tightly against him, telling himself to be brave. "Kauri-"

"Don't." Kauri's voice is tight.

And you call me up again just to break me like a promise, so casually cruel in the name of being honest-

"Kauri, please-"

"I said don't, Chris. I don't want to talk about it."

I'm a crumpled up piece of paper lying here cause I remember it all too well-

"Kauri, what, what, what's wrong-"

Kauri's hands press to Chris's shoulder blades, fingernails digging in. The kitchen light buzzes overhead, a sound Chris can hear but no one else can, apparently. Except Kauri, sometimes.

"I'm so stupid, that's what," Kauri whispers, lips moving against Chris's neck, his earlobe. "Not you, you're great, but I'm... I'm so fucking stupid, Chris. Why did I think I could go? Why did I try to start over?"

Time won't fly, it's like I'm paralyzed by it... I'd like to be my old self again but I'm still trying to find it-

"What?"

"They're all him," Kauri says, voice low. "In the end. Everyone just ends up being him all over again. I think they're going to be different, and then they're not, and why do I keep trying?"

'Cause there we are again when I loved you so-

Kauri pulls away, violently, sending Chris stumbling back until he backs into a chair and trips over the legs, crashing to the ground, landing on his injured wrist with a soft cry.

Back before you lost the one real thing you've ever known-

Kauri's eyes widen and he leans forward to offer Chris his hand, only for the younger man to flinch away from him instinctively. Kauri freezes, blue eyes wide, no longer hazy.

The guilt in them is glittering, crystal-clear.

"Oh, shit. Chris, I'm sorry-... it was an accident, I didn't mean to-" He freezes, hearing his own words, and Chris watches Kauri's heart shatter as he hears himself saying what's been said to him already, a thousand times before, by people who have hurt him.

"What happened?" Krista is in the doorway, ponytail skimming her shoulders. "Oh, Chris, oh no-"

"Oh, god," Kauri whispers, and backs up. "Oh my god-"

Antoni is right behind Krista, the two of them moving to Chris, who is curling up around himself, looking down at the ground, shaking his head back and forth. He's not listening to them.

But he can hear Kauri's intake of breath, watching.

Antoni turns to look over his shoulder. "What happened, Kauri?"

"I-... I was just-... we were dancing and I-"

"What happened to your eye?" Antoni's eyebrows furrow. "Oh, Kasha, no."

Kauri's jaw works, his chin goes up, and he turns without a word and walks out the front door, slamming it behind him.

"Kasha, wait-..." Antoni takes in a deep breath "Take Chris back to Jake's room," Antoni says softly, meeting Krista's eyes over Chris's head. "I will go after Kauri."

"After Kauri," Krista echoes, but nods, and helps Chris stand. The music has changed, Chris hates the new song even though it's been his favorite. It's too happy, and there can't be happy music over a moment like this.

Antoni goes out the door, leaving Krista and Chris alone in the kitchen.

Chris hears him call Kauri's name, already faint, and knows that Kauri is running-

Antoni is running after him.

"Call Jake," Chris whispers. "We, we, we should call Jake."

"Call Jake. Um, I think he's... with his girlfriend, with Addie-..."

"I want Jake."

Krista swallows and nods. "I want Jake, too."

@burtlederp @finder-of-rings @endless-whump @astrobly @thefancydoughnut @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @eatyourdamnpears @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @canniboylism

#erase to control #Kauri's Poor Life Choices #drug use tw #drugs tw #trauma recovery #domestic violence references #referenced abusive relationship #black eye #recovering whumpee #chris the strawberry blond romantic #imperfect survivor #oh kauri #angst angst angst

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san-vimes · 11 months

Text

He used a towel to hit me today.

#I'll just use this place to document whatever physical abuse he shows towards me #so I can have a reference point #for all incidents #I knew it was right for me not to trust him #he just proves that every day #domestic abuse tw #priv

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fandomxpreferences · 11 months

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One More Second

Masterlist

Pairing: Best Friend Rafe! x female! reader

TW:18+, angst, domestic violence, mentions of blood, toxic relationship, trauma, cycle of abuse, hurt to comfort, I think thats it.

Summary: Rafe has been your best friend for as long as you can remember. What happens when he finds out the truth about the guy you're seeing?

Word Count:8.2k

A/N: I do not condone any of the behavior in this fic and If you are in a similar situation, I beg you to reach out and get help. Take care of yourself. ( @sweetestdesire YOU CAN STOP YELLING AT ME NOW)

You've been best friends with Rafe since kindergarten. Ever since you made him a flower crown that you insisted he wear, the two of you have been inseparable. You've even been welcomed into the family, with Ward calling you his daughter and Sarah referring to you as her sister.

So the fact that you're refusing to go out with the group for the third time in one week has Rafe standing outside your apartment. He isn't sure why you're dodging him all of a sudden, but he knows you wouldn't cut off the rest of the group just because he pissed you

He rings the doorbell for almost twenty minutes before leaving with a heavy sigh. The two of you have been through the wringer, and you've never once iced him out. It causes a nagging feeling in his gut, but he still gives you space.

He figures it has to do with your boyfriend, Everett. He's an acquaintance to Rafe; not close enough to call a friend but close enough to distrust.

Rafe tried his best to steer you away from him, but it was too late. Now you're acting like someone else entirely, and he can't help the feeling that it has to do with Everett.

The fact that Rafe hates Everett and his slimy personality has nothing to do with the fact he's spent almost your entire friendship head over heels in love with you.

You've had boyfriends before and he was always supportive regardless of his own feelings.

He may have been unnecessarily hard on them and watched them like a guard dog waiting to attack, but he'd never outwardly expressed distaste for any prior flings.

This time is different. He doesn't like the way Everett looks at you or talks to you; as if you're his property. It reached a boiling point when Everett grabbed your arm last weekend, and Rafe spoke up. That's the last time any of them have heard from you.

Now that he thinks about it, this has been coming for a while. You're steadily going out less often, and when you do you seem quiet and withdrawn. Everett is never more than a few feet from you and every time he looks at or touches you, you almost seem scared.

Rafe has mentioned it a couple of times but eventually dropped it when you snapped at him. He stared at you long and hard that night, genuinely taken aback by your behavior.

You'd never raised your voice at him like that, but he decided not to press you. Despite a suffocating feeling of dread, he let you walk away.

As he drives back home, he runs through the past few months in his mind.

He's been watching your light slowly dim as you become a hollow shell. Your once bright smile no longer reaches your eyes and your contagious laugh is timid and unrecognizable.

Every cell in his body screams at him to go to you, but he swallows the bile in his throat and keeps his distance. He has suspicions about what's really going on, but you're always so headstrong.

He doesn't think any man would ever be able to break you, and he assumes if something is ever wrong you'll tell him. That's his first mistake.

His second mistake is overlooking the way you're crying in the parking lot as Everett screams at you when he stops for a drink on the way home. He chalks it up to a nasty fight and tells himself it's none of his business.

Ultimately he knows that anything involving you will always be his business, but he doesn't want to push you further away.

So, he continues with that mindset as the weeks pass until the situation confronts him head-on.

Rafe blinks slowly as you stare up at him, and shifts back and forth.

"Y/N? I haven't heard from you in three months. Why are you on my porch in the middle of a storm at eight pm?"

Before you can answer, there's a loud crack of thunder and Rafe frowns when you nearly jump out of your skin. You've never been afraid of storms, and he can't place why you're so skittish all of a sudden.

He shifts to let you through the door when he notices you shiver, and you flash him a grateful smile.

You accept the invitation silently and wait by the door as Rafe gathers blankets and towels. He returns a moment later and wraps a throw around you, letting his arms linger around your shoulder.

What once was like home to you now feels foreign and tears sting your waterline. Your eyes dart around like a scared animal and the fact that everything is exactly the same makes your heart clench. The house and man in front of you haven't changed a bit, but you couldn't be more different.

"I hate him." You whisper, and Rafe watches you carefully.

"He's a liar and a cheater. I know he's manipulating me, and I let him. Why do I let him?" You choke, and for the life of him Rafe hasn't been able to figure out the answer to that question.

"You have a big heart and always try to see the best in people. It blinds you sometimes." He finally responds, and you blink up at him.

"Every time I try to say something he just screams and belittles me until I lose the will to fight. I don't even try anymore."

Rafe hugs you closer, letting his eyes drift shut as he embraces you in safety and tries to regulate his emotions. You're not the same Y/N that took a debate class just so you could argue with him better or that fights her own battles if a man gets too close at the bar.

"Is that why you've been avoiding everybody? Avoiding me?" He questions and the way your lip trembles is all the answer he needs.

"He's isolating you. You need to get out before it's too late."

You nod and wipe your eyes, trying to keep the fresh tears at bay.

"I know."

The squeaky pitch of your voice as you talk around the lump in your throat breaks Rafe's heart. He presses your face into his chest as he cradles you and you melt into him as sobs rip from your lungs, unable to control the violent tremors wracking through your body.

He's able to calm you down and within a couple of hours, everything seems to fall back into place. You're laughing and smiling with him just like you always have, and a dangerous glint of hope sparks in Rafe's chest.

"It's almost midnight. I should go."

Rafe tenses upon hearing your voice, and his head whips to the side to look at you.

"Go where? You know you're welcome to stay here."

There's an underlying desperation, and it sears your chest as you give him a sad smile.

"He'll be worried."

Just like that, the woman he loves is gone again. Any talk of leaving has flown out the window, and it's like you have amnesia. You seem to have forgotten what led you here to begin with, and Rafe shakes his head.

"I'll be worried."

He's practically stepping on your heels as he follows you through the house, and you stop to face him. Your hand gently cups his cheek and you give him one last lingering stare before closing the door behind you.

Rafe is trying to convince himself you'll come to your senses, but he doesn't really believe it. You're already caught in the riptide of abuse, and he knows you're more likely to drown than swim.

He fights every instinct in his body; trying his best to ignore the way he seems biologically hardwired to protect you. He would kill Everett with his bare hands if given the opportunity, but the only thing stronger than his anger is his love for you.

At the end of the day, you hold the power. If you say jump Rafe asks how high; and if you tell him to stand down, he'll follow that order.

His hand trembles as it raps against your front door. Rafe talked to you a couple more times after that night, but it's now been almost a week since he last spoke to you. He finally broke down and drove over.

He waits for a few minutes, periodically ringing your doorbell when he doesn't receive a response. His heart rate skyrockets with each passing second, and he paces back and forth a few times.

Worry clouds his judgment and he walks around the building to peer into a side window. His knuckles blanche as his nails leave crescent moon indents on the palms of his hands when he sees the state of your apartment.

What was once warm and cozy with candles he helped choose and memories sitting on every table is now a war zone. From what he can see, there's shattered glass from your favorite photo frame and some fist-shaped holes in the wall.

It seems every piece of Rafe has been erased as he scans the area. The pillow he got you of his face as a joke a couple of years ago isn't in its usual spot on the couch, and every single picture has been replaced.

Your coffee table lays on its side in the living room, the decorations that usually adorn it scattered on the rug. He doesn't even want to know what the rest of the place looks like.

Obviously, he knows your relationship with Everett is toxic but he didn't know the extent of it. You showed up a few times after that first night and confided carefully selected details, but you always insist that Everett is a nice guy and would never physically hurt you.

No matter how hard Rafe tries to convince you it won't get better and that you can't change him, you always go back.

If Everett is destroying things and punching walls, Rafe knows it's only a matter of time before he starts taking it out on you; if he hasn't already. The thought makes his stomach lurch and his heart hammers in his chest as his thoughts are consumed by the need to find you.

He hears crying inside and his eyes flutter closed as he prepares for the worst. His feet carry him back to the front door and he jiggles the knob.

"Y/N, I know you're in there. Let me in."

He sighs heavily and weighs his options. On one hand, he could just break the door down; but that would only scare you more and he doesn't want that.

On the other hand, you could be seriously hurt and unable to let him in. He runs his hand over his head in genuine distress before remembering he has the key.

He's never had to use it before; you always leave the door open for him. He quickly turns the key in the deadbolt and eases his way past the threshold.

"Y/N?"

He slowly makes his way toward your whimpers, and each step only amplifies the weight crushing his lungs. Your apartment is completely trashed and he wonders if this is an accumulation or the result of a single rage fit.

He finds you on the bathroom floor surrounded by shards of glass, and his blood runs cold.

"What has he done to you?"

His voice is barely above a whisper, yet you hear him crystal clear.

Wails rip from your throat when you see your best friend and he silently bends down to scoop you up.

"You have a lot of skin exposed and I need to check you for cuts, okay?" He assures you with a kiss to your temple.

He carries you to the living room and sets you down gently, blue eyes glossy as he starts to look you over. His hands roam your skin as he scours your body for injuries, and he glances up momentarily when you lean into his touch.

"Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

Your head shakes from side to side with a small grin and he can't help but match your expression.

"M'fine. Just missed you."

He finishes up and breathes a little easier when he sees you're unscathed, but his chest still feels like it has a boa constrictor wrapped around it.

"You have to leave. He's taking his anger out on objects because of how badly he wants to hit you. Sooner or later it won't be enough, and he will." He whispers and your throat feels like you swallowed razor blades.

"I know you think you love him, but this isn't love. I'm not trying to overstep, but I'm begging you. Please leave before it gets any worse."

You nod slowly and a few minutes later he's watching as you pace around on the patio with your phone pressed to your ear. Rafe had insisted on ending the relationship for you, but once again, what you say goes.

Everett didn't take the news well, but for almost two weeks things have been some semblance of normal.

Then it all comes crashing down.

"Who's that from?" Rafe frowns and you nearly jump out of your skin at his sudden appearance.

"Everett."

He scoffs as he stares down at the diamond necklace, but his snarky comment dies in his throat when he sees the look in your eyes.

It's one he recognizes well. It's a mixture of longing and hope; a dangerous combination that never ends well.

"Y/N…you can't seriously be considering going back."

It's a pointless question, Rafe knows this. He knew the second you uttered Everett's name that he'd already lost.

Your head tilts to the side as you blink up at him, and his heart sinks. You look sad almost; like you know this is going to hurt him but you can't stop yourself.

No words are spoken, a silent conversation between two old friends is had between teary eyes instead.

A few hours later, Rafe watches helplessly as you take your bags and leave him once again. Too many tearful apologies and promises to get help and change have happened for him to change your mind.

A month goes by with no contact. Rafe can't seem to escape the thought of you; if it's not something that reminds him of you, then it's Sarah or one of the kooks.

They've all grown concerned as well, and Rafe is dodging questions that he also wants the answers to left and right.

Rafe frowns when the doorbell rings, and slowly makes his way downstairs. No one else is awake seeing as it's almost one am, and he stalks forward on a mission when a loud knock rings out.

He rips the door open, ready to cuss out whoever woke him up, but stops cold when he sees you. Neither of you says anything, but Rafe is already caught up.

The red handprint on your cheek combined with the finger-shaped bruises on your bicep clued him in. He takes a deep breath but remains silent. The way he looks straight through you causes fresh tears to burn your waterline and your lip quivers.

Rafe prepares for the dam to break and tries to brace himself for the sight of you crying. You're his one weak spot, and seeing you upset is enough to send him to war with a smile.

"You were right."

You barely choke the words out before losing control, and Rafe catches you the second your knees give out. He wraps you in his embrace and smooths down your hair as you bawl into his shoulder.

Rafe's cheeks are hot and splotchy as his own tears fall freely while he comforts the woman that holds his heart. He sniffles as he pulls you closer, finally just wrapping your legs around his waist as he supports you.

Your body trembles against his and he swears having bleach injected into his heart would hurt less than this. This is not the fearless Y/N he loves that pushed him to conquer his fear of heights on the playground, or his stubborn best friend that practiced by his side every day of football season just to prove she could keep up with him.

"Come stay with me. Please don't go back again. You need to leave for good before I have to bury you."

It takes a second, but Rafe breathes a sigh of relief when you agree.

"Okay, I promise."

Rafe presses a kiss to your head but doesn't say anything. He wants nothing more than to believe you, but he's heard it all before.

As if he has a sixth sense, Rafe can tell you're slipping away. It's been three weeks, and the break-up blues have only worsened.

Three weeks later you're back in Everett's arms and the group watches Rafe wither away right alongside you. The dark bags under his bloodshot eyes are impossible to miss as stress and insomnia rear their ugly heads. Every night he resists the urge to go to you, staring at the ceiling and wondering if you're okay before the exhaustion consumes him.

Rafe returns home from a night out to find you barefoot on the front porch with a busted lip and reaches his breaking point. He shifts a couple of times as his keys dangle from his fingers, itching to unlock the door and let you reside for as long as you please.

Instead, he shoves his hand in his pocket and swallows thickly. He can see in the way you're nibbling your fingers that you know what's coming. You know you've taken too much and are the cause of Rafe's torment.

His eyes hold nothing but anguish as he looms over you, and he takes a second to memorize your face. Something about it feels so intimate and final.

Rafe has to force himself to speak and the words drip off his tongue like acid, leaking down to erode his heart.

"I can't keep doing this, it's killing me. I know I can't make you do anything, but he is never going to get better, bug."

You whimper at the use of his nickname for you. He'd always try to steal you from Sarah and you would always tell him to 'quit bugging you.' So one day he started calling you Bug and it stuck.

He watches your sunken eyes fill with more tears and has to pinch his leg through his pocket to keep from giving in.

"You can't change evil. I just want what's best for you, and I can't keep watching you run back to someone who breaks you every single time. If you decide you've had enough, I'm always here. But until you're ready, I need you to stop showing up here."

Every ounce of his existence is screaming for him to take it back and just surrender to doing the same dance, even if he knows how it ends. The heartbreak between the two of you is palpable as you peer up at your oldest and closest friend.

There are unspoken emotions between the two of you, a heavy sense of grief falling over you as what might have been slips further into the distance. Something about this feels more like a 'goodbye' than a 'see ya later'.

He's hoping and praying that you relent; tell him that you choose him and you'll really stay away this time. He leans into your touch when your thumb rubs over his cheekbone, and tries to commit the feeling to memory.

"It's okay, Slim Shady. I understand."

The nickname that would usually elicit an eye-roll and a smirk now does nothing but rub salt in the gaping wound. It's a moniker only you're allowed to use following an unfortunate dare in middle school.

His nose scrunches up and he tilts his head to the side, silently pleading. There's so much love and pain in his eyes, and you know he feels guilty.

You nod your head with a small grin, a reassurance that you're not mad at him for turning you away. His hand comes up to lace his fingers through your own, holding them to his cheek for just a second longer.

Another second is all he needs; that's what he tells himself each time the clock ticks. One more second and he'll be able to navigate his miserable existence without you. One more second and this won't hurt so bad. One more second, one more second, please God, just one more second.

Eventually, fate's cruel hands call the time of death on your relationship and the time runs out. Rafe nearly buckles when you finally retreat, and his entire world burns around him.

You turn to leave and Rafe holds your hand until it's forced to slip away, and his own hand stays hovered in the air where you just stood.

The second you're gone he crumples on the steps to Tannyhill.

He sits with his head in his hands with sobs ripping through him as the gravity of the situation crushes him. You're the only person Rafe has ever truly loved and trusted, and he just watched you walk away knowing there's nothing else he can do.

Having you show up on his doorstep was torture, but not having any contact is hell. He swears he's aged ten years in the span of a few weeks. It's been almost three weeks since that fateful night, and you've stayed away like he told you.

Though, it hasn't helped, and he's the most anxious he's ever been. His heart drops every time his phone goes off, scared out of his mind that it's going to be his worst nightmare realized.

He's startled out of his thoughts by Barry kicking his foot while nodding at the table.

"Yo' phones ringing homie."

It takes a second for the words to register, but once they do he leans forward and frowns at the unknown caller ID.

"Hello?"

"May I speak with Rafe Cameron?" A woman asks and his scowl deepens.

"This is him."

Barry gives him a skeptical look and he shrugs, equally confused as to what the hell this is about.

"Hi, Mr.Cameron. I'm a nurse at Kildare Memorial. We have Y/N Y/L/N here and you're listed as her emergency contact. Are you able to come in?"

Blood rushes in his ears as he processes the information, and the entire world screeches to a halt. He's brought back by the nurse calling his name and quickly assures her he's on the way.

Barry watches as he hangs up the phone and rushes outside. He follows after him and stops when he sees Rafe heaving in the yard.

Once his stomach is empty, Rafe spins around with tears falling hot and heavy.

"I tried to tell her. I tried and she didn't listen. Why didn't she listen?"

He's gnawing on the side of his thumb as he cries with his other hand on the back of his neck, and Barry steps forward.

He may not be a genius, but he's not stupid either. He knows it has something to do with you, and offers to tag along. An emotional Rafe is a stupid Rafe, and a stupid Rafe is dangerous.

The two of them take off toward the hospital with occasional glances from Barry when Rafe revs the engine or punches the steering wheel.

Rafe takes off toward the receptionist with Barry hot on his heels, and the young woman jumps when they come rushing up.

"I'm here for Y/N L/N."

It's short and to the point, and sometimes he hates how much he sounds like his father. When the woman's eyes widen and she starts rushing to get answers, he decides this is not one of those times.

She gives him a room number and he turns to face Barry.

"Text Sarah. Y/N is gonna want her."

With that, he takes off and sprints to your room. Dirty looks go ignored as the aroma of rubbing alcohol and rubber gloves whips around him; unable to care about anything other than getting to you.

He stops with his hand hovering over the doorknob, trying to brace for whatever he walks into. After taking a deep breath, he forces himself to enter and freezes.

You look so small in the large bed, and he briefly wonders if you've lost weight. You're nearly unrecognizable and Rafe doesn't know what to do.

He's known you since before he could count to one hundred, yet the person he's looking at seems like a stranger that he's intruding on. The sparkle in your eyes is gone, your loud and boisterous personality is silent and broken.

You look like you've been through hell with IVs sticking out of tender flesh, and Rafe supposes you have. There's dried blood on your nose and your eye is almost swollen shut, painted in dark purples and blues. His eyes rake over you and he notices older bruises, pale yellow and clearly in the last stages of healing.

He hears your heart monitor speed up and takes a step forward. The despair in his chest is replaced with rage when he sees Everett sitting in the chair next to the bed. This piece of shit has the nerve to do this to you and then play the role of concerned boyfriend?

His jaw clenches hard enough to break a tooth and you look up at him. He doesn't ask the question burning his tongue. Why did they call him if Everett is here? Instead, he keeps his focus on you and crosses his arms over his chest.

"What happened?" You can hear the fury bubbling just under the surface, and almost wince.

"I fell down the stairs." You murmur and he scoffs.

"Fell or was pushed?" His eyes narrow in a way that lets you know he's not buying it, and you gulp.

"Fell." You reiterate and his eyes bore into you.

He lets you squirm under his gaze for a second before leaning down. He braces his arm right above your head so his face is mere inches from yours, and holds eye contact.

You know it's not meant to intimidate you; in fact, Rafe used to do this all the time when he wanted you to really listen to him. It's a protective stance that doubles as a reminder; Rafe can have you as putty in his hands whenever he wants.

Right now you're pretty sure he's doing it to exercise dominance over Everett; almost a taunt that says 'she'll always be mine first.'

"You must fall a lot since you're covered in old bruises." He mutters and you blink up at him, suddenly forgetting about Everett a couple feet away.

"I'm clumsy."

It barely leaves your mouth before Rafe cocks his head to the side and tsks.

"We both know that's a lie."

Rafe hears a chair scraping and moves forward to shield more of your body.

"You should go."

It's not a request but rather a demand, and Rafe recognizes this. Still, he never wavers as his gaze stays locked on yours.

"Baby, tell him to leave."

You remain silent, but Rafe knows you're struggling when your hands start to tremble. His large hand comes to rest against your neck and jaw, and he presses his forehead against yours before taking a slow dramatic breath in. He holds for a moment before blowing out and waits for you to take the hint and follow along.

