#i also smoke a cigarette so my lungs are certainly like girl what the fuck is wrong with you???? right now

[thesmokinpossum]

drunk as fuck once again and i got a job interview for a job i really want in less than 11 hours, we'll see how it goes

[ang3lfluids]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: underage smoking .. implied forms of DV .. mentions of kidnapping .. ED's .. implied child abuse and neglect..

𝐞𝐯𝐞'𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫: FIRST CHAPTER YAYYYY!!! feedback is greatly appreciated !! :D enjoy my angels!

"What are your relations to Mr. Woods..." Your eyes flicked up, the gears in your brain turning. The courtroom was so quiet you could most certainly hear a pin drop, never mind the fact you were certain the Jury, attorneys and the Judge could hear your rapid sharp intakes of air. A weak attempt to calm yourself.

"Um... he's my, my boyfriend..." You stated, voice warbling as you shifted your gaze to the man sitting across the room from you before shifting your gaze to look at your hands that were settled in your lap.

"Were you two together before or after Mr.Woods abducted you from your home?" The attorney asked as she walked closer to the witness stand. You swallowed and blinked a few times, hot tears filling your eyes. Yes? No... No you weren't. You opened your mouth a few times and shifted in your seat.

"Miss... can you tell me please." The other woman's voice was soft but you could barely form a sentence in your head. Your eyes met his, and they narrowed back at you. Well, as well as they could with his... mutilations.

"We dated back in highschool..." You started looking back down at your lap. "We broke up when... he uh..." You swallowed thickly wiping your face with your hands. The cuffs around your wrists clinking softly.

The loud cheering from the field brought you back, your arms above your head as you shook the red and white pom-poms in the air. Your white teeth glistening under the flood lights settled around the football field. They must have scored, not like you were even really paying attention. You hated football anyways...

You easily fell into step with the other girls beside you, shaking your pom-poms like your life depended on it. Your stomach puckering as your eyes glanced over your mothers figure in the stands, your father next to her engrossed in an animated conversation with your best friend's father.

You also chose to ignore the way your stomach growled and bubbled with hunger. So in a way... your life truly did depend on it.

Your team had won. And after being pushed into a large group "hug", you had pleaded with your parents (more like just your mother) to go with your girls to the local McDonalds to celebrate your teams victory. Rolling your glitter coated eyes as the way her face soured as you mentioned the fast food place.

"Mom please, Julia won't have me out late..." You mumbled crossing your arms over your chest rocking on your heels. Rubbing the bridge of her nose she sighed, deep within her lungs. "Fine. Text me when you get there, and be home by ten-thirty. I don't care if it's a weekend." She smoothed our your hair and pressed a kiss to your forehead. You swallowed a suppressed gag.

You and three other girls all clambered into your best friends cherry red jeep, music blasting from the speakers as the vehicle sped off towards the hovel of choice. Your fingers twitching against your lap as you chewed on the inside of your cheek. A horrible habit that arouse when you hadn't smoked in a prolonged period of time. You had gone all morning, through your 12 periods, cheer practice, and a whole fucking football game without touching a lick of a cigarette.

Maybe it was childish to yearn for the red and white package that was tucked in your front pocket of your backpack, but with everything in your life it was nice having something you could actually control for once.

You tuned out the conversation around you, indulging in the cool fall air washing over your hot skin. Your eyes falling shut as you breathed.

"Can we please eat insideeee" One of the freshmen in the back seat asked leaning forward to meet Julia's gaze in the rearview. She hummed and nodded as she pulled into one of the parking spaces. Everyone going to unbuckle, Julia leaned over the center console and nudged your arm. You opened your eyes, sticky with makeup, and turned your head to look at her.

"You wanna take a sec?" She asked, her gaze flickering between your bag and you. You nod with a grateful smile and stretched out your sore limbs. Clambering from her jeep you dug into your bag and yanked free your lighter and the carton of cigarettes.

You leaned against the side of the jeep, whacking the pack against your hand and fishing one out. You placed the end in your mouth and attempted to flick the lighter to life, brows furrowing and a frosty look overtaking your face as it struggled to light.

"Motherfuckin' piece of shit..." You hissed teeth clamping down on the orange end of the cigarette to keep it in your mouth. Shaking the lighter a few times you began to grow frustrated at the fact that it wouldn't fucking work. So angry that hot tears of frustration began to fill your eyes. Your stomach growling angrily in protest as you swallowed at the lump in your throat.

"Hey." Your gaze shifted up and you flinched back as you met the eyes of another guy, way too close for comfort. You narrowed your eyes at him in a way of asking him what the fuck he wanted. He gestured to the cigarette in your mouth, then the pack in your hands. "Can I bum one off of you?" He held up a lighter and shook it softly, smirking down at you.

You eyed him and pushed yourself off the jeep stepping closer. He flicked the lighter to life and you leaned closer allowing the end to start burning. Batting your lashes up at him as he smirked down at you. You passed the cigarette carton over to him and took a long drag of the one in your mouth.

Blowing the smoke from your mouth you looked him up and down. "Do I know you?" You tilted your head, giving him a frosty look. He cupped a hand over the other as he lit his own cigarette, tucking his lighter into the back pocket of his skinny jeans. You watched as he blew the dark gray smoke from his chapped lips and look down at you.

"English, seventh period." He said. You blinked before flushing in embarrassment. "You're the new kid right? You and your brother?" You asked. He made a noise which sounded like a 'Yeah' as he took another drag.

"Took ya long enough princess." He muttered. Your stomach fluttered and you looked down at your cheer sneakers. "The names Jeffrey, Or Jeff I don't give a shit." He pushed some of his dark brown hair from his face, and you flicked some ash off the end of your cigarette.

"**" You offered your own name and leaned back stubbing out the half burnt cigarette on the heel of your shoe. "S'nice meeting you Jeff" You said brushing past him. "You as well, doll" He muttered pushing off the back of your friends jeep towards the sidewalk. You stole one last glance, suppressing the giddy feeling twirling in your gut.

[imaginarybabies]

tysondobbs​:

Guess it was fair, to throw it all back at him. He deserved as much. The next exhale of a puff came out angry, from both his lips and his nostrils. He laughed, bitter. “If you died? We ain’t talkin’ bout you though, we’re talking about me. I’m not talking some wishy-washy hypotheticals. I’m talking about a very real possibility. You didn’t fuck with someone who runs these streets. He’s a BD OG. He has ties with everyone, including the mayor— not Lori, the one that came before her. He’s got no problem wasting anybody and certainly not some white guy with an attitude problem. You think once I’ve paid back what I owe and then made him a little extra on top of that, he’ll shake my hand and let me go?” 

He paused for another drag of cigarette, but also to let that sink in. “You ain’t me. You’re young and you can still move wherever-the-fuck and start over. Get a new life. Yeah, shit’s sad, whatever. You’ll get over it. What would be worse is if you didn’t, then not only have I fucked over my own life, but someone else’s too? I mean shit Sasha, you want me to spend my days feeling guilty about you too? Like I ain’t got enough shit to worry about.” He underscored his words with another bitter laugh, hoping that might be enough to get through to her. 

She chose to focus on the cigarette, swallowing back smoke that filled her mouth and lungs, smoke she hoped would get all the way to her head and cloud what came in to soften the blow. Or the blows as it was, every sentence feeling like another punch not much different from what she found waiting for her when they came back. Probably as deserving as those had been too. If she felt guilty before it couldn’t begin to compare to how she felt now, at the way Tyson clearly saw her: as a liability, a victim he had to worry about, an idiot and a child and nothing like him. Her lips pressed together, disappearing into a thin line as she battled back the tears.

“I ain’t you”, she repeated, voice distorted. She had heard all of it before, the start over shit that never worked like that, hadn’t for girls much smarter, much braver, much more determined than Sasha could ever be. “And what else?”, she asked the social worker her Tyson had turned into. “Finish school? Go to college?” The cigarette was done, smoked down to the filter she threw to the ground and crushed under her heel, immediately lighting up another one. "You know, I didn’t wanna be alive any more than you did. Just didn’t have it in me to do it. Figured I was never gonna live that long to worry ‘bout it anyway.” Shit’s sad, whatever, his words echoed in her head and so did the things she imagined behind them. “Yeah well, if you’re dead you won’t even be sad.” The pull at her stomach got worse. Good thing she hadn’t eaten the pizza. “It was already fucked, okay? I ain’t some trafficked princess from the ‘burbs. Sure as fuck ain’t gonna try to become one if I lose you.” Her voice stumbled over the last word and she looked away. “I’m goin’ where I was already going. You don’t gotta blame yourself.”

[littlemissnoname13]

Wisps of Smoke (Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!Reader) - Part one

Summary: Draco and y/n find themselves drawn to an abandoned classroom every single night.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Slytherin! reader (implied pure blood for the storyline to work)

Warnings: Excessive smoking, mature language, mature themes, no full fledged smut till now. Also please remember that the characters have all been aged up in all of my stories.

18+ Content

A/n: A pack of cigarettes on my desk seduced me into writing this one (smoking is injurious to health)

Word count: 3000

Monday

To say that Draco Malfoy was your friend was a bit of an exaggeration.

The two of you tolerated each other at most.

Having grown up in the same friend circle that consisted of Theo, Blaise, Pansy, you’d both learned how to remain perfectly civil.

Of course, it wasn’t always that easy.Sometimes the blonde git got on your last nerve.

Just last week, Theo had to pull him back by his robe and Pansy had to clutch tightly onto your arm because you and Draco were this close to hexing each other’s faces off.

And today Blaise looked anything but pleased about his choice of seat at your Potions class. The boy who donned a calm, cool and collected—almost condescending expression on most days leaned against the table in a bracing position while you and Draco yelled at each other from his left and right.

“You have to stir it twice. Clockwise.” Draco scoffed rolling his eyes as he watched you stir your Draught of Living Death potion.

“Clockwise y/n—No! no! No— y/n you are doing it all wrong. That’s anti-clockwise! Can you get any more stupid?! Merlin!”

“Why don’t you do it yourself instead of sitting over there, crossing your fucking arms and barking out instructions.” You shot back getting angrier by the minute.

“You should be glad I’m here to give you instructions. If it were up to you, the whole classroom would be up in flames by now.” He said icily, picking up a Sopophorous bean and observing it.

“In case you haven’t noticed already, I never asked for your help Malfoy!”

“And I did not ask to work with you and Zabini on this stupid potion y/l/n.”

“And I most certainly did not ask to be put in between two bickering children but here I am. Life isn’t fair now is it?!” Blaise snapped causing you both to retreat back into your seats.

That’s how your days usually went by.

And your nights...well your nights weren’t particularly any better. In fact, it was always the same old routine.

You stared up at the ceiling and focused on the creaking sound your bed made while your long time boyfriend Adrian Pucey chased his release on top of you.

He was always a blubbering, sweaty mess and you lightly stroked his hair and closed your eyes wondering why you felt nothing at all.

You were devoid of all emotion and pleasure—wondering if you were broken.

There was no pleasure and no pain.

And after Adrian’s quick departure, your room reeked of sex and sweat and your pillow would sometimes be wet with tears.

Sex with Adrian felt like nothing at all even though you loved him.

Adrian was gentle, almost too gentle and you had come to a conclusion that orgasms and passionate sex that left you wanting for more was nothing but a myth.

You channeled all the energy you had left into slipping your clothes back on. You lethargically wiped at your mascara stained cheeks with the sleeve of your sweater before slamming your door shut behind you.

Discreetly, you exited the dungeons and let your feet guide you all the way towards an empty and abandoned classroom with a huge window and a windowsill wide enough for sitting.

Nobody really paid much attention to the classroom and going there felt like hiding in plain sight. Going there in the middle of the night had somewhat become a night time ritual for you.

You quickly got comfortable on the moonlit windowsill and took deep calming breaths—filling your lungs up with the air around you.

The air had a stench of nicotine these past few weeks and It hurt your head at first. But now, you’d learned to ignore it.

Everything felt silent and tranquil for a brief moment until you started to hear moans and groans coming from the other side of the classroom door.

The sounds made your blood freeze and you closed your eyes, mumbling an inaudible prayer to the universe. The last thing you needed was an awkward encounter with the people making out on the other side of the door.

It didn’t take very long before the door started to creak and shake violently.

The creaking only got louder and louder. As did the moaning and groaning and cursing.

Soon, the shaking of the door came to an abrupt halt followed by a shrill post-coital giggle.

You closed your eyes and finally heaved a huge sigh of relief when you heard the pitter patter footsteps walking away from the room.

“What the fuck are you doing here y/l/n?” A familiar voice startled you and you held your breath hoping it wasn’t who you thought it was.

You opened only one eye and looked at the door that had been flung open.

Draco Malfoy stood on the other side of the now open door with the buckle of his belt still undone, his shirt all disheveled and his silver hair in a state of disarray from being yanked on.

“I would ask you the same question but it’s best if you don’t tell me.” You gagged.

The corners of his lips twisted into a typical Malfoy-esque smirk as he used his thumb to wipe his bottom lip.

“Well, would you like me to show you instead?”

“Smooth.” You muttered, letting out a sarcastic chuckle at his words while he sat down next to you on the windowsill.

Malfoy was the last person you wanted to see that night. Especially after Potions class.

Even though you were looking out the window, you felt his eyes linger on you through your peripheral vision. He was drenched in the moonlight seeping in through the large window giving his place skin a pearlescent glow.

Although Malfoy had maintained an unreadable expression on his face, his prying eyes gave everything away.

“Pucey?” He finally said.

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve been crying haven’t you?” He asked, lifting your chin up with his index finger and observing the redness around your nose and the puffiness around your eyes.

“Since when do you care?” You jeered, eyeing him suspiciously.

“I don’t.” He shrugged abruptly pulling his hand back—letting your face fall.

He turned towards the window, put a cigarette between his lips and lit it up. After taking a long drag, he tilted his head around to look at you again. “I just don’t think Pucey is worth crying over. If you’re crying over hi—”

“Merlin’s beard Malfoy! It’s you. You’ve been smoking your stupid cigarettes here haven’t you?” You cut him off with your eyes widening in realisation.

“I have.”

“And all this time I thought I was hallucinating the smell of smoke.”

“Sorry to break it to you y/l/n but I’ve been coming here since the fourth year.”

Wisps of smoke came out of his mouth and drifted all the way to the tip of your nose when he exhaled.

“I come here all the time.” He continued. “Sometimes alone and sometimes—”

“You bring a poor naive girl here for a quickie.” you finished his sentence coughing and swatting the air around you. “Who were you shagging outside anyway?” You asked, arching your eyebrows.

“Since when do you care?” He retorted.

“Touché.”

~~~~~~~~

Tuesday

“That poor girl you were with last night sounded like she was in pain.” You commented the next night dangling your legs outside the window as Draco stood next you, smoking.

“I am assuming Pucey is horrible in bed then.” He snickered making your cheeks heat up.

“He isn’t horrible.” You protested as he inspected the slightest amount of dust gathered in the corner of the windowsill paying little to no attention to you.

“He’s just…” you trailed off in your pathetic attempt to justify Adrian’s subpar bedroom skills.

“Go on love.” He mocked, lighting up another cigarette and extending his hand to offer you one. "Tell me."

"You are the last person I wanna discuss my sex life with.” You snapped pushing his hand along with the pack of cigarettes away from you.

~~~~~~~~

Wednesday

You gathered your hair up and threw on a silk robe over your slip dress and walked towards your usual spot in the abandoned classroom.

You found yourself subconsciously waiting for Draco to show up as you leaned against the glass window.

