bitch,jerk,assbutt,balls

The air in the Mikaelson compound was thick with the scent of old parchment, expensive bourbon, and the underlying current of supernatural tension. You had been playing a dangerous game with Kol for weeks - lingering touches, whispered promises, and looks that could strip the clothes right off your body. Kol, with his chaotic energy and predatory grin, had enjoyed the chase, but tonight, the chase was over.

He had cornered you in the library, the heavy oak doors clicking shut behind you. The dim light of the chandeliers cast long, flickering shadows across the room, mirroring the heat radiating between you.

"You've been teasing me for far too long, darling," Kol murmured, his voice a low, dangerous velvet. He stepped into your space, forcing you back against a mahogany table. He didn't stop until your thighs were pressing against the wood and his chest was brushing against your breasts.

You tilted your head back, challenging him with a smirk. "And what are you going to do about it, Kol?"

The smirk vanished, replaced by a look of raw, unfiltered hunger. In one swift motion, he gripped your waist and hoisted you up onto the table, scattering several ancient grimoires to the floor. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his hips, pulling him flush against you. You could feel the hard ridge of his cock pressing through his trousers, straining against the fabric.

Kol didn't waste time with gentleness. He crashed his lips onto yours, his tongue invading your mouth with a possessive urgency. It wasn't a request; it was a claim. His hands slid up your thighs, bunching up your skirt and ripping your lace panties aside with a single, impatient tug.

He groaned into the kiss, his breath hot against your skin as he shifted his focus to your neck. He sucked a hard, bruising mark into the sensitive skin just below your jaw, his teeth grazing your flesh. You gasped, arching your back, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

"Kol..." you whimpered, your voice breaking.

He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, his pupils blown wide. He reached down, his fingers sliding into your soaking wet pussy. He found your clit instantly, rubbing it in fast, rhythmic circles that had you sobbing into his shoulder. You were dripping, your juices coating his fingers as he worked you toward the edge.

"You're so wet for me," he chuckled, the sound vibrating against your chest. "So desperate."

He quickly shrugged out of his trousers, his cock springing free—thick, veiny, and pulsing. He didn't use a condom; he wanted to feel every inch of you, and he wanted to leave something behind. He gripped your hips, tilting your pelvis up to meet him.

With one powerful thrust, he buried himself inside you. You screamed, the sensation of him filling you completely, sending a jolt of electricity through your spine. He was huge, stretching your walls to their limit, hitting your cervix with a blunt force that made your toes curl.

Kol didn't give you time to adjust. He began to fuck you with a savage intensity, his hips slamming against yours with a rhythmic, wet slapping sound. Every thrust was deep and deliberate, driving you further into the table. You clung to him, your legs locked tight around his waist, urging him to go harder, faster.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice strained.

You opened your eyes, seeing the sheer obsession in his gaze. He slowed down for a moment, grinding his pelvis against yours, making sure you felt every ridge of his shaft. He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear, his voice a dark, possessive growl.

"Now everyone’s going to know you're mine."

The words acted like a trigger. Kol accelerated his pace, his thrusts becoming frantic and violent. He was hammering into you, his cock sliding in and out of your drenched pussy with a friction that pushed you over the edge. Your internal muscles clamped tight around him, pulsing in a violent orgasm that left you shaking and breathless.

Feeling your walls squeeze him, Kol let out a guttural roar. He gave one final, deepest thrust, pinning you to the table as he came. You felt the hot, thick jets of his cum flooding your insides, filling you to the brim. He stayed buried inside you, panting, his forehead resting against yours as the aftershocks rippled through both of your bodies.

He slowly pulled out, a string of cream and seed leaking from your opening and dripping onto the mahogany. Kol looked down at the mess he'd made of you, then back up at the dark bruise he'd left on your neck.

A smug, triumphant smile crossed his face. He leaned down and kissed the mark one last time.