He nods gently with a proud grin when you start to match your breathing to his, a wordless affirmation that you're okay and safe.

"Y/N, don't piss me off right now."

You start to glance over at your boyfriend but Rafe holds your head firmly in place as he shakes his head.

"Eyes on me."

Rafe knows if you take one look at Everett you'll cave and let him manipulate you.

"Get out, Everett."

The man laughs bitterly but doesn't move an inch.

"Does it sound like I'm asking? Get the fuck out before I use your skull for batting practice."

When Everett realizes Rafe isn't joking, he scoffs and storms out.

"He's going to kill you. It's not a matter of if, it's a matter of when." Rafe says softly and you lick your lips.

"I know. I told them to call you when he went to the bathroom."

You can see the gears turning as he blames himself and it breaks your heart.

"It's not your fault, Rafey. You did everything you could. Thank you."

The sound of his nickname leaving your mouth is saccharine, and he has to take a seat to prevent his knees from giving out.

He takes your hand and presses a soft kiss to your bruised knuckles and realization slams into him; you fought back. He doesn't know if that thought makes him feel better or worse, so he pushes it aside.

"You wanna tell me what really happened?"

You take a deep breath and nod.

"I'll tell you everything."

While Rafe listens to you bare your soul and recount the abuse, another situation is developing downstairs.

Barry is still in the waiting room when Sarah walks in with JJ. She was with him when she got the text, and he insisted on bringing her. Barry's eyebrows shoot up when he locks eyes with the younger boy, but he doesn't say anything.

Just as Sarah is about to step forward, Everett nearly sends her crashing to the ground when he shoves past her. She whips around with a deep scowl, ready to cuss him out.

"Watch it, asshole! I hit back."

It's a subtle dig that causes him to falter, and JJ looks between them. He's never met Everett, but the way Sarah is staring this man down tells him he's looking the devil in the face.

Now, JJ hates Rafe with a passion and doesn't necessarily care for you but one thing he won't tolerate is a woman being shoved around.

He was already pissed to hear what happened to you, but to now see this scum hurt his friend with his own two eyes? Everything about the class war falls to the side, and he locks onto his target.

JJ sidesteps at the last second and blocks him from leaving.

"Everett? Fancy seeing you here. Everything okay?" He asks with mock sincerity and Everett plasters on a fake smile.

Sarah shoots Rafe a text, worried about how far this is going to go.

JJ is squaring off with Everett. Why the fuck is he here?

Rafe pulls out his phone when it vibrates, and his entire demeanor shifts. He presses a kiss to your forehead and stands as you watch.

"Where are you going?" You ask and he hesitates for a moment.

"To take care of this shit once and for all."

You don't get the chance to ask what that means before he's racing toward the lobby. He stops just in front of Sarah, using his body as a barrier between her and the men.

"What are you doing here, Maybank?"

His tone is lacking its usual bite, and JJ nods at Sarah.

"Drove her and decided to stay and chat."

There's a silent truce as they watch each other for a moment, and suddenly they're on the same team.

Everett tries to slip away while JJ is distracted, but he's stopped by Rafe's hand clamping down on his shoulder.

"Outside. Now."

Rafe smirks at the flash of fear in his eyes and tightens his grip.

"I'm leaving man." Everett pleads, and Rafe pouts mockingly.

"So soon? I don't think you fully understand the situation you're in. You thought you could fuck with her and I wouldn't fuck with you?"

He doesn't give Everett a chance to protest as he grabs him by the back of the neck and guides him outside. JJ follows after them and Barry jumps up.

"Ah, shit. Stay here!" He points at Sarah before jogging to catch up with the three men.

They keep walking until Rafe finds a more secluded place and the second Everett turns to face him, his fist connects with his nose.

Everett stumbles back as blood starts pouring down his face and looks at Rafe like he's crazy. Maybe he is, but that's not going to stop him. Everett sees the deranged look in Rafe's eyes and turns to run, but slams into JJ's sturdy chest.

"I don't think so." He grins and grabs Everett to turn him back around. He holds him in place as Rafe lands a blow to his stomach before letting go. Everett drops to the ground with a loud groan and Rafe is on him in an instant.

Barry's head is on a swivel as he keeps a lookout and JJ stands by ready to intervene.

Rafe vaguely hears the two men telling him to stop, but he's too far gone. His skin burns as his knuckles are torn open, and a side of him that only exists when it comes to you is let out.

Blood runs together and spills onto the grass as Rafe assumes the role of judge, jury, and executioner. He imagines you begging and crying for mercy and finds a second wind.

"Is this how it felt? Did it make you feel powerful as she cowered beneath you? How's it feel now?" He spits, picking him up by the collar of his shirt and slamming him back down.

"Rafe, stop! You're going to kill him and we can't take the heat!" Barry shouts as he and JJ try to pry him away.

He looks down at the man as the adrenaline slows down and takes in the damage he caused. Everett is barely recognizable with eyes swollen shut and crimson smeared all over his face.

Rafe's not sure when he went unconscious and he doesn't care. Blood is spilling from several gashes and JJ turns him on his side so he doesn't choke.

Barry shakes his head and scratches his jaw, trying to think of the best course of action. He knew Rafe has a violent side but he's never seen it in person, and its worse than he imagined.

"You need to go shower and change. I'll tell the hospital that there's a guy who needs help." Barry finally says, and Rafe frowns. JJ nods his head towards his shirt and hands and he looks down.

Everett's blood is splattered all over his white henley and his hands and forearms are sticky with rust-colored stains. Rafe hands Barry his keys and sighs.

"Pull my Rover around; I can't walk through the parking lot like this." He instructs and Barry takes off toward the truck.

Rafe flexes his hands a few times to make sure nothing is broken before looking at the younger pogue.

"This doesn't mean we're even. It's on-site next time I see you."

JJ looks up and the two of them share a ghost of a smile before it disappears.

"Looking forward to kicking your ass again." JJ teases and Rafe nods with a low chuckle just as Barry pulls up.

Rafe drives back to his house in silence, mulling over the events of the night. He knows he should feel at least a little regret, but he just can't bring himself to care.

His hands are going to be fucked, but the throbbing in his knuckles is nothing in comparison to what you went through. He'd do it a million times over. In fact, the only regret he does have is that he didn't do it sooner.

He treks to the bathroom and turns the shower on before stripping down. He rolls his neck while releasing a deep breath, desperate for relief from some of the weight he's been carrying. His hand swipes at the foggy mirror, and he stares back at his reflection.

There's blood that doesn't belong to him sprinkled across his face like a constellation, and his jaw is set as he processes the past few months.

He shakes his head then drops his shoulders and steps into the water.

His head tilts forward as the water runs down his face and chest and he tries to let the feeling ground him.

After a moment he straightens up with his hair plastered to his forehead and just stares at the ceiling. His eyes slowly flutter closed as tears mingle with water on his cheeks, and he lets every emotion from the situation rush to the surface at once.

Guilt, regret, anger, hurt, all swirled together to form a category-five storm.

His gaze finally falls to the tiled floor when he starts washing his body, and he stares at the evidence of his vigilante justice gurgling down the drain. He wonders how many times your showers looked like this; how often the water ran red with your blood.

He wonders how often you've had to clean your own wounds and if you've mastered disguising bruises yet. The thought is enough to demolish any inkling of remorse.

Rafe is slow and deliberate as he scrubs his body clean before he shuts off the water and towel dries.

He dresses quickly and starts to head out when he stops suddenly and turns around. He grabs your favorite hoodie of his before he carries on, nearly running to the rover.

His knuckles ache as he grabs the steering wheel, but the dark purple bruises only spur him on and his foot presses down on the gas.

He blows past the waiting room, eager to be by your side again. He just wants to be near you where he can feel you and smell you and know that you're safe with him now.

He lets himself in this time, more confident in himself as he shoots you a grin. His heart swells at the scowl on your face, eager to be scolded by you so he can see your nose scrunch the way it does when you're upset.

"Where the hell did you go?" You ask with narrowed eyes, and in typical Rafe fashion, he tries to blow it off with a shrug.

"Worried about me, sweetheart?"

It's meant to be a tease, but his smile drops when he notices how serious you are.

"Yes, actually."

His features soften when your eyebrows pinch together and his thumb absentmindedly smooths over the creases.

"You know I'll always take care of you, bug. You also know that sometimes you can't ask questions."

He brings your hand up to his lips to press a sweet kiss to your knuckles and vows to make sure your hands never look beat up again; even if it means his are busted every day for the rest of his life.

There's a moment of sweet intimacy before your eyes land on his hand and everything stops. Your gaze lingers for a second before drifting to meet Rafe's ocean eyes.

He can see the questions swimming in your mind as you stare into his soul, and he does his best to answer them.

You tilt your head to the side and again, Rafe knows exactly what you're asking. 'Did you kill him?'

He lowers your interlocked hands back down into your lap but doesn't relinquish his hold, and slowly shakes his head.

He changes the subject, and you let him; you know better than to press your luck.

"Did Sarah come to see you?" He asks, and his heart soars at the way your face breaks into a bright smile.

"Yeah, she left just before you came back."

He nods, and his free hand smooths over your hair as you beam at him.

"Good. Here, I brought you this."

He holds out his sweatshirt and you take it eagerly, nearly squealing with excitement. You didn't realize how much you missed Rafe, but cuddling into his scent now feels like returning home after a long trip.

"You're the best!"

He scoffs playfully, but the way his lip quirks gives him away.

"Are you just now realizing that?"

He nearly implodes when you laugh, and he swears the sound alone could bring him to his knees. He hasn't heard you sound happy in months, and it's like a sweet summer song.

"There she is. There's my favorite girl."

His finger slips down your face until it trails along the underside of your jaw, and he pretends not to notice the heart monitor beeping quicker and quicker.

He looks at you like you hung the moon; like he would go to the ends of the Earth and back for you. There's nothing but pure adoration and longing that's reserved solely for you.

"Hey, Rafe?" Your voice is soft and whispy as you try to preserve the sanctity of your little bubble.

"Hm?" He hums, and you lick your lips nervously.

"Thank you."

He watches you intently for a second before chuckling.

"You don't have to thank me, bug. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you."

His tone holds such conviction that you can't help but believe him, and nod silently. The rest of the day is spent catching up over junk food as you share fleeting glances and inside jokes.

You're held for observation overnight and the next day, Rafe drives you home. His hand is firmly planted on your lower back as he guides you towards the door, and his arm wraps around your entire torso when you stop to insert and turn the key.

As soon as you step inside, you notice the mess from before is gone and turn to face him.

"I hired a cleaning service. The last thing you need is a reminder, and you're in no condition to be cleaning." He shrugs, and if he didn't know better he'd think the glint in your eye is the same love he holds for you.

He quirks an eyebrow as you continue staring at him, and pokes your side. His hand freezes mid-air when you flinch away from his touch, and he peers down at you.

"Take your shirt off." He instructs and you laugh nervously.

"That's a bit presumptuous don't you think?"

He cocks his head to the side with a stern look you know all too well and the fight leaves you.

You sigh loudly as you pull it up and over your head before dropping it to the ground. Any other time, Rafe would make a joke about seeing you topless and leave you blushing.

This time though, he's struck silent by the sight of you in the worst way. There are large black and blue bruises on your ribcage and abdomen, accompanied by a few small scars.

A heavy silence hangs in the air for a moment before he reaches out slowly. His fingertips brush against the battered skin and you fight a shiver as goosebumps erupt.

"I should have killed him."

The deep creases between his brows and steely gaze tell you he means it with his entire being and you shake your head.

"It wasn't all bad."

His eyes meet yours immediately, unable to comprehend how you're still trying to defend that asshole in any capacity.

"Yeah?" He asks with feigned casualty. "What are the scars from?"

"Broken glass." You whisper and he nods with pursed lips.

"But it wasn't all bad, right?"

Your fingers wring together as you stare at the ground and Rafe softens.

"I'm sorry, that was out of line. Hell, I'm sorry for this whole clusterfuck."

You allow his fingers to tilt your chin up and search his eyes.

"Why are you sorry? You're not the one that did it."

His broad arms engulf you and you melt into his chest as his familiar cologne brings your comfort. '

"I should have helped sooner. I never should have told you to stop coming. Shit, I never should have let you go back the first time."

You pull back and shake your head while cupping his cheeks.

"You didn't let me do anything. There's nothing you could have done to stop me. It was a lesson I had to learn on my own. I hid it from everybody."

You feel his chest rise and fall as he takes a deep breath, and his eyes squeeze shut.

"No, I knew what was happening. I could have done something, anything." He argues and you scowl.

"You did do something. I called and you came; just like you always promised. You protected me, just like you have since we were kids."

Something in the air shifts as you look into his eyes, and realization slams into you. A part of you has always been curious if you could have something more with Rafe; call it human nature.

Standing here now, it's glaringly obvious that Rafe isn't just a piece of the puzzle; he's the whole damn picture. Everything you can remember in life begins and ends with Rafe.

You allow your eyes to flit down to his lips for a split second, but it's enough for him to notice and his tongue darts out. There's a single moment in time where the thought that this is a bad idea crosses your mind before you throw caution to the wind.

He seems to have the same thought before he leans in, and your lips mold together with his.

It's sweet and slow like molasses and the two of you fall into rhythm as if you've been doing this for years. His lips are soft like clouds and you savor the way his tongue massages yours.

He tastes like cinnamon and whiskey; an intoxicating combination that already has you craving more.

His hand tangles in your hair and tugs at the base of your skull before he relents. You gasp for air when he pulls back and rests his forehead against yours, your chest heaving against his as you try to catch your breath.

"I'm in love with you."

The words slip out before you can really process them, and Rafe responds faster than you can panic.

"Thank God." He mutters, pulling you back into a heated kiss.

You succumb to him completely, allowing him to surround you in every way possible. He's all you can think about as his hand grips your waist, and your nails scratch across his scalp.

You don't pull away until you get lightheaded, and Rafe holds you up as you give him a blissed-out smile.

"So you love me too?" You tease, and he groans.

"Sweetheart, I've been in love with you since I was twelve years old."

You laugh at the confession and let your head fall forward to rest on his chest.

"We're fucking idiots."

He nods with a chuckle, and finally, everything feels right. You're exactly where you've always belonged; safe in the arms of Rafe Cameron.

Two months later, things are finally starting to look up. Despite having Rafe by your side 24/7, nightmares have terrorized you incessantly and you look over your shoulder every few seconds.

Rafe helps you through it all, holding your hand and soothing you back to sleep at night.

Despite the suspicious circumstances of Everett's condition, nothing has come of it. Last you heard he healed up and moved a few hours away.

Things are mostly back to normal with the group; you're back to throwing keggers and surfing and it's as if nothing ever happened.

Sometimes Rafe gets a glimpse of that broken girl on the bathroom floor and has to remind himself that it takes time to heal.

You still flinch away from loud noises and sudden movements, and he notices the way you falter and doubt yourself. Still, he stays steady and reliable; always there to catch you if you fall.

He has to be extra soft, but he doesn't mind. It's not hard for him to treat you gently. Despite his reputation, Rafe has always been sickly sweet with you.

It wasn't uncommon for him to give you his last cookie during lunch in school or to dip out of class early and wait to walk you to the next period, and he had no issues beating up anyone that had something to say about it.

Even into adulthood, Rafe has gone out of his way to make you happy. Whether it's sending the group daggers behind your back to make sure you get your choice of restaurant or taking your car to get the oil changed, he's always taken care of you.

Sometimes he gets a little too loud watching a game or hanging with the guys, and he's apologizing before you can even process what happened.

You've told him time and time again that he doesn't have to be sorry and that you could never be scared of him. Regardless, he sees that battered and bruised version of you and buys an apology gift anyway.

Rafe loves you wholely and fiercely, the way that you deserve. He protects you with his life and spoils you more than you knew possible.

You're his princess and he's your knight. You bring him warmth and he brings you peace. He's everything you ever wanted and you're everything he ever needed. Two perfect halves finally united to be one heart.

#rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe imagine #rafe x reader #outer banks imagine #outer banks #rafe cameron angst #outer banks angst #obx imagine #obx angst #obx

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thesapphictimelady · 3 months

Text

Ad Astra Per Aspera

Word Count: 2.6K

TW: Implied previous domestic abuse, references to alcohol

A/N: Been working on this for like 2 months lol. Not proofread at all, but I had fun with it. Comments are appreciated :) Hope you enjoy!

“Hi, I’m looking for principal Coleman?”

The red head leaning against the desk turned, “Yeah, she’s not here today.”

“That can’t be right. I’m supposed to be meeting with her today. It is Thursday, right? I know my head isn’t always screwed on right but I was sure it’s Thursday.”

“Yeah, it is. Wait, are you the one with the dumb name?”

“E-excuse me?”

The red head tossed her hair, “Ava told me there was someone coming in with a stupid name and I should welcome her and “show her the ropes” and that she’d be helping in my classroom.”

“My name’s Cassiopeia,” she said, shuffling her things around to shake the older woman’s hand.

The older woman scoffed, ignoring her hand, “The hell kind of name is that? Nah, I’m calling you Cassie. And that’s how you should introduce yourself. The kids’ll end up calling you Pee or something. Come on, I’ll take you to the break room.”

“I don’t think I caught your name,” Cassie said, trying to keep up with her long strides.

“Yeah, that’s cause I didn’t give it to ya,” she swung open the door to the break room, “I found fresh meat looking for Ava,”

“Melissa Ann Schemmenti, you know we don’t speak about our colleagues like that!”

Melissa shrugged and took a seat next to the other teacher, “Sorry Barb, just callin’ it like I see it,”

Barb swatted Melissa’s arm and turned to face Cassiopeia, “It’s nice to meet you dear, I’m Barbara Howard, I teach Kindergarten”

“My name’s Cassiopeia. It’s nice to meet you.”

Melissa groaned and pointed at the young woman, “Didn’t I say to introduce yourself as Cassie? I wasn’t kiddin’.”

“Jacob Hill!” another teacher blurted from by the fridge, “I’m Jacob Hill. I teach history. I like your name. Cassiopeia, She was the queen of Ethiopia according to Greek Mythology. Her daughter Andromeda was saved from a sea monster by the hero Perseus. Did you know-”

“Jacob that’s enough,” Barbara said, gesturing towards a chair for Cassiopeia, “I’m sure she knows the history of her own name.”

Cassie sat and smiled gratefully at Barbara before she reached into her bag to retrieve her notebook and a pair of earbuds, deciding it was best to just sit quietly until the kids arrived.

“Pineapple absolutely goes on pizza,” Jacob said, picking up the conversation they had been having before her arrival.

“Not this again,” Melissa groaned, “It does not go on pizza!”

“It does! It’s been put on pizza since 1962! Contrary to the term that’s frequently used, it actually isn’t from Hawaii though. It was created in Ontario, Canada. The man who made it was actually Greek and-“

“Hey, new kid,” Melissa interrupted, “What kind of pizza do you like”

“I actually haven’t had pizza in a long time,” Cassie said, pulling her earbuds out.

“Oh don’t tell me you don’t like pizza!”

“No, I do! My…my ex used to make homemade pizza for date night. She was not a good person. Which is why I’m here. Miles away from anyone I know.” Cassie shifted and tugged at her sleeves, making sure the yellowing bruises from the night she had left were still covered.

The room stayed quiet for a few minutes before Barbara finally said, “Well now you know us!”

“Yeah,” Melissa said, her emerald eyes trained on Cassie, “You know us. And based on what Ava told me, you’re in my room for now,” she glanced down at her watch, “So grab a cup of coffee and let’s head over there now so ya know where stuff is. We’ll see youse at lunch.”

Melissa patted Barbs hand as she stood and grabbed her coffee mug, holding the door open for Cassie.

“Good luck, Cassiopeia!” Jacob called

Cassie waved at the other teachers, hastily gathering her things and following the redhead out the door.

“So you don’t got anybody out here?” Melissa asked as she flipped the classroom light on.

“No ma’am. I don’t know anyone here.”

“Why Philly? I mean, other than the obvious.”

Cassiopeia laughed softly, setting her things down on a desk, “I saw a job posting for Abbott and just…packed up my life and came here. I needed a change.”

Melissa nodded slowly, setting her mug down and looking the new teacher up and down, “Well listen kid, we got recess duty this week. I don’t know where you’re from but it gets hot. You might wanna reevaluate that grandma sweater.”

Cassie flushed and tugged the sleeves down over her hands, “Thanks but I’ll be fine.”

Melissa hummed thoughtfully before shrugging, “Suit yourself. You can put your stuff back here. How do you feel about science?”

The morning went smoothly and before she knew it, she and Melissa were standing outside watching the kids recess. The older woman had abandoned her leather jacket in her classroom and tied her hair up in a ponytail.

“Aren’t you hot?” Melissa asked, fanning herself with one hand.

“I’m fine,” Cassiopeia lied, pulling her hair off her neck in an effort to cool down.

“At least let me cuff your sleeves!” Melissa said, reaching for Cassie.

“No! No, I’m fine.”

“Kid, it’s a million degrees and you’re wearing a Mr. Rogers sweater!”

“I’m fine,” Cassie insisted.

Melissa sighed, before turning back to the kids “5 more minutes my little eagles! Ms. Schemmenti is too hot so we’re going to go inside.”

“Yes Ms. Schemmenti!” the kids called back to her.

“They really like you,” Cassie said.

“Yeah, well, the older ones had me when they were in second grade so they know the drill. We’ll take them to the gym and then head to the break room for lunch. By the way, you can eat the school lunch, but I do NOT recommend doing that.”

Cassiopeia laughed, “Thanks for the heads up, but I don’t usually eat lunch”

“Whadya mean you don’t eat lunch. You gotta eat”

“I eat breakfast and dinner! I’m just never hungry at lunch”

Melissa shook her head, “You can have something from my lunch”

Cassie opened her mouth to argue but the redhead was quick to cut her off, “It’s not up for debate kid. Alright my little eagles it’s time to line up!”

All the kids came running over to the door, lining up single file to follow Melissa inside and to the gym. Cassie stayed at the back of the line, closing the door behind them. Once the kids were inside the gym with the other recess duty teachers, Melissa dragged Cassie to the break room.

“Cassiopeia! You’re still here!” Jacob cheered.

“Where else would I be?” Cassie laughed.

“Melissa has a habit of running people off,” Mrs. Howard said, smiling fondly at the redhead who had sat down next to her.

“I do not!” Melissa said, pulling food out of her lunchbox, “Only the incompetent ones. New kid is smart.”

Cassie flushed and went to go perch on one of the windowsills but Melissa stopped her.

“Where do you think you’re goin? I told you it’s not up for debate.”

“Ms. Schemmenti, really, I’m fine!”

“Sit.” Melissa said sternly, grabbing a paper plate from the cabinet and putting some ziti on it.

“I wouldn’t try to argue dear,” Mrs. Howard warned when Cassie opened her mouth, “It’s better to just do what she tells you.”

Cassiopeia sighed and sat in the seat the older woman had indicated, taking the plate of ziti, “Thank you, Ms. Schemmenti.”

“Don’ worry about it kid.”

“So, Cassiopeia,” Barbara said, “How was your morning? Was Melissa nice to you?”

“Ms. Schemmenti was very kind to me. And the kids are wonderful! I don’t know how she manages to have such a well behaved class when she’s juggling two different grades!”

“The kids know better than to mess with me,” the redhead said, glancing up from her phone.

Cassie smiled and took a bite of the ziti, “Holy shit this is amazing!”

“It’s my nana’s recipe,” Melissa said, “She used to…” She trailed off, brow furrowed, “Did youse hear that?”

The room went silent as all the teachers listened to a timid knock at the door. Melissa jumped up to open the door. One of the older girls was standing on the other side, sniffling.

“What’s wrong hon?” Melissa asked her, bending down slightly so she could whisper in the redheads ear, “Gotcha. Let’s go to my classroom, okay? Hey, new kid, I might need you and your huge bag. Follow us.”

