the girl behind the white picket fence

STOOD UP PART THREE

FINAL PART!
Thank you all for all the support, I hope you enjoy this. 🙊☠

NOTE: Contains abuse and mentions of rape, and death.


I am going to die here.
Looking round the dark dingy room with hooded eyes, you felt at peace. You were going to die here, soon. You could feel it in your body, in your soul. There was only so many beatings your body could take, and you’d taken more than your fair share.
You had always been scared, terrified even, that you would live a boring, ordinary life. You’d grow up, get married, have kids and die, not leaving anything worthwhile behind. The real white picket fence life. You were still scared, but you no longer feared for that. No, your life wasn’t boring, or ordinary. Not anymore. But you feared now that you’d be remembered for this. That you’d die, and be remembered as the girl who was beaten and raped, then beaten again by a man she once fell in love with. You didn’t want to be that girl.
You weren’t afraid of death itself, the idea of death comforted you. Once you took your last breath you knew you would be at peace, that he couldn’t hurt you anymore. Happy had done his best, he had protected you for a while. You would be eternally grateful for that time you got with him. But you knew you were destined to die at the the hands of your ex. It was your own fault really, you should have waited for someone to pick you up. But you were stupid. A stupid little girl. Brandon liked to tell you how stupid you were.
You weren’t sure how long you’d been here now. Your wrists were rubbed raw from the rope tied tightly around them. You could barely hold your head up anymore and you’d grown used to the pain shooting through your body.
He had spent the first day beating you til you passed out, numerous times.
The next day he raped you. He came back every few hours, to either beat you or rape you, sometimes both.
You weren’t sure how long you’d been here, but you knew you wouldn’t be here much longer.
Death was coming for you, coming to save you from this life. you could feel it in your bones.


Happy slammed a shot down on the bar.
Six days you’d been gone. Six fucking days.
He knew your ex had you. He blamed himself, he had been on the way to pick you up when he’d stopped to buy you flowers, wanting to surprise you. He had planned to tell you how he felt, to tell you he was falling in love with you.
He had arrived at the bookstore but it was shut, empty. He had rode around the streets for hours, before he spotted your bag, left on the ground.
That was when he knew.
The club was looking for you.
They’d find you. He’d find you. He had to, he couldn’t lose you.
Three more shots slid down his throat, he didn’t even realise he was pouring them, or lifting them to his lips.
You were the only thing on his mind. He missed you. He missed your strawberry scented skin wrapped around his at night, missed the way you whispered softly in your sleep. He missed the sound of your voice, your laugh.
He hadn’t realised how much he had fallen for you. How much he’d gotten used to you being in his life. Now his bed was empty and cold, and you haunted his dreams. You haunted his mind, his eyes, his ears.
Everything he saw made him think of you. Everything he heard.
He had to find you.
“We will find her, Happy.” Tig said, like he could read his mind.
Happy nodded, looking at his brother.
He poured another shot and passed it to Tig, before grabbing another glass for himself.
They sat there for an hour in silence, drinking their way through the bar, shot by shot, passing a joint between them.
“Happy!” Juice shouted.
Both men jumped out of their seats instantly, heads snapping in Juices direction.
Happy marched towards Juice, who held a piece of paper in his hands.
The rest of the club began to circle him.
“I found her. I found her man.” Juice said, a triumphant smile on his face.


The door slammed open and heavy footsteps walked into the room, slamming the door shut behind them.
The stench of cheap cologne, stale beer and desperation washed over you as Brandon knelt in front of you, grabbing a fistful of your hair up, forcing you to look at him.
“Tell me you love me.” He snarled at you.
You stared into his face. How had you loved this monster? You would have married him, raised a family with him. How had he turned into this? Or had he always been like this, maybe you brought out his dark side. You weren’t sure, and you didn’t care. You needed to anger him. Yes, you had to make him mad, he would beat you, kill you. Then it would stop.
“Say it.” He growled at you as he slapped his hand across your already swollen cheek.
You looked into his eyes as your mouth filled with blood, before you spat at him.
His fist collided with your mouth almost instantly.
“You fucking bitch!” He yelled as he hit you repeatedly, throwing you into the floor before he began kicking your body.
You didn’t feel it, you didn’t cry or scream out. You just lay there, knowing that with each hit death crept closer.
He stopped suddenly and stood straight.
You weren’t sure, but you thought you heard the familiar rumble of motorcycles.
Brandon grabbed you again quickly, lifting your limp body and tossing you into the chair, where he tied another rope around your chest and the back of the chair.
The rumbling got louder.
He paced infront of you, pulling a gun out of his pocket and peering out the window.
His jaw dropped.
The rumbling stopped.
He pointed the gun at you, stepping closer to you.
You watched him as he lifted the gun between your eyes as you heard the front door slam open and the sound of dozens of boots storming through the house.
Suddenly the door to the room slammed open.
You didn’t look. You knew who it was, you just sat and stared down the barrel of the gun calmly.
You began to smile and closed your eyes, ready. Death was almost here.
Suddenly a loud bang echoed through the room.