Your wrists aren’t tied. It isn’t about trust—there’s simply nowhere to run. The warehouse stretches out around you. Every window is boarded up, every exit locked. Maybe this room was once an office, but now it’s just cracked concrete walls and a rusted desk in the corner. A single bulb hangs above, humming without pause.

You hug your knees to your chest and try to steady your breathing. Think. Dad always said panic makes you miss things. You force yourself to look around. There’s one door, a small vent near the ceiling, a dusty bookshelf, and a broken chair. Nothing useful, at least for now.

Outside the room, voices drift through the thin walls. "...She's quieter than I expected."

"She's smarter than you expected."

"Same thing."

You move closer to the door, careful not to make a sound. The woman sighs. "We've waited years for this."

Years. Your stomach knots. The fire. It really was them.

Across the city, Buck keeps moving. Whenever the radio crackles, he looks up fast. Every phone call makes his heart race, but there’s still no news.

Hen walks over carrying two cups of coffee. "You need this."

"I don't."

"You do."

"I can't."

She puts one in his hands anyway. "You can’t help her if you collapse."

Buck stares at the cup, not really seeing it. "I told her I’d pick her up after work."

Hen's expression softens. "I know."

"I promised."

"You also promised to love her." He looks up. "You’ve always kept that promise."

His eyes fill with tears. "I should’ve been there."

Hen doesn’t argue. She puts a hand on his shoulder. "She’s fighting."

Buck blinks. "What?"

"Your kid." Hen gives a small smile. "I know her. So do you." She pauses. "She’s fighting to get back to you."

Buck closes his eyes. "Yeah."

He whispers it, mostly to himself. "...She is."

Inside the warehouse, the door opens. The woman comes in with a bottle of water and sets it on the desk. "You should drink."

You don't move. "I'm not taking anything from you."

She shrugs. "Suit yourself."

Silence stretches between you. Finally, you ask the question that's been burning inside your head. "...Why?"

She studies you. "You really don't know."

"No."

"It's because of your father."

"I figured that much."

She gives a humorless smile. "He ruined lives."

Your jaw tightens. "He saves lives."

"Depends who you ask."

"He would never—"

"He testified." Her words cut through the room. "He put people away." Your heartbeat slows, not because you’re calm, but because you’re listening. "My brother." She says it flatly. "He ran with dangerous people. He made bad choices. Your father arrested him. He died in prison a year later." Her jaw tightens for the first time. "Everyone blamed him, but it was your father’s words that sealed his fate. If he hadn’t given that testimony, maybe my brother would have had a chance. Maybe my family wouldn’t have fallen apart."

You frown. "So this..." You gesture around the room. "...is revenge?"

"No." She almost laughs. "Revenge would've been quick."

Cold creeps into your chest. "You burned our house." Silence. "You nearly killed me." Another silence. "You killed innocent people?"

She finally meets your eyes. "We only wanted to scare him."

You stare. "...Only?"

"The fire spread faster than we thought."

Your stomach lurches. "You expect me to believe that?"

"No." She doesn't even try. "You shouldn't."

At the station, Athena stands over a city map covered in pins. Every possible route has been marked. Every abandoned building. Every storage unit. Every vacant property. Still, hundreds remain.

A young officer rushes through the door. "We got something."

Every head turns. "What?"

"The SUV." Buck is already walking toward him. "It hit a traffic camera."

"When?"

"About twenty minutes after leaving the school." The officer lays several photographs across the table.

Athena studies them. "Zoom in."

The technician zooms in, not enough to see the driver, but enough to spot something else. Eddie leans in. "...Wait."

Everyone looks at him. "What?" He points at the back passenger window. There’s a tiny white mark, almost invisible.

Buck frowns. "What am I looking at?"

Eddie’s eyes go wide. "...That’s not damage." He looks up. "That’s chalk."

Buck blinks. "What?"

Eddie turns back to the screen. "She used to do that when she was little."