Cassiopeia grabbed her purse and was quick to catch up with them.

“What’s going on?” she asked once inside the classroom.

The younger girl looked nervously at Melissa.

“It’s okay hon, Miss Cassie is gonna be more help than me. She started her period. Nurse isn’t here and I don’t need the products anymore. Got anything in that bag of yours?”

“Oh! Oh of course, give me a second,” Cassie dug through her purse, producing pads and a small heating pack, “Do you need anything else? Tylenol?”

“I need new pants,” the student whispered.

“I’m afraid that’s the one thing I don’t carry with me,” Cassie said apologetically, “Is there somewhere we can get those?”

Melissa sighed, “Yeah, Ava’s office. But she has that place booby trapped since the last time I- actually I think that’s not important right now.” Melissa said, throwing a look towards the cameraman right outside the door who quickly ducked out of sight.

“That’s okay,” Cassie said, “What’s your name sweetheart?”

“Kya,”

“Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do Kya. We’re gonna tie my sweater around your waist to hide the stain and then Ms. Schemmenti is gonna give your mom a call to bring you some new pants, okay?”

“Okay,” Kya whispered.

“We can use Barb’s bathroom,” Melissa said, “She won’t mind.”

Cassie nodded and unbuttoned her sweater, folding it and gently tying it around Kya’s waist, “There. Now go with Ms. Schemmenti and she’ll get you taken care of.”

Kya took the pads out of her hand and followed Melissa out of the room. Cassie busied herself putting things back into her bag, completely missing the look the other teacher had given her. A breeze came through the open window and she shivered, rubbing at her arms before she froze.

“Fuck,” she whispered, “Please tell me I have a back up sweater somewhere in my bag!”

Cassie turned her bag over on the desk, searching the contents for something, anything she could use to keep the bruises on her arms covered.

“So, new kid,”

Cassie jumped, whirling around to see Melissa leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed.

“Hi, Ms. Schemmenti! I-I didn’t hear you coming!” Cassie quickly tucked her arms behind her.

“Uh huh.” Melissa said, walking into the classroom, “Thanks for your help with Kya. You sure were protective of that sweater all morning but you didn’t hesitate to give it to her.”

“I remember middle school. She didn’t need anyone teasing her for the stain”

Melissa nodded thoughtfully, “Whatcha got behind your back?”

“Nothing!”

“So if I walked behind you, there wouldn’t be anything to see?”

“No, there’s nothing back there!”

“And there’s nothing, say, on your wrists?”

“No ma’am.”

“Well then I’m sure you have no issue going back to the break room with me.”

“Actually I think I’ll stay here and…start grading the science tests!”

The redhead frowned and shook her head, “What’re you hiding kid. Just show me. You’ve been hiding something all day.”

Cassiopeia swallowed the lump in her throat and brought her arms back to the front, looking anywhere but Melissa’s face.

“Kid,” the older teacher whispered.

“I don’t want your pity. That’s why I kept them covered. I’m completely fine.”

“Hon…”

Cassie looked up in surprise at the gentleness of the teachers words. Melissa’s emerald eyes were soft and she gently took Cassie’s arm in her hand.

“Hon, this isn’t nothing,”

“I don’t want anyone’s pity, Ms. Schemmenti. I’m going to go home. I don’t have a back up sweater and it’s bad enough that you’ve seen them.”

“What-?”

“What happened?” Cassie cut her off, not wanting to hear her ask, “My ex. I told you this morning she wasn’t a good person. She wasn’t too pleased with the news that I wanted to break up. Now please, let go,”

Melissa let go of Cassie’s arms, backing up so the teacher had space to grab her things, too stunned to stop her as she quickly left the classroom.

When Cassiopeia got home, she threw everything onto the couch before going to the small kitchen to retrieve a bottle of wine and a plastic cup. This was supposed to be a new beginning and already she had someone pitying her.

“I knew I should’ve pushed off my start date,” she muttered to the small apartment as she filled her cup and collapsed on the couch. It didn’t take long after draining the bottle that she fell into a fitful sleep, using her bag as a pillow

It was her phone ringing that woke her. She glanced at the screen and was immediately filled with dread when she saw the “Unknown number” on the caller ID. Hesitantly she accepted the call, sitting in silence while she waited for the caller to speak.

“Hello? New kid? You there?”

“Ms. Schemmenti? How did you get my phone number?”

“I know a guy. Listen, what do you like on your pizza?”

“What? Ms. Schemmenti it’s…it’s 3 in the morning! Why are you calling?”

The line was quiet for a moment before the redhead sighed, “Listen, I’m real sorry for pushin’ you today. I shouldn’t have made you tell me what the bruises were from. Let me make you a pizza to make up for it.”

Cassiopeia laughed softly, “This is a dream. A weird, alcohol induced dream.”

“No it’s not. Kid you can either tell me or I’ll show up with something random.”

“Show up? Are you driving right now?”

“Yeah, I had a late night. Are you decent? I’m almost at your place.”

“How do you know where I live??”

“Again, I know a guy. Are ya decent?”

“Yeah, I-I’m decent. Should I unlock the door or do you know a guy for that too?”

“Ha ha very funny kid.”

The call dropped, leaving Cassie alone in the dark again. She jumped up and started throwing things into the small closet, trying to make the tiny space look halfway decent, before giving up and instead throwing on an oversized sweater and unlocking the door.

Melissa had her arms completely full of grocery bags when she got to the door.

“Ms. Schemmenti what-”

Melissa pushed past her into the apartment, “I told ya, I had a long night. Where can I put this?”

Cassiopeia led her to the tiny kitchen, still not quite sure if she was awake or not. Melissa dropped her bags on the narrow counter and started pulling things out.

“Okay, what is going on? You don’t need to do all this, you apologized on the phone.”

“Trust me kid, that wasn’t enough. And your secret is safe with me. I told the others you were sick and I sent you home.”

“School starts in 4 hours.”

“Actually, the kids are off tomorrow so no one will care that you’re hungover and I haven’t slept. Trust me, Ava will be hungover as hell.”

Cassie sat down on one of the wobbly stools, “So you’re making me a pizza…as an apology?”

Melissa finally glanced over her shoulder at the younger woman, “Yeah, you got a problem with that?”

“No…I don’t think so.” Cassie put her head in her hands, “I think I’m too hungover for this,”

Melissa laughed and tossed her a bottle of aspirin, “Picked this up at the store. You probably need it more than I do”

Cassie took it gratefully, “Thank you, Ms. Schemmenti.”

“You’re welcome kid. Go lay down. I’ll take care of this and I’ll wake you when it’s time to head to school.”

#abbott elementary #lisa ann walter #melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti x oc #abbott elementary fanfiction #melissa schemmenti x reader

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carolmunson · 8 months

Text

baby, as if | flashbacks pt. 2

welcome back to the jungle, babes. baby as if: masterlist (read with caution.)

welcome to the second part of the flashbacks. here we see what happened, where the sour parts began. here, we semi-answer the questions for why he's like that. tw: 18+ (21+ preferred), p in v sex, drug use, references to violence, active violence (domestic and non-domestic), references to gun violence, references to violence with a switchblade, references to club going/getting lapdances, established couple arguing, verbal abuse, psychological abuse/gaslighting, screaming matches, etc. dead dove, do not eat. for a more extensive list of trigger warnings please look at the master list.

5 Years Ago

“Oh, fuck that’s it,” Eddie huffs, sweat making the underside of his hair curlier than normal against his neck, “Ride it juss – mmm, shit, just like that.”

“S’good?” you whine out, eyes glassy and begging for a morsel of his praise. You both still had your clothes on, panties pushed to the side under your diner dress, jeans shoved down part way while he leaned back on the driver’s seat of the van – parked hidden away beyond the trees outside the diner parking lot. Your lunch break spent sucking him in between your thighs.

“Mmmfuckyes,” he hisses out, voice gravelly and deep, “Always so good, sweetheart. Fuck, this pussy’s all mine, isn’it?”

“All yours,” you yelp while his palm comes down in a loud crack on the side of your ass, “S’yours.” “That’s right, s’all mine,” he whines, eyes rolling while your hips slap against his pelvis. His hips stutter upwards and still, fingertips sinking into your skin where he grabs you, “Shitshitshitshitshit.” “Ooh yes, cum for me, cum for me,” you gasp, riding him through his orgasm, only slightly lucid from your own moments before. He grins at your encouragement, brows pinching in the ecstasy of his aftershocks before he pulls you in to kiss him while you both come down.

“Fuh-hu-hu-uck, I love you,” he whispers while he catches his breath, “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” you smile into his neck, pressing yourself flush against his chest to hold him tighter.

His palm grazes your back, a soft hum pouring from his chest before he presses a kiss to your shoulder, “You gotta get a new dress for the diner soon, honey. This one’s a little tight, don’t you think?”

“You callin’ me fat, Ed?” you ask, abruptly leaning back from him.

He laughs, shaking his head, “No sweetheart, not at all. M’just sayin’ it’s showing you off a little more than I’d like it to.”

“How else am I gonna get tips, handsome?” you wink. He lets his eyes roam over your for a moment.

He shrugs with the cock of his head, “When you’re right, you’re right, I guess.”

Eddie leans in to kiss you again, one rough hand comes up to cup your cheek, “If things keep goin’ how they’re goin’ you won’t even need to work at the diner anymore, sweetheart.”

“Yeah?” you mumble against his lips.

“Yeah, I’ll be takin’ good care’a you,” he smirks, mouth pressing against your cheek, your jaw, your neck, “Keep you at home with a couple babies, far the fuck away from Indiana.”

“Oh, I gotta stay home with the babies?” you giggle, “I can’t be an award winning journalist while you’re home with the kids?”

“I can do that,” he laughs, nuzzling against your skin, “Be a stay at home dad, watch you be great.” You give each other a few more kisses – soft and gentle, “I’ll see you at ten, kay?” “Okay,” you whisper against his lips, crawling off of him over the console and getting in the passenger's seat so he can drive you back into the parking lot. You touch up your make up in the mirror while he watches, lower lip tucking between his teeth. “You’re too pretty,” he scolds, “Who said you could look so pretty like that?” “Shut up,” you laugh, dabbing your chapstick on with your finger. You give him a final peck on the cheek before getting out of the van altogether, “See you later.”

Time ticks on at the diner and it’s a quiet night besides of the corner booths of your regular construction guys. You always take your time with them because they tip the best right after payday and even if you hate to admit it – they’re a little funny. They’re cute, too.

The grease and oil on their clothes smells like Eddie after a shift at the garage, smells like your dad’s coveralls. It’s what you expect men to smell like these days, never scrunching your nose the way some of the women do who walk by. “Who do you think’s winning Smackdown this season?” Bryan asks you in front of the guys. “Bry, you ask me something about WWE every time you’re here and every time I gotta tell you I have no clue what you’re talkin’ about,” you laugh, writing out the check and slipping it onto the table. “We gotta educate ya, girl,” the guys chime in, “Maybe one of these nights we can have the remote and put it on. We’ll tell you all about it.” “Over my boss’s dead body,” you roll your eyes, “No rush on the check fellas, let me know if you need anything else.” They always hang around late but you never mind too much, they don’t ask a lot and they never get too rowdy now matter how many beers they clear. Bryan and his closer work buddies have been coming around here since long before you were working behind the counter. He knows your birthday and you know his, you met his mom a couple of times, his grandparents twice. His daddy left when he was a kid, but his papa basically raised him.

The bell on the door clinks and you can smell the acrid tobacco from the Camel’s Eddie smoked when the air whooshes in with him. He smiles at you, soft pink lips splitting his face when he sees you behind the shiney linoleum. Ten o’clock on the dot. You pour him a cup of coffee when he sits on the stool across from you. “How long you think it’s gonna take to close up tonight?” he asks, tossing a glance over at the group in the corner booths. His brows raise slightly before he brings his attention back to you: the smear of your mascara under your eyes, the slight dampness at your hairline – too pretty. “Should be ready to hit the road around eleven,” you pass him a couple of creamers and a sugar packet which he always ignores. Sandra tries not to get mad when you flirt instead of closing up.

He leans up on the stool, lips pulling in for a smooch. You oblige him every time, never realizing all the reasons he does it. He wants those boys to know you aren't on the market, well taken care of by a man with his budding reputation. Eddie Munson wasn't really someone you wanted to get on the bad side of, at least that's what people were saying in town under their chitters of day to day gossip. His posture stiffens when the guys get up to pay about a half hour later, when they make jokes with you, when they imply they'll see you tomorrow. Eddie's jaw clenches and releases, rolling his shoulders when they file outside to smoke their end of night cigarettes.

"Busy night?" he asks once the bell stops dinging. "A little," you shrug, you walk around the counter to clean up their table; smiling to see they've stacked everything together to make it easier to carry. "Good tips?" he asks. You nod, patting your apron while you disappear in the back, letting Peter know that was the last of the dishes. Eddie catches you when you reappear, closing in on a slow kiss. "Thought about you all day," he smiles, "Your dad was pissed, I dropped a wrench twice under the hood of some new customer's car." "Don't test him," you tease, "He's a hard ass." "I'm his favorite," he winks, "Gonna be his son one day, right? He can't hate me now." You start to count out the register, catching his eye in between the change of bills -- he winks each time, making your heart race. But your smile falls when you see his phone start to buzz on the table.

“Don’t get all pouty, it could just be Gare,” he says when he catches your change in expression. The soft breath out of his nose tells you enough. “M’sorry baby, I gotta go,” he says, one foot already hitting the white and black tile below him, “Big move over by Rick’s and they need extra support.”

He leans over the counter again to give you a kiss, but your frown is evident. "How am I gonna get home, Ed?" you ask softly. "Aw, honey," he pouts, voice stuffy with baby talk, "M'so mean, huh? Why don't you call your dad? He'll come get you. Unless you wanna wait for me. I’ll be back in – I dunno, two hours tops. Come back a few G’s richer than I was before." "I'm not waiting around outside the diner until one in the morning," you sigh, reaching for your phone in your apron, "I'll figure something out." Your frustration is evident.

“C'mon, look'it me," he says softly, smiling when he meets your eye, "I’ll get you somethin’ pretty tomorrow." He leans forward to kiss you again – short little pecks, “Whatever.” Kiss. “You.” Kiss. “Want.” Kiss. “Don’t make this a regular thing,” you warn, crossing your arms and trying not to smile after the kissy assault. He nods, leaning in again to kiss you on the mouth more seriously than before.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” he says, gathering his keys and bouncing up off the stool, "Text me when you get home. I love you." “I know, handsome,” you nod.. He blushes at the name, you know it’s his favorite – he never really thought he was handsome before you came around to remind him all the time.

“Hey,” he pouts at you from the door, “Say it back.” "I love you, too," you sing song, leaning on your elbow on the clean counter top. That's how it's been -- always with a promise of something pretty, of something new, of something he wants to see you in, to smell you in, to kiss you in. New shoes, new dress, new mascara, new lip gloss, new, new, new. But you were starting to miss the old Eddie who didn’t have to be on call all the time. Eddie, who'd be excited to see Beau at the shop, who wasn’t too tired from being with Rick and the boys, from making deals all night – from pushing bricks in different states.

When 11 hits you make your way out of the diner, your dad didn't answer your call -- both your parents and Beau fast asleep by now. You light a cigarette, seeing the headlights of a car turn on in the dark parking lot headed your way. "Hey, where's your man?" Bryan says from the driver's side, another friend in the passenger. "Had somethin' to do," you shrug, flicking your ash into the bush behind you. "I can give you a ride, if you want."

You weren't in any position to say no to a ride.

A few weeks pass and Eddie hasn't been able to drive you home from the diner at all these days. Date nights coming in a little farther and few in between. Even Beau had been asking where he'd been lately. But tonight it was just the two of you, back pack filled for a night over at his place. Movies snuggled up on his couch, two different kinds of pizza and the cinnasticks you liked so much -- extra iceing. You could barely stop smiling during your mid-shift, giggling at every text message, every smiley he sent your way.

You jump at the harsh sound of the horn outside, expecting him to come in and give your mom a hug like he usually does. He's idling outside of your family's house, knee bouncing and fingers tapping on the steering wheel. Hair tied up, bangs curly and over flowing on his forehead, damp with sweat.

“Is that Ed, honey?” she calls from the kitchen, organizing pins back in her trusty tackle box of hair fixins that she keeps in the cabinets closer to her hair cutting chair.

“Yeah!” you yell back, shoving some essentials in your purse before running toward the door, “Um, I’ll probably see you tomorrow!”

“Okay, tell him I said hi!” she offera while you head outside. He flashes his high beams at you, honking the horn again while you squint under the harsh bright lights. Your keys jingle in your hand while your sneakers sink into the mud from the summer rain, hurrying to open the door.

“Hi handsome,” you smile, but he doesn’t look happy to see you, “You okay?”

“Babe, what’re you wearing?” he asks while he looks you over, “We’re goin’ to the club.”

You look him over, blackest black slim fit slacks, shoes shined, leather jacket newly conditioned while all the hardware glinted back at you in the light above him. You look down at your sweatshirt and jean shorts, your dirty sneakers, “Oh, um, I can go change.”

He sighs, big and heavy, leaning his head back on the headrest, “We don’t have time, I gotta meet Rick beforehand.”

“You didn’t – you didn’t tell me. I thought we were just going to yours tonight,” you say, hoisting yourself into the passengers seat, “So don’t act all – I don’t know – fuckin’ exasperated with me for not dressin’ up.”

He takes a deep breath through his mouth and out through his nose, eyes closing and fingers tightening on the wheel while you click your seatbelt into place, “M’not exasperated with you. But now I gotta leave you at Rick’s ‘cause I’m not gonna be late for this play just cause you don’t read your texts.”

Your furrow your brows at him, his tone feels clipped, sharpened – he was tense like a stretched elastic, waiting to snap, “You didn’t text me.”

“Yes I did,” he huffs, pulling out of the driveway and onto the street, “Why don’t you check?”

You do, even going as far to open your text conversation, his last message from the last hour in his shift: see u in two hours, qt :)

“It’s just from when you texted me from work,” you say, turning the screen toward him, “See?”

He scans it, knee bouncing, fingers drumming, he swipes his hand under his bangs to push away the sweat, “You have bad service or something? Did you delete it?”

“No, babe, I think you just didn’t press send,” you laugh lightly, “Unless you got some other bitches you were supposed to meet tonight.”

His head had never whipped so fast around, “Why would you say somethin’ like that, hm?” he snaps, “What’s wrong with you?”

“Ed, babe,” you say softly, “You serious? I was joking. It was just a slip up, I’ll hang at Rick’s.”

“Well it’s not funny,” he says, leg bouncing so fast it shakes the van at the red light you’re stopped at, “I don’t like that shit.”

Your heart sinks, watching the whites of his knuckles flex and relax on the wheel. Your suspicions might be right about why he was acting like this tonight, “You gonna kiss me hello, or no, Munson?”

His shoulders slump, turning to you to lean in for a kiss, but you catch his eyes in the streetlights – pupils blown to block out his pretty brown irises. Your brows pinch and you reach out to hold his chin in your hand.

“Wait – are you -- are you fucking tweaking right now?” you ask, the anger present on your face.

“Stop it,” he sighs, rolling his eyes and dragging his face out of your grip to look back on the road, “I had a little blow, m’not tweaking.”

“So you’re gonna do this play all revved up? Thought you weren’t ever gonna touch your own stash,” you snap. Eddie wasn’t innocent and you weren’t either, but he was always – always adamant on not touching what he sells.

“I’ve been awake for two days,” he boredly explains, raising his voice to drown out your disappointment, “I needed a boost.”

He grabs your hand from your lap, pulling your knuckles up to his mouth to kiss them, “Don’t be mad, please?”

“I’m not mad you just…you don’t have the right personality to be playing around with that shit,” You huff, savoring the feeling of his soft lips on your fingers.

“M’not playing around with it, it was just for a boost,” he pleads in a whine. You stay glaring at the windshield while his thumb caresses your hand.

“Baby…” he says sweetly, casting his hook, “Don’t be mad, baby girl. I’m sorry.”

Line. Sinker. You try not to grin but can’t help it, warmth pools through your body when he talks to you like that. He presses a kiss to your fingertips this time.

“Do you love me?” he asks. “Unfortunately,” you groan sarcastically.

“I love you more,” he says, keeping your hand with his on his lap, “Love you the most.”

You get to Rick's, hand in hand with your boyfriend while he guides you inside. To anyone else it would look like a party but the group was too small, it's what Eddie would call a gathering. He says his hellos and you say yours before Ed finds the man of the hour in the corner with Steve Harrington -- budding favorite dealer amongst Indiana's elite. "Harrington," Eddie nods, his arm skating around your waist. They nod at eachother mid conversation, you both wave. You try not to listen to whatever they're talking about, not wanting to get caught up in the stress. The smoke in the air burns your eyes against the neon pink light fixtures burning on the wall. You wonder where Rick ordered these one's from -- or stole them. Something. "Alright baby, I'm gonna head out with the guys but I'll be around later, alright? I'll come get you," he promises, pressing kisses on your cheek that offer you whispers of his cologne. It's not too long before a joint is perched between your lips, hearing the revs of cars and Steve's motorcycle outside, all headed to he same place. But Eddie didn't show up -- popped up two days later with a cross tattoo on one of his knuckles -- fresh. His eyes were dark, under eyes darker -- tense and overwhelmed -- but much richer than he was two days before. Not showing up became regular. Countless texts and calls of: ‘Sorry baby, things are running late.’ ‘Sorry baby, have to run some plays for Rick.’

‘Sorry baby, gotta go to Michigan with some of the guys.’

'Sorry baby, I'm just so tired.'

Bryan drove you home every shift for two months, ever since Eddie stopped coming by. Started spending his nights at clubs and bars to deal, ignoring your calls and texts for days on end.

You let Bryan start kissing you goodbye.

Four and a Half Years Ago

Eddie got another cross tattoo a month after his first, hunkering down and laying low for a while, especially now that his daddy was out of jail. No one liked Mack Munson the way they liked his son, not the same criminal he was. Mack did crime for sport, how far can you go? How many people can you hurt? How many envelopes can you push until you've pushed too many? He's normally out for a few months before he's back in again, but that's easy when you've got no where to go.

Eddie was different -- making a name for himself in all the right ways. Oh, a kid at the park's bike got stolen? Eddie got him a new one. Wayne's car broke down? He covered the cost to fix it. Mrs. Costner couldn't pay her heating bill? Don't worry, Eddie will be there with the cash before you can say 'hypothermia.' Even the cops were starting to let him slide if he could spare a few pills, a few ounces, a few dollars. It felt good to be bad if he could get some good out of it. Not that he was telling you anything, this was through the grapevine. Checking your phone to some of your friends with pictures of him at the club. 'This your man?'

Maybe.

He'd come see you sometimes at the diner, fresh and clean, nails shined and silver shinier. Eddie would look at you with those love sick eyes, watching you work in the overhead light. Your smile, your laugh, the way you hold one hand on your hip while you pour coffee. His phone would buzz and then he'd leave, sometimes without saying goodbye.

Your boyfriend, the ghost. Sex felt different when he offered it, he seemed distracted. You could've sworn you saw a girl's name pop up on the screen when he had a call come in but he'd flip it over before you were sure. Forehead to forehead, panting while he held your face in place to look at him. I love you, I love you, I love you. It was hollow, the dark blackness of his oversized pupils daring you to not say it back. You always did. How could you not?

Bryan was different -- he was long car rides and shared doughnuts. He always let you play your favotite songs on the radio. You weren't walking on egg shells, he liked when you bantered with his friends. There wasn't an underlying dread beneath every interaction the way it had become with Ed.

And Bryan's pupils always stayed the same size.