After a few minutes, he was quietly standing next to you staring outside the window that overlooked the school courtyard.

He placed a cigarette between his lips and turned to look at you. “You want one?”

You shook your head as you watched him light the one between his lips up—observing the way he inhaled and the way wisps of smoke came out of his mouth.

The wisps drifted your way and you didn’t even bother to fan it away.

Instead you took a sharp breath.

It felt like your brain was slowly associating the scent of smoke with him.

“Didn’t find anybody to shag tonight?” You asked in a feeble attempt to break the silence.

This made him turn his head to look at you—the true blue specks in his otherwise grey eyes glistened in cool tones and you felt a strange ache inside of you.

“Nope. Not anyone that I’d like to shag anyway.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“I won’t be surprised if I find you loitering around the Ravenclaw tower in a few nights—considering you have been with every other Slytherin girl I know.”

He shot you a bone chilling glare before flashing a devious looking grin.

“You’re in Slytherin.” Draco drawled, taking a step towards you.

“Your point?” You looked at him quizzically, taking a step back but Draco took a step towards you for every step you took away from him until you felt the coolness of the wall behind your back.

His palms rested on the wall on either side of your face as he stared down at you with his glacial eyes— the mere intensity of his gaze made you want to look away.

It was just too much.

The way his shirt was unbuttoned at the top and the way platinum colored strands of hair fell onto his face helped you understand why girls pined over him. You tried so very hard to hold your breath but failed in miserable fashion has his face inched closer and closer to you.

He let his slender fingertips trail on your waves before tucking the stray bits behind your ears.

“I hardly think I’ll find myself at the Ravenclaw tower anytime soon.” He raspily whispered into your ears.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thursday

He was in a rather foul mood that night.

Quidditch practice in the rain had gone on for a bit too long and to top it all off, his father had paid him a visit right after.

“Is everything alright Draco?” You asked, folding your arms over your chest and turning to face the exhausted looking boy standing next to you, with his hair still damp from his shower.

“Just perfect.”

“Doesn’t look like it.” You commented running your eyes up and down his frame, earning a disdainful scoff from him. “Anyway, how was quidditch practice? Adrian was telling me it got quite intense today.”

“Well well, looks like someone is feeling rather chatty tonight.”

“Okay, nevermind the quidditch talk. How’s Narscissa? My mum owled me about the upcoming New year's ball at your Manor—something about an announcement.” You scratched your head trying to remember what the letter said as you looked at him again. The bare minimum light cast soft, fuzzy looking shadows on his angular features.

“You aren’t usually this annoying. Is there any way you will stop with your ramblings!?” He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration before fumbling with his pocket to pull out another cigarette.

You quickly stood from the windowsill and reached for a very distraught looking Draco’s hand.

“We don't have to talk if you don’t want to, Draco.” You said quietly as you looked up at him.

“Then what do you suggest we do hm, y/n?” He asked more or less rhetorically as he pulled you towards him.

You thought you’d forgotten how to breathe by the way he said your name. You weren’t particularly fond of your name but the way he said it made you want to thank your parents for picking out your name—the same name he said so smoothly and easily, with tension and emphasis on all the right places.

“I—I was thinking we could just quietly sit out here—maybe open up the window and breathe in some fresh air. It's rather pleasant for a rainy night don't you think?” You babbled.

At your mention of a pleasant night, he turned away from you to face the window, occasionally surveying the half smoked cigarette between his fingers as you opened the window.

“We could do that actually.” Draco finally said in a calm voice, taking a prolonged drag from his cigarette from the corner of his mouth and tossing it carelessly to the ground before stomping on it. “Or—”

“Or?”

“Or....” He said with his silver eyes muddled and darkened into an opaque grey. “We could just do this.”

You couldn't even begin to comprehend why or even how, but his nicotine infused lips softly came crashing down onto yours making your heart pound loudly against your ribcage. The way he pressed his lips to yours—the connection made you lightheaded.

What was even more surprising was the fact that you kissed him back even harder.

Compiling to all of his requests.

When he nipped your bottom lip, you parted your mouth.

When his tongue met yours, you moaned softly into this mouth.

When he cupped your face to draw you in closer as his tongue seduced, tantalized, licked, and sucked, you surrendered.

The sweetness of your lips only made him want you more as he wondered how he had gone so long without his lips pressed up against yours, his thumb gently yet possessively caressing your cheek.

And now that he’d gotten a taste, he wasn't sure he could make do without it.

He wanted this.

He needed this.

There was something so sublime, so achingly beautiful about kissing your lips that a million different thoughts encircled his mind.

Why did it suddenly feel like his thirst was gradually being quelled by the way your mouth, your breathing, your pulse melded into his?

Your fingertips intertwining with the hair on the nape of his neck pacified him.

This was unfamiliar territory.

You were both treading uncharted waters and yet, there was something soothing and familiar about the way he ran his hands up and down your sides, feeling and remembering your curves.

“That ought to keep you quiet y/n.” He whispered, his voice hoarse and saturated with yearning as he pulled away.

The rain outside had transformed into a tempestuous storm and the wind brought in splatters of rain drops inside the classroom window colliding against both of your skin and clothes.

You turned your head to look outside. “Looks like the weather is no longer pleasant.”

His eyes mirrored the flash of lighting that lit up the night sky in shades of lilac, yellow and violet back at you as the sky roared.

“But I kinda like the storm you kno—” Your attempt to finish your sentence was futile.

Lightning struck again but this time in the depths of your heart as his cold, damp, rain-soaked lips brushed against yours in an urgent fashion. The way he aggressively moved his lips made you see more colours than just lilac, yellow and violet.

Magnificent shades of cerulean, emerald, crimson, and burgundy. You could see them all.

"I have pictured kissing you a thousand times over in my mind." he murmured into the kiss while the hand he had placed on your waist trailed down to your hips.

“Draco.” You mewled as your hands found their way to the back of his shirt, gripping onto the fabric tightly for support while you let his ravenous mouth place kisses along your jaw and clavicles.

"You drive me...mmmm... fucking insane y/n. You make me.. mmm..so fucking furious" He whispered between kisses with his fingertips digging into your skin hidden under layers of fabric.

"As do you. I know..hmmmm..the difference...fuck...between clockwise and...mmhh..Anticlockwise." You said breathlessly pulling him flush against you.

Draco backed you further into the wall and his fingertips lingered on the string of your silk robe and you guided his hands through the knots and tangles of the string and let the robe fall onto the floor.

He found his way underneath your slip dress and let his hands roam around your bare flesh turning you into a whimpering mess.

Your own hands trailed to the buttons of his shirt as the aching need to feel his bare skin grew.

And when his shirt did hit the ground, you greedily ran your hands all over his firm chest and toned abdomen— your mouth watering while the flimsy fabric of your panties turned damp.

When he felt you palm the tent forming in his trousers, he smirked and the kiss came to an abrupt stop and his eyes fluttered open.

He pressed his forehead against yours—shoulders rising and falling from his heavy breathing.

"Not yet. " He murmured with his breathing still laboured.

"Draco—"

He shut you up with another kiss before backing away and walking towards the door.

"Good night y/n." He smirked, fixing his clothes as he stood near the door.

“Uh, good night?!” You mumbled, dumfounded.

"y/n?”

“Hm?”

“Nothing.” He mumbled, shaking his head as he closed the door behind him.

To be continued.....

~~~~~~

Part 2 teaser:

"Took you long enough." Draco breathed,holding you tightly against him as he desperately ran his hands along your sides feeling the fabric of your silky nightdress.

"I was going to stay away. I tried so fucking hard." You whispered, and he instantly placed his lips onto yours furrowing his brows as you fiercely kissed him back.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag list: @maybesandohnos ❤️

~~~~~~~~~~~

Message me if you want to be on my tag list.

[i-ate-the-whole-entire-pie]

Call Me Mother, Chapter One

I languidly drained the last breath from my cigarette, the drag filling my lungs. My garter straps hung down lazily, tickling my thighs, as they awaited their purpose. Music thumped rapidly, and whoops of delight resounded through the hall. The dressing room door swung open; a small, but curvaceous woman behind it.

Her eyebrows were tweezed to perfection, eyes deeply shadowed, eyelashes false and curled into large feathery swoops; her mouth was like a plump strawberry. I’d always harbored a mild curiosity about how it tasted.

“Mary, you’re up in 10 minutes. I want you at the curtain in five," Cristella said, her hispanic accent thick.

“Is that a new corset?” I asked. Cristella turned me around, and yanked the laces of my corset together. Thank god I haven’t needed to breathe for the last 150 years, I thought. I floated a small influence her way. Gentler, please. She complied, unwittingly. They always do.

I don’t normally use my influence on people I like, but I’m far too hungry to risk her pinching me with this corset. I couldn’t forgive myself if I lost control. She was far too kind to die a death that violent.

“It is. This papí chulo I’ve been seeing said he wanted me to wear it for him. Maybe he’ll tip better," she said, carefully pulling the slack out of the lower half of my corset. I placed my hands over my belly, holding everything in place.

“What’s the crowd looking like?” I tucked the ties away. She jutted a hip out, and began counting off on her impeccably manicured fingers.

“The usual crowd. Old Man Carraway, that one divorcee who drinks like a fish. College kids. Oh, there’s also these dudes in silver masks. Low-key kind of demonic. And some weird guy in like, face paint? He’s painted up like a calavera. I figured they came from that concert that was in town. You know, the one that church was protesting? Say they like worship Satan or something?”

“Sounds about right." I bent down to attach my straps to the garters of my stockings.

“They’re probably here for a private room, so I figured I’d put you on now. You’re good at handling the weirdos." Cristella giggled, watching me struggle to get the backs of my stockings attached. She and I broke into fits of giggles, as she chased me in circles, trying to help me attach my stockings.

“Let me get that. Hurry up and get on stage!” she said, giving me a playful smack on the ass. I pranced out of the room, trying to avoid her grasping mitts.

“Hey! No bruising the merchandise!” I giggled, linking arms with her as we strutted backstage, perfectly in step with one another. She grabbed the microphone from Mike the Mic Guy, gave me a wink, and stepped through the curtain.

“Aaaaand we’re back! Now, this next lady I’ve got lined up for you is quite a treat. She’s as pale as cream, thicker than a bowl of oatmeal, and will definitely step on you. Well, she might if you tip well. For legal reasons, we can’t call her “Elvira,” so I guess we’ll settle for… MOTHER! MARY!” That was my cue. I sauntered through the curtain, my hips moving like a figure eight. I moved across the stage, “Lullaby” by the Cure playing. I always chose various genres of rock for my acts. Not that I have anything against the other girls’ music choices… but there’s only so much female rap you can play in one night. As I began to dance, I noticed the group that Cristella had mentioned earlier. They were sitting front and center, near the edge of the stage.

Seven of the masked figures sat around the Painted Man, as I had labeled him. Two of the masked figures seemed effeminate, and the other five seemed more masculine. They all ranged in different shapes and sizes. Maybe the masks are a fetish thing? Cristella did say that they came from a concert… Something about them seemed off. I did a swing around the pole, dropping into a fireman, trying to catch a scent. It was a whirlwind of scents, none of them too out of the ordinary. Except the beefy one. He smelled like midnight. I don’t know how to explain it. What really caught my interest though was the Painted Man. Specifically, his eyes. One of them was grey, the iris almost black. The other eye had a pale, white iris. It suited him, and it was beautiful, in an eerie way. Those eyes looked at me, as I danced around the stage, and they knew me. If I had a working heart still, it would be racing.

As Robert Smith crooned, I descended the stairs of the stage as sensually as one could in Pleaser heels, making my way to the Painted Man. If I wanted to know what these people were, I’d have to get a closer look. The Painted Man patted one of his legs with a gloved hand, and cocked his head to the side. I took the invitation, but not before I teased him. I crouched between his legs, running my hands up his thighs. As I rose, I walked my hands up his thighs, bringing my face closer to his. His breath graced my skin, smelling faintly of licorice. As he leaned in, for what I could only assume was a kiss, I rose again, strutting over to one of the masked beings. It was the smaller of the male ones. I sat in his lap, letting him run his hands over me as I began to grind on his lap. His growing erection told me I was going to have a busy night.

“Your boss is a little too eager," I whispered, getting a good whiff of him. He smelled faintly of smoke. I put my hands on his chest, trying to keep my balance. No heartbeat.

“What makes you think he’s my boss?” The being asked petulantly. He grabbed onto my waist, as he began to grind with me. I moved his hand to the small of my back, and leaned back in a dip. The being ran his other hand over my belly, in between my breasts, and up to my throat, bringing me back up to his masked face.

“You’re the one wearing a uniform." I darted my tongue out to lick my lips. What is he? My mind raced as I tried to run through every supernatural creature I’d ever known. But then I heard it. I barely even understood it. All I picked up was price and one night. It was Ghoulish. The taller female ghoul was asking about what I can only assume was my hourly rate. Most strip clubs in this part of Vegas were just fronts for brothels. However, it’s hard to sell the idea of prostitution to Mid-Western vanilla tourists. So most of my income was made from stripping. I usually had one or two clients I went to bed with a night. It wasn’t very stable, but then again, I had less expenses than the average stripper, considering my “condition."

“Tell your friend my basic hourly rate is $500. My Ghoulish isn’t any good." I stood up, and made my way to the female ghoul’s lap.

“How do you know Ghoulish?” she asked, a bit of surprise in her tone. I bent over in front of her, shaking my ass for her. She put a couple of bills in the waistband of my panties, punching my previous ghoul in the arm. He forked over some cash as well.

“I’m not human. I’ll leave it at that," I said, stuffing the cash into the top of my corset. Dear lord… All hundreds… The female ghoul rubbed my thighs, turning me back around slowly, so as to admire my ass.

“Could we get a room after your number? I think a private dance is in order," she said, in broken Ghoulish. I nodded, and as if on cue, the lights and music began to fade out. As I began to walk back up the stairs to the stage past the Painted Man, his hand darted forward to smack my ass. God, it really is not the night for this shit. My more animalistic nature took over, and before I could stop it, a hiss left my lips. As if of their own accord, my fangs sprung painfully through my gums. I heard a snap, and looked over to see the largest ghoul stand up. He shook his head. Thank god the lights were low. Embarrassed, I covered my mouth, and made my way across the stage.

“What the fuck was that all about?” Mike the Mic Guy asked, handing a mic to Cristella. I still had my hand over my mouth. Cristella looked worried.

“Are you okay Mary? I can get you some tea if you’re keyed up." I shook my head.

“Please get a room ready. The Freak Parade wants a private dance," I said as I walked away, silently cursing myself. Once back in the dressing room, I threw open the mini-fridge I normally kept padlocked. I looked to the last bottle I had left in my stash. Hopefully it hasn’t clotted, I thought, throwing the bottle back. This wouldn’t end my thirst, but it would certainly quell the burning in my throat. You nearly lost it. You need to bag one of these stupid fucks tonight, or else. I hadn’t had a bad case of blood lust in decades, but the combination of winter holidays, my strict schedule, and FOSTA-SESTA had really cut off my food supply.

The door opened, and Cristella came in with a cup of tea. She looked at the flask in her hand and cocked a brow.

“And you didn’t offer to share. What is that? Cuervo? Henny?” she said, reaching for the flask. I shook my head, and put it back in the fridge, closing the padlock.

