Current Joys || DNF

10

My addiction to this band probably isn't healthy. So here's a song I currently have on repeat that weirdly fits this chapter? Idk lol

TW: Sexual assault

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George barely registers Karl fighting the man's hold. He intakes the first complete breath in a while and frees one of his wrists, striking forward with as much force as he can muster. The man's face snaps to the side and he growls in annoyance.

Before his friend can kick the man in the crotch, he catches Karl across the waist and throws him roughly to the floor, knocking the wind out of him.

"Let go you asshole!" George snarls. The man pays him no mind and pins both of the brunette's wrists to the side, slamming his body against his chest. White spots cloud George's vision as the air is knocked out of his lungs.

"Inutile." Karl mutters, clutching his bruised side and looking at the people around him who were either oblivious or didn't care about what was going on. He knows he can't do this by himself. The longer he waits the worse things are going to get. "George hold on, I'll get help!"

The Brit wriggles exhaustedly, turning his chin away in defiance. He sees his friend getting up, calling something over his shoulder as he sprints into the crowd. Hurry the fuck up Karl, George screams in his head. He bites his attacker's hand hard, shoving away from him as the man lets go in surprise.

Before he can slip away, he's backhanded hard across the face. "Fai il difficile eh?" He catches the brunette's throat again, the spiked gold on his fingers digging into his flesh. George gags as the drunken man removes his hand, pressing his wormy lips onto his. Burning tears spring from his eyes as he feels his lip split as teeth sink into the soft skin, the little remaining strength filtering out of him.

Karl sprints through the crowd, not giving a single shit about the people he was knocking over. His height gave him a small advantage, spotting a head of messy blonde hair over the horde of dancing figures. He makes a beeline for the man, startling him as he grabs his arm tightly.

Dream groans in annoyance, checking his phone. Wilbur had gone to use the restroom, probably to puke, and George still wasn't back yet. He couldn't even see the bar because of all this stupid smoke. There's no way getting a small drink plus a water cup is taking this long. At this point, the effect of the alcohol was going away pretty quickly, fading to a pleasant buzz. He didn't even need the damn water.

Out of nowhere, Karl comes sprinting at him, a hurried look on his face. Before he can ask, he's being pulled roughly through the crowd. "Are you drunk!? What the fuck?" Dream shouts.

"He needs you! It's George, just come on-" Karl screams over the music. The tall man takes the hint, running alongside him past the bar, to the side of the club.

"Did he pass out or something?" Dream pants urgently. He receives no answer as they push past the crowd, almost losing him as the man takes a turn to the back.

The sight ahead of him was enough to stop him in his tracks. Disbelief roots him to the floor, permeating through his veins like frost on a branch. George was pressed up against the wall, face screwed up in disgust and fear as a man twice the size of him pressed his lips against his.

This guy was huge, muscles rippling across his back and shoulders. The movement of the silver from a half-opened zipper startles Dream out of his stupor, the man developing tunnel vision as rage flows into him where the shock faded. In two long strides he shoves the man off of the Brit, pressing his body in between them.

He pushes Karl who was trying to help out of harm's way and slams his fist into the startled assaulter's nose, hearing cartilage crunch as he stumbles back.