You aren't expecting to see Eddie's van outside the diner when you finish up your mid-day shift. The fall weather turned the sun down hours ago, but the night was still young and abuzz with life. You'd planned on going out since you had the weekened off, but it seemed like Eddie had different ideas for you.

He shoved the diner door open, looking disheveled and out touch, reeking of cigarettes he chainsmoked before he got in. "You done for the night?" he asks while you come around the corner of the counter with your jacket on. "Yeah, um -- why're you here? You didn't text me," you ask quietly, following him out into the crisp air. You wave your goodbyes through the newly repaired window to a dissapointed Sandra -- even if Eddie paid for the fix, she still didn't like that boy.

"We're goin' for a ride," he mumbles, "Gotta talk to you about somethin'."

You heart sinks and then hammers when you get in the passengers seat of the van. Fear floods through your veins, even overpowering your disappointment when you see a lipgloss in his cup holder that you know doesn't belong to you.

You take the moment that he's distracted from a phonecall with Gareth to text Bryan that you won't need a ride, shoving the phone in your pocket where he can't see. Eddie takes you to the lake where you both used to sit in talk in the summers when you were first getting to know each other. This visit didn't feel friendly in the same way, this time you knew he wasn't going to awkwardly reach for your hand or fumble over his wors like he used to.

“So you fucked some other guy?” he asks, flicking his cigarette into the lake, “You cheated on me?”

“I – Eddie -- we've barely been seeing each other. You've been dodging for months,” you explain, “I thought we were done.”

“Did I say that? Did I break up with you?” he snaps, “Cause I’m pretty sure your dad still thinks I’m your boyfriend. Pretty sure all the guys still think I’m your boyfriend. And now I look fuckin’ stupid ‘cause you’re goin’ around with some asshole.”

You shook your head no, feeling his anger radiate off of him, so quick to find it these days, “M’not goin’ around with someone. We aren’t like, together or anything. He took me on a few dates, he drives me home, we kissed, we–”

“You fucked him,” he spits, “And I know you did cause you can’t fuckin’ look me in the eyes. You at least owe me that much.”

You reluctantly make eye contact with him, your reflection shining back in his wet angry gaze. You take a deep breath through your nose and out through your mouth shakily, “Yeah, I fucked him. At least he’s fucking around for me to fuck.”

“Oh, s’that what this is?” he scoffs, “Not getting enough attention? God for-fuckin’-bid huh? God forbid I got shit to take care of so I can help out my uncle and get ‘im set up in an apartment. God forbid I start movin’ up the ranks so I can start making some more cash. And-and-and god fuckin’ forbid I take some different shifts at the garage so I can sleep in a little after being up all night tryna not get busted by Hopper and his fuckin’ pig brigade. So sorry I wasn’t comin’ home to you with flowers every night, I had to take care of some other shit. I mean Jesus Christ do you ever think about anyone but yourself?”

Your eyes meet the earth again, watching the way your calves flexed and unflexed, the crease and re-crease of your sneakers.

“You’ve been at the club, Ed,” you murmur quietly, “So you’re not so innocent either.”

“At the club?!” he balks, “You mean sellin’ drugs at the club?”

Your eyes burn with tears because he’s not hearing you, “You’re n-not just selling at the club. The girls’ve been showing me p-pictures. You’ve been hooking up there long before I started seeing Bryan.”

He lights another cigarette, letting the smoke billow out into your face, “So his name’s Bryan, huh? Okay.”

He takes a step toward you, sticks and wet grass crunching under his boots, “And what’s so great about Bryan, baby?”

You swallow thickly, suddenly aware of his looming presence, how big he can make himself seem when he’s angry. He takes another crunching step towards you, only a foot between the ends of your sneakers and the tips of his Docs. You feel the smoke of his next drag kiss your face again, hear his arms cross over his t-shirt.

“You forget how to talk, princess?” he bites. You shake your head no, matching his posture by crossing your arms over your chest. The straps of your tank top bite at your shoulders uner your jacket when you do, your bra straps pulling along with them.

“He cares,” you say quietly, “He’s not…he’s not giving me up to go, I don’t know, have strippers dance on him so he can make a buck at a bar.”

“He cares? Is that what you call it?” Eddie laughs bitterly, “So it wasn’t me caring about you when you’d call me every night from your dorm? Not me helpin’ watch your little brother when you needed to take an extra shift or two? Helping your mom with her errands? It’s not me caring when we’d drive out to the dunes cause you wanted to put your toes in the sand – you know how much money I lost that day?”

Your eyes pool with tears when you remember that day, he’d tossed his phone in the trunk. Nothin’s as important as bein’ with my girl, baby.

“Buying you a new TV for Beau so he can play video games in his room and not bother your dad? Fuck, takin’ your dad out to lunch so we can talk about the future I want with you? But I don’t fuckin’ care? Askin’ him your ring size but I don’t fuckin’ care?!” his voice raises with every sentence.

You wince when he shouts, not expecting the anger to be so explosive. His pupils are blown, but that was starting to become more expected than before. He shakes his head, "You know what, babe? You're right. I don't fuckin' care. I don't fuckin' need you." Eddie tosses his cigarette to his feet, stomping it out. "Plenty of other pussy to keep me occupied, right?" he asks, head tilting when he looks at you, "Since that's who I am, huh? Didn't bother to ask me if I was fuckin' around did you?"

"S'not like you'd tell me the truth," you argue back quietly, voice meek while you hold back your tears. "Pffft," he scoffs, "Better watch that attitude on you, girl. You're gonna run that mouth to the wrong person one day. Not every guy is like me."

He crunches back toward the van, lingering his eyes on you while he stands at the open door on the drivers side. His face is pale in the light of the moon, eyes aching for you to say something. Almost yearning before he hardens again. "Bryan can pick you up, right?"

Four-ish/Three-ish Years Ago

Bry asked you to be his girlfriend two weeks after your fight with Eddie. Pulled out all the stops with that union money; good dinners, nights out on the town, all the boys knew how to do was drink beer and party. You finally started to understand WWE in a way you weren't sure you were supposed to, but it was as fun as it was ridiculous. Boys nights became boys nights plus you, the crowd favorite. Pulled in for soft kisses on football Sundays and baseball games, borrowed jackets if it got chilly. Eddie never let you wear his jacket. After a month you were sure that you'd made the right decision. The soft way he looked at you, his sandy hair, the callouses on his hands from a hard day of work. He was a good boy, good enough that Sandra made sure to give them discounts every time him and his friends came in. You only thought about Eddie when you'd run into him or that crew in town, cigarette between his full lips and a snarl to match.

Eddie didn't like to be made a fool of the way you'd made a fool of him. After another month, you barely thought about him anymore -- you had other things to worry about.

Bliss has its costs.

The first time Bryan hit you it was a blip in time, followed by a water fall of apologies. Before you noticed how much beer he was backing when he was out with the guys, why he started off so nice. You never saw him after he got too drunk -- angry and ruddy in the face. Stumbling into his apartment where you'd be there waiting for him. He stopped liking it when you'd joke around with his friends. He stopped liking it when you'd come to boys nights. He stopped letting you listen to your favorite songs in the car.

But when he was good, he was so, so good.

When he was bad, he was horrid.

Eventually, your parents noticed that you stopped coming around. You never showed up at the shop, stopped bringing Beau to and from camp and school. Your mama never saw you, you hardly came home. Your daddy would text you in the morning and ask if you’d be in the diner that night to get a glimpse of you. Bryan would snatch your phone at every incessant call.

“Why do your folks wanna talk to you all the time?” he’d ask, “Did you tell ‘em you wanna leave?”

You got so many bouquets over the next five months you could open a flower shop or a funeral service. Either way, they were more often than not. The 'sorry's' never stopped coming and the bruising started to match. You went through concealer like the diner went through cooking grease -- opting to start wearing readers to work to detract from the caked up product on your cheeks, by your lips, on your throat. But no matter how bad it got your heart would soar at his smile, at his gentle touch, at the softness of his kiss. You knew now why it was so hard for all those other women to leave.

You started hearing stories about Eddie -- more erratic than he was before but somehow more beloved around his part of town. A violent type of Robinhood that you didn't want to cross. Gareth came by the diner one night when you had finally gone in, sitting across from you with a smile while you caught up on a slow Tuesday. Told you all about it, about him, about what was new with the guys. It felt nice, like old times -- a fondness in your chest blooming when you watched him leave.

Two days later, your phone buzzed in the darkness of Bryan's apartment -- RESTRICTED popping up on the screen. You didn't have to guess who it was; Gareth wasn't coming in for a late dinner. He was doing rounds. He was keeping tabs on you.

Bryan had passed out on the couch hours ago, the deep steadiness of his snoring echoing through the living room. You reach for your phone, tip-toeing to the back porch while you consider denying the call -- but you know he'll just keep calling. He hates being left in the dark.

You answer shakily, “Hello?”

“Where are you?” you hear him ask in a low voice, menacing, “Sandra told me what’s goin’ on. Where are you? Now.”

“Nothing’s goin’ on, Ed,” you say quietly.

“If nothings goin’ on then why’re you whisperin’, hm? You keepin’ quiet for what?” he challenges, “Are you at his house?”

“I’m not telling you where I am.” “You think I won’t find you? I got eyes all over this place,” his laughs, “You don’t think if I tell Sandra I’m comin’ to save your ass she won’t give me your schedule?”

“There’s a reason she doesn’t give it out to you,” you hiss, “It’s literally illegal. Can you stop your fuckin’ hero shit? You think you’re any better?”

“Hero shit?” he growls, “Your mama keeps calling me crying on the phone asking if I’d seen or heard from you at all. Your daddy hasn’t slept in days thinking maybe this asshole finally snapped your fuckin’ neck. You keep skippin’ out on shifts at the diner and you wanna shit on me for tryna help? Fuck outta here.”

“I’m fine,” you say through gritted teeth, “Stop. Calling.”

“And yeah, sweetheart, I do think I’m better,” his voice raises, blaring through the receiver, “When’d you ever hear that I’m beating on the bitches I take home? Who am I beating on? Don’t make shit up just ‘cause you wanna be stubborn.”

"Fuck off," you hiss. "Why did Gareth tell me you got bruisin' everywhere, hm? Why did Sandra stop me the other night at Melvald's to tell me to call you? I know she doesn't like me, so it must be serious -- right?" he challenges.

"I have it under control," you growl. "Yeah?" his voice lilts, argumentative and ready to go, "Well fu--" "Who're you talkin' to?"

Bryan takes your phone before you can answer.

When you show up to your shift the next day Sandra can barely recognize you, tears welling up in her eyes when you come in the door.

You do your best not to meet her gaze, simply nodding when she asks 'Was it him?'

You woke up late, knowing you couldn't miss another day or the owner would fire you -- already on probation for all the work you've missed. Didn't have a chance to shower let alone do your makeup, not that you could bare to touch some of it.

The morning is slow, she let's you sit in the back and cry it out to Paul while he flips burgers and flap jacks on the grill. You prep, chopping up whatever he could have you chop, anything to keep you back with him unless Bryan thought it was a good time to show up with his buddies.

He passes you a lemonade and two Advil at noon, winking in the way grandfather's do when they know you've had a bad day.

"Here ya go, sugar," he smiles. You smile back, igorning the sting of the tear in your lip reopening at the gesture.

"Thanks, Paul."

The bell dings during another slow period and you smell Camels before you catch a familiar whiff of Creed Aventus.

"She's in the back," you hear Sandra mutter through the server window.

“Oh, girl, what did he do to you?” You know that smoky voice anywhere, it pours like ice down your back. “You can’t be here,” you shake your head, stepping away while he steps closer to you.

“Hey, look,” he starts with his hands up, soft and gentle, “Look, look. Sandra called me, I’m just coming to pick you up.”

“I have to be here,” you assure, “I can't leave early, he's gonna know.” “That’s fine,” Eddie shrugs, “I’ll tell him you’re comin’ with me.”

You shake your head no, “It’s fine Ed, I can handle this. Please just go home.”

“I’m not doin’ this with you,” he shakes his head in response, gruffer this time, “This isn’t for me. Your folks, they – they miss you. Beau misses you. Asks me if I’ve seen you every time he’s at the shop. I can’t be lyin’ to Beau like that. Don’t you miss him? Don’t you miss your folks?”

Your lower lip wobbles when you think about Beau, all the basketball games you missed for his youth league. The voicemails of him begging you to come.

"C'mon, Sandra said it's okay if you dip out early," he says, ecouraging you with caution -- like you're a feral cat about to run away, "Come with me, I'll take you back to his so we can get your stuff." "Eddie please," you beg, "Please don't get involved -- he'll get the cops on your back I --" "I'm not worried about cops," he chuckles, a knowing smirk flickering on his lips, "Get your jacket, come get in the van." "I can't..." you urge again, throat tight with a threatening cry. You turn around, back to your chopping, drowning out the blood pumping in your ears with the beat of the knife.

"You can, c'mon." You ignore him, feeling his eyes on you, narrowing down to burn holes in the back of your skull. He doesn't have the same patience he used to. You hear his soft sigh, the cross and uncross of his leather jacket, the tinkling of his chains and hardware.

"Baby..."

The dam breaks as his smooth honey voice; it had been so long since someone had called you that. Said it like that, so low and pretty, like he means it. You let out a choked sob when you feel his palm slide over your back and around your shoulder.

"Oh, baby, baby, come here," he whispers, pulling you into him while you fall apart. Tears streaming over the bruises on your cheek bone, the tear in your lip, over your jaw.

"Let's go get your stuff, okay?" he asks, rubbing your back against the polyester of your work dress -- you got a new one in a size too big when Bryan said he didn't like how your old one fit, "Come on, let's go get in my car."

"Prince of the trailer park," Bryan grits toward Ed when he knocks on the door, "To what do I owe this white trash surprise?" "Comin' to get her stuff," he respons nonchalantly, "You gonna let me in or what?"

"Her stuff?" Bryan asks, sick smirk sliding over his face, bleary eyes peering into the van parked by the sidewalk. "What's she tellin' you?" he asks, arms crossed over his white tee, freckled arms flashing against the fabric.

"Nothin'," Ed shakes his head, "Just comin' to get her stuff." Bryan takes a step forward and that's all it takes to get Ed ready to go, arm out to keep his distance, to keep himself between your boyfriend and the van.

“I’m not playin’ around today, man,” Eddie warns, “Let me go grab her stuff and this doesn’t have to be a problem.”

“Problem? You’re ninety pounds soakin’ wet,” Bryan laughs, his couple inches on Eddie helping to bore over him, “What’s she telling you?”

“She hasn’t had to tell me anything,” Ed repeats, “S’all over her face. You’re all over her fuckin’ face man, now let me in the door before I do something you don’t like.”

Bryan lunges, but he’s not quick enough, the soft click of a gun cocking puts him back at attention. “My uncle did two tours, Bry, you think I don’t know my way around a trigger?” Eddie smirks. You watch from the van, horrified, heart racing when you see the black metal gleam in broad daylight. Ignoring Eddie’s demands to stay in the car you throw open the door and run to the sidewalk.

“What the fuck, Ed?” you rasp out, voice heavy with your earlier cry, “Put that shit away.”

Bryan catches your eye, looking at you with a fuming rage, “This is all you, huh?”

“No, it’s not – I didn’t say anything,” you plead up at him, “I promise.”

“Listen pal,” Eddie continues, another step forward while his heavy boot finds its way over the door frame, “We can make this real easy if you let me.”

They bark at each other like rabid dogs when the doors close behind the three of you, a barrage of insults from Bryan’s liquor soaked mouth. You grit your teeth, jaw tight while you decide what’s worth it to keep and what’s not. Your eyes glaze over with tears and the whirl of the place around you.

When did Eddie start carrying a gun?

When you’ve fit as much as you can in your duffle you make your way towards the door; hearing Eddie’s low growl of the threat when Bryan makes it way over to you.

“If you think for one second you’re gonna see or hear from her again then I promise you, you are sorely mistaken,” he mutters, the scrape of metal on metal rings in your ears when his rings slide over the short barrel.

“If I remember correctly, you’re not around too to find out are you?” Bryan bites back.

Eddie chuckles smugly, a tight pulled smile across his face with his dimples deep on his cheeks, “I got eyes on every corner, chief. Don’t test me.”

“We’ll see about that, huh Munson?” Bryan nods, eyes settling on Eddie’s knuckles – another fresh cross tattoo blazoned across pale skin.

“We won’t see about shit,” Eddie nods back, “I always keep my promises.”

He takes you to his place -- his uncle in a nice little apartment in the city now so the trailer's his. It looks the part, new repairs and updates the other people in the park couldn't believe when he started making them. You fret and worry the whole way there, not looking at him once for the ride, not even a thank you.

"He won't come to mine," Eddie soothes in the car, "I got a friend outside your folks place, too."

"Mhm," you nod, watching the town woosh by while he presses on the gas, two turns and it's just trees lining the street.

"You're okay," he says when he pulls in, hopping out to open your door from the otherside, "C'mere."

You follow him in, collapsing on his bed the moment you make it into his room. His sheets are fresh, they smell like him on his side, pillow laced with a few strands of his wavy hair.

"You know you're the only one I ever let in my bed," he says softly, kicking his boots off in line with his other shoes. "Hmm," you hum, too despondent to reply.

"Scooch," he mumbles, warm palm pushing gently at your arm. You make room for him, hearing his jacket slide off and his belt get undone. If it was a year and some change ago the sound would've sent your reeling with need, now it just sounds hollow.

He slides in next to you, encouraging you to flip over so he can see you. You haven't looked in those soft brown eyes in a while, it almost hurts. His brows furrow and then soften, yearning the way they did before he left you by the lake.

"You hurtin'?" he asks, hand reaching up to run over your hair, "Can I get you something?"

"I took some Advil at work," you answer, the ache at a dull thud in your face. Exhaustion starts to overtake you while you sink into his mattress, the first time you've felt safe in months.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks, thumb sliding feather light over the bruise on your cheek bone.

"Didn't want you to be right," you croak out. "Sounds like you," you smiles back. He comes in closer, arm snaking around you like he used to.

"I missed you," he whispers, "All the time."

Your eyes water, "Don't...don't do that."

"Baby, I'm being honest," he urges, "Couldn't stop thinking about you."

"You don't mean that," you sniffle, your heart sinking while he pours out more confessions.

"Of course I mean it," he says, looking at you with desperation behind his gaze. He leans in slow, warm lips brushing yours, careful not to press to hard on the swollen corner of yours. You relent, letting him kiss you, letting his hands roam over your waist and push you in from between your shoulder blades.

"Didn't you miss me?" he asks. The pit in your stomach knows that you didn't -- you didn't miss him breaking off dates, you didn't miss the ignored calls, you didn't miss him fucking off for who knows how long. You didn't miss finding lipgloss in his car, hair strands that weren't yours.

But you missed this. The way it feels to be told that you're the only one allowed in his bed. The only one he sends someone to keep tabs on. The only one he misses.

You nod, your body moving this time to get close to him.

"I'd never hurt you like that," he mumbles against your lips, "Not my baby. Not my girl."

He holds your eyes in his when he puts you gently on your back, gingerly pulling off your diner dress. He presses kisses down your neck, across your chest.

"Let me make you feel special," he says down at you, light shining behind his head like a halo, "Let me show you how special you are."

He still knows your body like he wrote the schematics for it, pulling soft needy moans out of you like a never ending string of chords he's always known how to play. You almost forget the thumping pain in your head, peppered in gentle kisses at every wince. 'I love you' weighing heavy on his tongue when he keeps eye contact, but never passing his lips. Never passing yours. Maybe neither of you have to say it.

You both settle afterwards, two rounds have pushed you past the point of exhaustion -- fast sleep in his arms after a bottle of water and two more Advil out of the palm of his hand.

You wake up in darkness, a sea of dark blue and black with a soft green glow of his side table clock. A little past midnight.

Your head pounds, dehydrated from all the crying. You search for your phone in the blankets -- noticing the bed next to you is empty while doing so. You peer over the mattress, no light coming in from under the door.

"Ed?" you call out, but no one responds. You sigh, finally finding your phone somwhere under your hip. Your inner thighs ache from having his hips slam into them hours before, hips in their full extension while he pushed into you deeper and deeper.

274 missed calls. All from Bryan.

Your blood runs cold, looking out the window to see Eddie's van missing. A car you don't recognize sits a trailer away, humming with muffled music, a shadowed figure inside behind a cloud of smoke. A gentle moment of ease flits through you -- at least someone was looking out.

i just woke up, where are you? who's the guy outside?

You wait for a bit, going through your socials to make sure Bryan is blocked on everything. You delete all the messages, not bothering to read them so your fear doesn't spike again.

Your phone buzzes.

i'm out.

You swallow, hoping he's not making good on any promises -- not after that show earlier this afternoon. But you don't have to wonder past the next scroll on Instagram.

Grainy with a filter is a photo posted 45 minutes ago from a friend of a friend, a bottle girl at the club that all the boys love the most. With two girls on each thigh there sits Eddie in a VIP back room, laughing at someone in the background -- whiskey neat in one hand, cigarette in the other. The caption makes your heart hammer --

'our king on his throne. ♡'

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #dark!eddie munson #dark eddie munson #stranger things fan fiction #modern!eddie munson #modern eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson #eddie x y/n #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fan fiction

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bucca2 · 8 months

Text

Shrike pt. 1 - words hung above but never would form

definition. male shrikes are known for their habit of catching insects and small vertebrates and impaling them on thorns

König x high school sweetheart reader

2nd person, gender neutral reader for now but reader is afab and referred to as a girl, reader is Austrian/has lived in Austria and speaks German for most of the story, romance, pining, friends to lovers, reader's nickname is Thorn, König's first name is Alexander

4.8k words

tw: bullying, brief mention of cheating and domestic abuse (not explicit, mentions of violence, and not done by König), mention of terrorism, suicidal thoughts

[NEXT]

based on this post by @ceilidho, who gave me permission to write this! many thanks <3

this post is dedicated to @papaver-decervicatus, who I am so proud of for finishing chapter 4 of her fic cat/mouse/den (which I highly recommend) and eating NO glass in the process. her headcanons for König have had a huge influence on me, and while there are some differences between julius and alexander, I absolutely must thank Caedis for her wonderful portrayal of König.

and of course, to @danibee33, for fueling my König brainrot. without you, I probably would not have returned to writing <33

disclaimer, I am not Austrian, I do not speak German, so if there's anything that needs correcting, please do reach out!

You admit, you’ve always had an affinity for protecting the weak.

When you were twelve, a bird slammed headlong into your bedroom window. The poor thing had avoided snapping its own neck but was certainly in no condition to fly. You’d bolted out of your childhood home to check on it, but by the time you arrived, a huge grey tomcat was prowling, sitting back on his haunches and ready to pounce. You generally liked cats, but this one was a mean old stray, and you’d always been frightened to go near him.

Without hesitation, you had shoved the cat aside, spitting and yowling, and taken the little bird into your hands.

It took a few days to nurse back to health, and you still remember the day you released it back into nature. It was worth the long scratch down your arm, pride swelling in your heart as it spread its wings and flew into a vivid blue sky. You remember it even now: a charming little gray bird, a streak of black coloring over its eyes. A shrike, your mother had identified it as.

People are no different than animals, sometimes. People can be cornered, battered, and bruised as well. You recognize the broken hunch of the bird you rescued in the boy sitting by himself at lunch time. His shoulders curl inwards with a desperate need to go unnoticed. You’ve seen him around: he’s not in any of your classes, but your classes always seem to end up in the same hallways, so you pass each other all the time.

He jumps a little as you slide into the seat next to him, shrinking away from you in a way that breaks your heart. “Hey.”

No response. You offer your name, but he seems reluctant to divulge his own.

“Is it okay if I sit here?”

He shrugs.

“Thanks. I don’t know anybody at this school, so it’s nice to have a friend.”

“…friend?” He has a nice voice, you think. Timid, but almost sweet.

“Well, if you’ll let me call you one.”