“It’s cough syrup. I keep it under lock and key because of that bitch Ronnie. She’s not fooling anybody. You ever see how much her hands shake? Too much caffeine? Yeah, right. We all know what the DTs look like." I began changing into a burgundy velvet bra and panty set, pairing it with some burgundy gloves and stockings. Finally, I found a pair of sparkly Loboutins Lydia had left me. My mind rolled back through the streets of Paris to 1991, when Louboutin opened its first salon. Lydia smiled, as I kissed her shin, helping her into the heel. She looked down at me, her eyes full of love, and the corner of her mouth hiding a kiss just for me.

“Yeah, she is pretty suspish. What happened with those weirdos out there?” Cristella interrupted my memory. I shook my head. Are you just imagining your heartache?

“Oh the big guy was just mad because I didn’t get around to him. That’s why I wanted you to get the room. Plus, I might be able to secure a nice check from these guys. They all seemed absolutely randy," I said. Cristella shook her head, giggling. The gloss in my hand made a popping noise, as I pulled the wand from the bottle. It was my favorite flavor, watermelon.

“I can ask one of the boys to sit in, to keep them from getting too handsy," Cristella said. I shook my head. It would only keep me from getting too handsy, I thought to myself. Bless her heart. I could never make a kill here. I loved the crew here far too much. Plus, I didn’t have a coven. No one to protect me when I fucked up. They kicked me out long ago. It’s the main reason I ended up in Vegas, avoiding the sun when I could, doing my best to keep a legal and convenient profession. Where else could get a job with only night shifts, and a never-ending supply of useless assholes no one cared about?

“I’ll be okay Crissy. Even if they do try something, we have a panic button in there. Don’t worry." I gave her a slimy, glossy kiss on the cheek, earning a shriek from her strawberry mouth. She batted at me, narrowly missing me as I bounded out of the room.

As I approached the bigger of our three private rooms, I noticed two of the larger male ghouls standing outside the door. All of the ghouls dressed similarly, including the female ghouls. But I now noticed the alchemical symbols dangling from their belt chains. The shorter one had a quintessence symbol, the other larger one, an earth symbol. The earth one opened the door, and the quintessence one escorted me in.

“Thank you, Aether. Back to the door with you. Come, have a seat. Dewdrop says there is more to you than meets the eye. Let me pour you a glass of wine, cara," a thick, Italian accent beckoned to me. I walked to the ottoman in the middle of the room, where I usually found myself during private dances.

“I don’t drink during work hours, love. Now, what should I call you?” I looked into the mismatched eyes of the Painted Man.

“You can call me Papa. I’m Papa Emeritus, the fourth. My close friends call me Copia, but I suppose we are not quite there yet, sí?” he said, leaning forward to take my chin in his hand. I nodded.

“While I would love to marvel at your undoubtedly exquisite body, There is some business we should take care of first, piccolina. Do you like Type O Negative?” Cue the record scratching. The dreamy look I normally adopt when with my clients evaporated.

“Excuse me?” I whispered. Papa laughed.

“The band, cara. I was going to have you dance for me later. However, you must have a preference."

“I really don’t understand what you mean," I whispered. Papa laughed again, a big booming laugh.

“I know your secret cara. The ghouls told me. One of my predecessors, Papa Nihil, told me if I were to ever come across your kind, I should try to win your allegiance. Your kind have interesting abilities, specifically the power of influence." Of course that’s what he’s after.

“I don’t do that," I said, looking down to avoid his gaze. Papa tsked.

“I think you will. The ghouls say you smell lonely. Where is your famiglia?” He asked. I shook my head. Lydia’s pained screams echoed in my ears, our last moment together wrenching my heart out of my chest decades later.

“We split because of artistic differences," I said softly. Dewdrop and his companions giggled behind me.

“Forcing people to allow you to exsanguinate them for sport is not ‘artistic differences,’” Dewdrop hissed. The other ghouls laughed. Papa shook his head, and raised a hand to silence them.

“Now now, Dewdrop. It is hard to control one’s basic nature. Sí, tesoro? Tell me, how long has it been since your last drink?” He looked at me with concern. I couldn’t meet his eyes. I knew what he saw. Weak, pathetic, useless… The words were like a disgusting mantra, swirling through my mind, angry and acidic.

“Weeks… It’s been weeks," I whispered. He tsked again. I heard the ghouls chatter amongst themselves. Their pity made me feel disgusting, like a child with sweaty, clammy hands, and odorous armpits.

“What if I told you I could offer you a job and a home? A home where you wouldn’t have to hide your nature. A home where you’d never go hungry again?” I looked up at him.

“What kind of job?” I asked. The ghouls laughed again. Papa shot them a glare.

“I would make use of your gifts occasionally. Nobody would get hurt. You would warm my bed whenever I asked. Maybe pick up a trade or two once back with the Clergy. And in turn, you would get protection, and all the blood you could ever need," he said. I finally mustered the courage to look him in the eyes. What do you have to lose? Besides, you’ve done infinitely worse things.

“You swear on your life, nobody will get hurt? Not a single person?” I asked. Papa nodded.

“I’ll do it. I’ll also require a salary as well," I said, extending my hand. Papa nodded, taking my hand in both of his.

“Anything you need, cara. But first, I think you need a drink. And then we will get the night I paid for," he said. He waved his hand towards the door, which the shorter female ghoul scurried to open. I noticed she sported a pocket chain with an air symbol.

“Bring in one of the more rosy siblings, Cumulus. I suspect our new friend will need the sustenance before we get too far into our plans for the night," Cumulus nodded, and shut the door behind her. Papa stood up, and began removing his suit jacket and gloves; rolling up his sleeves. I could see his blue veins pulsating, causing me to become aroused in a way I cannot quite explain. Involuntarily, my pussy throbbed, and my mouth watered.

“Now now, little one. Be patient. Your drink will be here soon enough. But for now, you will seal our little deal with a kiss, so to speak. On your knees," Papa ordered, gesturing to the floor. I slipped from the ottoman to the floor, crawling on all fours to him. His breath hitched as I slid my hands up his thighs. I didn’t break eye contact as I unbuckled his trousers, nor when I reached into his pants to pull out his sizeable cock.

The door opened, and I heard mumbles, as well as a struggle, and a thud. Of course, both my hands and mouth were preoccupied. I watched Papa intently as I sucked him off. His eyes were rolled back, his mouth slack, and his hands threaded into his hair, as he let out an ungodly moan. I kitten licked his frenulum, stroking his shaft, earning another moan. He bucked his hips into my throat. Sit still, I whispered in the back of my mind. Papa grabbed my hair, and pulled me off his cock.

“Never again, my little bat. Continue," he said, grabbing either side of my face as he began to fuck my throat rigourously. Someone behind me cleared their throat. I wasn’t able to look up, due to my current predicament.

“Can’t you see I’m busy, Cirrus? What is it?” Papa let out a grunt, as his cock twitched in my mouth. I began to fellate him with my hands, wrenching more breathy sighs and groans from him. Within seconds, his warm seed was flooding my throat. I heard Dewdrop cheer, and then a slap, which I assumed was a high five. Papa rolled his eyes and smiled, as I dabbed away the bit of cum that had spilled over my bottom lip.

“Just in time. I needed something to wash down all that salt," I stood, and walked over to the person Cumulus and Cirrus stood in front of. It looked like a plumper woman. She was wearing what looked like a nun’s habit, her red ringlets spilling out from under her wimple.

“All for you cara. Come find me when you have finished your meal," Papa walked out, which left me with the ghouls and my prey. Dewdrop, and the other male ghoul, who sported a water symbol, helped the little nun onto the couch.

“You’re going to let me fuck that tight ass later, right? Nearly busted watching you and Copia earlier," Dewdrop said to me, softly enough for just me to hear. I giggled and nodded, batting him away after he began nibbling on my neck. He patted my ass, and began to pull the wimple from the nun’s head.

“I’ve got this. Why don’t you and the rest of the ghouls get started? I’ll be done pretty quickly." Dewdrop nodded.

“C’mon, Rainy. Come play with my cock, while we watch Mary drink," The water ghoul nodded, grabbing Dewdrop’s hand. I turned my attention back to the nun. She began to stir. I pushed back her hair.

“This is going to hurt a little bit. But I will make this quick and painless. You deserve an easy death." The nun, barely awake, nodded, and turned her head. I cradled her head, and brought her throat to my mouth. With a final kiss to her soft, peachy flesh, I sank my teeth into her throat, not letting a single drop of her blood go to waste.

It felt like drinking water after being stuck in a desert for a week. Her blood was sweet, clean, and thick, and it quenched my thirst quickly. Her body began to go limp in my arms, and her skin turned cold. It’s still not enough. I had to force myself to stop. Never drink the last drop. It might just be the last thing you do, my old mentor’s voice reminded me. I let the little nun drop back to the couch, and turned to face the ghouls. Cirrus sat with Cumulus, each with a hand in the other’s pants. Rain was bobbing his head up and down slowly, as Dewdrop played with his hair. Dewdrop looked up at me.

“Hot," he said. Cirrus nodded, and refocused her attention on Cumulus. Rain moaned, causing Dewdrop to hiss. I looked at them all, lust clouding my gaze.

“Make room. It’s my turn," I said. Dewdrop pulled my mouth to his, not fazed one bit by the blood coating my lips. Cirrus began to explore the space between my thighs with her long, gorgeous fingers. Rain held my hair, kissing and nipping at my neck. A girl really could get used to this...

Hours later, after all of the ghouls had had their turn, even the two from the door, I was back in the dressing room. I opened the envelope the earth ghoul, Mountain, had handed me on the way out. My eyes grew like saucers as I counted the money inside. I had only expected eight grand; two hours, eight clients, multiplied by $500. But as I counted, I realized I had 15 grand in my hands. The door opened, breaking my wealth-induced trance. It was Papa.

“If you would really like the job, come to this address in two weeks. Bring only what you must. Put everything else in storage," he said, handing me a card. I was confused.

“Why two weeks?” I asked. Papa smiled.

“Because it’s polite, cara. Don’t forget your letter of resignation."

--------------------------------------------

This is the first thing I've wrote in years! I hope you all enjoy it! A special thanks to @gasolineghuleh for all of their help!

[cabensonsgirly]

👼Baby's Got Trouble. Don't Know How To Live. Don't Want To Die. (Cordelia Goode)👼

Cordelia Goode x fem!reader

👼Part 6 of SP getting reader pregnant👼

👼Slice 2👼

Co-authored with @billiedeannovak

Somewhat au but more so later xx

👼Wordcount: 3131👼

👼Posted on AO3: Read Here👼

👼Content: Fiona (I know a lot of y'all hate her so she's here for you to hate her more xx), slow-burn, angst, fluff, mentions of blood, mild violence, feelings👼

👼You closed your eyes, resting your hands flat against the cold wood of the door as you started your breathing exercises. Soon each breath came in and filled your lungs as if you were breathing for the first time ever, each one as refreshing as the last. When you opened your eyes and swore in shock upon seeing there was another blonde standing in front of you, looking at you as if you were some alien.👼

As you put what clothing you had in the set of drawers you realised you would need to go shopping very soon or else you’d end up wearing a towel while you waited for your items to wash and dry. You hoped that classes today finished quickly so that you could bus to the mall and spend what little money you had in savings on clothing. Shit. That’s another problem. You didn’t have a job anymore so should you need new shoes or personal items how are you going to be able to pay for them?

You swore loudly and hit the drawers in frustration, why couldn’t you just be normal? Outside you could hear the girls speaking, well- yelling: “Hey! That new girl seems to have anger issues! Cordelia are you sure she’s not gonna murder us or anything?” It feels as though the walls have ears, which wouldn’t be surprising seeing as the whole building felt like it was pulsing with energy. Maybe it was the sheer amount of witches converging in this one place or maybe it was the history of the building itself. A quick google search shows that this place was built in the late 1700s or something so, to put it mildly, it was really fucking old.

You take your phone off charge and slip it into your back pocket before leaving your room, closing the door behind you although you feel as though a shut door wont stop the others from snooping. The moment the door clicked shut behind you it was as if air was sucked from your lungs, each breath becoming harder no matter how deep a breath you took. You closed your eyes, resting your hands flat against the cold wood of the door as you started your breathing exercises. Soon each breath came in and filled your lungs as if you were breathing for the first time ever, each one as refreshing as the last. When you opened your eyes and swore in shock upon seeing there was another blonde standing in front of you, looking at you as if you were some alien.

“You’ve got a mouth on you. I like it. The rest of you?” She steps back, tilting her head to the side as she looks you up and down before shrugging “You’re alright looking. Could probably do with better clothes or none at all but hey, we all start somewhere, right?” You give her an incredulous look “thanks, I guess?” before moving past her and heading down the stairs, thanking the stars that Cordelia is at the bottom of them. “I saw you and Madison having a chat, hopefully she wasn’t too” she screws her face up a little and does a vague gesture with her hands “Madisony.”

You laugh lightly, a light blush settling on Cordelia’s cheeks as well. “She was- is, certainly something. Said that I would look better with nicer clothes on or none at all. Which I mean…” You bite your bottom lip slightly and give her a wink before laughing “God I’m sorry. That was- That was not appropriate.” Cordelia blinks a few times in shock, her cheeks taking on a darker colour and she looks down then back at you before turning away completely. “I- Well… Let’s- I’ll show you where we have breakfast.”

It didn’t take you long for you to get settled in at the academy, after the first week of trepidation and nerves had ran their course, you found yourself getting along well with most of the girls there; you and Cordelia had become closer too, surprising yourself with how quickly you had become close to her in six months. Madison still felt the need to get you out of your clothing because apparently nothing you wore looked good on you. You couldn’t care less about what she had to say, you were more concerned about what the hellhound had to say, Fiona. Don’t let her catch you saying that though or else you’d find yourself becoming well acquainted with the wall.

The woman fucking terrified you, and it wasn’t just because she was Supreme. She just gave off the distinct impression that she hated everyone, especially her daughter which pissed you off to no end. Here Cordelia was running the academy while her mother is off galivanting around the world, in fact, she’s still running it but according to Fiona she was a disgrace. Maybe you should introduce her to your own mother, they would get on like a house on fire, which is probably what the outcome would be.

Both women were alcoholics and smoked as though cigarettes would soon go out of fashion, both women also hated their daughters with a burning passion. You could understand your mother hating you, but you couldn’t understand why Fiona hated Cordelia; she was an amazing woman and mentor to you, she treated you like you were the most precious being she’s ever met and even when you slipped up, she was there to help you until you were successful.

In order to avoid running into the hellhound that had returned, you spent most, if not all, of your time outside under one of the trees reading through books and notes. The woman rarely went into the garden so you felt quite safe out here. It was peaceful, the wind danced through the leaves making them join in on the waltz, the sounds that the birds sung took you away from being in the city and into the wilderness, it amazed you how much life was on this property despite it being surrounded by so many other buildings, it should be suffocating but it isn’t.

You rest your head back against the tree, looking up through its branches and leaves to see speckles of blue from the sky poke through. “So this is where you run off to hide when the Supreme comes back to play… I don’t know what my daughter sees in you. All you do is sit around with your nose in those damned books or spend time in that greenhouse Cordelia insists on having. Are you even really a witch?”

Your head snapped down to see who was speaking, but you already had a clear idea of who it was. Your eyes landed on the older blonde, your cheeks taking on colour due to embarrassment. “I- I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t a witch, ma’am. Surely you’d know that being the Supreme and all.” She scoffed and narrowed her eyes at you, “And I thought you’d know a rhetorical question when it hits you in the face, but clearly you don’t. The only thing that could be more obvious is your silly little infatuation with Cordelia. I don’t know who is more idiotic between the two of you. You for liking my daughter, or my daughter for thinking you are capable of becoming a powerful witch.”