A memory flashes through Buck’s mind. Rainy afternoons. Drawing tiny stars on the driveway and always keeping white chalk in your backpack for art class. His breath catches. "You think..." Eddie nods slowly. "I think she marked the window."

Athena’s face changes right away. "Can she reach it from inside?"

"Probably."

Buck stares at the tiny white streak. For the first time all day, hope flickers. "My kid." His voice cracks as he smiles a little. "She left us a trail."

Back in the warehouse, you’re alone again. The bottle of water sits untouched. Your throat is so dry it hurts, but you don’t trust them enough to drink. Fear presses against your ribs, creeping in whenever you let your guard down. You quietly unzip your backpack, hands shaking a little. What if they missed something? What if they didn’t, and you’re just hoping? They searched it, but not well. Your fingers find what you hoped was still there: a stub of white sidewalk chalk, barely two inches long. Relief hits you, sharp and dizzying. You hold it tight, heart pounding with both hope and dread. You smile, even though it feels fragile. "Always leave someone a way to find you." Buck told you that once, after teaching you what to do if you ever got lost in a crowd. You hadn’t understood then. Now you do.

You carefully rub the chalk on the concrete floor under the desk. Not words or pictures, just a small symbol: a star. The same five-pointed star you’ve drawn next to your name since you were eight. Buck would spot it right away. Eddie has seen it on school projects, birthday cards, and sticky notes on the fridge. It’s small and easy to miss. But if they find it, they’ll know.

You are alive. You are here. And you never stopped believing they would come.

Miles away, Buck stares at the enlarged traffic-camera image one last time. That tiny white mark is barely visible. To anyone else, it means nothing. To him, it's everything.

He touches the screen with shaking fingers. "Hold on, kid." His voice is barely a whisper. "I’m coming."

The silence of the Institute usually feels heavy, clinical, and oppressive, but here, in the sanctuary of this shared space, it feels like a warm blanket wrapping around the two of you. Jace’s words are still echoing in the air, his admission of nerves and his promise to go at your pace acting as a catalyst, melting the last remnants of hesitation in your chest.

You shift closer to him, the fabric of your clothes brushing against his, and you can feel the heat radiating off his body. He doesn't move immediately, giving you every opportunity to pull away, but when you reach out and slide your hand up his chest, you feel his heart hammer against your palm—fast, erratic, and entirely for you.

"You're shaking," you whisper, your voice barely a breath.

Jace lets out a shaky laugh, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that makes your toes curl. "I just... I want this to be perfect. I want you to feel how much I want you, but I don't want to rush a single second of it."

He leans in, not for a kiss, but to press his forehead against yours. You close your eyes, breathing in his scent - something clean, like rain and old books - and you feel his hand tentatively find the small of your back. He pulls you flush against him, and the contact sends a jolt of electricity straight to your core. You let out a soft moan, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer as if you can't get enough of the friction.

When his lips finally meet yours, it isn't a crash; it's a question. The kiss is slow, tasting of longing and sweetness. He tastes like a secret you've been dying to uncover. His tongue swipes tentatively against your lower lip, asking for entry, and you part your lips with a sigh, welcoming him in. The kiss deepens, becoming more rhythmic, more sure, as the tension that has been building between you for weeks finally begins to snap.

Jace groans low in his throat, a sound of pure hunger that vibrates through your own chest. His hand leaves your back to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin with an almost reverent touch. He breaks the kiss just an inch, his breath hot against your lips.

"Are you sure?" he murmurs, his voice husky and strained. "Tell me you want this as much as I do."

"I want you, Jace," you breathe, your voice trembling. "Everything. Now."

The urgency shifts. He lifts you effortlessly, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, and he carries you the short distance to the bed. He lays you down with a gentleness that makes your heart ache, hovering over you, his eyes scanning every inch of your face as if he's memorising a map.