“…”

And so begins your friendship with König.

I was housed by your warmth Thus transformed By your grounded and giving And darkening scorn

You didn’t call him that in high school, of course. You wouldn’t know that name until much, much later. It takes a while to coax him out of his shell, cajoling him that you can’t call him “green-eyed boy” forever, to get his name.

“Alexander is a very good name,” you assure him, and he seems pleased. He’s still hesitant to speak to you at all, but that’s just fine by you. You’ve got plenty to talk about, anyway.

“You know, I read this book about Alexander the Great. There’s this crazy story about one of his battles at a city called Tyre. He was laying siege to it after a misunderstanding with their king…” you chatter on, unaware of the intense stare from the boy sitting next to you.

“…ordinarily, sieging an island is pretty difficult, but you won’t believe what he did,” you rattle on. “He—”

“He built his own bridge,” Alexander says, so quietly you almost don’t hear him at first. You look at him in surprise.

“Yes! You know this story already?”

“I read a lot about him.”

“Then why did you let me ramble on about it if you knew about it already?” You’re a little embarrassed, having felt proud of yourself for knowing niche facts about historical figures.

“I like listening to you talk.”

That shuts you up for a moment. Only for a moment though, before you start to laugh.

“What?” he asks, an edge creeping into his voice.

“Nothing! It’s just—usually people tell me the opposite,” you say. “People say I talk too much.”

“I don’t mind.” His eyes dart to your face before looking away again.

“That’s good to hear. But I hope you know this means you’re never getting rid of me now,” you tease, nudging him gently.

He doesn’t respond, but for a second, you could have sworn that a corner of his mouth had turned up into a smile.

Learning more about him is like trying to draw blood from a stone, but you do your best. He mentions sharing a room with a cousin. His oma makes the best comfort food. Sometimes his mother takes him into town to buy candy, but he has to hide it or his cousin will steal it. Not that he cares that much—he doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth, but his family doesn’t come from means, so it means a lot to him whenever his mother spares a few pennies to buy him a frivolity.

It's what he doesn’t say that tells you the most about him. The way he fidgets with his clothes when he’s nervous. The brief panic that shoots through him whenever you call his name before he relaxes when he realizes it’s just you. The way he shies away from people in the hallways, just to avoid any contact whatsoever.

The fact that he never talks about his father.

The way he curls into himself when he’s being bullied.

“You should be apologizing to me for being in my way right about now, freak,” Andreas taunts him. He’s knocked Alexander’s books to the ground, like some sort of cartoon caricature of a bully, and you’re fed up.

“Hey!” Without missing a beat, you slide yourself between Alexander and Andreas. You’ve recently hit a bit of a growth spurt, so you note with a bit of smugness that you’re at least an inch or two taller than Andreas. You’re also quite a bit taller than Alexander, you realize. The two of you are usually sitting when you talk, so you’ve never really noticed.

“Leave him alone!” You stand your ground even as Andreas fixes you with a withering glare.

“Ah, so you’re gonna let your big strong girlfriend fight your fights now, is that it?” Andreas sneers. Alexander stiffens behind you, and you decide right then and there that you’ve had enough of this nonsense.

“You’re the last person who should be bringing up girlfriends, Andreas,” you say, staring him down with a look that you hope is sufficiently intimidating. “Everybody knows Yulia broke up with you because you can’t get it up.” You don’t know Yulia. You don’t give enough of a shit about Andreas to follow the gossip about him. But by the way his cheeks get ruddy, you know you’ve struck a nerve. The handful of spectators your little confrontation has attracted snicker.

“You little bitch,” he snarls. You hear the gasp of the students surrounding you before you feel it. You put a hand to your rapidly reddening cheek.

The little twerp had slapped you.

“That’s what you get for getting in my way,” he says, with a smug little look that you want to wipe off his face.

You’re not a violent person. And honestly, you could have been expelled for what happens next. But you cast a quick glimpse behind you at Alexander on the ground, and something about the look in his eyes reminds you of that bird you rescued, and a quick and hot anger rises in you.

You punch Andreas.

With no wind-up, no warning, you break his nose, and he drops like a rock, howling and clutching at the blood pouring from his nostrils. A sick little giggle comes out of you as you watch, drowned out by the uproar of your little audience.

“What on earth is going on here?!” You hear a teacher roar, and the crowd quickly begins to scatter. Without hesitation, you pull Alexander up and escape before you can be subjected to the consequences of your actions.

“Boy, am I glad he didn’t put up more of a fight,” you say gleefully, high on adrenaline. “That could have gotten quite ugly.”

“I didn’t know you had that in you,” Alexander says when the two of you have gotten far away enough. The way he looks at you now is a little different—almost reverent.

“I didn’t know either!” you say. “I’ve never done that before!”

“Who knew such a pretty rose had such sharp thorns?” he mumbles to himself. Your eyes zip to him, and even he looks surprised at the words coming out of his mouth.

“A pretty rose?” you tease, nudging him on the arm. He flushes pink and turns away, but there’s a bit of a lopsided half-smile on his lips.

You’re not sure why, but the sight of it makes your skin tingle.

The first few years of high school are relatively uneventful outside of skirmishes with Alexander’s various tormentors. Your biggest regret is that you can’t always be there for him—sometimes you have to spend your free periods catching up on readings or speaking with teachers. But you’re always there for him afterwards, poison in your voice as you hatch plans to make his bullies’ lives miserable. The plans never go anywhere, but thinking about retribution always seems to make him perk up a little. And really, that’s all that matters to you.

It's silly, how long it took you to realize how much of a fixture he was in your life. There’s a street corner a few blocks from the school you always meet him at so the two of you can walk the rest of the way together. The few times you share classes, you’re always sitting together, exchanging notes and quietly judging your classmates together. And you always, always sit with him during lunch. Even when you start making other friends who surely would welcome you at their tables, you always return to the quiet green-eyed boy in the corner.

You tell yourself it’s because he’s lonely, and he needs the company. You tell yourself the rumors about the two of you are silly, the result of bored hormonal teenagers who can’t fathom being a genuine friend to someone of the opposite sex. You tell yourself it means nothing that your face feels warm whenever he smiles at you.

You never get the chance to figure out if it does mean anything. He gives you the bad news on the last day of classes before summer break.

“I…I see,” you say, trying to swallow past the lump in your throat. For once, you’re at a loss of what to say. His fingers twist around each other in his lap, the way they only do when he’s really anxious.

“Well, a fresh start is good, right?” You offer him a smile, but your heart’s not in it. Maybe you haven’t spent as much time with him as you used to back in first year—you’ve started to take more advanced classes, and you’ve been so swamped with homework and projects that sometimes hanging out with Alexander is put on the back burner. But you’d always taken comfort in knowing that he would always be there at mealtime. A steady presence in your life, as everything around you seems to be speeding towards a future you’re not quite ready for yet.

Now he’s leaving. You’d like to think your concern is for him—what’s to say his new school won’t also be rife with harassment? Will he be able to make new friends? Or will he be all alone at the lunch table again? But really, who are you trying to fool? The sudden heaviness in your chest is selfish. What are you going to do without him?

The roaring in your head stills as you feel his hand cover yours. You stare at it dumbly, unable to lift your head and look him in the eyes. Your gut feels like it’s flipping and twisting all over itself.

You lift your eyes to his. For one breathless, indescribable moment, you think he’s going to kiss you. You’re sure he’s going to kiss you. You lean closer to him, and you can feel his breath on your lips.

Your eyes slide shut.

A shout startles your eyes back open, and he jolts away from you. It’s your mother, calling that she’s here to pick you up. You let out a frustrated noise as you call back to her that you’re coming before turning back to him.

The moment is long gone, and your heart twinges with regret as he avoids meeting your gaze. “You’ll write to me, won’t you?” you say softly. “And we can still see each other?”

“Of course I will, rosethorn,” he says, with that shy little smile you love so much.

You don’t see him for another ten years.

I couldn't utter my love when it counted I couldn't whisper when you needed it shouted Ah, but I'm singing like a bird 'bout it now

It’s ironic, really. Saving birds. Saving boys. But the one person you can’t save is yourself.

Your life post-König is like the drop on a roller coaster, but with none of the thrill. High school flies by in a flurry of deadlines and mental breakdowns. It’s worth it when you get into a good university—at least, you thought so. In reality, there’s no work in Austria for someone with your degree. Your parents are older, well on their way towards retirement, so you find yourself unwilling to burden them. You’re lost, stuck, and so very alone.

And then you meet him.

Tall, handsome, a little older, with a blossoming career. In hindsight, how much of a perfect package he presented himself as was the earliest red flag. But when you’re young and behind on rent, anything better than that feels like a miracle.

You know better, really. You knew it the whole time. Getting married after knowing each other for 2 months isn’t as bad as it could be, but it’s still too quick for your comfort. But the eviction notice was on your door, and he was a perfect gentleman. What could go wrong, right?

Everything. He at least has the decency to keep up the façade for another month, but that’s the only credit you’ll ever give the man you’ve shackled yourself to. It becomes increasingly obvious that he only married you to have a live-in maid while he philanders around as he pleases. You try, oh god do you try, for five long, fruitless years. God, it’s so silly when you think about it. You liked him so much, it took you so long to realize he had never liked you in the first place. He’d scooped up the first desperate college grad he’d found, and thinking about it makes you want to hide from everyone you know.

Which you do: hiding from what few friends you do have, hiding from your parents, hiding from the part of your brain that screams that you’re wasting the best years of your life cleaning up after a grown man who won’t even touch you, much less fuck you. Your 20s are for drinking, one-night stands, and figuring out what the fuck the rest of your life is going to look like. There is plenty of drinking, but the rest of it, not so much.

You’re going to divorce him, you tell yourself in year six. Once you get a job, you’re out. But you’re no fresh grad anymore, and the 6-year gap in your resume isn’t helping matters. You spot a glimpse of light at the end of the tunnel when he tells you you’re moving: his company is offering him a higher paid position, and it’s in a bustling downtown area. Plenty of opportunity for you, right?

That’s when he starts hitting you.

You’re away from your parents, your friends, your home. You took English classes, but that won’t exactly help you in this equally European foreign country whose language you don’t speak. Now that you’re approaching your 30s, your husband seems to be rapidly realizing that his youth is also disappearing. His new job is more stressful, and most days he has no outlet for it other than taking it out on you.

Now you long for the days when he didn’t come home until you’d already fallen asleep.

And then the terror attacks begin, and your once-bustling city shuts down. More isolation. Even less hope. You stay at home all day, torn between hoping someone will get rid of your husband for you and the abject terror of being left all alone in a foreign country torn apart by violent partisans.

That’s when the despair really sets in: you’ve wasted over a decade in this awful, dead-end relationship. Sure, you’ve got a roof over your head and food in your stomach: you should feel grateful. But you don’t.

You start hoping the attacks will take you out instead.

I fled to the city with so much discounted Ah, but I'm flying like a bird to you now Back to the hedgerows where bodies are mounted

“There are mercenaries in town.”

You look up from your breakfast, lost in thought thinking about all the errands you have to run today. “Yeah?”

“About time we stopped relying on our corrupt fucking military,” he grumbles. “Maybe they’ll end this goddamn conflict once and for all.”

You don’t have much to say about that. What does it matter to you, anyway? The only conflict that matters to you lives at home, and you stopped trying to fight it a long time ago.

“The curfew’s a pain in the ass, though. You behave yourself, you hear me?” His sharp glare reminds you that he’s not saying this out of a concern for your safety: if you make trouble for him, you’ll pay for it later. You nod mutely.

Your morning goes by relatively uneventfully. You do the dishes, stare at the wall, sigh, stare at the wall some more. As much of a prison as this apartment is, you like it decently well when he’s not in it. Going outside and seeing the ravages of war all around you is anxiety-inducing. But you can’t put off buying groceries anymore.

The arrival of the mercenaries makes itself immediately apparent. The streets are somehow even emptier, and what people there are on the streets move quickly and cast suspicious glances at everyone else.

You were hoping not to interact with anybody, but your hopes are dashed when you see a checkpoint ahead, manned by soldiers in unfamiliar uniforms. Although most of them are wearing different gear, they still look more orderly and well-kept than the country’s own military. Murder must pay well.

You look around nervously, but there’s no alternate route here, and nobody local going through with you. You strongly consider going home, but you’d just have to do this all over again tomorrow.

You steel yourself with a deep breath.

“Identification?”

You show the mercenary your ID with trembling fingers, gripping your bag tightly and praying he doesn’t find your nervousness suspicious.

“Where are you headed?”

“Just—just down the street,” you say, wincing at your heavy German accent. Years upon years of living here and you still sound like a foreigner. “Getting food.” You’re so anxious you forget the word for “groceries” for a moment. You only know enough of the local language to get by, and you’re sure you must sound like a kindergartener.

The soldier raises an eyebrow at you. “You are German?”

“I…Austrian,” you answer hesitantly. Oh God, you hope there’s no issue with that. You’re not so much afraid of being detained as you are of getting home too late to make dinner.

“Interesting.” The soldier hands back your ID. “Our commander is Austrian, as well.”

You perk up a little bit at that. You’ve met a handful of German-speakers here, but not a single one of your countrymen.

Well. Aside from the one who came here with you.

“He should actually be arriving here any moment now. Big guy in a hood. You can’t miss him. They call him König.” As if on cue, a military grade vehicle pulls up to the checkpoint, military personnel stepping out. And then…

Your blood runs cold.

Nothing, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of the beast that steps out of the car. Even from a short distance, you can tell he’s a colossal size. Two metres tall, easily, wearing a dark hood that reminds you of a medieval executioner. And as if that weren’t intimidating enough, two red trails, like bloody tears, are bleached under his eyes. His eyes, which must have some sort of black paint around them, giving him the impression of being two eyes staring out at you from the pitch blackness of the hood.

Two piercing green eyes.

Trained directly on your face.

Staring in disbelief.

“I…need to return home. I’ve forgotten something.” All worries about appearing suspicious fly out the window as the enormous man in the hood hesitates for a moment before making his way towards you with alarming speed.

You all but fly back down the street, making a beeline for your building. Just a few moments ago, you were excited to meet the man. Now, the image of his eyes staring into yours fills you with a fear you can’t describe.

The next day you take a long detour to avoid the checkpoint. It’ll take you twice as long to get home this time, but it’s worth it. You can’t put the shopping off another day: the brand-new bruise on your arm throbs as a reminder. And you certainly don’t want to run into the hooded soldier again.

You get your shopping done without much fanfare. The old lady cashier, who usually looks at you from over her glasses with the stern look you’ve seen a lot of people around here level at foreigners, even pressed a piece of candy from behind the register into your hand. You’re pretty sure it’s just because she wanted to get rid of it, but it does wonders for your mood.

You’re busy plotting when to enjoy your little treat when you turn a corner and freeze.

He’s here. He’s there, standing in an alleyway near your building. Somehow even larger than you remember him yesterday, still wearing that awful hood.

Does he know where you live? You curse yourself for running straight home yesterday. He must have seen the direction you went in—or did he follow you? You attempt to quietly retreat and take another route home, but your shoe scuffs a paving stone. And like a hawk spotting its prey, his head darts towards you.

You book it.

“Wait!” calls a deep voice. Tears spring to your eyes as you hear heavy footsteps pursuing you. What have you done to deserve this? You’re no criminal. Your only crime is being a naïve dumbass in your twenties.

Your arm burns as you turn corner after corner, not bothering to take note of where you’re going. It’s no use, though: you can hear him gaining on you. Fuck, is this it? You can’t even fathom what he wants you for, and you don’t want to think about it either—

“Rosethorn!” You come to a screeching halt.

There’s only one person who has ever called you that.

You turn around, chest heaving with exertion, as the hooded soldier—König, the soldier said his name was—comes into view, approaching you slowly.

“It’s me,” he says, holding his hands out like he’s approaching a wounded animal. You’re not really sure what the point is, considering the gigantic knife he’s got strapped to his thigh is intimidating all on its own, but somehow it still puts you at ease.

“Alex...?” you whisper, hardly daring to believe it.

“Yes,” he says. His posture has changed from when you saw him at the checkpoint. He’s hunching over, trying to make himself smaller. It reminds you of that first day when you sat next to him at lunch.

It’s him.

You instantly drop all your bags and cling to him in a hug, tears spilling from your eyes. He’s so different: most obviously, he's so tall. He must have hit some growth spurt after he moved away, because he towers over you now. You can feel under all the gear that he’s put on serious muscle—not surprising for a soldier, of course. And when his arms fold themselves over you, you’re filled with a sense of safety you haven’t felt in a long time.

“What are you doing here?” you both ask at the same time. A giggle bubbles out of you as you watch his eyes crinkle in an obvious smile. God, his eyes are so green.

“I’m stationed here because of the conflict,” he says. “But what are you doing here? I contacted your parents, and they said you had moved here, but they didn’t say why.”

You’re not surprised. You’re still in contact with your parents, but you don’t talk about the elephant in your home. You know they would have helped you, if only you had asked for it, but you never have.

“I…it’s complicated,” you say, withdrawing from the hug. You stare at the ground, brushing away the wetness in your eyes.

“I have nothing urgent right now,” he says, staring at you intently.

You swallow past the lump in your throat. “I…got married,” you whisper.

Instantly, his body language changes, stiffening in shock. He takes a half-step away from you, which makes you want to cry all over again. This is awful. This is humiliating. You wish you could go back in time and shake some sense into yourself.

“I see,” he says in a strangled voice. “Congratulations.”

Despite your best efforts, the tears spill over again. “No, not congratulations,” you say. “It—”

It was the worst mistake of your life, you want to say, but you just can’t get the words out. He must notice you beginning to quake with fear, because he raises a hand to touch you gently on the arm—right on the bruise.

His stare hardens as he watches you flinch. “Rosethorn, what’s the matter?”

Everything, you want to say. I’m standing in an alleyway with my childhood crush, shaking like a leaf because a monster lives in my house, and I can’t get away from him.

With a feather-like touch surprising for a man with such large hands—he grew so much— he goes to push up your sleeve. You catch a glimpse of the bruise before you have to turn away again, shuddering. It’s ugly: black and green, and very clearly shaped like a human grip.

“I…bumped into a shelf,” you say lamely. You can’t bring yourself to rope him into your troubles. He’s a soldier now, for Pete’s sake. He has bigger problems.

You can’t read his expression due to the hood—but there’s a blazing anger in his eyes you remember all too well. The quiet fury you often saw in him so many years ago.

He must see in your expression that you don’t want to be questioned about it right now, and thankfully, he relents. With an ease in his movement that must stem from some newfound confidence, he reaches over and picks up your bags for you. “Let me carry these for you.”

It’s nice, to be taken care of for once.

Your mad dash took both of you quite far away from your building, so you have enough time for quite a nice little chat. You tell him about your time in university, he tells you what happened to him after he moved away. He’d jumped at the chance to enlist as soon as he turned 17, on the recommendation of an uncle who had spent time in the military. You laugh when he tells you that they wouldn’t let him be a sniper, a pout in his tone. You could have imagined him as a sniper back in high school, but he’s so large now it’s impossible not to notice him.

“The discipline was good for me,” he recounts. “I needed to grow a spine.”

“Don’t say that. You were just trying to get by in school, like everybody else.”

He shrugs. “I wanted to be like you.”

“Like me?” You ask incredulously.

“My rose with thorns,” he says, with a fondness that makes you blush. “Do you remember that day you punched that punk Andreas?”

“How could I forget? My fist hurt for days,” you say with a grin. “But I didn’t regret it for a second.”

He looks down at you—that’s new—with pride in his eyes. “I thought about you that day all throughout training,” he says. “You were my guardian angel.”

Your cheeks grow even warmer, and you feel like a teenager again. How can he still make you feel this way so easily after all this time? “He had a punchable face,” you say dismissively. “If not me, then it would have been someone else.”

You’re almost disappointed to arrive home. Only yesterday, home was your sanctuary. Now, it means being separated from the one person you trust fully in this country. You turn to him, almost bashful. “This is where I live."

He sets the bags down like they’re made of fine china, and he’s standing so close you almost stop breathing. The air is charged, the same way it felt that night when you almost kissed. You watch him as he watches you.

“Can I see you again?” he asks, breaking the silence.

“Of course,” you say, and the sparkle in his eye dazzles you.

You watch him leave until you can’t see him anymore. And for once, you enter your home with a light heart.

Remember me, love When I'm reborn As the shrike to your sharp And glorious thorn

if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just drop a reply! feedback is always appreciated, and my inbox is open, so please feel free to drop me an ask! I will 100% write little scenarios/headcanons about this couple because I have so many thoughts and ideas for them lol

I anticipate about 2-3 parts for this, maybe with König pov in the next part? he doesn't come across this way in this part, because it's from Thorn's perspective, but he is a very nasty boy indeed. also, I know putting lyrics in the middle of a fic is so passé, but I can't help myself. it's hozier! indulge me. also this isn't beta read so I really hope it doesn't suck

#bucca writes #könig #könig x reader #könig cod #könig mw2 #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod x reader #cod #mw2 #konig #konig cod #konig x reader #fic:shrike

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hp-hcs · 7 months

Note

HEYY I SAW U WANYED SOME THEODORE REQUESTS SO I WAS WONDERING IF YOUD WRITE SOME ANGSY W FLUFF AT THE END?

promise — theodore nott x gn!reader

Requests open

‼️ TWs: references to past domestic abuse & violence: emotional, financial, and physical ‼️

U.S. National Domestic Violence Hotline: 800-799-7233

Text line: Text START to 88788

YOU DESERVE SAFETY. YOU ARE NOT ALONE.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Theodore Nott had his suspicions.

You’d never told him about any of your past relationships, but some of the odd things you did helped him draw his own conclusions.

Like that one random Tuesday night, when you were making dinner together in the kitchen, just chatting and laughing like usual. Theo had finished washing the dishes and shook his hands dry while reaching for the hand towel hanging from the oven handle, when you violently flinched back.

He froze, looking at you with wide eyes. You’d just laughed and patted his shoulder, apologizing for startling him.

Or that one time Theo had been trying to organize some bank statements, and had innocuously asked you if you’d bought something from a certain store when he couldn’t remember having made the purchase himself. You immediately froze up at the question, staring with a deer-in-headlights expression. You had timidly apologized, looking meek and like you were playing dead, to protect yourself, Theo had realized.

Or that time when you were going to a group get-together at a friend’s house and assured him there’d be no other men there.

Or when you couldn’t find your house key before work and panicked.

“I’m working from home today anyways,” Theo had reassured confusedly. “I can just let you in when you get back. I’ll be here all day.”

“You won’t lock me out?” You had asked, genuinely bewildered.

Theo hadn’t known how to respond to that.

But when you had accidentally been decked in the mosh pit at a punk show and rushed home in hysterics, Theo opening the door at your frantic knocking and finding you in the middle of a panic attack, he knew he needed to find out the truth. While trying to calm you down from the attack, you accidentally called Theo the wrong name, pleading with him to not hurt you further.

Theodore’s lips thinned and the blood drained from his face as his suspicions were only solidified. “I’m not going to hurt you, Y/N. Did somebody use to hurt you?”

You had nodded shakily, still beside yourself with anxiety. Theodore skimmed his thumb across the knuckles of your hand, shushing you gently.

“It’s alright, darling. What’s the bastard’s name?”

You mumbled it quietly, your sobs slowing to just shuddering breaths. Theodore had nodded in response, making a mental note to kill the motherfucker at his earliest convenience.

He helped you up from your spot, collapsed on the floor in the entryway of your home, and led you over to the couch, where he hastily tucked a fluffy blanket around you and all but sprinted to the kitchen to make tea. He came back with a warm mug and an ice pack for you, sitting down on the couch near you—but not next to you, so that you wouldn’t feel trapped or boxed in.