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes, knowing that if she caught you, you would end up rather worse for wear. You close your books then pick them up as you stand, “well, as always, ma’am, it hasn’t been a pleasure. I know for a fact that one day, Cordelia will be an incredibly powerful witch and you will regret all the times you have treated her like shit.” In a move that surprises not only yourself but the Supreme, you found yourself disappearing before reappearing in Cordelia’s office, startling her.

“How- How did I just? I was- your mom and in the garden and now- what?” You turned around, checking to see if you were actually in one piece and actually in Cordelia’s office before looking at her, confusion visible on your face. She pushes back from her desk before standing up and making her way over to you, her eyebrows furrowed in thought and her eyes twinkling with curiosity behind her glasses.

“Transmutation. The ability to move from one place to another instantaneously without occupying the space in between… You have to have where you want to be clear in mind but even then it can still end catastrophically.” Cordelia whispers as she walks around you slowly, examining to see whether or not you’re injured in anyway before returning to stand in front of you, a proud smile on her face. “It’s one of the skills a witch must master in order to become Supreme, but that is still quite some time away for you. Of all the places you could go to escape from being tormented by my mother… you chose here.”

You blush and look down, a shy smile on your face “Where else would I go?” You raise your gaze to meet hers, biting your bottom lip slightly when you notice her cheeks are now a lovely shade of pink. “Oh- Well- well there’s so many rooms here and- and you have your own and- and there’s just- there are so many places but- but you chose here and I just-“ You couldn’t stop yourself from giggling at how flustered Cordelia has become. “Delia,” you grin, shaking your head slightly “has anyone told you lately how cute you are when flustered?”

The blonde’s eyes widen and her cheeks take on an even darker colour, she pushes her glasses up her nose, taking her bottom lip between her teeth shyly. “No- No well- No because usually they just think I’m being annoying because I tend to ramble and then I get embarrassed and just trail off before I get told to shut up” she rushes out, her voice barely above a whisper. You move your hand and brush some of her hair behind her ear, your hand lingering on her cheek before you both spring away from each other when the door opens.

“Ah Cordelia, there you are. I was wondering where you were, your mother is in one of her moods again. Something about ‘that new witch’ and ‘she just vanished after running her mouth’, she is drinking herself into a stupor, you know how she gets.” You move out of the way so Myrtle can enter the room, your blush only darkening at her words.

“So, little witch, what did you do and say to get our Supreme in such a mood?” Your eyes dart between her and Cordelia, desperately hoping she would make you disappear but nothing happened, and you were too flustered to make yourself disappear. “I- I didn’t really- I didn’t do anything that- that would make any rational witch- er, sorry Delia you know what I mean though… would make anyone flip their lid. She- She was talking poorly about Delia and I couldn’t just let her continue because Delia is wonderful and beautiful and amazing and smart and” You go wide-eyed and look down “I- Sorry… I- Anyway” you clear your throat before looking back at Myrtle.

“So- So I said that Delia will become an extremely powerful witch one day and- and that she’d regret all the times she has treated Delia like shit. Then- Then apparently I transmuted into Delia’s office.” Myrtle raises an eyebrow, the corner of her lips tugging up in a faint smirk as she turns to look at Cordelia. “Seems like you have a witch in shining armour, Cordelia. One who is growing into her abilities more each time I see her; you’re an excellent mentor to her. Little witch, I think the girls were looking for you.”

You dip your head, a shy smile on your face before you take your leave, thanking both witches as you close the door behind you. Your hand lingered on the doorknob as you rest your forehead against the door, your eyes closing briefly. If you weren’t careful, you thought you’d end up back in the room again, you wouldn’t complain if that were the case but you were already borderline inappropriate with the headmistress so you took your leave, heading to where the girls slept knowing this is where they spend most of their time. Each step you took on the floor bounced off the walls, the sound echoing throughout the neoclassical interior.

Myrtle lets out a sigh, shaking her head as she sits down in front of Cordelia’s desk. She runs her hand over the surface before resting it on her lap on top of her other one, “What are you doing, Cordelia? What is going on between you two? Nobody, not even your mother, was capable of transmuting under such duress at that age, yet Yn did. She did, and she found herself in your office. So don’t lie to me, Cordelia.”

Cordelia runs her fingers through her head as she paces back and forth in front of Myrtle, stopping occasionally to rub her face with her hands before continuing, clearly bugged by something. “Nothing. Nothing is going on between us. It- It can’t happen. She’s my student. It wouldn’t be appropriate. Not even accounting for what the others would think and say about it. They’d say I’m playing favourites and- and that she’s only getting good grades because she’s sleeping with me. I can’t. It- It can’t happen.” She shakes her head and slumps into her seat, leaning against her desk where she rests her face in her hands, letting out a shaky breath. “It’s- It’s not a good idea, Myrtle.”

The red-haired witch makes an exasperated sound, looking at Cordelia with an expression she hadn’t seen since Myrtle had had enough of Fiona. “Don’t make the same mistakes as your mother, Cordelia. You are stopping yourself from being happy because you’re too afraid of what might happen.” She sits back in the seat, pointing a finger at the blonde “you are still scared about what your mother has to say about you.” Myrtle’s expression softens, her eyes no longer steely but now filled with nothing but sincerity for the woman that sat in front of her. “You can’t go through life like this. You need to find out what you want, and whether or not you are willing to do whatever it takes to get there.”

Meanwhile you were currently sitting in a small circle on the floor with Madison, Queenie, and Zoe. You had been roped into a game of Truth or Dare, which is a game you had managed to avoid for a vast majority of your life because you hated it. Why did you hate this game? Because it gave people the perfect opportunity to force information out of you, and into doing things you wouldn’t usually do. “Yn, truth of dare? No you can’t opt out, we’ve been over this already” you groan in annoyance, rolling your eyes before responding “truth.”

Madison claps her hands together and her eyes sparkle dangerously, a look you had desperately been trying to prevent from being directed towards you seeing as the last time she gave you that look you had found yourself pinned against your bedroom wall with her pressed up against you because you had said she wouldn’t win in a fight against you, yet she did and you ended up with very angry marks on your neck for the rest of the week. You breathed out a quiet “shit” which the other girls laughed and nodded in agreement with.

“Are you sleeping with Cordelia?” She quirked an eyebrow, a salacious smirk spreading across her face. In comparison, you blushed furiously, your eyes wide in shock and you didn’t come to until Zoe gave you a hard smack on your back, forcing you to cough out a breath before you started breathing normally again. “No! No. No I don’t- No! No. We’ve never- I haven’t- No.” You shake your head in disbelief “jesus Mad, where the fuck did that come from??”

All the girls had started laughing, Madison’s being the loudest of them all. “There is clearly something going on between you two, you both practically eye-fuck each whenever you’re in the same room. So, spill.”

You shoot her a glare, taking a few deep breathes to stop yourself from tossing her across the room like Fiona does. “There isn’t anything going on Madison, for fuck sake. Nothing can happen. Nothing will ever happen. She’s my teacher, our teacher. She’s the fucking headmistress of this place! And besides, you lot would say I’m only passing because I’m sleeping with her.” You sigh sadly and stand up before leaving “this is why no one likes you Madison.” The walk back to your room felt like it took forever, each step seeming to take you further away from your destination, the only thing running through your mind was how close you were to Cordelia yet somehow so far from her.

“Why do you look like how my daughter is after spending five minutes alone with me? What happened, did she break your poor little heart?” The woman laughs, the sound shooting through you as the waft of smoke from her cigarette hits you. “Although she is pathetic, she is also a Goode and she can do so much better than you.” You look at Fiona, a defeated expression on your face as you shrugged “Nothing has happened between us. Nothing will ever happen between us. So don’t worry your pretty little head about it. I’m not the one ruining the Goode name, you have that sorted out all on your own.”

You move past her and into your room, going to close the door but a shriek is torn from you as your flung against the wall, hitting it with a thud before landing unceremoniously on the floor. You scramble to sit up against the wall, eyes never leaving Fiona as she moves further into your room, her eyes wild. “You may be skilled with transmutation, and you may be my stupid daughter’s favourite, but I am still the fucking Supreme.”

You wipe your nose, cursing quietly when your hand comes away red; closing your eyes you took a deep breath, then when you opened them and exhaled the bleeding had stopped. “What- What do you want then, my Supreme?” You sneered at her despite feeling anything close to fighting. The older woman flicks her hair out of her face, tilting her chin up as she looks down at you “I want you to remember your fucking place. I don’t care how quickly you’re learning to master magic, you will never be at the same level as me.” She moves closer to you until she’s standing over you, her nose screwed up in disgust “you will never be anything more than a nobody that was picked up off the streets because her own family didn’t want her. You aren’t even wanted here.” Fiona gave you one more look over, shaking her head before she leaves, slamming the door behind her.

[freebooter4ever]

A fic inspired by @kanhatomame 's Lovely Drawing of Eugene dreaming about Snafu ^_^ Set in Mobile after the war, Eugene deals with pining and memories, and that wordless connection to another person that never really leaves you. (angst ish with happy ending)

__________

There are so many ghosts in Eugene's head it's quite crowded there. But the only one he clings to is Snafu's. Naturally, this also means it's the one that feels most nebulous and impossible to chase down. Sometimes, when Eugene sees other couples together, touching each other, looking at each other, the connections to his own vivid memories feel stronger.

But he and Snafu were never a couple, should never have been a couple. Their few kisses were stolen behind doors and in the shadows. They could never have danced hand in hand like the boys and girls are doing now at the OMM ball.

Eugene stares at the dancers, himself half hidden behind a potted plant. A silly form of camouflage, and one that wouldn't even work if someone looked his way. It certainly fails to hide him from his brother. He can see Edward eyeing him disapprovingly from across the room. Edward's arm is wrapped lovingly around his wife's waist. She leans into his shoulder slightly - Martha is small and petite and fits perfectly.

Eugene takes a deep breath and refocuses his eyes to the center of the dance floor. He slowly allows himself to relax, concentrating on one memory of a touch. Snafu was never one to lovingly cradle Eugene, but whenever they would sit down around camp - at the slop shoot, or the movies, or when naked on the beach after a swim - Snafu would sling his arm behind Gene's back and angle his whole body in Gene's direction. He kept it casual, usually joking and laughing as if using humor to distract the rest of the guys from this habit of his. Except there were always times when Snaf would make a particularly ridiculous wisecrack and Eugene would feel compelled to turn his neck to roll his eyes at Snafu, and the minute his eyes would meet Snafu's, the other guy's face would be glowing with joy. Joy reserved only for one person - Eugene.

There's a specific shine in Snafu's eyes that he saves solely for Gene. And those delicate bits of eye contact were more intimate than all the loving touches in the world. And often they preceded Snafu pulling Eugene into some dark hideaway, and pressing his full body up against Gene, still teasing him, tempting him with no kisses, no gentle lover's touch until Eugene finally got fed up and molded their mouths together.

Eugene will never forget the shape of Snafu's hands.

"Eugene? Baby brother?" Edward is snapping his fingers in front of Eugene's face.

Eugene blinks rapidly, comes back to himself, completely loses the relaxation in his body, and glares at Edward.

"Thought you were in a trance or something," Edward grins lopsided.

"I was thinking," Eugene sighs.

"No duh," Edward says, "You do too much of that, little brother."

"What else is there to do?" Eugene sighs continuously. He shouldn't have opened his mouth because the next thing he knows Edward tells him 'don't move' and disappears further into the house to find some poor victim to foist awkwardly on Gene.

It's been like this all evening. Eugene's talked to more girls in the past hour than he ever has in his life. All of them brought to him by Edward, eagerly introducing the girls to his younger, naive brother.

This latest one is named Victoria, and she's got long curly brown hair that looks soft to touch, and a porcelain face like a doll.

"She's very pretty," Eugene says truthfully when Edward corners him and demands to know what he thought after Victoria is called away by friends.

"Gene, I don't understand you," Edward shakes his head, "You're the son of the city's best doctor, you've got all your limbs intact, you're a war hero… why I'll bet you're the most eligible bachelor here. If you just learn to play it up a little bit…"

"I'm going outside to smoke," Eugene interrupts flatly, "Come get me when it's time to leave."

His voice brooks no argument, and he promptly ducks out of the house with only one direction in mind. He fills his pipe, lights it, and slowly lets the smoke start to relax him again. His lips suck on the wood between them, and the ghost of Snafu seeps in with the nicotine. The memory of the first time when Eugene sucked Snafu's finger clean (of mashed potatoes) - after Snafu tried (and failed) to start a food fight. It pairs well with the memory of sucking off other parts of Snafu too… certain parts he doesn't have a clear picture of in his mind. He sort of blurred the image as it happened, out of embarrassment or sheer awkwardness. If he ever got the chance to do it again, he'd memorize every square inch.

"Eugene, your brother asked me to come find you," his mother breaks his reverie, "Your father is having the car brought around."

Eugene nods, his shame from his thoughts bright red on his face, but luckily hidden in the dark. He follows his mother to the driveway and wordlessly climbs into the backseat. Martha and Edward are taking their own car. So Eugene has plenty of room to forego seatbelts and lie down across the back. His head is swimming a little bit, from that punch he kept drinking. He couldn't taste it, but he suspects it was spiked.

The car starts up, and starts rumbling, shaking his entire body. The seat is warm - the heat from the engine flows through the entire undercarriage. Eugene closes his eyes. He listens to the sound of the road under the wheels, a smooth wash like constantly crashing waves.

Waves lapping at the toes of his feet, and bathing half of Snafu's entire leg in water up to his knees. Snafu lying naked on his back in the sand, with Eugene straddled on top of him bouncing vigorously. All Eugene remembers is the intensity, the sounds, and the feeling. Half weird gritty discomfort, half absolute pleasure.

The car turns and rolls Eugene against the back of the car. He turns his face to the smooth leather, seeking that pressure of something - anything - against his skin.

Eugene recognizes when they reach their house's street because he can feel the jittering rumble as the car crosses the wooden bridge. The jitter shakes him to his bones, and he shivers although the night is hot and sticky. He closes his eyes and counts the streetlights behind his eyelids until they reach the driveway.

Had Eugene been paying attention at all, looking out the window of the car instead of losing himself to ghosts, he might have noticed the beat-up rusted brown truck parked just outside his family's gate at the end of Georgia House's long private drive. Though truthfully, even if Eugene had been looking he might not have seen it. The cloud cover darkens the sky until the only light source is the single lamp marking the start of the Sledge's driveway. And the truck is parked under a tree, throwing even more shadow over it. The only hint that someone is there is the soft glow of a cigarette luminating a haunted face and skinny legs dangling over the truck bed where he sits.

Snafu arrived in town hours ago - just in time to watch Eugene leave. He's been sitting on top his parked truck ever since. Judging from their fancy clothes, Snafu knew they'd likely return that night from an outing and sure enough. Here they are. He wedges the cigarette tighter in his mouth and jumps down from the truck bed.

Eugene's window is on the first floor, so it shouldn't be hard to reach except for the damn kudzu covering a mass of bushes and thorny plants underneath. Snafu suspects they might have been roses at one point. They're dead now. There's live ones elsewhere in the garden, but the ones under Eugene's window are long gone.

Fucking symbolic maybe.

Snafu shoves the window open unceremoniously and throws his leg in. He sits on the sil and stares down at Gene in the bed. Eugene didn't bother to change, he's still in that same expensive looking suit, his tie askew and his shoes kicked off with one sock missing. Snafu settles himself comfortably against the window frame, puffs on his cigarette, and watches Eugene sleep.