Slowly, meticulously, he begins to strip away the barriers between you. Every piece of clothing removed is accompanied by a kiss—a lingering press of lips to your collarbone, a soft lick along the curve of your shoulder, a nip at the sensitive skin of your neck. You mirror his movements, your hands trembling as you push his shirt off his shoulders, revealing the lean, hard muscle of his chest. You run your palms over his skin, marvelling at the contrast between his strength and the softness of his touch.

When you are both finally bare, the air in the room feels electric. Jace doesn't go straight for the heat; instead, he spends time worshipping your body. He kisses your stomach, his breath hitching when you arch your back, and he moves lower, his tongue tracing the line of your thigh.

When he finally reaches the centre of your heat, you gasp, your fingers digging into the sheets. He looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire, before he leans down to taste you. His tongue is expert and patient, flicking against your clit in a slow, steady rhythm that has you sobbing his name. He drinks you in, his suction pulling you toward the edge, driving you into a frenzy of sensation until you are shaking, your hips bucking against his face.

"Jace... please," you whimper, the need becoming an ache that only he can soothe.

He rises, sliding his body between your thighs. He pauses, the head of his thick, pulsing cock brushing against your entrance. He waits, looking into your eyes, ensuring you are with him every step of the way. You wrap your legs tighter around his waist, pulling him in.

"Now, Jace. Please, now."

He pushes inside you in one slow, deliberate motion. You let out a long, shuddering breath as he fills you, the stretch feeling divine and overwhelming. He stays still for a moment, letting your body adjust to his size, his forehead resting against yours as you both breathe in unison.

"You're so tight," he whispers, his voice breaking. "You feel... incredible."

He begins to move, the pace starting as a slow, rhythmic grind. Every thrust is deep and purposeful, designed to maximise the friction and the intimacy. You cling to him, your nails scratching lightly down his back, as the pleasure builds in waves. It isn't just physical; it's the way he looks at you, the way he whispers your name like a prayer, the way he ensures every movement is shared.

The friction builds, the heat between your bodies intensifying until the world outside the room ceases to exist. Jace picks up the pace, his thrusts becoming harder, more urgent, though he never loses that tenderness. You feel the tension coil tight in your belly, a shimmering pressure that suddenly explodes.

You cry out, your internal muscles clamping tight around him as you peak, the orgasm crashing over you in violent, beautiful waves. The feeling triggers him; Jace lets out a guttural shout, his body stiffening as he thrusts one last time, deep and hard, filling you with his warm cum.

The sound of the front door clicking shut echoes through the quiet house, but you aren’t looking at Eddie’s face. Your eyes are glued to the heavy, rugged fabric of his LAFD turnout gear. He’s still half-dressed, the thick trousers clinging to his muscular thighs, the boots heavy and imposing. He looks powerful, authoritative, and completely intoxicating.

You’ve always had a weakness for the uniform, but with Eddie, it’s a visceral hunger. The way the gear frames his broad shoulders and the scent of smoke and sweat that clings to him acts like an aphrodisiac, stripping away your inhibitions the moment he steps inside.

Eddie notices the way you’re staring—the dilated pupils, the shallow breaths, the way your gaze lingers on the belt and the heavy material. A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. He knows exactly what it does to you. He doesn't move to take the gear off; instead, he leans back against the door, crossing his arms, letting you soak in the sight of him.

"Like what you see?" he asks, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrates in your chest.

You don't answer with words. You move toward him, your hands trembling slightly as you reach out to touch the rough fabric of his trousers. You slide your palms down his thighs, feeling the hard muscle beneath the heavy material. You can feel the heat radiating off him, the adrenaline of his shift still humming in his veins.

Eddie lets out a sharp exhale, his hand coming up to grip the back of your neck, pulling you flush against him. The contrast is staggering—the soft curve of your body pressed against the rigid, unyielding texture of his uniform. You moan into his neck, inhaling the scent of him, your hips instinctively grinding against the bulge already forming in his pants.