You rolled your eyes, taking a sip of your tea before tugging him over to your spot, untucking part of the blanket so he could climb under it. Theodore wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest and sighing comfortably. He kissed the top of your head and whispered in your ear,

“I swear I’ll never lay a hand on you, darling. I promise.”

#harry potter #hp #fuck jkr #hp x male reader #x male reader #gay #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x male reader #theo nott #theo nott x reader #theodore nott #x reader #this one was pretty heavy to write ngl #hit a little too close to home #x gn reader #hp x gn reader #gn reader

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sukunastoy · 6 months

Text

Shameful Attraction (CEO! Sukuna x Female Reader ~NSFW~ Part 6)

Pairings: CEO!Sukuna x fem!reader x fiance!Toji (Non-Curse AU)

Synopsis: You've been in a long-term relationship with Toji from high school, who is the love of your life. Well, sometimes he is... You turn a blind eye to all of the heartaches he seems to deliberately bring upon you and the relationship. Despite his actions, you've remained loyal and true. That is, until Sukuna, a CEO and your new boss, draws you into an affair.

CW/TW: This story has moments of mistreatment and abuse in it. There are references all throughout about this behavior—Hitting, name-calling, degradation, hiding bruises, domestic violence, sexual assault, being drugged/unaware, cheating, unfaithfulness etc. Also, reader is thin/underweight, unprotected sex, fingering, pet names (i.e., doll, pretty thing, little one, princess, etc.), praise kink. Mentions of depression and thoughts of suicide in later chapters.

(This chapter in particular mentions thoughts of suicide.)

Wordcount: 3.6k+

Saturday 1:33 AM

It's happened again. You went to bed with the man that wasn't your fiancé. It might have made you swoon in the moment; being overfilled with the aching desire for attention of someone other than Toji— but it left you feeling sick in the end. Especially since this wasn't going to bloom into some relationship. That little text from the previous night reminded you of that. Waking up next to Sukuna was something you could live for, but, it wasn't right. It wasn't something you should get used to. Glancing at him; admiring how relaxed he was— you felt your bottom lip quiver at the unfairness of it all. He was incredibly attractive. Wealthy and powerful. Gave you so much attention. And made you feel absolutely amazing in bed. He made you feel safe...made you feel wanted. But this was just some temporary enjoyment. A man like him wasn't going to settle down. Not anytime soon anyway. And certainly not with someone like you. Slowly you crept out of the bed, not even remembering when you fell asleep. As you stood in the middle of his large room, you let out a shaky breath. Why was this so hard to be okay with? Toji was awful to you. Why did you still feel such guilt over this? Maybe because this was all a fool's errand. Trying to forget about the misery that was your life by letting your boss fuck you senseless whenever he wanted. Toji didn't truly care about you, and this man probably didn't care either. But...at least one of them treated you with a sense of decency. You quietly tiptoed out of his room, slowly going down the hall towards the living room. Your eyes adjusted to the darkness after some time, and you stood near the balcony doors in the living room, debating on what to do. The worst part of all this was that you'd have to go home at some point. Something that was getting harder and harder to do each time. Sliding the door open carefully, you snuck outside into the cool air, inhaling deeply to try and relax your mind. Sitting still made your mind race, and you wanted some kind of distraction. Needed some fresh air. You walked along the massive balcony, not even surprised that it was just as luxurious out here as it was inside. Most of it was covered by a roof to enjoy on a rainy or too sunny of a day. A few chairs were placed outside the covered area, giving a varied selection of where to sit. It wrapped around the edge of the building, and as you followed it, it opened up to even more space. There was a hot tub with lovely plants surrounding a couple sides of it, and the soft steam rising off of it looked so peaceful. The gentle hum of the small bubbles kept your mind busy for a moment as you sat on the edge of it, debating if you should put your feet in or not. Only a few feet away was a small pool in the floor of the balcony and to the edge with a glass wall. He really had anything he could possibly want or need. It was a bit chilly, but being out here already gave you a sense of ease. You looked into the hot tub, the light inside of it slowly changing colors to illuminate the water. The temptation overtook you, and your feet slowly dipped into the hot water. A small hiss escaped your lips as it was both relaxing and a bit of a shock all at once. None of the main jets were on, and you made sure to not push any buttons so it would stay quiet. You stretched your toes apart, watching them in the water as it eased your tension. Something about the tiny and gentle air bubbles coming out from the idle jets and going between your toes kept your mind occupied from the dread trying to invade it.

Time was lost, and you had no idea how long you'd been out here. But you found yourself at the edge of the pool now, sitting by the side with one leg dipped into the cool water. Your other leg was bent and your arms and cheek rested atop your knee.

You slowly twisted your engagement ring while lost in thought, noticing it wasn't as loose as it was before. Had this past week with Sukuna feeding you made you gain a little weight? Shit...what if Toji noticed that..? He wouldn't be too happy, and he'd wonder where you got the extra food from. Wiping the small tears in your eyes, you stared up at the sky, just barely able to see some of the stars. What if Toji was home tonight? And you're not there? You kept doing this devious act despite knowing the rules. You weren't allowed to be away from home without him knowing. He'd beat you for not being there. Should you head home now? But how could you get there so quickly? The trains weren't running anymore. You couldn't afford to take a cab that far. What if he went looking for you?

You let out a sob while clenching a hand into your hair, begging the horrid thoughts to pass. It hurt. It always hurt. This constant fear of getting in trouble and being punished left you on edge. All day at work you had to keep a smile and cheery attitude. Around coworkers and strangers, you needed to remain normal and worry-free. A fake version of you was all anyone knew. It was exhausting to pretend that you had everything under control.

Toji had you under his control...and it felt like an invisible chain was going to be forever tightened around your neck, jerking you back to his side.

How much longer were you going to be able to handle this? Sukuna provided relief but the reality in the end was you were stuck with Toji. Forever. You overlooked most of the torment...but what happens when he goes off again? What happens when you end up in the hospital again for him beating you so severely over some minor mistake? How long could you continue covering up bruises before they got too intense to keep hiding? You winced, feeling every slap, every shove, and every punch that he's easily done to you. You just wanted out. You just wanted free!

You looked out across the pool at the railing while trembling, hating your life. Hated how you ended up in such a shitty relationship. Hated how you were in so much debt you probably could never get out of it. Hated that your parents refused to talk to you. Hated that you felt safe with some man you just met but knew it would never be anything serious.

The intrusive thought always found it's way into your mind. The thought of just ending it all. Just being done with the bullshit you were constantly dealing with. Honestly, who would miss you? Toji would only be angry that his obedient little punching bag had to be replaced. Your parents certainly never checked in on you. And you only just started to work at this new job. You'd be forgotten soon enough and someone else would be hired in your spot.

Panic crept into you, and you shoved yourself from the edge, plunging your body into the cold mass of water. You sank down to the bottom while letting out air, not wanting to surface. Not wanting to keep facing reality. The gentle hum of the pool pumps filled your mind instead, and the blurry glow from the city lights coming through the glass siding helped shield out the real world. It was quiet and soothing.

You needed to breathe. But, you didn't want to. You didn't want to come out of the water and face your life again. If only you could just stay in this dim, cold pool forever. Not like your life was any better. Your chest tightened as your body begged for air, yet you restrained. Just a little while longer. Please...

Finally shoving yourself from the bottom, you gasped for air once breaking the surface, coughing and feeling water painfully drip from your nose. You fumbled for the glass edge of the pool, holding onto it while panting hard. The glass siding was almost level with the water, and anyone foolish enough could easily climb over and fall from the height to the ground below. Just knowing you even considered such a horrendous thing brought tears to your eyes. Resting your cheek on your arms, you sobbed quietly.

Saturday, 4:47 AM

Standing in the shower in the hall bath, you stared down at your feet while the hot water poured over your head. Your clothes were hung up over the towel racks to dry, and it was only now that you felt extreme shame for your previous actions. Luckily, Sukuna hadn't woken up to find you out in his pool. Being wet from an early morning shower would be more understandable than from sitting in the pool with clothes on. You worked on getting your practiced emotions back in order. To seem like you had everything under control. To act as if nothing was really bothering you and that you are doing well. It was difficult, but, it was all you could really do. Slipping the mask back on was what you were good at. It kept people from asking too many questions. You washed yourself with the small loofah and soap you brought from home, getting the smell of chlorine off of your skin and out of your hair. Maybe you could make some sort of breakfast for him this time before he woke up. To show your appreciation for this past week.

After drying yourself off, and putting on a large shirt from your bag, you went into the kitchen. Everything was so expensive looking, you almost felt worried to touch anything. His fridge was filled with neat containers and dividers with fresh foods, and as you took a few things out, you wondered if this was even a good idea anymore. You hoped it wouldn't make him upset for rummaging through his stuff for a meal. After taking several moments to try and figure out his fancy coffee maker, you were able to get a couple cups ready to go as well. You set the table with a few plates of food, trying to make sure everything looked okay. What if he didn't like it..? What if this was crossing a boundary in his home?

Saturday, 6:03 AM You swallowed hard while going back into his room, unsure of how to even wake him up. He was on his stomach, with his arms crossed under his pillow, and his face turned towards you. Setting your hand gently on Sukuna's shoulder, you gulped. You said his name softly, giving his shoulder a small squeeze while doing so. You could feel his muscles slightly tense under your fingers, and his expression changed slightly. He was uncovered most of the way, and your eyes trailed down his muscled back, realizing he had even more tattoos here. You traced the black lines softly with your fingertips, admiring how gorgeous this guy really was. His muscles were well defined, making it clear he kept himself in good shape, despite spending so much time with the company. You said his name again, leaning closer down to him and a small, sleepy groan left his lips. "Sukuna, I made some breakfast for us." You whispered, running your hand gently along his back from shoulder to shoulder. It's how you'd wake up Toji if you needed to. Just gentle and calm. He inhaled deeply while his body stretched, and one of his eyes lazily opened to look at you. He looked at you with an odd curiosity, as if trying to understand why there was someone here. A yawn overtook him, and he turned to be on his side while rubbing his eyes and the bridge of his nose. "What is it?" "I made some breakfast for us." You said again while sitting next to him on the bed, gently placing your hand on the black bands of his bicep. "Figured last night probably took some energy out of you." You teased lightly. A small grin spread his lips while he leaned his head to the side and looked at you. You couldn't help but admire his sleepy expression. He was still so incredibly hot even with his pink hair tousled in this early, gray dim of morning. "I don't think I'm hungry enough for it yet." His grin widened as his hand now suddenly gripped onto yours. You were pulled into the bed at his side, breath escaping you as he kissed your lips hungrily. He nipped at your bottom lip, causing your lips to open so he could push his tongue into your mouth. You moaned softly through his kiss, letting him maneuver your body underneath his. You were used to Toji just demanding sex from you whenever, but, it felt different with Sukuna. He wasn't doing it for some malicious reason. It wasn't to put you in your place or claim ownership over your body. It was primal fun, a normal human need and enjoyment. And he was fucking good at it. The times you spent in bed with Toji paled in comparison to how Sukuna treated your body. Toji was your one and only guy, prior to Sukuna. So everything seemed good until you got a taste of how a man could actually fuck. Your head hung off the bed while Sukuna sucked and bit at your neck, surely leaving marks that you'd later see. But you didn't care. All you cared about was how good he was making you feel, and hoping that you were making him feel good in return. His hard thrusts knocked your breath out each time, and your eyes glistened as they brimmed with tears. The way his cockhead hammered into your sweet spot nearly made you delirious. And it hurt so fucking good. Though his hands held your wrists firmly into the bed, you felt so safe and secure in his grasp. He could hold you here as long as he wanted and you'd leave yourself open for whatever he desired.

"You didn't have to get up and cook." Sukuna said while sitting down at the table with you. You shrugged it off with a small smile, still high on ecstasy from not too long ago. "I just wanted to thank you, for making me breakfast last week, and buying lunch for me all this week." He chuckled slightly before taking a drink of his coffee, eyeing you over the lip of the cup. But, he saw you doing it again. Waiting. Waiting for him to say you could begin eating. You stared down at your food, feeling the saliva gather in your mouth like a starving dog. "Hey." Hearing Sukunas voice, you looked up to him expectantly, happily waiting for his permission. "You don't have to wait. Why do you?" "I just...I'm used to it. My fiancé is a bit, controlling at the table. It's just easier to let him start eating first." "Is your household a hierarchy or something?" Honestly, you laughed a bit at his words. It did sound ridiculous that you couldn't eat without permission, but you didn't know how else to be. Toji would slap your hand if you ever sat down and just started to help yourself, and that would be the nicest of his reactions. "It's something he's always been adamant about...I try to just respect it." You shrugged, it's just how shit was in your home. "So, he makes you cook, and then doesn't even let you eat without allowing you to." It was more of a statement than a question, and you gulped hard at the reality of it. Everything at home seemed so normal, but you often forgot that to others, everything you mentioned was extreme. "I mean...no, o-or...I guess..." you stared down at the table, trying to find an answer somewhere on it. Trying to find some typical excuse for how Toji treated you. Trying to make it sound reasonable or understandable. Sukuna clicked his tongue, snapping you out of your desperation for excuses. "Never mind it...just don't wait for me to eat." You smiled weakly at his words, starting to gather food to your plate. Rarely did you get to eat your own meals, usually only cooking for Toji. Rough habits to break...

The two of you didn't get to make it too far into the meal before his phone started ringing. Looking at who was calling, he simultaneously sighed and smirked. "So impatient..." He commented before standing up and answering the phone. "What, MeiMei?" Your chest tightened at the name, though you tried to just ignore it and eat without paying attention. He went into another room to talk, but you could still hear him for the most part.

"No, I haven't left yet." ... "What, I can't enjoy breakfast first?" ... "Don't worry about it. Not your business, is it?" ... He let out a rude laugh before sighing. "Jealousy doesn't suit you, MeiMei." ... "No, you don't need to know her name." ... "Don't bother me again unless it's important, or I won't waste my time coming over later."

You knew you'd have to go back home at some point, but you were grateful he didn't send you home right away just because this MeiMei had called him. Jealousy didn't suit her? What did that mean exactly? Was she jealous that someone was with Sukuna in his home right now? You did your best to keep your smile to yourself as Sukuna sat back down to eat. It might have been ridiculous, but it made you feel somewhat special. And you'd take any little bit that you could get.

Saturday, 8:32 PM

"Ahh...I've needed a good fuck." MeiMei sighed in contentment after Sukuna rolled off of her to the side. He said nothing in return, and turned to her nightstand, taking a cigarette from his pack and lighting it. He took a long drag before exhaling, staring at the ceiling through the smoke. "So, heard you got a new little assistant hired. How's that going so far?" She questioned, flipping her hair back. He shrugged casually, taking another long drag. "It's fine." "Uh oh. I know that tone of yours. Is she already getting on your nerves?" She smirked, moving closer and resting her cheek on his chest. "No." He said and rolled his eyes as she took the cigarette from him. "Well, I guess she's not much to talk about, since you're being so boring in this conversation."

He chuckled briefly before sitting up, turning from her to leave. "I have work to finish before morning."

"Sukuna." MeiMei smirked while sitting up as well, crossing her legs and leaning back. "That's all you're giving me for the night? I had plans to stay up late. You brought a whole box of condoms, gonna let them go to waste?"

"Seems so." He said while getting dressed. Normally he would stay all night. And they'd have round after round into the early morning. But she just couldn't hold his interest. At least, not this time. Someone else was taking up the space in his mind, making him worry, despite him not trying to. "Want me to hold onto this box then, til next time?" "Fuck no." He said while taking his cigarette back. "Think I trust you with that?" He certainly didn't. She could say she was on birth control, but he didn't believe it. She was cunning, and the last thing he needed was to get baby trapped, especially with someone like her.

She shrugged playfully while lying back on the bed, stretching out and sighing. "Want to tell me what's on your mind?"

"No." "Oh come on...we used to tell each other everything." "That was before you spread your legs for 3 guys one night in our bed while I was at work." He laughed cynically while exhaling smoke from the finished cigarette. "It was just a night of weakness for me. You were always gone." She pouted up to him. "That tends to happen when you run a company." Hearing his phone chime, he looked over to the other nightstand where he had left it, and MeiMei reached it for him. "From (F/N.)" She smiled while opening the message despite Sukuna holding his hand out for his phone. "Oh! She's asking if you're still up. Aww...Got another one lined up after me?" She playfully smiled while handing over his phone. "Someone else missing you? Leaving me early for some other pussy that feels better?" "Feels incredibly better." He said in a serious tone, overall ignoring her while reading over the next message that came in. Nothing too major, just being informed of an important meeting that was scheduled for Thursday.

She pretended to not act offended, but he certainly noticed the genuine frown on her face for a brief second. "I doubt that." She huffed out.

Sukuna glanced up at her and chuckled before pocketing his phone and turning to leave. "Better have that other report finished by tomorrow when we have the meeting."

MeiMei grinned and shooed him away. "Yes sir." She replied in a mocking tone. She was too money-driven to put her job in jeopardy. She might get on his nerves and he personally didn't care for her, but the way she handled business and money made the rest of her bearable to deal with. For now at least.

Monday, 7:45 AM

Monday couldn't have arrived any slower, but you were delighted to be out of your apartment and headed back to work. Toji still never made an appearance, and you secretly had hoped he never would. Perhaps he just left you in the debt and moved on. You'd prefer it honestly. Not like he was contributing to make it easier on you. Maybe he found some other gullible woman to take care of him. Highly doubtful... There were a few meetings this morning, and you began to gather the files needed for the conference room. You had honestly tried not to think of Sukuna since you left his apartment Saturday afternoon, other than messaging him later that night about a meeting. He said he needed to head to Kyoto for the rest of the weekend, needing to take care of a few things at his other office. Unfortunately, you couldn't stop thinking that he was most likely fucking that other woman. Not that it should bother you. But you couldn't fucking help it. You tried to stop wondering what she looked like, or how she was. Had she been in his life for long? Was she new? Halting yourself, you held your head up properly, shoving away the thoughts again. It wasn't something you should intentionally burden yourself with. If you started acting like some jealous girlfriend, you'd most likely get booted out of his life. And even though it would never amount to anything, you wanted to stay around him as much as possible. You needed this distraction from the hell you constantly had to endure at home.

~Thanks for reading!! Sorry, it was a short chapter! I didn't want the next chapter insanely long, so I broke it up and made this one short. But, it gave a little insight into the role MeiMei plays in Sukuna's life. Hope you enjoyed it! <3~

Masterlist

#Sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna smut #sukuna fluff #jjk smut #ceo!au

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mollywilliams · 1 year

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— diego hernandez continued from here.

Her brow raised as the other confirmed that he was on that level fairly often, wondering just how many of his buddies, or himself, ended up with injuries like missing fingers. At least he felt comfortable? Hospitals were never really someplace that made her feel relaxed, always ending up there with a broken nose or some other unexplainable bruises that she'd give a simple excuse for that would cause nurses to look at her with a worry she hated before finally discharging her. It felt like a lifetime ago, almost ten years, to be exact, but she still couldn't shake the feeling when she stepped into a hospital. "October 23rd. 1991." Molly responded easily, feeling old as soon as it left her mouth. "Molly Williams. Middle is Elizabeth." She could feel herself internally cringing at saying the middle name out loud, knowing she was currently in the same city as the woman her father had named her after, unbeknownst to her mother. Shaking it off, she rattled off her phone number and some stupid email she'd created when she was a teen before pointing out with renewed energy, "Make sure it says no latex on there," She leaned forward and tapped her finger against the paper on the clipboard. "Feels important for them to know." With his question about diseases, Molly shook her head. "No diseases, don't worry, and I'll do the number. Or make a nurse do it." Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. "I'll let you know about the job, we'll see how my boss reacts when I come back with a cast on." A small chuckle of amusement left her lips. "So, Diego the firefighter, you got any kids? You seem like a dad."

#interaction.diego #interaction.all #tw domestic abuse reference

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ashintheairlikesnow · 2 years

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Kauri and Vince in pain or angst is just ✨👌🏾! Listen we all hate Owen but i gotta admit the man has taste…

CW: References to past domestic violence, discussion of child abuse and domestic violence, and then everything goes to shit at the end

At least, Jake thinks, he isn't running yet.

He stands in the doorway to their bedroom, looking in on Kauri. He looks so small, curled up like that on his side in the center of the enormous oversized king bed that is the one single luxury Jake allows himself. His hair falls over his forehead and along his neck, and through the black curls Jake can see heavy dark eyelashes, just barely resting on his cheek. He's gone more angular with time, lost the last of the softness that had rounded him when they first met.

Still, he seems the same in so many ways. Frightened and curled around the little Roomba that had been with him since he was trapped, has followed him through freedom, and who even now sits with a soft buzzing warmth, her visual sensors two red dots watching Jake, an unblinking guardian.

"He's going to take a shower," Jake says, voice low. Kauri doesn't respond, but his arms tightens minutely around Keira, and he presses his forehead against the curved metal along her side. "He says he mostly just got roughed up. His nose isn't even broken, we thought it was but... just a lot of blood. He'll heal up all right. Just some bumps and bruises and a whole lot of very gross dirt."

Kauri still doesn't move, or even open his eyes.

Jake inhales, slowly, and then steps inside properly, closing the door behind him. The room dips into comfortable darkness, lit only by the streetlight outside. The night has fallen by now, and some of the sweltering daytime heat is finally letting up.

The ceiling fan ticks in a lazy spin overhead, and Jake could reach up and touch it without even stretching onto his toes, but he just sits at the edge of the bed. Keira watches him. Kauri curls up a little tighter around her.

"Kauri. Look at me." There's a pause, and then he does. Those wide blue eyes slowly open, glimmering with tears and shadowed in misery. "This isn't your fault."

"It is," Kauri answers. His voice is hoarse, but he's been crying ever since they got the call from Krista, off and on. Jake isn't surprised. It actually reminds him of Jameson, whose voice is eternally hoarse from screaming and not tears, but the effect is sort of the same. "It is my fault. If I wasn't here-"

"He'd have found you ages ago, and we couldn't keep you safe," Jake soothes, leaning over to push back the curls with his thumb, rubbing it lightly over Kauri's forehead just above his thick eyebrows. He shivers, but it's a pleasant sensation, and the beautiful man manages a slight, faint, frightened smile.

"You'd all be better off," Kauri says.

Falsehood detected, Keira answers, sounding almost prim and proper - if metallic robot voices can have emotions like that - and Jake grins.

"See? Keira's smarter than all of us combined and she knows you're better off here than back there."

"You taught her to say that when I say anything bad about myself," Kauri says petulantly. But his arms tighten around the little robot that was by his side before anyone else even had the chance.

"Guilty as charged," Jake admits. He can barely contain the weight and the depth of his love, in the moment. Down the hall the shower runs, Antoni scrubbing away the remnants of what Owen did. In another room, Chris is safe in bed, Rafael and Laken with him, distracting him with video games so he won't think about what was written on the walls. Krista is in a hotel room while they move her to a new apartment - Jake had paid the lease-breaking fee and all the costs of the new place and hiring a moving truck himself, out of a stash of money Vincent Shield gave him more or less against his will more than a year ago. Krista's safe, under an assumed name and driven to a place no one will expect her to be.

Everyone is exactly as safe as Jake is capable of making them.

And he feels like shit that he can't do better than this.

"What'm I gonna do?" Kauri asks, and the wedding ring glitters in the darkness on his left ring finger as he rests the hand on top of Keira. She whirrs her little broken wheel in response, a sound not entirely unlike a cat purring. "Jake, what-... what do I do, we can't go to the cops, we can't... Jesus. You were right."

Jake pauses. "Right about what, Kaur?"

"Going public," Kauri whispers. "Telling everyone what WRU is doing. You were so right, it told Owen where to find me, didn't it? I didn't think he'd still be looking after so long, but-... but-"

"He is, yeah. And no, this isn't what I thought would happen, and although it literally hurts me to admit to this, no, I wasn't right in being too scared to let you speak up. You did the right thing." Jake takes his hand, and Kauri's fingers are long and cool in his own. "You really did. None of this changes that. Whatever bullshit Owen does is because he's a shitty asshole who wanted to hurt you. It's not because of anything you've ever done."