He doesn't get to watch for long - Eugene sleeps fitfully, just as Snafu remembers, and ends up kicking and thrashing in his bed. Snafu watches him with intense regret. When Eugene fell asleep peacefully on the train, for the first time since that initial week on Pavuvu, Snafu thought maybe civilization had kicked Eugene's nightmares. That maybe Eugene was gonna be able to go back to 'normal'. Clearly Snafu was wrong.

He waits a few more seconds, till Eugene's fit is at its peak, and whispers sharply, "Sledgehammer."

Gene sits bolt upright immediately and silently. He stares blankly for a split second, till his eyes snap to Snafu's. Then he stares silently at Snafu.

Snafu takes his half finished cigarette and grinds it into the wood of Eugene's window. It leaves a mark. Eugene watches this without expression.

"You're real," Eugene whispers.

Snafu shrugs.

"I mean you're not a dream… for once," Eugene says.

"You've been dreaming about me?" Snafu grins.

Eugene lunges forward, grabs Snafu's forearms and drags him onto the bed. Snafu falls awkwardly on top of Eugene, but it's easy to shift their positions and overpower Eugene to pin him to the bed. "I really hope those nightmares of yours wasn't you dreaming of me, cause if they were we might have to figure out a way to give you better ones."

"My dreams of you only come during the day," Eugene says, much more serious in tone than Snafu.

"Good ones?"

Eugene nods.

"It isn't enough… is it?" Snafu asks. He already knows the correct answer. That's why he's here.

In response Eugene pulls him down into a kiss.

[barricade-gal]

What it's Like to Drown (in you)

summary: Javier felt like he was drowning. After a particularly hard day, all he wants is to lose himself to you. But you can tell there's something wrong.

rating: E [angsty smut, a brief description of a panic attack, fingering, unprotected sex (don't do it kids), some good ol' hurt/comfort]

pairing: Javier Peña x Reader (no y/n)

word count: 5001

a/n: I wrote this forever ago, but I'm really proud of it and wanted to share. Also I just wanna give Javi a hug. He's been through enough.

read it on ao3

Javier felt like he was drowning. Like he was trapped at the bottom of a murky lake with just enough air in his lungs to make it feel like the pain would never end. How much more of this? How much more could he possibly take?

He’d been drinking. He was always drinking. Always smoking. Always leaning on his vices to curb the ever present ache that lingered in his mind. It wasn’t that Javier liked the cheap whiskey he always threw down his throat. It was just within reach. His one track mind tended to do that – scan for whatever was closest. Whatever he could touch, feel, consume.

Right now that was you.

He could hardly remember making his way home, let alone the phone call he’d made to tell you to let yourself into his apartment – that he’d be late getting there. It was a familiar practice for you, waiting for Javier. The man lived and breathed his work. You could hardly blame him for it. You'd seen what that son of a bitch Escobar could do. You wanted him to see justice just as much as Javier did. The thought of seeing his reign of torment end was sometimes the only thing that helped you get through the day.

Sometimes Javier wondered what sort of magnetism drew him to you. Because as he ripped through the door, limbs and head heavy from the liquor he'd been drinking, he swore he could feel a physical force pulling him to you. Today was hard. Every day was hard, but today especially had worn down Javier's nerves to the bone, prompting him to seek solace in you.

You had dozed on the couch while waiting for him, already having a long day at the clinic with Connie. So it was a surprise to say the least when Javier woke you with a firm kiss, pulling you to him by the back of your neck. You woke with a start, but came to your senses quickly as you started to kiss him back. His lips were bruising, though. When you reached for him, his shoulders were tight and drawn together. Something was not right.

You force yourself away from him. "Javi…" He ignores you, finding your lips once more. His kisses were always intoxicating, all consuming. It was hard to push him away. "Javi, what's wrong?"

Even if he wanted to answer that question, he wouldn’t know how to. He didn’t have the vocabulary to put it into words. So instead he tucked his head into your neck and kissed you there how he knew you liked, finding your lifeline and marking it harshly. It makes you gasp. He can feel how your chest fills with air, feel how it moves in your throat. He presses his eyes closed tight, taking in everything you had to give him. You’re so alive under his touch. It was just what he needed – to be reminded he could do something good. To know you could lose yourself to him as much as he needed to lose himself in you.

You’re worried, you remember, even as his knee parts your legs and bears into you. You manage a breathy, “Javier, stop.”

He does immediately, pulling back to see your face. His pupils are blown wide as he looks down at you. His big, sad, brown eyes that held so many mysteries that you hadn’t even begun to unpack. You grab hold of his shirt, pushing him to sit on the couch beside you before rolling on top of him to straddle his lap. “Jav, what’s wrong?”

Your words are soft, gentle, and should put him at ease. But they don’t. Javier feels his gut wrench as he’s looking up at you. His hands fall to your hips, one trailing up your spine as if you’re the one who’s needing comfort. He’s having trouble meeting your eyes. “It’s nothing, baby. I’m just happy to see you.”

You’re biting at the inside of your cheek. Javier could lie all he wanted, but he was easier to see through than he realized, always wearing his emotions right on his sleeve. You run your fingers through his hair with both of your hands, soothing but forceful enough to make him look at you again. “I missed you too, mi amor. But you know that’s not what I meant.”

The muscle in his jaw ticked, so rigid and wired that he felt his molars click together. “It’s nothing. I just need you, cariño.”

He leaned his head into your neck, mouthing at whatever skin he had at his disposal, claiming the bit of your collarbone that was revealed when he tugged your shirt out of the way. Your hands are at the back of his neck. It’s lovely. It always was with him. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. “Need me so much that you jump me while I’m asleep?”

He was so close. So close to forgetting. If only you would just let him. He pressed his forehead against your chest and sighed. It was clear you didn’t want to let this go. “Please… I can’t – Just let me…”

You shook your head, sitting back on his thighs so you could look at him straight. “Talk to me…”

He didn’t like the anger that was starting to grow in his chest. The frustration. He quickly shoved it down. He wasn’t angry at you. Or maybe he was. He didn’t know, didn’t have the words to understand why that ball of emotions kept clogging up throat. “I can’t…”

“Do you trust me?”

He sighed. That wasn’t it. But he also didn’t know what it was. “Of course I do.”

“Then talk to me, Javi. Tell me what happened. You’re not like yourself tonight.”

He could feel your thumbs working into his hairline, desperately trying to pull this out of him while remaining gentle with your touches. It hurt to see him hurting. And you silently wished he would let you in.

“You don’t know –” You don’t know what I’ve seen. The kind of man that I am. You don’t know how hard it is to keep going sometimes. You don’t know…

“My love, what don’t I know?”

He didn’t respond. The breaking point came when he rolled his eyes. “Please drop it.”

When his hands reached for you again, you leaned away from his touch, your brows drawing together at him. “Jav, you can’t just fuck away your feelings. It doesn’t work like that.”

He’s so tired. “It’s worked for me so far.”

That made you stand. Immediately the rift between you was tangible as he became unable to touch you – like you had ripped an anchor away. He could feel himself drifting. “You mean like with all the other girls you’ve used for a quick fuck when you’ve had a bad day?”

“You know that’s not what I –”

“I thought we’d come to an understanding that I’m not like those girls.”

“You’re not. Please just st–”

“We’re partners. When I need you, you listen. When you need me, I listen. I’m there. We don’t act like children and pretend like everything’s okay when it’s clearly not.”

“Don’t patronize me. I told you I’m fine and that I didn’t need to talk about it.”

You sighed, watching him get up from the couch and walk to the counter where a bottle of whiskey sat half empty before he poured himself a glass. To his back, you spoke, “And I know you better than that. I’m not going to ignore when something’s wrong. And I’m certainly not going to let you use me if you won’t talk to me.”

His grip against the counter turned his knuckled white, talking passively over his shoulder. “I’m not… I don’t want to use you.”

He never would. Not if you didn’t want it. But in a way… he had to admit that his subconscious mind saw you the same way he saw his whiskey that burned down his throat and the cigarettes that clouded his lungs. Something that took the edge off. He always felt better after being with you. Always. You had a way of making him feel safe like nothing else. He had just wanted to come home to you, to be inside you, to forget that anything in this fucked up world existed except for you.

“You have to acknowledge that that’s what you’re doing.” He tossed back his glass at hearing your words. His head was already cloudy from his earlier drinks, but the liquor seemed to make the weight in his chest less… much. He wanted to numb it. “Listen to me. I love letting you take me there, but at a certain point you can’t ignore what’s going on in your head. And it’s not the same when you’re not all there.”

Fuck… He wondered how long you felt this way. How many times he’d turned harsh when he had fucked you. When he wanted to curse the world for being the way it was and instead drown himself in every last drop of warmth you had to give him. “I’m sorry,” he breathed, feeling worse than before.

Cautiously, you approached him, one hand settling between his taut shoulders and the other on his arm. “Just talk to me. Please…”

Why couldn’t he? What possibly could make him so afraid to speak to you? He wanted to. You. You were everything to him. Why couldn’t he just… talk to you? “I can’t…”

His body turned cold when he felt your hands retreat. You bit down on your lip hard, trying to keep the tears you felt prickling at bay. “Okay,” you said, barely a whisper. “Fine.”

The sound of your footsteps retreating felt so loud in his ears, ringing from the silence. He shut his eyes tight, letting his head hang down when he heard a door slamming closed in the hall. He nodded to himself, as if affirming that he deserved that. Moments later, the sound of running water told him you were taking a shower. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding before shooting back the rest of the whiskey in his glass.

It tasted awful. And not just because of how cheap it was. Usually any liquor would go down smoothly. He’d been drinking like a pro for years. But he felt on fire. Every inch of his throat burned. He could feel it in his nostrils when he tried to breathe. He couldn’t breathe.

The glass is slammed down to the counter as he tries to run away from the feeling. Javier runs his hands through his hair, tries unbuttoning the top button of his shirt, tries palming at his chest. He couldn’t breathe.

One more fuck up, Peña. One more thing you’ve ruined. One more thing this goddamn war has made you lose. Shit, the things he’s seen… It wasn’t even just what had happened today. Children dying in front of his eyes. Cold, dead bodies piled up in the streets. It was everything. All of it. It weighed on him more than he liked to admit.

All he had wanted was you. And now you were well and pissed at him for not doing something so fucking simple that he wanted to scream. He grabs a pillow off of the couch and tosses it across the room.

“Fuck,” he curses to the empty space. “Fuck…” Breathe, Peña. Just fucking breathe. He couldn’t lose you. Not you. Not after everything you had been through together. Not after fighting so hard to have what he has with you. Something real. Something he felt could be permanent.

Breathe.

Shit.

He was so fucking drawn to you that he didn’t even notice he was at the bathroom door until he was already turning the handle. You tended to turn the shower to a scalding temperature when you were stressed. He knew that about you. So it was no surprise when he was met with the thick steam in the air, the small mirror above the sink already fogged up and hiding his face from him. Not like he wanted any fucking self reflection at that moment.

He called your name. You didn’t answer. You didn’t tell him to leave either like he expected. This was selfish of him. You were trying to get away. To have some space from whatever was warring inside Javier’s brain. And here he was invading that space again.

But just like he didn’t think he’d ever be able to quit drinking or smoking, he couldn’t quite quit with you. He started to strip, depositing his clothes near the pile of your own that lay on the floor. He knew you could hear him. You could hear the rustling of his clothes and the way he idled in front of the shower curtain, anxious to part it. You weren’t stopping him. So he stepped in behind you.

Your face was turned to the showerhead, water falling steadily on your chest. He cautiously pressed himself into your back, wrapping his arms around your waist, and sinking his head into the base of your spine. Breathe…

The moment he felt you grasp at his forearm, returning his embrace just in the slightest, he was gone. You felt his chest start to shake. God, he was trembling. You turned yourself in his arms, looking up at the man you loved who had tears shining in his eyes.

“Oh Javi…” you whispered softly, holding his head in your hands.

He crumbled into you, desperate to hide his face. His head rested on your shoulder, small sobs escaping him. You wrapped your arms tight around him, pulling him into you as you let him cry. You’d never seen him cry – didn’t think you’d ever see him cry. He wore his heart on his sleeve, but this was not an emotion that he ever dared to show. You weren’t sure what it was, if it was sadness or vulnerability or exhaustion… You had a feeling he didn’t know either. It was unexplored territory that he was letting you venture alongside him.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you,” you promised, carding your fingers through his dampening hair. He held you tighter.

Javier could only hold you until he wasn’t crying anymore. Until he could breathe again. You were drawing soothing lines up and down his spine with your nails, just hard enough to keep him grounded. How did you always know him? How did you know what he needed? It always astounded him. You astounded him.

He never wanted to let you go. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

“It’s alright.” You pressed a kiss into his temple. You realized then that it wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell you about what was going on with him. He simply didn’t know how to. It made you sad, honestly. “What do you need?”

He didn’t know how to fix this – the gaping hole he felt inside himself, the thing eating away at all of his waking moments. There was only one thing he knew. “You… Just you.”

You nodded into the side of his head, nudging him with your nose until he lifted his neck enough for your lips to find his. You kissed him softly, tenderly. You wanted to show him how deeply you cared for him, how you wished to take his pain away. But Javier kissed you back in a way that felt like he was gasping for you. His hands grasped at your waist like he was afraid that you would drift away should he let go.

You allowed him to part your lips with his tongue, to let him taste you. You could taste the salt on his mouth from his tears before the water from the shower washed them away. His hands never strayed from your waist, though he kept his grip tight. You knew he was trying not to touch you, that he was afraid of taking advantage of you now that you had voiced such concerns.

But this was the way Javier Peña spoke. Was it the best way or the right way? Certainly not. But you could let him feel through you. You could provide him a safe place to come home to. You wanted to be that for him. So you grasped at his hand, gliding it up your wet torso until his palm met your breast.

He pulled away from your lips to look at you, to make sure he could have you. "Baby…"

"It's okay," you whispered, holding onto his face. "I want you to."

The way he nodded like he was still guilty for wanting this, for wanting you, made you pull him back to your lips yourself. You sighed, mostly in relief, when you felt him squeeze at your breast, teasing your nipple between his fingers. His mouth lowers, trailing kisses on your wet skin until he finds the other side of your chest to give attention there too. Javier's hands are practiced with you. Truly, the language he knew best, though having two spoken ones already, was you. He knew all the places he needed to touch, where to spend his time, how to draw those tantalizing sounds out of you.

It made a fire light in his gut when he slid his hand between your legs. Every inch of him was responsive to you, his hardening cock pressing into your belly. When he sunk two of his fingers into your heat, you gasped and gripped at his shoulders. He kept his eyes locked on your face as your head fell back in pleasure, his fingers curling into you just right. He was so focused on you that he nearly doesn't notice your hand moving down his chest until it's wrapped around his length. A hot groan leaves his throat as he presses you back against the wall of the shower. Briefly, he presses his forehead to the cool tiles beside your head to curb the heat rolling off of him from within as well as the steaming water hitting his back.

The both of you worked each other with your hands, your palm dragging on his cock while his fingers worked in and out of you. He cradled your chin in his free hand, tilting it up so that he could see your neck stretch before he went to kiss you there. “You are so beautiful,” he marveled.

It was like his words reminded you that you could speak. “I need you inside me. Please, Javi.”

He shushes you, such a turn from how you comforted him minutes before. “Cum on my hand first, baby. Let me take care of you.”