"You're so desperate for me when I'm wearing this, aren't you?" he whispers, his breath hot against your ear.

He doesn't wait for an answer. He lifts you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist, the heavy fabric of his gear scratching against your inner thighs. He carries you toward the living room, never breaking the kiss, his tongue sweeping through your mouth with a possessive hunger.

He drops you onto the sofa, but he stays standing for a moment, looming over you. He slowly begins to unbutton his shirt, but he leaves the heavy trousers on, knowing that the sight of his bare chest contrasted with the uniform below is exactly what you want.

You reach for him, pulling him down, your fingers fumbling with the fastenings of his pants. You want him out, but you want the uniform there, a reminder of the man who saves lives and the man who is about to ruin you. As you finally free his thick, pulsing cock, it springs out, hot and demanding.

Eddie groans, sliding himself between your legs. He doesn't go in immediately; instead, he rubs the head of his cock against your soaking wet slit, teasing you, making you arch your back and beg. He watches your face, the sheer lust written in every line of your expression.

He leans down, his lips brushing your ear, his voice dropping to a dangerous, mocking velvet.

“What would people say if they knew you were such a slut for me?”

The words send a jolt of electricity straight to your clit. You gasp, your fingers digging into the fabric of his uniform, pulling him closer. "I don't care," you whimper. "Just fuck me, Eddie. Please."

He doesn't hold back. With one powerful thrust, he buries himself deep inside you, filling you completely. You scream into the quiet of the room, your walls clamping tight around him. The friction is intense, the pace relentless. Every time he slams into you, the heavy material of his gear rubs against your skin, adding a layer of sensory overload that pushes you closer to the edge.

Eddie is relentless, his movements rhythmic and primal. He grips your hips, his fingers bruising your skin, anchoring you as he drives himself into you over and over. You can hear the rhythmic thud of his boots against the floor, the sound of your wetness slapping against his thighs, and the heavy, laboured breathing of a man completely consumed by you.

"Look at me," he commands.

You open your eyes, seeing the intensity in his gaze, the raw desire. He’s not the polished firefighter right now; he’s a man claiming what is his. You reach down, grabbing the fabric of his trousers, pulling him even deeper, wanting every inch of him.

The tension builds until it's unbearable. Your internal muscles pulse, squeezing him tight, and Eddie lets out a guttural growl. He accelerates, his thrusts becoming shorter, faster, more desperate. You feel the orgasm crashing over you in waves, your entire body shaking as you climax, your walls milking him with every contraction.

Eddie follows moments later, a loud groan escaping him as he spills his warm cum deep inside you, his body shuddering with the force of his release. He collapses on top of you, his heavy gear pinning you to the sofa, the weight of him feeling like a sanctuary.

As the silence returns to the room, he kisses your forehead, his voice returning to that soft, affectionate tone, though the smirk remains.

The station is louder than ever. Radios compete with each other. Dispatchers juggle several calls at once. Police officers start arriving within minutes.

Buck barely hears any of it. The chaos is just a dull roar in his ears. He stares at the security camera still from your school. The image is blurry, but it's enough. The dark SUV. The fake uniforms. The counterfeit LAFD badges on their belts. His heart pounds and his thoughts race: Why wasn't I there? How did I miss the signs? He clenches his jaw until it aches. Guilt weighs on him, heavy and familiar, and memories threaten to surface. He remembers her laughter in the kitchen that morning, the promise he made to keep her safe. The fear that he has failed her takes over everything else. "They planned this."

Nobody argues. Bobby rests a hand on Buck's shoulder. "They knew she'd trust anyone wearing one of our badges."

Buck's face twists with guilt. "They used us."

"They used her love for you," Bobby corrects quietly.

No matter how they say it, Buck doesn't feel any better.

Eddie stands beside the school secretary as she wrings her hands. "I'm so sorry."