"He's hurting everyone around me," Kauri says, meeting Jake's eyes finally. "He-... he hurt you by sending your dad-"

"I kicked that fucker off my front porch in less than an hour." Jake keeps his voice light, although the humor doesn't quite land. "And then my mom drove to his hotel and screamed at him to leave us alone from there. He's gone, and you know what?"

Kauri waits a beat, and then asks, "What?"

"I found out important shit from that, anyway. One, that he's actually a more pathetic person than he used to be, he didn't even want to find me, he just wanted the money Owen gave him for doing it. He had to take a picture of my house, apparently, for proof. Two, when Mom was yelling at him he admitted he doesn't know where Jeremy is, so my little brother is safe from him, too."

"Go Suzanne," Kauri says, brightening just a little. "She really decided to leave and went, huh?"

"She really did. Apparently Dad's history of using custodial visits to beat the shit out of me came up in court." Jake ignores the ancient twist of jealousy, that someone else's mom could go when his felt compelled to stay for so, so long. It wasn't her fault, not really - Jake by now knows everything about the psychology of abuse, he's made rescuing people from a kind of endless legal abuse the focus of his entire life.

But the jealousy is still there, deep down. And he doesn't hate himself for feeling it, not anymore. He just accepts that it's the child in him wishing things could have been different, and that's an okay thing to wish.

"Go Suzanne," Kauri repeats, but his eyes close again. He squeezes Jake's hand. "I wish I could have been like her."

"Kauri." Jake laughs - he can't help it, it's such a bizarre train of thought. "Kauri, I love you, but you are, you are like her."

His eyes open again, and he blinks up at Jake, confused. Jake loves the way his brow furrows, the little wrinkle between his eyebrows, when he makes this face. "What? How?"

"You were scared. You were hurting. He turned on you - and you decided to leave, you took what you loved-" His eyes flicker down to Keira, whose visual sensors might brighten briefly in what he likes to think is her attempt to approximate a smile, "-and you went."

"Yeah, but-"

"You threw yourself out of a moving car on a highway," Jake insists, and pulls Kauri's hand to his lips to kiss along his knuckles one by one. "You cut shit out from under your skin so he couldn't track you with it. You nearly fucking died for freedom. Go Suzanne, yeah, I'm so glad Jeremy won't have to know Dad like I did, but... go you, too, Kauri. If you hadn't run you'd be dead. And you ran, and here you are."

"Here I am," Kauri echoes, the first glimpse of a real smile fading as he thinks. "And here Owen is, tracking me down, ruining my life. Ruining all our lives. Chris has barely spoken since it happened-"

"He ate a little bit today," Jake says, thinking. "Laken's trying to get him to drink a protein shake before he learns about Antoni."

"Krista doesn't feel safe anymore-"

"The movers are packing all her shit up for us tomorrow, and she'll be moved into the new place by Monday. It's ten minutes away instead of an hour, so she'll be closer to help if she needs it again."

"Antoni is hurt-"

"Antoni's been hurt before," Jake says, but his voice gentles. He knows this guilt, marking Kauri's face as deeply as any scar ever could. "He'll be all right. He's here, and we'll take care of him."

"I guess. Jake, I-... I'm scared of him. I make jokes, I know, about Owen's... his bullshit, and everything he did to me, but-... but." Kauri huffs dry, humorless, angry laughter, closing his eyes and curling tightly around Keira again. "I'm so scared," He whispers, lips trembling against Keira's side.

Kauri is good, Keira croons, soothing as best she can. Kauri Grant, owner. Kauri is good. Reassurance Jake Stanton provide.

"I do, and I will, as many times as you need to hear it. We'll get through this, Kauri."

"Maybe," Kauri whispers. "Maybe we will. What did Nat say?"

"I don't know, I haven't talked to her." Jake shrugs. Kauri raises his head, confused, and Jake sighs. "She texted before that she and Jameson were doing movie night, and you know how she is about he phone. She turns it off during movies. I've left a voicemail and I'll try again when I figure the movie's probably over."

Kauri is quiet, for a second. Outside, a mourning dove softly calls hoo-hoo, hoo. Then he pushes himself up. "Call Jameson's phone," He says quickly. "Please."

"Jameson didn't give me his number, he was... he's not exactly happy with me-"

"Do it, Jake. Please. Get Allyn, they know... they know, please." Kauri swallows. His seem briefly silver, reflecting the hint of light from outside. "For me, Jake. Please."

"... yeah. Okay." Jake gets to his feet and heads down the hall, finding Allyn in their bedroom listening to an audiobook, eyes closed. He makes sure to let the door hit the wall, so they jolt into awareness and open their eyes before he's right in front of them. They look up - already ready for bed in a matching pajama set they found at Secondhand Threads two weeks ago.

"Jake?" They tip their head to one side, heavy, wavy red hair falling against the freckles on their cheek.

"Can you call Jameson for me, please? Nat's phone is off."

Allyn nods. "Movie night," They say sagely, and twist to their side to pick their phone up off the nightstand. They're proud of it, of the trust Jake shows them in giving them a phone of their own and a way to contact Jameson that doesn't mean going through someone else. Jake hears them in there talking for an hour some nights, Allyn's voice low and soft the way Jake's own voice gets when he talks to Kauri and Antoni.

The shower at the end of the hall shuts off.

Allyn finds the call history, and Jameson is the only person they've ever called so they don't need to read in order to hit the send button and hold it up to their ear. They frown.

The second tick by, one by one by one by one.

"Hold on," They say quietly. "Let me try again."

Something cold starts to settle in Jake's chest. He hovers in the doorway, watching as they call again. The time stretches. It slows. It stops.

Allyn frowns down at the phone. They try one more time. This time, they flinch and look up. "The phone's not even ringing now, it went to his voicemail."

Jake could pretend to be confused... but he isn't.

Just cold with a burst of fury that closes sharp fingers around his heart. He turns around and finds Antoni in the bathroom doorway, drying his hair in a loose, long-sleeved shirt and pants. "Jasha?" Antoni asks, but hesitates when he sees... whatever it is he sees in Jake's face. "Jasha-"

Jake moves past him without a word and goes back to the bedroom. "I'm going to check on Nat," He says sharply to Kauri, sitting on the side of the bed to yank on tennis shoes. "Jameson's phone rang twice with no answer and went to voicemail. It's probably nothing, but-"

"It's not nothing," Kauri cuts him off. He sits up, too, clambering out from the center of the bed and standing. "I'll go with you-"

"No." Jake looks up at him, and he feels guilty at how Kauri looks scared of him, too, the look on his face... but not so guilty that he'll give in and risk what might happen if he goes. "Listen. I'm going to go handle it. You stay here and keep track of everyone. Keep them safe. Keira, you've got location on my phone?"

Jake Stanton phone ID verified, Keira responds. She might sound urgent. How do you know, with a robot voice, coolly feminine and metallic? Location tracking on.

"Good. If my phone heads anywhere but Nat's house, Kauri, then you come for me, too. But otherwise I'll call you."

Kauri doesn't want to say yes, Jake can tell, but he can't say no, either. It should bother Jake that he can tell Kauri can't say no, right now, that he's too deep in his terror and fear to remember how long it took him to speak up for himself.

It doesn't. He needs that fear right now. He needs Kauri to stay here.

He leaves the room and heads down the hall at a fast clip, ignoring Antoni's eyes on his back. Jake slams the door shut and locks it in one smooth motion before he's jogging for the car he borrowed since his own is sitting at a mechanic's to get every damn tire replaced now, since Owen slashed them.

"Shit," He mutters to himself, and pulls out of the driveway so fast he nearly hits the neighbor's mailbox, before tires squeal on pavement and he's gone. The drive takes forever, no matter how fast he goes. He tries calling her three more times. It doesn't work.

Nat's truck is in her driveway, lights show through the blinds, but when he leaps up the stairs and opens her unlocked front door...

She's gone.

So is Jameson.

The only thing he can see is a spray of blood along the wall above Jameson's phone, dropped directly beneath it into a puddle of more blood, drips and drops of it along the floor, leading from the phone towards the door. Now that Jake is looking, he can see more drops on the porch, down the steps. He smeared them when he went running up to come inside.

There's a goddamn handprint on the inside of the front door.

That has to be on purpose.

That's a fucking message.

Trash Cat is a meow before she's a creature, loudly yowling as she runs up to Jake. He scoops her up and for the first time she allows him to hold him, clinging with claws to his arm and shoulder. Jake takes a breath, knowing immediately he won't find Nat or Jameson here. If Trash Cat is coming to him, there's no one else.

Tied to her collar with thread is a little rolled-up piece of paper, a bloodied fingerprint pressed into the blank side. He unrolls it, stares at what's written in ballpoint pen. He checks the whole house to be sure - to ensure no one is here, no one is hiding, he even checks the secret closet hiding space he once put Chris in so long ago - and then he heads back outside and gets into the borrowed car.

With Trash Cat sitting ladylike in the passenger seat, he picks up his phone.

"Jake, did you find them-"

"He's got them," Jake says, voice flat. Kauri lets out a soft cry at the other end, and then Jake has to close his eyes as one of the two loves of his life wails, an animal sound he would rather die than ever have to hear again.

"No," Kauri whimpers. A sob breaks on the other end. Antoni's voice is low, muffled, not quite understandable in the background. Jake hears Kauri tell him, and Antoni's vicious swearing in Russian. Kauri returns to the phone, his voice shaking with tears. "Jake, no, please, please tell me he doesn't-"

"He does," Jake says. He takes a deep breath. "But listen. Trash Cat's still here."

Trash Cat meows when she hears her name, left ear flicking towards him and then away. Her tail lashes, unhappily.

"He didn't-... oh god, he didn't hurt her, did she? She's just an animal, she didn't-... she isn't-"

"He didn't hurt her," Jake soothes. "I'm bringing her back with me. But I found a note on her."

"A..." Kauri sniffs. "A note?"

"A note."

"From... oh, fuck, jesus, god..." Kauri takes a breath so deep Jake can hear it through the phone line. "From Owen? Does he s-say what he's going to d-d-do to them or-"

"It's not from Owen." Jake backs down the driveway, turning out to head for the four-way stop at the end of the street.

"What? Then-"

"The note is from Nat," Jake says. His eyes are on the merge to the highway up ahead and the promise of laying his foot as hard as he can on the gas pedal to head home. "It's Jameson's blood on the wall, not hers. And Owen's too apparently. I need to talk to Keira."

"What? Why? Wait, blood on the wall?"

"Listen. Owen's got Vince, apparently, and now he's got Jameson and Nat, but... but listen."

There's a pause. "I'm listening-... oh god, Jake."

"Listen to me." His left hand is tingling, and Jake ignores the evidence of the lasting nerve damage that he is still pretending never happened. "Nat has a plan."

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the-californicationist · 4 months

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Excerpt from Gunslinger - "Appaloosa"

OMG!! I commissioned this artwork from the incredible @captain-natey who RETURNED TO ME WITH THIS MASTERPIECE!!!! I just wanted to plug their work (their commissions are OPEN! visit their website here!!) and I wanted to post the chapter excerpt from "Gunslinger" (Price/Reader) that it belongs to. Hope you enjoy! Please go show Nate some love! Thanks for reading. TW: reference to past domestic abuse, Reader has call sign and speaks Spanish

Price sat beside you and pulled your chair closer to his, looping an arm around the back of it,

“Look, love, you don’t have to do anything you don’t -”

“Capitán! Quit whispering your sugary words into her ear. This is the woman who survived Miguel ‘El Matador’ Moreno for diez pinche años. She may look like a little lady, but she’s done nastier work than all four of you perritos combined. She is the reason why the infamous Jefe Luis Villagomez doesn’t travel north of the Rio Grande. Charon doesn’t ferry the living very often, amigos. She only takes the dead. Porfa,” Alejandro waved a hand in the air dismissively, unamused by Price’s coddling tones.

Ale may have been embellishing a bit, but he wasn’t wrong. You didn’t need your hand to be held.

“I can’t leave the animals,” you said, checking to see how far these men had thought this plan through.

“Laswell called Tony, and he’ll be here Wednesday,” Gaz told you.

Tony had watched the ranch for you once before. He was a sharp-witted veteran that had run his own ranch for decades, so you felt good about leaving the farm to him. Tony could take care of himself. He did tend to spoil the goats, but there were worse things.

“How long?” Your question hung in the air like a balloon losing its air, floating, surrounded by silence.

Vargas and Price shared a look. Price repositioned himself in his chair, not thrilled about having to answer you,

“Not sure, love. Is that alright?”

It was a test. What were you willing to sacrifice for this man and his makeshift band of brothers? Your peace? You’d fought so damn hard for that peace. You’d survived a devil of a man in order to sleep warm and safe and knowing you could take care of your damn business unaided. After giving up years of your life to unrest and fear, your reward had been the reconstruction of your independence. Price was asking you for your hard-fought freedom. You weren’t ready to give that up. You weren’t ready for sleeping on floors and reloading guns. You weren’t ready to face more devil-men.

But what else could you do? Price had you, threatening your heart. If you woke up tomorrow to his empty bed, you didn’t know if you could take that pain. You imagined that Kahlo’s Wounded Deer felt much the same; shot through the chest with nowhere to run, stuck between the cliff’s edge and your lover - your hunter - both promising suffering in different ways. No escape.

The captain studied you like a heeler dog studied its herd, watching for even the slightest movement to strike, to react. He witnessed the fear flash in your face, and in turn, you saw the despair shadow his. It was so slight, that change in his expression, but to you, it was like he was screaming. You, too, were screaming.

“Okay, but just for this mission. Then, I need to get back to my life,” you decided, making your limitations known, quietly but firmly.

The relief that washed through Price’s eyes was palpable.

Vargas served dinner in his chaotic way, family style, sharing plates. Everyone was eating with their hands, cradling the homemade tortillas like little flowers, using them to scoop up meat and sauce that dripped down their palms like nectar, spicy and sweet.

Ghost didn’t take his food into the other room this time, feeling secure enough to flip up the mouth of his painted mask to eat. It was like seeing him naked; he was always covered up, so any skin was somehow too much. Soap crowded Ghost from his corner of the table, trying to steal more asada, laughing and joking with Ale. Gaz and Price were huddled, murmuring about something, talking with full mouths in low tones.

It was almost too serene. There were times in life where you understood that you were in a moment you could never return to. You may have similar ones in your future, but somehow, you knew when certain wrinkles in time were singular. As you watched your guests, you knew that this was definitely one of those moments.

Price had his arm draped across your chair, keeping you near him. You crafted a bite for him in your hand, pinching the soft tortilla until it held the perfect amount of Ale’s asada.

You nudged Price with your free hand,

“Toma, come esto, papi.” Here, have a bite, daddy.

He turned away from Gaz and found you there, his bite of food in your hands, and his face lit up like a flame. Bending his head down to meet your hand, he grabbed your wrist in his huge fist, trapping your arm. Then, slowly, he put his mouth around the morsel, lips touching the pads of your fingers, tongue licking the sauce from them.

Vargas watched your interaction from the other side of the table, open-mouthed. Soap smacked him on the shoulder as if to cash in a bet.

“No, animales! Not at the table!”

The men shared a lighthearted groan and laughed good-naturedly, giving you and their captain a hard time about your little display of affection.

You smirked, feeling accomplished. Price had wanted to tell them, so you thought a dropped hint or two would be alright. To your relief, he laughed with them, chewing his food before making a comment,

“Sabe buena.” Tastes good. His voice, still badly accented, was mirthful and suggestive, dragging out another round of playful jeering.

Then, to your surprise, the captain pulled your chair back away from the table, leaning it on its rear legs, holding it at an angle, and kissed you deeply. You let out a little cry of shock, silenced by his mouth. But, you recovered, kissing him back, wrapping one hand around his jaw and the other running through his hair.

It was all in good fun. Normal. Just a couple flirting with each other, but for Price, you could tell it meant more. It was one thing to bare your souls to each other in front of the farm animals, or to sneak off and rediscover original sins in the quiet of your room, but it was something else to show the world that you chose him. To show his men that you were committed to their captain. That you weren’t just a rest-stop on their long journey. You got the sense that by committing to him, you were also committing to them: his family.

The rest of the meal passed in that same warmth, filled with laughter and jokes, stories and questions about each other. Intimacy. The whole time, Price couldn’t keep his hands off of you. Your thigh, your hand, the nape of your neck - he was grabbing you like a lifeline. He shared his food, making you try his chili relleno, giving you sips of his drink when yours ran dry, doting on you.

“Okay, time for dessert, yes?” You asked the others, picking up dirty dishes as you retreated back to the kitchen.

You heard exasperated groaning, their bellies full and struggling, but you didn’t hear a no. Vargas followed you into the kitchen, pretending to help,

“Dios mío, necesito un cigarrillo después de verlos a ustedes.” My God, I need a cigarette after watching you two.

“Cállate, cerdito.” Shut up, piglet. You smiled to yourself, cutting up what was left of the cheesecake, giving Price’s plate the largest piece.

“¿Estas enamorado, morena?” Are you in love, darling? His voice was a quiet whisper. It felt like a gunshot wound in your chest.

“I don’t know,” you said, in English, not trusting yourself to tell such a lie in your native tongue.

Your old friend covered his mouth with his hand, eyebrows heading skyward, giving you an obvious look. He replied in English, understanding the secret you’d been trying to conceal,

“You know better, Charon. We are not men who should be loved. I hope you know what you’re doing, mija. ”

You didn’t reply out loud, but on the inside, you heard yourself say, “Me, too.”

Even though they lived in the shadows, you weren’t sold on the idea that they should be priests for their causes. Men like Price typically followed two paths. The love of a woman, if she becomes his family, could break his heart, making him forget his purpose, distracting him from his quest for justice. Or, she would light a fire in him, turning him into a dragon. You were afraid to find out which path he would choose.

You wondered if he loved you.

You delivered the cake and poured more tequila into all the little cups that were thirsty for it.

John was rolling a cigar in his fingers absentmindedly, and you could tell he was aching to smoke it.

“You wanna come outside with me, love?” Price invited you, rubbing your thighs in big, sweeping strokes, making your blood rush through them, somehow knowing what you wanted.

Everyone else was chatting, or watching Gaz play that video game of his, backseat driving, telling him where to hide and who to shoot. Which gun to use. You slipped out onto the porch with Price, avoiding any more ribbing.

You stood against the porch railing, facing the yard, staring out at the darkness of the night, the rain finally dying out to a drizzle, casting little blue galaxies in the flooded grass, reflecting the light from a huge moon. Price stood directly behind you, pressed against your body, wrapping one hand around the railing, closing you in. He held his cigar in the other hand, smoking it in circles, trying to make the ashes burn evenly.

“You surprised me at dinner,” he commented, obviously looking for a response.

You feigned ignorance,

“Oh, why?”

“Feeding me by hand like that. Can’t be doing that in public. Makes me go a bit hard, love.” His voice was right next to your ear, gravelly and delightfully threatening.

You smiled sweetly, your words coated in pretend innocence, playing with him,

“What do you mean? I just wanted you to have a bite. One little bite can’t hurt, can it, John?”

“It’s bloody mental, the way you make me feel,” he took a long drag from his cigar and let the smoke tumble out as he spoke, leaning over you, “I’d fuck you right here, pretty girl, given half a chance.”

He took a deep breath along the side of your neck, smelling your skin beneath your hair, and when he exhaled, a moan was wrapped quietly inside it.

You pressed your ass into his crotch, finding him nearly hard. Touching his hand gently, you took his cigar and stuck it in your mouth, the wet leaves tasting like him. You curled the smoke with your tongue, locking eyes with him over your shoulder, watching him suffer deliciously,

“I dunno about ‘mental’, John. But it seems like you have an oral fixation.

You punctuated your last two words, saying them with a soft, sultry undertone. His eyes narrowed as he smiled down at you in a sinister grin,

“Do I ever.”

He stole the stick back from you and smiled even wider, teeth gleaming, his incisors seeming like fangs in his wolfy smile.

“Think they’re watching us?” You let your eyes turn over to the window, covered with a sheer curtain, fully aware that the view outside was more visible than your view into the house. Trick of the light.

He shrugged,

“Not if they know what’s good for them.”

Price’s cock had fully hardened now, and he thrust it up into your body ever so slightly, rubbing himself through layers of clothes, rocking his hips once and then twice like a promise of things to come. It made you feel a deep, primal lust, understanding his need without his words, your bodies engaging in an ancient art that had remained untainted by eons of time. You returned his invitation, rolling your hips back onto him, your ass pressing soundly into his pinned shaft.

“We should get some sleep. Early start tomorrow. It’s five hours to El Ojo,” Price groaned, whispering, rutting against you mindlessly, burying his face in your hair, staining your scent with his smoke.

You turned around to face him; he didn’t stop his idle grinding, looking tranquilized by his heady tobacco. Hypnotizing you with his casual eroticism.

“You don’t seem sleepy,” you commented, letting your hands roam over his chest and belly, tracing his nipples beneath his smooth shirt. He shuddered at your touch, sighing deeply.

With his cigar perched carefully between his fingers, he grabbed your jawbone, and you could feel the wet end press into your cheek. You could sense the warmth of the ash on your skin. He began to kiss you, all of the smoke and musky scents of him blended together, and his strong, masculine cologne made your head spin. His kisses were controlling and long, moving your head where he wanted it to be, sucking your lips and tongue, keeping them from exploring on their own. He was the guide for your passion, showing you all the ways he would be able to please.

He broke away, but only far enough to keep your lips from touching, his breath hot as it warmed your mouth when he spoke,

“Early. Tomorrow. We have to get up early. We should sleep.”

“Okay,” you sighed, a little dramatically, easing past his grip, removing yourself from him, untangling his vines from your bones, “if you say so, John. Buenas noches.”

You walked inside, swaying your hips a little more than you needed to, knowing he was looking, his blue eyes burning into your curves. Just before you went through the door, you glanced over at him. In the darkness of the porch, cast in shadow, the smoldering tip of his cigar glowed in his open mouth, the light from it gleaming off of his teeth and coloring his lips and beard a fiery orange. He was grinning, like a fox in a henhouse. When he saw you looking, he made a small show of readjusting himself, pawing at his swollen rod to release it from where it was trapped, and in the dimness, you could see its threatening outline.

You shut the door behind you, hands shaking. The other men mostly ignored you, but you caught them glancing your way, trying to sneak looks. Soap was not as sneaky as the rest, staring blankly as if he had a secret he shouldn't have.

As you wished them good night, they returned the sentiment casually, but it was then that you noticed the window. Price was still at the railing - in full, clear view, smoking. Blood rushed to your cheeks, and you could feel the flush tingle against your skin with embarrassment.

An hour or so later, you were already asleep when Price came upstairs. His heavy footsteps pulled you from your slumber. He was pacing in his room, packing perhaps. You went to the bathroom and pulled open the door. Upon hearing you, he opened his as well.

“Hey,” you whispered, squinting from sleep.

“Hey,” he was breathing heavily, dressed in nothing but the jeans and boots he had worn that day.

The captain watched as your eyes feasted upon his skin, gazing longingly at his thick waist where his pants were slung low on his hips, showing off just a bit of hair from below his belt line. One of his giant hands gripped the door frame, high on the plank, stretching his chest into a sweeping display of muscle. His armpit, arms, and torso were covered in the thick, dark hair you had let your hands roam across last night during your joining, and you knew how it would feel to touch.

Price slid his hand down the frame, making a slow scraping noise, stepping fully into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him with a click, his icy eyes never leaving yours.