“I should,” You cut yourself off with a moan as his thumb starts to circle at your clit, your walls clenching around his two thick fingers as your orgasm was rapidly approaching. Finally you get it out, panting in his ear as you rut your hips to meet his hand, “I should be the one taking care of you.”

His nose brushes your cheek as he shakes his head. “You are. You’re perfect just like this.”

Javier isn’t expecting it when your grip tightens on his cock when his fingers send you over the edge. He’s moaning with you, staring down as you fall apart beneath his touch. As you come down, your hand leaves him in favor of grasping at his shoulders to keep yourself upright.

“Always so pretty when you cum, cariño.” He hooks his arms on your thighs, picking you up so that your legs wrapped around him. When he pressed you up into the wall of the shower again, his hips were aligned just right with yours so that you could feel him prodding against your entrance. In one careful thrust, he spears you into the wall, driving himself deep inside you. Your arms fall around his neck, fingers making grooves in his wet hair as he filled you so completely and perfectly. Nothing else mattered when you were like this. Everything was made of him, even you, giving everything you had to him.

As he buried himself in you again and again, Javier felt more whole. Just that realization, though, kept the burning thought alive in the back of his mind that this was only proving your point. That he needed to fuck his feelings away. And he knew, he knew, that you were right. That this couldn’t be the only way he dealt with the ever present ache that persisted in his chest no matter what he did. But being inside you, feeling you, making you moan and whimper and whine – selfishly Javier couldn’t find a good reason to do anything differently than this.

He was not a man of words. He was much better in action. How could he even form the words to describe how helpless he felt? How could he explain the war in his mind that tried to draw lines in the sand? To decide what was good and what was evil. How could he tell you that some days he just wanted to leave it all behind and run away with you? To take you away from all of this. You deserved better. Most days he could thoroughly convince himself that you deserved better than him.

Guilty as he feels, he can’t help but bask in the pleasure you’re giving him. “Fuck, you’re so good for me. Feels so good, baby,” he pants as he keeps an eager pace with his hips. “Too good. Too good for me.”

You want to say he’s wrong. But the words are overpowered in your chest by the other ungodly noises he’s pulling from you. You settle instead for running your fingers over his cheek, trying to be tender, trying to be kind. Your lips litter his face with kisses when your head isn’t thrown back in ecstasy. He’s hitting something absolutely blinding inside of you that makes you lose yourself.

“Javi,” you whine, trying to warn him that you were right on the precipice again. He kisses your plea from your lips, hoisting you up again to free one of his hands to find your clit. It’s just what you need, legs trembling around him as you cry out and reach your peak yet again.

The feeling of your walls fluttering around him is enough to make him follow right after, spilling as deeply inside you as he could manage. Your name falls from his lips like a prayer as he finishes his shallow thrusts into you, his spend coming out of you with every movement and getting washed away by the running water. He’s breathing heavily in your ear, his breath relatively cool in comparison to your feverish skin. Then he gently lowers you back onto your shaking legs. Immediately, he’s wrapping himself up in you, arms tugging at your waist as he molds his mouth to yours again.

After your lips part, you’re laying your head on his chest, arms circling his neck. Javier kisses the top of your head before resting his chin there. You stay like that for a while, his hands running up and down your spine while every now and then you kiss his chest. He only leans away from you to grab the washcloth you’d brought with you into the shower to wipe between your legs. You let out a small noise, a little oversensitive after everything.

Silently you help each other actually get clean in the shower before he’s wrapping you both up in towels and taking you to bed. The haze he felt from the alcohol was long gone at this point, only a dull throbbing at his temples to remind him of it. He’s helped you get into some underwear and a nightshirt, putting on a pair of boxers himself, before he’s crawling under the covers with you.

It’s a little unsettling to you that neither of you have spoken. And as he lays his head on your chest, you wonder if he plans to speak anything at all. You card your fingers through his wet hair, always finding it nice how it curled at the ends when it was wet like this. Would his hair curl more if it was longer? You pocketed the idea to propose to him at a later time, struggling to find the words you wanted to say. It went against your nature to leave things like this with him, as much as it was tempting to let him get away with acting in a way that concerned you this much.

“I’m worried about you.” You say it as gently as you can manage, your hands not pausing at all in his hair.

He had sensed this coming. You were easier to read than you thought with the way you’d been biting at the inside of your cheek and how concerned you had looked as he slipped that shirt over your head before. Still, his body recoiled from the words, his cheek pressed onto the place on your chest that bore your skin, the top few buttons of the silky thing undone. Instead of responding, he reaches his hand out for your free one, lacing your fingers together and bringing your fingertips to his lips.

He felt your sigh, rising and falling in your chest, more than he heard it. “I want to help you, but I can’t if you don’t talk to me.” He opened his mouth to try to protest, but you knew exactly what he was going to say so you stopped him in his tracks with a squeeze into his palm. “You don’t have to have all of the words. You don’t even have to try to make sense… But you can’t keep it all inside you like this. It’s eating away at you.”

Something in that struck a chord. He thought of the Javier Peña that had come here to Colombia, years ago now, to try to do some good. It was a far cry from the man who was lying broken on your chest. He wondered how much of that confident man remained in him, and what had been eaten away by the cruel reality of this life.

“Cariño, I want to,” he began, not anticipating the struggle he’d have at keeping his voice steady. “It’s just that none of it makes any damn sense.”

He felt your chin nod against the top of his head. “We can try to make sense of it. Together.”

His fingers started to fidget with your own, feeling the uneasiness bubbling up again in his lungs from before. “That’s the thing… there’s no making sense of it. It’s all so fucked up. All of it. I’m fucked up. You don’t deserve to take on these burdens. I won’t do that to you.”

After a beat of silence, your hand drifts from his hair to the back of his neck, massaging into the tight muscle there. “Look at me.” Javier obeys, propping himself up so that he could see your face. In your eyes held a certainty that he didn’t think he would ever be able to have again. Just your gaze rooted him in place. “And you don’t deserve to take on those burdens alone. I’m here for you, no matter how fucked up things get. No matter how helpless you feel. I’m here. And that’s never going to change.”

As Javier nodded his head, desperately wanting to believe you. He felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes again. He swallowed them down, closing his eyes to compose himself and let your words sink underneath his skin. The overwhelming feeling doesn’t go away. He’s still at the bottom of that lake, his lungs on fire, but as he leans his head against yours it feels as if he’s reaching for your hand to pull him from the depths. “I love you so damn much.”

It’s the first time he’s said all of those three words together, although you’d known for quite a while that it was true. You take his face in your hand, feeling him lean into the touch, his eyes still closed. “I love you, too.”

It’s a rush to hear it, and it’s probably the lightest he’s felt in weeks when he presses his lips against yours again. It’s not an urgent kiss. He knows he has all the time in the world to spend with you. Nothing was fixed. All of the broken pieces inside of him still felt broken. He still didn’t know how he would be able to face the next day and the next one after that with all of the horrors it would bring.

But he had you. And that was as scary as it was reassuring– to feel so strongly about someone, to know that they would be there to see the worst of you at times. But you kissed him so softly. And you let him have you when he needed to just feel you, to remind himself that you were there. You could be fighting one moment and the next be sharing a moment like this, kissing in the dark. He was grateful for you. He didn’t know anyone who had wanted to stay through the ups and downs, through the coldness he put off when he didn’t want to talk, through the stubbornness that he seemed to be made up of.

“So much…” you promised in a whisper, like you knew he was already trying to doubt you. He kissed down your neck, desire curling in his gut once again as you sighed. His hands started to roam across you, venturing lower and lower until they found their home right at your core, showing you how grateful he was with the language he spoke best.

“You’re the only thing that makes sense. Just you.”

Javier felt like he was drowning. But it felt nicer to drown in you.

[deberiaestarescribiendo]

Saint Jude's Miracle: A Javier Peña x OFC (Isa) FanFic

Summary: After leaving Colombia and the DEA for good, Javier Peña lives a completely different life that he never expected: He's married to Isa, has a beautiful little girl, Elvira, and the perfect suburban house with a mortgage he will be paying for the rest of his life. But when he discovers a shady company acting as a front for the Mexican cartels he has to team up with his old colleagues and relive the old Javi he thought died when he gave up the gun and the badge. How will he protect his family from the violence and the horrors he thought forgotten? And how can he avoid falling again into the old habits?

A/N: Hi! This is my first ever ever Fanfic! That’s how crazy Javi Peña got me. I love his character so much and, though I really love his arc on the show, I couldn’t stop thinking about what happens after, so this is my take. This is no beta’d so it comes from my Spanish speaking brain directly to you, I’ve revised BUT surely there are mistakes, sorry!

Warnings: Domestic Javi (yep that’s a warning), smoking, mentions of anxiety, mention of violence (later chapters, I think this one hasn’t), swearing, very light smut (a bit of masturbation, kisses and all the nice stuff). Cursive for internal thoughts. Let me know if I’ve forgotten anything, thanks!

Word count: 1,5k

El conticinio

Spanish. noun: Hour in the night where everything is in silence.

He stops the car at the side of the road. The neighborhood is calm, almost dead silent at midnight. It’s a small moment of peace, interrupted only by the annoying buzz stuck inside his brain. Javier puts his face on the steering wheel, focusing only on his breathing, 4 seconds each time.

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale

Exhale

Sometimes he wishes it could always be midnight, when he’s able to stop thinking, when nobody knows him or expects something from him. Just be able to breath and leave his head empty. Finally, he stands up ready to face reality again and grabs his jacket from the copilot seat, and gets out of the car. He takes a deep breath inhaling the scent of the recently cut grass and the neighbor’s pool’s chlorine. He guesses that this counts as “breathing fresh air” as the doctor suggested in order to de-stress, but, God, Javi does want the toxic air of a cigarette inside his chest.

He had stolen an almost empty packet of Marlboros from one of the jerks at the office. Fuck him and fuck my lungs he thinks while lighting one. He gives it a long drag, the nicotine kicking fast and he sighs when the smoke gets out of him, he can even picture part of the shit that pollutes him exiting his body. It’s like an exorcism; one that he would have to do many times a day if he really wants to expel all his demons, and one that would eventually kill him.

He finishes smoking in silence in front of the house. His home is a two-story, white painted house that he will be paying for more years than he expects to live.

Savoring the last puff he throws it on the pavement and steps on it before heading inside. He tries not to make any sound when he enters his home. Leaving the jacket and the shoes in the kitchen, he sees the rest of lasagna waiting for him on the table carefully covered with cling-film. Surely Isa thought he was coming earlier and that he would be hungry, suddenly he feels a little bit guilty. He had forgotten to call her and warn her.

Carefully he climbs the stairs trying not to step on any toy. Elvi is a good kid, but she can create a mess in an instant and leave the house as if a tornado had come in. To the right, the pinkish light shines of stars and moons all over Elvira's room. She hugs her unicorn plush and sleeps with her lips parted, peacefully. Javi gets in the room and kisses his daughter softly on her crown and runs his fingers through her dark and soft hair. She smells of Johnson&Johnson shampoo and that sweet particular scent that is only hers and that reminds him of when she was just a baby.

Inhale

Exhale

Fuck I missed her. He should be arriving earlier so he can see her awake and hug her tight and listen to whatever she did during the day. He certainly enjoys watching those big brown eyes shine bright when he comes through the door. A warm feeling he thought he would never feel or certainly that he doesn’t deserve to have. But here they are; a suburban family. Who would have thought?

He approaches the master room up front less enthusiastically. He doesn’t want to wake his wife up. Elvira is aware of his absence but she is content with whatever attention her dad gives her, and for now, Javier is the greatest father in the world. Winning the title for “greatest husband” is a tougher task.

The small light on her nightstand illuminates Isabel asleep tugged under the covers like a small ball, with her knees close to her chest. She breathes slowly, her long black hair over the pillows, he is tempted to kiss her head as he did with his child but the docile and sweet image of his wife sleeping is a completely different version of her being awake. He just turns off the lamp and proceeds to undress in complete silence. The bed creaks under his weight and she moves a little but continues to sleep soundly when Javi gets under the covers. His back hurts when the tightness in his muscles begins to soften over the mattress.

"You're late" Isa says her voice muffled by the pillows.

"Shh, I'm home, good night" Javi whispers to calm her.

With her eyes still closed she turns sluggishly towards him and passes her left arm over his chest resting her head on his shoulder.

"Where were you?"

"I had to stay for an op"

He pats her hair and adjusts himself to find a comfortable position, his lower back killing him with every movement.

"An op?" She opens her eyes abruptly. Shit. He could have said any other thing; he could’ve lied as it’s begging to be the routine.

"Just to counsel" he closes his eyes to make her understand that the conversation is over.

"To counsel you had to stay until late at night?" She is raising her head now, eyes fixed on him squinting.

"Well, raids are usually at the most inconvenient time, you know" Bad time to play smartass, Peña he thinks

"Javi..." The room is dark but he can sense her honey eyes turn greenish, it happens every time she gets mad.

"I swear"

She rubs his belly softly and lays her head again on his chest with a grunt. For a moment he thinks she has decided to leave it there, but she brushes her nose and lips over his neck, smelling him.

"You have smoked" he tries to ignore her by faking being asleep, but she taps him on his right shoulder.

"Javier"

"They were smoking in the car"

"What?" She sits on the bed, arms crossed over her chest

"Elvira's sleeping, don't shout" he hushes her knowing damn well it’s going to get her even madder.

"That's two lies you've told me in less than 2 minutes, Javier"

"I'm not lying" he arises a little with a grunt. Here we go again, shit

"You told me that: one" she raises one finger "you were going to counsel the police from time to time. And now you tell me you were on a raid? And second" she raises another finger "you think that I'm an idiot that I don't know that you've smoked?" Isa turns to face him, she frowns and Javier can feel her feet tapping nervously under the sheets.

When he doesn’t answer right away she adds "you know what the doctor said"

"I know"

"Then?"

Javier knows better as to answer that with any kind of excuse. He knows also why she gets that angry at him; she cares, deeply. She loves you, idiot, don’t know why or how it happened, but she does, he thinks

He approaches her stroking her arms, and resting his head on the space between her collar bone and her neck. She is stiff and doesn’t react to his touch. Her face contorted with her gaze avoiding him.

"I'm sorry" he kissed her earlobe. “Really sorry” he repeats, with every apology he plants a kiss on her frown, her cheeks, her nose and her lips.

"So very sorry" he brushes softly his lips over hers but she closes hers tightly.

Sighing, Javier hugs her from the side and draws circles with his fingers over her cleavage and then trails downwards over her sternum to finally place his hand on her stomach. “I should have told you. I apologize, Isa” He begins to rub his palm over her hips bones and the hem of her silk nightgown comes higher and higher revealing her underwear.

"You have some nerve" Isabel blurts out, but Javi can feel her heart already beating faster.

"Let me make up for it" Javier strokes the lace elastic band of her panties with his index finger. His brown dark eyes look at her expecting her refusal, but she bites her lower lip and moves her hips against him impatiently. Her husband rushes to kiss her and this time she parts her lips welcoming him with eager moans.

"I’m still mad" she moans

One of Javi’s hands softly brushes her core over the fabric feeling her heat and arousal.

"I think you've missed me" he grins on her ear.

Isabel rolls her eyes at his proud expression and shuts him up crushing her lips onto his, savoring him with her tongue.

Javier increases his touch slipping her panties to the side. But suddenly, Isa takes control and straddles him; her eager kisses cover their moans while she lowers her hands towards his briefs.

"Don't ever lie to me again"

"Yes, ma'am"

[gillytweed]

Murder and Smoothies

Summary: Gods, she was so stupid. So very, very stupid. Gideon was going to laugh at her so much when she got out of this… if she got out of this.