"You didn't know," Eddie says gently, though his own voice is tight.

"They looked real." She nods miserably. "The badges...the uniforms...they even knew Firefighter Buckley's name."

"Did they sign in?"

"Yes."

"Can I see it?" She gives him the visitor log. The signatures are neat and professional, but clearly fake.

The secretary swallows. "I'm sorry."

Eddie shakes his head. "This isn't on you."

But whoever did this was well prepared.

You have no idea how long you've been in the SUV. Maybe forty minutes, maybe an hour. It feels endless. Your head rests against the cold glass, and your breath fogs up the window. Every muscle is tense, your shoulders tight, and your hands shake in your lap. Your heart beats fast and uneven, each bump in the road making you more afraid. The city is long gone, lost in the rearview mirror. Now, only quiet roads and stretches of woods pass by. You force yourself to keep track, silently counting: left, straight, right, bridge, railroad crossing. You try to remember the order, even as panic rises and your mind races with worry about what will happen next. You don't know if it will help, but Dad always says, "If you're lost, notice everything." So you do, holding on to every detail and trying not to let fear win.

The driver finally speaks. "Almost there."

You don't answer. The woman beside you watches you carefully. "You've been very quiet."

"I'm not talking to you."

She smiles without humour. "You've got spirit."

You stare out the window. "My dad's going to find me."

Her smile disappears. "He'll try." The certainty in her voice makes your stomach twist.

Buck never sits down. He paces the room, makes calls, and asks for updates every thirty seconds.

Athena arrives from the precinct less than twenty minutes after the report comes in. She doesn't waste time. "What do we know?"

"Dark SUV."

"Fake LAFD uniforms."

"Counterfeit badges."

"They knew her name."

"They knew Buck worked today."

Athena nods once. "This wasn't random."

Buck looks up. "I know."

She meets his eyes. "No." Her voice is calm. "They didn't just take a teenager. They targeted your daughter."

The words linger in the room. Everyone understands what it means. Someone planned this. Someone waited. Someone watched.

You finally arrive at what looks like an abandoned warehouse. The building is old, with boarded-up windows. Chain-link fencing surrounds most of it. The SUV drives through an open gate and stops. Your heart races.r pulse races.

The driver gets out first. The woman opens your door. "Come on." You don't move. She sighs. "Don't make this difficult."

"I'm not getting out."

She crouches until you're eye level. "I'd rather not drag you."

Your heart pounds. "You'll have to."

For a second, she studies you, then she nods. "So stubborn." She reaches for your arm.

You jerk away instinctively. "Don't touch me!"

The driver appears beside the door. Without warning, he grabs your wrist. You kick hard. Your shoe catches his shin.

He stumbles. "Ow!"

You break free just long enough to scramble across the back seat, but there's nowhere to run. The doors are locked and the windows are tinted. The woman grabs your other arm. "Enough."

You fight anyway. You think of your dad, of Eddie, and of every self-defense lesson your dad made you learn after the fire. "Never stop making it difficult." So you don't. You stomp on someone's foot, elbow another in the ribs, and scream as loud as you can. "HELP!" Fear rushes through you, almost overwhelming, but underneath it, you feel a spark of pride. For a moment, you know you are not helpless. Even as your chest aches and your limbs shake, you hold on to that defiance and refuse to give in.

A hand clamps over your mouth. "No one's around to hear you."

Tears blur your vision. You bite down. Hard. The man yells, jerking his hand away. Blood wells instantly where your teeth broke the skin. "You little—"

"That's enough!" the woman snaps. She looks almost impressed. "I told you she'd fight."

The man glares at you. "You'll regret that."

You lift your chin, even though fear grips your chest. "My dad's going to arrest you."

Neither of them answers. Instead, they lead you inside.

Back at the station, a detective rushes in. "We got traffic cameras."

Every conversation stops. Buck is already moving. "What've you got?"