He was enormous in the small space. His body was a powerhouse of visible strength. The meat of him hung heavy on his large bones, and he seemed, in the clean white tile of the bathroom, as if he was a specimen in some sort of display. Some museum exhibit, showing off, in sterile composition, the ideal form of Man. Built to fuck, to kill, to dominate the beasts of Eden from the lamb to the lion. Top of the food chain.

Still a little shy from realizing you’d given his team quite the show earlier on the porch, you averted your gaze, turning toward the sink. Before you could run the water, he was behind you, quick, crowding your space exactly as he had on the porch.

He positioned himself behind you and, much more luridly this time, began to kiss and lick your neck, grinding himself into you as he did so, slipping a warm hand under your loose top, finding your soft flesh waiting for his touch. You could feel the roughness of his denim jeans through your cotton shorts, and the contrast between his soft, melting kiss and the hard, unforgiving feeling of him trying to fuck you through your clothes was too much to handle. Your body was trying to reconcile the two, splitting your thoughts, making you love-drunk on his ministrations.

Price pulled off your shirt, raking it over your head, tossing it to the floor. He laced his hand through your hair and began to tug your head back, forcing you to look at yourself, bare to him, in the mirror. There was only the nightlight, more like a small Christmas bulb attached to a plug, so the room lacked any harsh contrast. Your bodies, your faces, the walls - everything began to swirl together, all colorized in the same, peachy glow.

You felt his hands on your breasts, and you watched him touch you in the mirror. Seeing yourself being pulled and manipulated by such a large man was gratifying. His hands massaged into your softness, leaving warm trails on your skin, the tell-tale feeling of where he had touched and where he still had left to go. The captain saw himself in the mirror for the first time, then, looking up from leaving erotic kisses on your neck and shoulders.

He sighed, locking eyes with you in the glass. That sigh trailed off into a groan, a ghost of the one he’d given you last night in the midst of his ecstasy.

“Fucking hell, look at you,” he said in his lowest tone.

Suddenly, he was tugging at the button of his jeans and unzipping the fly, freeing himself and stroking his cock to attention using your plump ass. Through your flimsy shorts, you could feel the burning heat that radiated from him. Reaching behind you, his hardness fell into your palm and you watched the sensation crawl its way through his expression in the reflection. He gasped, resting his head against yours, whispering - yes, yes, yes - into your ear in a hiss through clenched teeth.

John’s hand found your pantyline and pried it away from your skin with a confident finger, traveling down into your folds, searching for the swelling bundle nestled in the crest of your slit, rubbing it in long, loose ovals.

It wasn’t feverish; it was measured. His was the hand of a practiced man. As he worked, you joined him, rolling your wrist to rub his foreskin up and down in achingly long pulls, letting his wet head graze your skin as you teased him. The thick length was drooling with precome, and you could feel its stickiness on your palm.

It didn’t take him long to find your particular rhythm, the one you used when staring at Pinterest photos on your phone of Keanu Reeves in his John Wick era; sweaty, bloody, and great with a gun. Price’s movements felt personal, like he’d read about what you wanted in your diary somewhere, as if he was in on the secret. It brought you to the summit very quickly, and he noticed the flush in your cheeks and breasts, only then increasing his intensity.

You tried to continue to stroke him, but as you began to come in Price’s hand, you could only hold onto his cock, grasping it like the handle in a car driving too fast, careening downhill, rushing to its inevitable crash.

“Yeah, love, come for me. Just like that, you gorgeous fucking thing,” he watched you tumble over the edge, crumpling in the mirror, reaching for him.

“John! Please,” you cried.

You felt the tension burst inside of you like a mortar, hot and molten, pouring out of your core and into your body in waves of climactic pleasure. No one had ever made you come that hard, that quickly. It was hard for you to stand. Price steadied you, using his talented hand to hold you to him while you remembered your legs.

Once you regained your senses, you removed your hand from him to pull down your shorts and panties, letting them pool at the floor beneath your feet. You returned to his cock, now swollen and throbbing, and fed it into you. Your come made his entry smooth and slippery, and he filled you up, your body celebrating his return.

He returned to his slow, grinding dance on the porch, thrusting himself into you rhythmically in aching, rolling motions. It was not the slamming pugilism of two people trying to find release. This was a concerted effort for him to fuck your walls into his memory, rubbing his dick along them to sense every ridge and sweet spot, and to find the ones that made you scream.

When you let slip a desperate moan, he would pause, reflect, and return, hitting it again and again, watching you writhe and begging for him to help you.

“You feel so good in me,” you admitted, talking to him in the looking-glass.

His eyes were full of mismanaged control, and his grip on reality was slipping,

“Bloody beautiful. So warm and wet for me. Goddamnit, I’m not gonna last.”

But, he did. Your beast had stamina. He returned to your clit as he thrust in and out of you, dragging his fat cock through your body, ripping two more orgasms from your lips before he surrendered.

You watched him come, crying out darkly in his reflection. He had pulled himself from you and was painting your generous ass cheeks with his load. The tacky fluid was searingly hot, and it ran down your skin in drips.

You smiled, bending back to kiss him,

“Messy boy,” you chided playfully, a naughty tone in your voice.

“Wanna clean you up,” Price sighed, satisfied and spent.

Do you want 30 more chapters of these two? Read "Gunslinger" here.

Reblogs and comments deeply appreciated!

#call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #captain john price #cod #john price #captain price #captain price x reader #captain price x you #gunslinger #captain john price smut #captain john price x reader #captain johnathan price #captain john price x female reader #captain john price x you #price cod #price mw2 #cod price

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whumptober · 9 months

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Tagging System

~ Please read our extensive event info posts before sending us an ask ~

Please refer to this post as basis for your tagging. While we encourage you to tag your works extensively with regards to triggers, prompts used etc, the introduced system is only important if you want to be reblogged. If you are not interested in this, you can ignore the tagging system.

The following tagging scenarios are based on this imaginary prompt set-up:

Posting Day: 12

Theme Day 12: "Swallowed in the Sea"

Prompts Day 12: Boat | Water Inhalation | "Hang in there."

Altprompt: Fishing

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discluded · 1 year

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Build Jakapan, Daemi's Poi, and other individuals stepping forward

I like my peace, but this situation is very serious and deserves to be documented clearly for the international/English-speaking fanbase, which was my original goal of archivism on Tumblr. Some of the posts have already been deleted and others will be washed away with the sands of Twitter time.

Please do not talk about this in terms of "drama" or "tea" because that does a disservice to the victims and people here on Tumblr who may have lived through these experiences watching you treat their trauma like nonsense.

I have no stake in this and do not claim to know the full truth. However, rather than seeing everyone vague about what's happening, I want to provide an account of what people on Twitter are seeing above the noise. I will try to keep this post updated with important developments when appropriate.

My only ask is please don't comment to my inbox about this post. I understand your anger and hurt, but I need to take care of my own well-being. Make a dummy account if you want to talk about it; I will not censor the comments section of post as long as you are reasonable and not victim-blaming.

Finally, please be kind to each other, including Pond (as long as he is doing the right thing) and [Jan 23 update: lmfao fuck Pond] the other actors in BOC given that Poi specifically said she hid this from the cast, and also especially fans who loved Build and were blindsided. There is no "deserved" to be upset, people who invest their love and free time into something are allowed to be hurt... the only thing that matters about a person's integrity is how they choose to act with this information.

tw: domestic violence, intimate partner violence, abuse, threats, photos of bruises, rape, miscarriage

On approximately Jan 19 2022, right after the BOC line-up announcement), Daemi announced they would be breaking up as a writing duo, which prompted fans to speculate about the future of Kinnporsche season 2. Daemi as a writing duo is made up of two members: Yok and Poi.

In the next day or so, Poi insinuated that Build had stolen the idea for 4 Minutes from her and given it to Sammon, who then helped cut her [Poi] out of involvement in the new series. Build responded to this by publicly crying and issuing a statement, going above BOC's management. Pond was with Mile in Pairis at the time/flying home and responded to Instagram comments that they would investigate fully before issuing a statement.

Approximately the next day, on Jan 22 2022 local time, Poi came out with a statement and chat logs with proof that she used to be in a relationship with Build, and he had cheated on her, financially manipulated her, physically abused her, and threatened to kill her.

The original translator is a ManUtd fan and had no involvement in the fandom but took the time to do the translation since it was blowing up on Thai twitter and known fandom translators were not doing them. They then deleted those tweets after being harassed by Build's fans, but has continued to tweet about the situation.

(please click on the image for the full translation of the chat, I stacked them to save space)

Here is an additional Thai summary of Poi's claims and an english translation of that.

Some people noted that in the original IGS where Poi references this abuse on approximately Jan 19, she used stock images from Pinterest. Those claims included that she had a miscarriage due to the fact he had hit her so hard. Poi again confirmed that she had a miscarriage and noted she had hospital documents to back up her claim. She also addressed the comment that she used stock images due to the fact that Instagram is a visual social media.

Poi also confirmed that the legal process was already started. Given her history with the BOC cast, she might have also felt the need to get the story out of accusations of her lying and starting "drama" about the situation by posting her chat logs and photos.

Subsequently, Build shared messages that Poi had sent him regarding a situation with a sponsor in an attempt to make her look like a "crazy" woman, but incriminated himself and deactivated on Jan 22 2022 (possibly temporarily).

During this time, additional people came forward about being a victim of Build. One Thai fan came forward about knowing another of Build's former girlfriends, who was the victim of gang rape. However, the OP is getting permission from this individual to tell the story first and so the story may not be released to the public. Update Feb 10: Most likely false. (leaving text here for honesty that this rumor existed and debunked)

Another one of Build's ex-girlfriends, who was previously silenced and shamed by his fans, confirmed again that she was physically assaulted by Build 8 years ago.

I will not add the tweets with evidence of Build cheating on Poi/involvement with other women while supposedly dating one of them as while cheating on a partner is bad, it is a personal indiscretion and not a crime unlike the situations highlighted above.

As for the fact that both authors in Daemi sexually harassed other actors in KPTS, I am not excusing those actions. People, notably WOMEN, should not have to be perfect victims to be believed. You don't have to like Poi or approve of her past actions to think she does not deserve to be abused.

Additionally, if you believe that Poi's past actions are indicative of her character, I want to clarify why people were upset with him in summer 2022 since that was not documented on Tumblr either. Having bad opinions online is not a crime, but they do show a pattern of behavior from him from attitudes to actions. Build's comments/attitudes from that situation are consistent with his abuser behavior that is documented above. (1) (2) (3) (4)

Any additional documentation from past victims will be a link to the reblog since I will run out of image space on Tumblr. I will not document things like BOC suspending Build for the time being since those are widely seen and have an English translation.

Final update update as of Feb 10, 2023: Updated on the false allegations about rape and this being debunked since it's important. Please do not ask me for updates about him; I don't care about him, he makes me miserable, people whose careers I do care about don't have to deal with him anymore. Please do not make me responsible for your mental health.

Jan 28, 2023: Build has left BOC. At this point, there's nothing else I can provide as context in English that will change people's minds so let's respect that this will be processed in a court like it should have been in the first place. Take care of yourselves friends.

Final notes: Genuinely fuck Pond.

Jan 25 2023: link to the latest post with evidence from Poi and Mynk

Jan 23 2023: Kind anonymous provided IDs which have been added. Clarified position on Pond, with link to latest comment. I have more posts with translations from Thai twitter and will update another day.

Please take care of yourselves and your mental health. 🙏

#build jakapan #build jakapan puttha #kinnporsche #kinnporsche the series #kpts #kinnporsche cast #tw domestic violence #tw dv #tw abuse #tw rape #tw miscarriage #tw bruises #tw threats #thank you to anon for IDs #be on cloud

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thesapphictimelady · 3 months

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Ad Astra Per Aspera Chapter 2

Word Count: 2.2K

TW: Implied previous domestic abuse, references to alcohol

A/N: I’d like to point out I am NOT a plumber, the plumbing mentioned in this chapter is something that worked in my old classroom. It is not meant to be a solution for everything! Anyways, this is not proofread but I hope you enjoy it! Comments are always appreciated!

“New kid, time to wake up,”

Cassie groaned and rolled over on the couch, throwing her arm over her eyes, “Go away, Jenny, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Jenny? Geez kid, how much did you drink last night?” Melissa chuckled, “It’s me. Ms. Schemmenti?”

Cassie sat up, “Oh my god, Ms. Schemmenti I’m so sorry! I-I thought you were…”

“Don’t worry about it kid, get dressed. We gotta get to school.”

Cassie hastily grabbed a dress out of one of the boxes that were strewn around the small space and headed into the bathroom to change. Once she had pulled her dress on, she set to work removing the makeup from last night and reapplying. She winced when she saw the bruising on her neck was still a sickly green color but she made quick work of covering it up and then applying some mascara and lip gloss.

When she left the bathroom, she saw Melissa had settled herself on the couch.

“I’m really sorry about the mess,” Cassie said, “This was all I could find on such short notice and it’s…it’s really small.”

Melissa snorted, “Really small is certainly one way to put it.”

Cassie flushed and started digging through a box until she produced a thin gray sweater to layer over her pink dress.

“Ms. Schemmenti, you don’t have to wait for me. I know you drove here last night,”

“Nah, I’m giving you a ride. I might as well. Plus the parking might be limited today,”

“Why would the parking be limited?” Cassie asked, pulling on her shoes, “There were tons of empty spots yesterday,”

“The Eagles are playing and Ava rents out parking spaces,” Melissa said, twirling her car keys around one finger.

“Is she allowed to do that?”

“Ava just does whatever she wants. Besides, sometimes you gotta bend some rules”

Cassie opened the front door and the two stepped outside. Despite the time, it was already hot out and Cassie was glad she had chosen a thin sweater.

“Come on,” Melissa said, opening the car door, “I want to make sure we get seats with Barb.”

Cassie got into the car and set her bag by her seat. Melissa’s car smelled like vanilla but there was a lingering scent of menthol. The drive over to the school was quiet, and Cassie rested her head on the cool window. Before she knew it, they had pulled into the school parking lot. It was already crowded and the smell of barbecue filled the air.

“Barbeque? It’s 7 in the morning!”

Melissa shrugged, “They get started early. Now let’s get inside.”

Just like Melissa had said, Ava was hungover as hell. The lights in the gym were dim and the principal was wearing sunglasses and sipping gatorade.

“Hi,” Cassie said, going to introduce herself, “I’m Cassiopeia. I started yesterday.”

Ava waved her away, “Girl, it’s too early for this,”

Melissa snorted and pulled Cassie over to where the folding chairs were set up, setting her bag on a third seat for Barb.

“I’ll be right back,” Melissa whispered, before going back to where Ava was and whispering something to her. Ava pulled her sunglasses down to eye Cassie before handing Melissa a gatorade.

The redhead handed the gatorade to the younger teacher, and then produced a bottle of aspirin, “Here, you’re gonna need these. That hangover is gonna hit you. Plus it’ll help hold up the fact that I told everyone that you went home sick yesterday”

Cassie took the aspirin and settled into the cold metal chair, closing her eyes.

“Cassiopeia!” Jacob called.

Cassie smiled and waved at him, “Hi Jacob,”

“I’m so glad you’re still here!” he said, “I was worried something might have happened when Melissa said you went home sick!”

“Something did happen,” Melissa cut in, “She got tsick.”

Jacob flushed, “I know that! I just meant…well, Melissa you don’t have a great track record with aides and teachers,”

Cassie held up a hand to stop him, “I’m fine. I feel much better today.”

“Well that’s good! I want you to meet Gregory and Janine,” Jacob said, gesturing at the pair behind him, “They weren’t here yesterday so they didn’t get to meet you. Guys this is Cassiopeia. Did you know…”

Cassie closed her eyes again, shutting out Jacob’s explanation of her name.

“I’m glad you’re here Cassie,” Barb said softly, taking her seat next to them, “Melissa told me you weren’t feeling well. How are you feeling this morning? You look a bit pale.”

“I’m okay, Mrs. Howard, thank you. Ms. Schemmenti brought me some aspirin and Ava gave me a gatorade.”

“If you need anything, don’t be afraid to ask. They aren’t comfortable, but if you need to take a nap I can get out the mats my kindergartners use.”

Cassie smiled softly, “Thank you, Mrs. Howard,”

“Alright nerds, find your seats,” Ava said, “Let’s get this started so I can go take a nap. I mean, run the school”

Melissa rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest.

“First things first, we have a new teacher,” Ava said, “Her name is…Princess Leia or something,”

“Cassiopeia!” Jacob corrected her.

“Yeah that. She’s in Ms Schemmenti’s classroom until we can open up a classroom for her. Next, the sinks in the 1st floor bathrooms are backed up so until Mr. Johnson gets back or the city sends someone, I’m putting hand sanitizer in the bathrooms,”

Cassiopeia raised her hand, “Do the sinks share pipes?”

“Girl, how am I supposed to know? What do you think I am, the city?”

”Yes,” Melissa cut in, “the sinks share pipes and a wall.”

“I can fix it then,”

“No!” Barbara said quickly, “No, these things are best left to the experts. Do you all remember when Janine tried to fix the electricity?”

“No, I really can fix it. It’s super simple to temporarily fix it, at least until a professional can take a look. I just need two plungers and someone to help me.”

“Fine,” Ava said, rolling her eyes, “Schemmenti, you can help Peia,”

Cassie wrinkled her nose at the nickname, “Peia? Really?”

“Told ya someone would give you a weird nickname,” Melissa whispered.

“Janine has some team building activities this afternoon,” Ava continued, “And Gregory and Jacob have worked together to cook some of the produce from the garden for lunch. Now get to your classrooms and do…whatever it is you people do.”

“Come on,” Melissa said, grabbing their bags, “Let’s put our stuff away and I’ll find the plungers,”

Once they got to the classroom, Melissa set their bags on her desk and dragged a second chair over to it.

“Sidown kid,”

“Don’t we need to get the plungers?” Cassie asked, tugging on her sleeves.

“That can wait,” Melissa said, closing the classroom door, “I wanna talk to you,”

“Ms. Schemmenti, I already told you-”

“No, ya didn’t. Lemme finish. I wanna talk to ya about what you said this morning.”

“This morning?”

“Ya called me Jenny.”

Cassie groaned and put her head in her hands, “Ms. Schemmenti, I was half asleep!”

“Did Jenny do that to ya?” Melissa gestured to her arms.

“Ms. Schemmenti, I-”

“S’okay,” the redhead said, “I get it. Let’s just go get the plungers.”

“I got ‘em,” Melissa said, her cheeks slightly pink from running around the school.

”Perfect, you take the boys, I’ll take the girls. We’ll probably need to call each other to be able to hear.”

Melissa nodded and Cassiopeia went into the girls bathroom, locking the door behind her and taking her sweater off. She quickly dialed the redheads number.

“Hey, okay, so when I say go, put the plunger over the drain and start plunging,”

“And you’re sure this will work?” Melissa asked.

Cassie bit her lip, “Well…no. But it worked at my old school! It’s worth a shot.”

“If you say so, kid.”

“Okay,” Cassie cradled her phone between her shoulder and her cheek while she got the plunger into position, “Go,”

Within a couple minutes of plunging, the dirty water that was in the sink started to drain.

“I’m impressed kid,” Melissa said through the phone, “I didn’t expect that to work,”

Cassie grinned as she set the plunger down, “I told you I could do it! At my old school, this happened every other week.”

“What did the plumbers say?”

“Oh, we never had anyone come out to look at it! The district said it wasn’t necessary,”

“That’s ridiculous. Alright, I should get these plungers back to the closet.”

“Hang on, I gotta unlock the door,” Cassie hung up and tugged her sweater back on. Melissa knocked on the door and Cassie unlocked it.

“Geez kid, you look like you need some fresh air. Lemme put these away. You head back to the classroom.”

Cassiopeia made her way back to the classroom, collapsing into a chair and chugging her gatorade. She tossed the empty bottle into the trash can and reached into her bag, pulling out a folder of paperwork.

“Hey,” Janine said, poking her head into the room, “We didn’t get a chance to talk this morning. I’m Janine, I’m the other second grade teacher!”

“Hi,” Cassie said, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“I’m glad you’re here! I see you met Melissa already.”

“Ya, she did,” Melissa said from behind Janine, “Whatdya need Janine.”

“Nothing! Just wanted to introduce myself! Actually, I’m trying to get some clocks to teach time…”

“Did you check the teacher supply closet?”

“Yeah but those clocks are made of cardboard and they’re falling apart!”

Melissa sighed, “Okay okay, I’ll see what I can do.”

Janine squealed, “Thank you! Cassiopeia, you are working with the best teacher!”

Cassie laughed as Janine danced out of the room.

“She sure is…energetic,”

“That’s one word for her,” Melissa said, wrestling one of the windows open, “Want me to close the door so you can take off that sweater?”

“You don’t have to! What if one of the teachers need you?”

“They can email me,” Melissa said, closing and locking the door, “Ya look…actually you look pale. Your cheeks are pink but the rest of you looks…” The redhead held her wrist to Cassie’s forehead, “You’re not running a fever. Do you need to go see the nurse?”

“No, I’m fine, Ms. Schemmenti. I’m not sick. I-it’s makeup. I probably put too much concealer on my neck this morning.”

Melissa dropped her hand, “I’m sorry kid, I thought-”

“It’s okay,” Cassie cut her off, “I’m fine. I just…want to get to work.”

“Ya know, if you need someone to talk to…”

“Thanks, but I’d like to grade some of these math tests right now.”

“Okay kid,” Melissa handed her a red pen and a stack of papers, “Make yourself at home wherever.”

Cassiopeia tossed her sweater on one of the desks and went to sit on one of the beanbags in the back. Once she had found a comfortable position to sit in, she pulled out her earbuds, putting one in and starting her playlist while she started grading.

Melissa sat at her desk, glasses perched on her nose as she tried to focus on the papers in front of her. She couldn’t get the girl in her classroom out of her head. She set her pen down and put her head in her hands, thinking back to that morning.

After Cassie had fallen asleep on the couch, Melissa had set to work making the pizza dough. She preferred making it from scratch. The young woman had been curled into a ball and Melissa knew she wasn’t sleeping well. She would whimper or cry out every few minutes but Melissa couldn’t bear to wake her. She had looked exhausted, like she hadn’t slept in months.

Once the dough was finished, she had knelt on the floor and stroked Cassiopeia’s hair until she settled. She had wiped tears from the sleeping girls face and sung softly to her.

“Ms. Schemmenti?” Cassie said, breaking Melissa from her memories.

“What’s up kid?”

“Do you want me to grade those? You look a little distracted.”

“No, I’m fine. Just a little distracted.”

Cassie nodded and put her earbud back in.

“Melissa,” the door handle jiggled and the redhead jumped up and threw Cassie’s sweater at her.

“I’m coming!”

Cassie tugged her sweater on and Melissa unlocked the door, letting a confused Barbara into the room.

“Hey Barb!” Melissa said.

Barbara looked back and forth between the two, “Is everything okay in here?”

“Of course, Mrs. Howard!” Cassiopeia said, standing up. The second she stood, however, the room began to spin and she swayed slightly.

“Cassiopeia?” Barbara said, rushing across the classroom, “Sweetheart are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, sitting back down, “It’s just…it’s just hot in here.”

Barb glanced over at Melissa, who was already rummaging in her mini fridge to get a bottle of water.

“Here kid,” she said, “drink this.”

“Why don’t we take this off…” Barb reached for Cassie’s sweater.

“No!” Cassie and Melissa said at the same time.

“I need my sweater, Mrs. Howard,” Cassie whispered.

“If you say so…” Barb said.

“Kid, you didn’t eat breakfast this morning did you?”

“No…we were in a hurry…”

“Melissa, go get Cassiopeia the apple off my desk,” Barb said.

“I can’t take your food!” Cassie argued.

“You aren’t taking, I am giving it to you. And you will eat it. Stay here. I’m going to see if Ava has a fan we can use to cool you down.”

#abbott elementary #melissa schemmenti x oc #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti x reader

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