“Taken down by a fucking smoothie, amazing,” She’d say as she dragged Harrow back to their apartment, the vampire slung over her shoulder like a sack of soft wet potatoes. It would probably look a lot like what was happening currently.

Or, Vampire Harrow gets kidnapped by a Hunter and our favourite werewolf Gideon needs to come and save her ass. 

Gods, she was so stupid. So very, very stupid. Gideon was going to laugh at her so much when she got out of this… if she got out of this.

“Taken down by a fucking smoothie, amazing,” She’d say as she dragged Harrow back to their apartment, the vampire slung over her shoulder like a sack of soft wet potatoes. It would probably look a lot like what was happening currently.

She let out a soft grunt as the Hunter readjusted her on his shoulder, the joint between the scapula and humerus digging uncomfortably into her stomach.

In her defense, the Allium's scent and flavour had been well hidden among the blend of fruit, and had probably been distilled into a concentrated oil to have such a strong effect. Plus, the Hunter had been working at the smoothie stand for weeks. She’d just assumed he was some old man working a late shift, as he’d given her a smoothie almost every night for the last month.

On the other hand, she should have never become what could be called a regular in the first place.

“Almost home, girlie,” The Hunter said cheerfully, patting her leg like he was a grandfather carrying a sleeping grandchild home. If she could move, she would have tried to rip out his spine and beat him with it.

The area remained deserted as the Hunter took a winding path through back alleys and side streets, having long since planned his route. From what little she could see with her face smushed up against his back, it looked like they were headed towards the docks. How typical, stolen away to some warehouse to be tortured.

Against her assumptions, they turn off just as they’re about to head into the industrial area, instead going in the back door of some apartment complex and up several flights of stairs. Still, no one is around to watch as an old man carries what looks like an unconscious teenage girl into his apartment.

The apartment is sparse, clearly a temporary place to stay as the furniture consists of plastic lawn chairs and table, and a rolled up futon. There’s a few odd pieces of equipment laying around, but really the only sturdy piece of furniture is a metal chair set atop several large sheets of plastic, which the Hunter deposits her into.

He hums a little tune as he adjusts her limp limbs, pulling her arms up to rest on the uncomfortable chair arms, and strapping them down with thick leather bindings. He does the same to her legs, pulling them up next to the chair legs and firmly securing them. Clearly, this Hunter knew what he was doing.

Once she was bound to his satisfaction, he grabbed one of the plastic lawn chairs, set it in front of her and sat down. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees like he was about to have a nice chat with an old friend.

“Now, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way,” He starts, voice still as disgustingly pleasant as before. “I want you to call your Coven.”

Ah, while he’d done his research on her movement patterns, clearly he hadn’t tracked her all the way back to their apartment. If he had, he would know she didn’t have a coven, or at least not a typical one.

“Fuck you,” She breathed out the words. Her face was still a bit numb, but the Allium was beginning to wear off just enough to curse at the man.

“Now that isn’t very nice.” He says, smiling like a toddler had unknowingly said something rude. “I’m giving you the chance to avoid a lot of pain, you see.”

He leans back and pulls out something from inside his jacket. She half expected him to pull out a cigarette or cigar to keep in line with the whole ‘kindly grandpa’ schtick, but instead he holds up a pen light and flicks it on. Instantly she knows what it is.

What muscles she has control over start to shake as the small beam of artificial sunlight comes closer. While the artificial light won’t kill her outright, it will certainly hurt like a bitch.

The Hunter continues to hum as he flicks the light around the room, pointing it close to Harrow then pulling it away to loop back around again, teasing her. Eventually, he stops, the beam hovering near her hand.

“Last chance, call your Coven.” She just hisses at him, lips pulling back to reveal needle like fangs. He simply shrugs and moves the light over her fingers.

YUP, that definitely hurt like a bitch. Her hiss turns into one of pain, the noise stuttering as the skin on her knuckles darkens and smokes, flaking away to reveal ligaments and cartilage that also begin to darken. The smell is horrible, like burning meat. At full strength, the light probably would have barely affected her, but with the Allium and having waited to feed for several weeks, she was far from her strongest.

When her fingers are almost nothing more than bone, he stops. She’s breathing hard, despite not technically needing to breathe, but some instincts are hard to forget.

“Hmm, can’t have you healing now can we,” The Hunter says as he watches the edges of her burnt flesh flicker and boil. New strands of muscle curling out from under the charred pieces and stretching down along her phalanges.

He moves out of her vision for a moment. She hears a drawer open and the sound of metal clinking together. She just manages to turn her head a little when he comes back.

While the Allium was taking a while to wear off, it was still wearing off. If she could stall long enough, she could possibly wait it out. She’d only call Gideon as a last resort.

The Hunter sat back down heavily in his chair, the plastic legs scraping the floor unpleasantly. Once settled, he holds up his prize: several, hollow metal rods.

“I’m gonna let you in on a secret,” He says, still smiling. “It doesn’t really matter if you call your Coven or not. I’m still gonna get them all.”

He lays the metal rods over his lap and grabs Harrow’s chair, pulling her closer until she can smell the Allium on his breath. Of course he’d drink Allium before a hunt. It would make his blood undrinkable, so even if she did manage to get free he wasn’t a viable meal. Just perfect.

“You see,” He picks up one of the rods and flicks it, a small ting ringing from the impact. She can see one end is cut in a slant, creating a sharp point. “You leeches, while abominations on God's green earth, still have a wee bit of human in you. Your kind are pack animals, you protect each other.”

For a moment, he pauses and sets the rod aside, instead pulling a knife from his pocket. He grabs her left leg, pulling the fabric of her jeans taught and slicing away at the seam on the inner thigh, exposing pale skin.

“You don’t abandon each other so easily, especially when one of your own is in danger,” He picks up the rod again. “So, even if you don’t call them, I’m not gonna kill you just yet.”

The urge to snap his neck is overpowering when he starts feeling along her inner thigh, searching for something. Of course, with the Allium still in her system, all she can do is shake and twitch, fighting against the numbness as best as she can.

“Ah, here we go,” Without any preamble, the Hunter takes the rod and stabs hard with the sharp end, piercing the femoral artery in one quick thrust.

Her hiss of pain is guttural and involuntary as blood begins draining through the rod. Her leg twitches, the Allium wearing off at the wrong moment which results in a wave of burning pain down her leg. Instantly she can feel her power diminishing.

“If you don’t call your Coven for me,” The hunter continues, completely ignoring the trickle of blood splashing to the plastic sheets on the floor. “I’m going to drain you to torpor, then,” He pauses, wiping his bloody hands off on his jeans. “Once you’re a shriveled little husk, I’m going to string you up in a warehouse and lay in wait.”

He picks up another rod, this time angling it at her chest. The sharp tip rests just below her clavicle. He teasingly holds it there with one finger.

“When they realize you’re missing, they’ll come looking. They’ll follow the trail of your blood scent, and when they arrive they'll fall right into my trap.” He begins to push the rod in, ever so slowly. She feels the skin and muscle part painfully as it slides between her clavicle and top rib. There’s a pause, and then an uncomfortable pressure as her lung is pierced.

“You’ll be in torpor of course, so you won’t get to watch as I kill the rest of you leeches, but you don’t need to worry about that. You just need to decide how much pain you want to experience beforehand.” He stops pushing in the rod, but gives it a little wiggle, making her choke out a groan, before grabbing the next one.

This one he doesn’t leave any preamble. He just shoves it in on the other side of her chest between the second and third ribs. She can feel the weakness setting in, her blood draining.

She hates to admit it, but she needs help.

“G-GIDEON,” She chokes out, the air stuttering in her throat as it leaks away around the rods pushed into her chest.

“Yes, that’s it. Call your Coven!” The Hunter hisses with glee, his eyes bulging wide and horrible. “I have a present just for them.” He holds up a jury-rigged spray canister, a large one that would normally be used to apply insecticides. The acrid scent of Allium wafting off it makes her gag. Just the smell of it makes her sinuses burn and her eyes water, precious blood welling up in place of tears and dripping down her face.  

As the minutes tick by, she can feel her blood slowly drain away, seeping from the puncture wounds in her torso, and her leg. The edges of her vision begin to grow fuzzy with darkness as she’s slowly, painfully pulled towards torpor.

“Gi-deon,” She stutters again, the word coming out as more of a wheezed groan as her lungs continue to collapse in on themselves.

She didn’t want to call Gideon, but she could imagine her face. Her face if she found out what was happening and Harrow hadn't even tried to ask for help. She wouldn’t be mad, she would look hurt and disappointed, like a kicked puppy.

There’s a crash somewhere in the rest of the complex, the sound of wood breaking and metal bending.

“Oh ho, that was faster than expected!” The Hunter crows with glee. He lifts up the spray can, and releases a test spray of Allium. It burns as the substance sprinkles over her skin, the area quickly going numb soon after.

There’s another crash, closer this time. Then a low braying snarl that vibrates in Harrow’s ears. To anyone else, they might mistake it for a dog barking into the night, but to her it meant one thing: Gideon was coming.

The Hunter hauls himself up from his chair and begins grabbing weapons. A large combat knife is tucked into his belt, then a carved wooden stake, made from holly wood, based on the smell. He takes a moment to duct tape the penlight to the top of the spray canister and flicks it on.

There’s a thud outside the apartment door, then some shuffling. Harrow can hear Gideon’s breathing, deep level huffs as she takes in the scents around her. She can imagine Gideon’s nostrils flaring, eyes blazing an unnatural gold as she smells Harrow’s blood then-

An arm erupts through the flimsy wooden door. Black claws gleam in the lowlight as the arm reaches for the doorknob, metal crunching and screeching as it folds under the sheer strength as it’s wrenched open.

The Hunter, without a vampire's supernatural vision, doesn’t realize anything’s amiss until the door is swinging open to reveal Gideon in all her glory.

She was partially transformed, ginger hair thicker and spreading to create a ruff of fur along her neck and shoulders. Her face is slightly elongated, just enough that any human would recognize a predator when they saw her. Her eyes gleamed with an intensity that would terrify any mortal, but only brought Harrow a feeling of relief.

The Hunter lunges, spraying Allium as he goes then brings his knife up to slice at Gideon’s throat. The blade meets air, as Gideon recoils, the numbing spray ineffective against a werewolf. It was more an irritant than anything.

Gideon snarled, lips pulled back to reveal long sharp canines. She shoves the Hunter back, sending him tumbling, and sneezes in a way that would be adorable in any other circumstances.

The Hunter, with agility unhindered by his age, falls, rolls backwards and pops up onto his feet. He lunges again, but staggers as he finally sees what he’s fighting.

“Oh, Fu-“ He doesn’t say anymore as Gideon’s hand pierces his stomach much like she’d pierced the door. From her position, Harrow can’t see much, but she can hear his choked gurgle as Gideons arm flexes and there's a sickening crunch as something within the Hunter is crushed and he goes limp. He slumps to the floor with a thud, sliding off Gideon’s forearm like so much meat.

There’s silence for a moment, the only noise being Gideon’s heavy breathing. Based on the sheen of sweat, she probably started sprinting as soon as she’d heard Harrow call.

Gideon huffed, clearing the last of the Allium from her nose, then beelines for Harrow. She kneels, ignoring the blood pooling around her, and without even asking yanked the rod from Harrow’s thigh.

Harrow let out a soft groan at the sensation of the metal sliding out of her skin, but was glad it was gone. Without anything obstructing the wound, it closes quickly, the hole narrowing until the smallest trickle of blood drips from it.

Next Gideon yanks out the rods in her chest, the feeling just as unpleasant, if not more so. With her lungs essentially collapsed in on themselves, and still very much punctured, all she could do was make a soft wheezing noise.

“Shut up,” Gideon snapped as she moved to release her arms. “Don’t try to talk yet, idiot.” Her words held a small lisp, the sounds interrupted by the fangs in her mouth. While she did roll her eyes, Harrow obeyed, waiting until she was released from her bonds.

As soon as she was free from the chair, Gideon bundled Harrow up into her arms and held her close. It took a little shifting, because Gideon was a gods damned giant, but eventually Harrow was able to reach a good feeding spot.

Her fangs sunk into the flesh just above Gideon’s clavicle, letting blood flow into her mouth. To most vampires, werewolf blood tasted like ass mixed with sewage, to Harrow, when it was Gideon, it tasted like home. It also made her realize how absolutely ravenous she was.

She felt Gideon’s arms tense around her, but it was only so she could stand up. Harrow, too hungry to care, just continued to feed, gulping down mouthfuls of thick wonderful, rejuvenating blood.

She’s passively aware of Gideon giving the Hunters body a solid kick before she’s heading for the door. They’re on the rooftops and several blocks away before Harrow pulls away from her meal.

She could feel her puncture wounds closing, and with every breath her lungs began to expand. She could also feel the deep seated ache that always happened after Allium exposure.

She lets her forehead fall against Gideon’s chest with a light thump and closes her eyes. She let herself enjoy the feeling of the evening breeze as Gideon ran at a loping pace.

Eventually, Gideon stopped to rest on a rooftop a short way from their apartment, plopping down to sit while still holding Harrow. She was breathing hard, having run to get to Harrow, and then ran to get away. To be honest, the feeling of Gideon’s chest heaving under her head was comforting. It was something to focus on other than her own stupidity.

“Soooo, how’d you get caught?” Gods, never mind, apparently she wasn’t allowed to forget being an idiot for even a moment.

“Stupidly.” Was her reply, not lifting her head from Gideon’s chest. “He fed me Allium.”

Harrow could practically feel Gideon wince. While it didn’t affect werewolves like it did vampires, Gideon had seen the effects enough times to know the stuff was capital N nasty. Her arms tightened around Harrow a fraction, hugging her a bit closer.

“Well, that must’ve sucked balls.”

Ah, eloquent as ever.

“Yes, Gideon, it did and continues to ‘suck balls’.” Harrow replied, voice filled with exhaustion. “Paired with being drained of blood, I’m going to need to sleep for a while.” ‘Which means I need you to protect me’ was added silently.

“Aye aye, Capt’n. One coffin, coming right up!” Gideon said with forced cheer as she shuffled her way to standing again. She wobbled a little, the lactic acid having gathered in her legs, but she leapt to the next roof with little difficulty.

Their apartment was a basement suite, chosen specifically to have as few windows as possible. The door was also around the side of the building, giving them a little cover from prying eyes as they went inside. A good thing too, because both of them looked like they’d committed murder.

Which they kind of did, now that she thought about it.

“Okay, Coffin or bath first?” Gideon’s voice was completely serious with none of it’s usual joviality. Harrow thought for the moment it took Gideon to take off her shoes. She was tired, incredibly so, but waking up covered in blood would, as Gideon had said, “suck balls.”

“A change of clothes at least, please,” She sighed, not lifting her head from Gideon’s shoulder. She feels Gideon bob her head, then they’re headed down the hall towards the bedrooms.

Gideon shoves her way into Harrow’s room without preamble, and deposits her gently on the bed. Harrow doesn’t move, letting her body sink into the mattress as Gideon putters around, pulling open drawers.

She hears a thump as her coffin is pulled out of the closet, Gideon grunting as she shoves the heavy box up against the side of the bed. While Harrow could technically sleep in the bed, being inside the coffin was better, mostly for safety. Should anyone drop by unexpectedly, like their landlord for example, Gideon could just put the coffin, and Harrow, deep inside the closet, instead of having what would appear to be a dead body laying in bed.