You heard the gunshot. But you didn’t feel any different. Why didn’t you feel different? You were ready, ready to die.
Your eyes flickered open and you saw Brandon’s lifeless body lying on the floor infront of you.
“(Y/n)” Happy whispered, as he knelt in front of you.
You felt the grips on your hands and around your chest loosen and your body fell forward, unable to support itself.
Happy grabbed you, and ran his fingers over your face.
“Oh my sweet baby girl” he spoke so low you barely heard him. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m here now, I’m here.”
He rocked you gently and your eyes focused on his face. He was crying.
“Ha-Happy,” you squeaked out, your voice cracking from your dry and raw throat.
“Shh don’t talk babygirl. Your safe now, I’m here. Your safe (y/n). I won’t let you go,” he sobbed. “God you scared me so much little girl, I love you. I love you so much.”
He rocked you gently and tears rolled down your cheeks.
Tig and Jax watched you both, tears in both their eyes too as they watched the Tacoma Killer breakdown.
“I lo-love you t-too Hap-Happy” you stammered, your voice weak.

“Happy Lowman?” The doctor called, stepping into the waiting room.
Happy leapt to his feet, the rest of the club doing the same.
“Is she okay?” Happy growled, twirling a toothpick between his lips.
“She has suffered severe trauma to the head, and has two broken ribs and a punctured lung. She was bleeding internally but we managed to stop it. She has deep lacerations on her face, chest and legs. As well as bruising. We are concerned about her organs, the kidneys have suffered severe bruising, we will need to run further tests.”
“Can I see her?” Happy growled.
“She needs to rest,” the doctor told him. “The nurse is with her now, running some tests. You should know that she has suffered other injuries caused by multiple rapings.”
“He raped her?!” Happys body shook with rage. He didn’t hear what else the doctor had to say, as he stormed out of the hospital and lit his cigarette.
He hadn’t planned to shoot Brandon. He was supposed to go in, get you out, take your ex and beat him the same way he had beat you.
But when they had opened the door and Happy saw him standing over you with a gun, saw your destroyed face covered in blood, he had lost it.
He had never felt anger like this.
Tig walked out of the hospital and stood by Happy, both of them shaking with anger as they puffed on their smokes.
“How did I let this happen man?” Happy growled.
“Hap, you can’t blame yourself. This is not on you.” Tig told him, staring at the ground.
Jax walked out too and spoke.
“The nurse is finished with the tests. You can see her now.”
Happy threw his cigarette to the ground and stormed inside.
You laid in the bed staring at the ceiling.
The door swung open and you looked as Happy walked in, stopping next to you and taking your hand.
“Hey stranger.” You smiled gently up at him.
He leant over and pressed his lips to your forehead before perching on the bed next to you.
He took your hand and squeezed it.
He wanted to tell you how sorry he was that he had let this happen, that he hadn’t found you sooner. But he couldn’t form the words.
He looked at your face.
Your lips were swollen and had cuts all over them, your eyes were both black and swollen almost shut. You had cuts all over your cheeks and a large bandage wrapped around your head.
“(Y/n)..”
“Happy, it’s not your fault.” You could see the guilt in his eyes as he looked at you, you could see the hatred he had for himself for not protecting you.
It tore at your heart and tears ran down your cheeks.
“I love you, Happy Lowman.” You said softly, sobbing now.
He wrapped his arms around you gently and you felt his body shake as he sobbed too.
“I love you babygirl. God I love you.”


Six months later you were in the clubhouse, laid on the table as Happy tattooed his crow on your sternum.
You had designed it together, and had finally settled on the placement. The crow sat in the centre of your chest, it’s wings spread under each of your breasts.
You loved it, and you loved watching Happy work on it.
Two weeks after you’d gotten out of hospital he had asked you to tattoo him. You had looked at him, puzzled, before he told you that he wanted you to be the one to tattoo his new smiley face.
You had agreed, honoured that he would let you.
It felt right. The connection between the two of you was intense and none of his brothers quite understood it. But they didn’t have to, you were in love, and you were both happy.
“All done little girl.” Happy said, pressing a kiss to your lips.
You smiled at him and stood, walking to the bathroom to look in the mirror.
It was beautiful.
The detail on it was incredible and he had done the design justice. Under the left wing was his name and you smiled uncontrollably as you looked at it.
You left the bathroom and walked to Happy, who stood in the centre of the clubhouse.
“What do you think?” He asked you.
You threw your arms around his neck and pressed your lips against his. He wrapped one arm around your waist, the other reaching down and squeezing your ass, your lips moving together hungrily.
He broke away from you, and smirked as you glared at him, your eyes filled with lust.
“Marry me.”
“What?!” You said,‘your jaw dropping.
“Marry me, (y/n).” He repeated, smiling down at you, his eyes glowing.
You beamed back at him.
“Yes! Yes!” You leaped back into his arms and smashed your lips against his, hungrier now than before.
He lifted you and you wrapped your legs around his waist, your mouth never leaving his as he carried you to his dorm.
“I love you, Happy Lowman.” You said breathlessly as he threw you down on the bed.
He smirked, pulling his shirt over his head.
“I love you, (y/n) Lowman.”

sugar

on ao3

Philkas Week day 2: soulmates

Lukas had the word ‘sugar’ lettered onto the bottom of his foot in such delicate handwriting that he forgot it was there most days. But sometimes, just sometimes, when the walls were caving in on him, and he couldn’t remember the sound of his mother’s voice, and he was so frustrated that the Playboy magazines weren’t fucking working, he would sit cross legged and stare at the word until it tattooed itself on the back of his eyelids. He imagined meeting a beautiful girl, soft curves, white picket fences, and kind eyes, even though he hoped for a boy with bloody knuckles and stories dancing behind his eyelids.

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