"They caught the SUV leaving the school." The detective lays out several photos on the table. "There." One image, then another, then another. The SUV at an intersection, at a toll camera, at a gas station.

Buck leans closer. "Can we enhance the plate?"

The technician shakes his head. "Stolen vehicle."

"Damn."

Athena studies the map. "They're heading north."

"How far?"

"We don't know."

Buck feels like he can't breathe. Every minute you are farther away. Every mile makes it harder. Eddie sees Buck's hands shaking and quietly steps beside him. "We're going to get her."

Buck laughs bitterly. "I told her I'd always keep her safe."

"You still will."

Buck's voice cracks. "I wasn't there."

Eddie doesn't hesitate. "You couldn't have known."

"I should've."

"You couldn't."

Buck closes his eyes. The memory comes back in a rush. Smoke. Fire. Shouting your name until his throat hurt. Finding you. Pulling you out. Almost losing you. And now, someone has taken you anyway.

The warehouse smells damp and stale. Dust floats in the air. The metal door slams shut behind you with a loud clang. You flinch as the sound echoes through the empty building. The woman takes off her fake badge and tosses it onto a table. "So much trouble over one teenager."

The man snorts. "You haven't met her father." Your heart skips. They do know Buck. One of them notices your expression. "Oh." He smiles. "Didn't know that part?"

You stare at him. "...Who are you?"

He steps closer. "Someone your dad made very angry."

A chill runs through your entire body. "You..." Your voice is barely a whisper. "...You started the fire."

The room is noisy. No one shouts, but all the voices blend together until it feels like a wall of sound pressing in on you.

You can’t catch your breath. Your chest feels tight, your hands tremble, and the wallpaper in Arrow House blurs as tears fill your eyes. "No... no..." you whisper.

Ada notices first. She crosses the drawing room in a hurry, concern etched across her face. "Love?"

You stumble backwards. "No!" The word tears from your throat before she can reach you.

She stops at once. "It's alright," Ada says gently, holding up her hands. "I won't touch you." But panic has already taken over. Your heartbeat pounds so loudly you’re sure everyone can hear it.

Polly stands up. "Give her some room." Arthur steps toward you. You flinch so hard that your back hits the wall.

"No!" you cry, squeezing your eyes shut. "Don't!"

Arthur immediately backs away. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

"I know..." you sob. "Just... don't."

John exchanges a worried glance with Polly. "What happened?"

No one is sure what set it off. One moment you were laughing over tea, then suddenly your breathing changed. Maybe someone mentioned trains, or the clink of porcelain was too sharp. Old memories return without warning. Now you’re shaking so much your knees might give out. You feel like you’ll break if anyone comes near.

Finn quietly moves toward the doorway. "Should I fetch the doctor?"

"No," Polly answers. Doctors won't fix this.

Ada kneels several feet away, careful not to invade your space. "Can you look at me?"

You can’t do it. Everything feels wrong. The room spins and your vision narrows. You clutch your sleeves, trying to keep yourself together.

Arthur rubs the back of his neck helplessly. "I don't know what to do."

Then your lips move. Barely audible. "...Tommy..." Silence fills the room.

Polly looks toward the front entrance. "Where is he?"

"Factory," John answers immediately.

Arthur doesn't wait. "I'll fetch him."

The panic keeps going. Minutes drag by. No one comes close. No one dares. Even from across the room, you sense their worry.

Ada speaks gently every so often. "You're safe.” “You don't have to talk.” “We're right here."

You hear what they say, but it doesn’t help. Your breathing speeds up. Tears keep falling. Your hands go numb. You don’t notice the front door slam downstairs. Heavy footsteps move quickly through the house.

"What happened?" Tommy. His voice cuts through the chaos like a blade.

Arthur answers first. "She's been like this nearly half an hour. Wouldn't let any of us near. Asked for you."

Tommy doesn’t answer right away. He comes into the room and meets your eyes. Everything else fades. He doesn’t rush or crowd you. He kneels a few feet away, at your level.

"There you are." His voice is calm. Steady. The kind of steady you've always associated with safety. Your breathing still shakes, but something inside you loosens. Just a little. "I'm here."

Fresh tears spill down your face. "I... can't..."

"I know." His words are simple. Certain. "You don't have to explain." The others remain silent. Watching. Tommy glances over his shoulder. "Everyone out."

Arthur hesitates. "Tom—"

"Out."

No one argues. In seconds, it’s just you and Tommy in the room. The silence feels gentler now. Tommy waits, knowing it helps more than pushing. "You still with me?" You nod weakly. "Breathe with me."

You try. You fail. "I'm sorry..."

"Don't apologise." His voice never changes. "You've done nothing wrong."

You squeeze your eyes shut again. "It hurts."

"I know."

"I can't stop."

"I know." His replies remain patient. Never frustrated. Never rushed. After another long moment, he asks quietly, "Can I come closer?" You hesitate, then nod once. He moves only a few inches, nothing more. Again he waits. "Is this alright?" Another nod.

A few minutes later: "Closer?"

You whisper, "Yes."

Eventually he's close enough that you can actually see every line of exhaustion on his face. Every tiny scar. Every fleck of blue in his eyes. "You still don't want to be touched?"

You swallow hard. "I... only you."

His face softens just a little. "Alright." He slowly offers his hand, waiting for you to take it. You stare at it for a few seconds before your shaking fingers finally reach out. When your hand slips into his, the world keeps spinning, but it slows down. You grip his hand tightly. He lets you. Your breathing is still shaky.

"I'm here," Tommy repeats. "I've got you."

Another sob escapes. "I'm scared."

"I know."

"What if it doesn't stop?"

"It will."

"You promise?"

"I don't make promises lightly." His thumb brushes your knuckles. "But yes." You hold on tighter. He doesn’t complain when your nails dig into his skin or try to pull away. He just stays with you, right where you need him.

"You remember what I told you?" You nod faintly.

"Breathe with me." He shows you how. Slow inhale. Slow exhale. Again and again. After a while, your breathing starts to match his. The heavy feeling in your chest eases. Your heartbeat slows down. The tears keep coming, but now they’re quiet and tired, not panicked.

Tommy studies you carefully. "Better?"

"A little."

He reaches into his pocket and produces a clean handkerchief. "You think you can take this?" You nod. Instead of wiping your face himself, he places it gently into your free hand. Giving you the choice. Always the choice. "You did well."

A shaky laugh escapes you. "I don't feel like I did."

"You stayed." He squeezes your hand once. "When your own mind turns against you, staying takes courage."

Your eyes fill again. "I hate when this happens."

"I know."

"I feel broken."

His jaw tightens. "No." You look up at him. "You hear me?" His voice is firm now. "You're not broken. You're scared. That's different." His words settle in. Part of you wants to argue, to list all the reasons you feel empty and undeserving. But the honesty in his eyes helps steady you. Maybe he’s right. Maybe being afraid doesn’t mean you’re ruined. For the first time since the panic started, you believe him, at least a little. There’s a soft knock at the door.

"Tom?" Ada's voice. "Is she alright?"

Tommy looks at you. "You ready?"

You think for a moment before nodding. "Only if you stay."

"I'm not going anywhere." He stands first before helping you to your feet, never pulling, never rushing. Your fingers remain intertwined with his.

When Ada quietly enters, relief washes over her face. "You feeling better?"

You nod. "A bit."

Arthur peeks around the doorway. "Can we come in now?"

Tommy glances at you again. Your decision. Not his. You manage a small smile. "Yeah."

The family comes back into the room, moving slowly so they don’t overwhelm you. No one asks questions or tells you to calm down. They just stay close. Tommy keeps holding your hand, not because you need him to, but because tonight, it’s where you both want to be.