It also would make emergency transport easier, should it be necessary while she was asleep. She’s fallen asleep before, and then awoken a week later halfway across the country, an exhausted Gideon having to explain their unexpected flight from their old home. And, regardless of the reasoning, Harrow had always felt more comfortable, safer, ensconced inside the coffins thick wood, even if logically it was a dead give away to her vampiric nature.

“Alright, my duchess of darkness,” Harrow opened her eyes to find Gideon standing over her, arms clean of blood, holding a pile of clean clothes. “Let’s get you ready for your nap.”

Harrow sighed, but sat up with a grunt. With fresh blood, the Allium had begun wearing off faster, but she was still sore as hell. Her arms shook as she propped herself up, not even complaining when Gideon wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

Switching clothes wasn’t the most exciting thing in the world, the only snag being the zipper on her jeans being crusted closed with blood and both of them deciding ‘fuck it’ and just cutting them off. They were ruined anyway.

Once dressed in comfortable sweatpants, and having wiped the blood from her face at Gideon’s insistence, she shuffles her way into the coffin, curling up on her side with a deep shuddering sigh. Gods she was so tired.

As she slips into a healing sleep, she’s vaguely aware of a hand brushing some of her hair back behind her ear, and a gently murmured, “G’night, Harrow” before the lid of the coffin is closed with a soft thud and she’s left in blissful darkness.

[julemmaes]

PP Feysand drabble 1.5

A/N: This is set in the same universe my Nessian fic Pinky Promise is set and it’s basically a chapter 1.5. It’s what happened in Feyre’s room while everyone listened to them arguing and it’s short, but I really want to write their story too - I just don’t want to make it a story itself, so I’ll just post some drabbles (I guess that’s what they’re called) of moments I think are cute or important for their development and relationship. I’ll do the same for Elain and Lucien, Elain and Azriel and also *sighs* Feyre and fucking Tampon, I already have most of them planned out and they’re gonna be not longer than 2k words. I hope you like the idea:)

Word count: 1,740

Rhysand was trying in every way to keep himself still between his two brothers. Alcohol was coursing through his veins and his mind was wandering around on its own, in an unknown world.

It had been a relief for him when he remembered that they were all going to eat at the Archeron's house. Whatever they proposed to him that involved seeing Feyre for even a few hours was a treasure.

He was bickering with Elain about something he couldn't even remember, "But only because you don't have enough sisters for backup, otherwise we'd solve it physically," he muttered. Elain laughed and took another sip of her drink.

"I think all three of us would end up with a boner before anyone could tell the winner," Azriel whispered very softly. Cassian burst out laughing shortly afterwards, clinging to him.

He didn't hear the front door open, but he saw everyone turning in the direction of the entrance and tracked the movement as well. He knew it was Feyre, it had to be her.

He only hoped that she had no company.

He stood up, "Yes Fey-Fey join us," Rhysand echoed Mor's words. He was definitely smiling like a child on Christmas morning and hadn't even seen her yet, just a flash of black of her winter coat.

The second she turned towards them, he tensed up.

Her eyes...

"Feyre," he stepped forward, holding his breath, "What happened?"

She was looking at him, but it was as if she didn't see him.

The swollen, red eyes were a clear sign that he had been crying just seconds earlier.

A tinge of hope lit up in his chest and he almost felt sick to his stomach at the idea of having felt pleasure in the suffering of the woman he loved. Regardless of who had caused the wound and what consequences it had had for the relationship between her and Tamlin, Feyre was crying and was not fine.

She moved slowly, without the bit of life that was once an integral part of her person, "Nothing, don't worry," she answered in a small voice.

Nesta was getting up, but Feyre shook her head, raising one hand.

Rhysand couldn't move, he didn't know what to do.

"I didn't want to ruin your evening, I just came to say hi." she smiled slightly at everyone and when no one answered, she bit her lip tentatively. He stiffened even more beside her, now much closer, "I'm sorry... goodnight everyone."

She turned around and walked out of the room, without even sparring him a glance.

He clenched his hands firmly. What the fuck had just happened?

He heard the others talking, too loudly for Feyre not to hear them, and he wanted to tell them to be quiet, get up and go to her. She certainly wouldn't let him into her room to comfort her at such an unusual hour. It could have got her into trouble.

That last thought made him even angrier.

Tamlin.

It was inevitably his fault.

Feyre had no one else but him.

Amren appeared equally angered when she said, "Can someone explain what the heck just happened and why no one is going to see how she's doing?"

Rhysand found himself in the hallway before Amren had even finished the sentence. He remembered to knock before he opened the door and when the answer didn't come immediately, he brought a hand to his face, rubbed his eyes and tried to polish his thoughts somewhat.

He knocked a second time, louder, and murmured against the wood, "Darling-"

The door opened wide, causing him to stagger forward and forcing the girl to move aside. Shit, he was too drunk. He looked up once he found some composure, finding Feyre with her arms crossed, "Don't call me that." she pointed to the corridor he had just come from, "And get out of my room."

Rhys sighed, "Feyre, please," he stepped towards her, one hand raised with the intention of touching her.

She drew back, her face impassive, "Please, what?" she asked him, hardening her jaw. He didn't answer and she pointed out again, "Get out."

He shook his head, going towards the door and closing it so that he could lean against it, "What happened?"

Feyre took a deep breath, "What are you doing?"

"I want to understand why you came home crying after a date with your boyfriend," he said harshly.

"I don't recall it ever being any of your business," she replied, sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning forward. Rhysand only realized at that moment how nicely she was dressed.

She had beautiful tight black pants that wrapped her legs perfectly and dark green heels, matched with a blouse of the same color that didn't do justice at all to the shapes he knew hid under it.

He snapped his eyes shut, "I just want to know if you're okay."

Feyre scoffed, "I'm fine," she replied immediately, then looked him in the eye and hers were glossy again, "Now please, get out."

He shook his head, "No," he came closer and she pulled her legs up, settling in the middle of the bed, "You're not fine and I want to know why." She looked over his shoulder, "It's Tamlin, isn't it?"

The sudden burst of anger made Rhysand jerk, "I told you to get out of my room!" cried Feyre, standing on the other side of the bed, putting as much distance between them as possible. "You have to get out!"

"I will not leave this room," he whispered, his gaze determined as he tried to suppress his hatred for anyone who had made her suffer in that way, "because you are not safe and I am worried about you," he said, trying to calm her down.

It seemed to have the opposite result on the girl in front of him, "It's all temporary, Rhysand." she laughed, despite her tear-filled eyes, "This will end too. We just had a fight."

He didn't answer, relieved that she was starting to talk about what happened that night.

Then, all of a sudden, she grew even sadder, "Why do you worry?"

Rhysand frowned, "Because I'm your friend. And I don't want you to suffer."

"That's bullshit." she hissed, "Everything is temporary." she repeated her and he shook his head, disbelief lining his features, "This too." she pointed her chest before pointing at him.

"Stop it."

"Our friendship." she said that word with a grimace across her face, almost as if even just the idea disgusted her, "Everything is temporary." She wouldn't stop saying those words and he wondered if she had had a drink before getting home. "This. This was merely one of those things."

"That's not true." he snapped.

He wanted to agree with her, but imagined that they both me and you mean two completely opposite things. He could hear the blood rumbling in his ears.

Feyre laughed, she really laughed. "Yes, Rhysand!" she shouted, "We are not friends, you and I."

"I'm with Tamlin." she whispered and a tear slipped down her cheek, "I'm with him and you're no one to me." he recoiled at those words, as if she had physically hit him.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, swallowing, "If you'd let me-".

"I don't have to let you do anything!" she cried, "I don't need your help or anyone else's! I am fine on my own!" her voice grew louder with every word.

Rhysand pushed himself forward until he touched the mattress with his knees, "Clearly that's not the case!" he yelled in turn, "You need help and I'm here! I'm offering you-"

She interrupted him, going around the room and putting her hands against his chest, "Get out! Leave!" she pushed him against the door, and when he heard someone walking in the corridor, he looked at Feyre, who was now crying. He nodded his head once and then walked out of the room, crashing into Azriel and storming out of the apartment.

He heard Feyre swearing and screaming and he slammed the door behind him. He was coming down the stairs furiously when he heard it open again and sped up the pace, not wanting to see who it was.

As soon as he was out in the fresh air, he slipped his hand into his pocket, pulling out the cigarette packet.

He was not a heavy smoker, but sometimes the school and the children overwhelmed him and he had to find a way to relax. One cigarette a week seemed to do it for him.

He breathed in full lungs and held the smoke in for a few seconds, turning around when he heard the front door of the building close.

Azriel was standing in front of him, hands in his pockets and a serious expression on his face.

He offered him the package and his brother shook his head, frowning, "No, thank you." he murmured, "And you shouldn't smoke either."

Rhysand chuckled, "Feyre just told me we're not friends." he looked like a little kid, "She just told me I'm nobody to her." he whispered, looking down the street.

He could feel Azriel's gaze on his skin.

"Did you find out what happened?" he asked him, making a little cloud with his breath.

He felt guilty for forcing the other one to follow him outside, in this freezing cold.

He shook his head, taking another puff, "Nothing," he answered, then passed his hand over his face. "I shouldn't have gone into her room," he sighed, "I shouldn't have invaded her space like that."

Azriel put his hand on his shoulder, "You did nothing wrong, Rhys."

"How can you say that when all I did tonight was make things worse?" he asked in a pleading tone.

"Because Feyre needs someone to make her understand that this is no life." he saw it in Azriel's eyes that even his brother wanted to take the car and go to the asshole's house to make him pay for every wrong he had done to Feyre.

He said nothing, still too tipsy to face this conversation without going crazy.

"He's a piece of shit and he doesn't deserve her," murmured Rhys.

Azriel smirked, "That's what Elain said."

acotar taglist (if you wanna be removed or added dm me or send an ask)

@sjm-things @kris10maas @awesomelena555 @sannelovesreading @queenamydien29 @ireallyshouldsleeprn @messyhairday-me @ncssian @observationanxioustheorist @my-fan-side @booksstorm @maastrash @sayosdreams @thedarkdemigod @courtofjurdan @thewayshedreamed @ladywitchling @nahthanks @archeron-queen @sleeping-and-books @bri-loves-sunflowers @thegoddessofyou @ghostlyrose2 @claralady @queenestarcheron​

[st-crylo]

Rebound

Part 2

A/N: I’m gonna try to keep this updated weekly, especially since the response to it has been so good :,). Thank you guys so much, I really appreciate y’all for taking time to read my fics!!

Warnings: mostly just swearing, alcohol mention, tobacco use, infidelity

Word Count: 6.2K

Tagging:@haylaansmi @nankstasty @thomasscresswell

Masterlist

As you walked through the door, you saw your mom waiting for you in the kitchen, reading some article in a magazine. When she heard the door close, she looked up and smiled at you.

“How was the first day back?” she asked, a little too enthusiastically.

“Not terrible. Made some new friends,” you replied before heading up the stairs to your room, trying to avoid any more questions. You didn’t want to have to lie to your mom about the new friends you’d made, especially since she saw Kylo how everyone else did. 

Closing the door to your room, you heaved a sigh before throwing your backpack onto the ground, and plopping down on your bed, pulling out your phone to see an email. Curious, you opened the notification, then groaned when you saw who the sender was.

(y/n), we really need to talk. I understand that you probably have me blocked, so I had to go to drastic measures. As much as there is I want to say to you, a lot of it can’t be said over an email. However, I do think you should know that I really don’t think you should be hanging out with Ben Solo. He’s not the kind of person someone like you should hang around, and he’s nothing more than a common criminal. I’m only looking out for you. I love you, Shawn.

You wanted to throw your phone across the room, scream at the top of your lungs, and maybe break something. The rage inside you was boiling hot, and you felt like a kettle, left on the stove too long. What kind of desperate asshole decides an email is a great way to contact the girl you cheated on? Why did he even expect a response from you? Most importantly, how dare he claim to love you. The whole thing had you heated, but you held your composure as you deleted the email, and pulled the little slip of paper with Kylo’s number on it out. 

You stared at the number, and thought about Kylo’s idea. If you were being completely honest, Shawn’s email made you consider it more seriously. After all, it was obvious that the idea of you even hanging around Kylo set something off in him. If the two of you were to “date,” he would probably lose his shit. Admittedly, the idea of watching Shawn implode like that would be kinda fun. 

At the same time, you didn’t know this person. Not Kylo, you’d known him so long, even though today seemed more like a reintroduction instead of a reunion. No, you weren’t sure you knew who you were. You’d never wished ill upon someone like this, and certainly never considered going through with something so major in order to upset someone. That had never really been your style, and you’d always looked down at people who did stuff like that.

But did you really know yourself at all?

You’d been with Shawn for three years, all of high school, really. Those were the most formative years of your life, and they’d been shaped by your boyfriend. Were you really this suburban good girl, who only had good friends, had never even been to a high school party, and certainly never rebelled against even her parents? Or were those things that Shawn had shaped you to be? After all, the more you thought about it, the more you realised his opinions had affected a lot of the way you acted. So now, you were left at an impasse. Were you really who you’d acted as your first three years of high school, or were you someone else entirely that you’d never gotten to discover?

You created a contact for Kylo on your phone, and typed up a message.

What exactly would us “dating” entail?

You started at the screen of your phone as you watched the dots appear as Kylo started texting back. There was a little bit of anxiety in your chest, but the idea of “dating” Kylo filled you with a sense of thrill as well. 

We wouldn’t be “dating” right away. We’d pretend to flirt for a while and then start dating. Do basic couple shit at school, but especially wherever him or his little friends can see.

Made sense. It wouldn’t be smart to jump straight to dating, that would be too suspicious. Admittedly, you weren’t entirely sure how to flirt, but you were sure you could get some advice somewhere. You pulled up your keyboard to respond.

We should also make sure to go on dates, too. That way, we can convince your parents we’re dating too. 

After all, Kylo had to have something in it as well, and he said he wanted to convince his parents he was improving. 

Shit, I forgot about that. I’ll have to bring you around Gran and Granpa too, if that’s okay with you.

Yeah, that’s fine. 

So is that a yes?

You thought for a moment. Was this really the decision you wanted to make? Then, you thought about the picture, and thought about the email.

Hell yeah.

***

The next morning, you didn’t have to fight so hard to get out of bed. You actually took the time to throw on some jeans instead of leggings. Most importantly, your heart didn’t feel so heavy. It was like you finally had an inkling of hope in the form of revenge. Looking out of your bedroom window, you noticed how the sky was still overcast, but there was no rain. However, just to be on the safe side, you threw on your jacket and made sure to bring your umbrella. 

Walking down the steps, you peeked into the kitchen from the top of the stairs, making sure the coast was clear before continuing your descent. Your dad was there, sipping his morning coffee and reading something on his phone, but your mom was nowhere in sight. Letting out a small sigh of relief, you continued down the stairs, noticing your lunch bag and a small note on the island.

“Morning, (y/n),” your dad said, not looking up from his phone. 

“Morning,” you responded before picking up the note. 

Morning, dear. I had to head to work early today, but I went ahead and packed your lunch. Have a good day at school! Love, mom.

A small frown pulled the corners of your mouth down a little. You loved your mom, but she had been trying too hard to cheer you up instead of letting you simply wallow in your misery for a couple of days. You neatly folded the note and put it in your pocket before taking your lunch off the counter. 

“Bye, dad,” you said as you headed for the front door. Your dad gave you a final wave goodbye before you opened the door, heading out into the world.

Unsurprisingly, Kylo was sitting there, presumably waiting for you as he leaned against the back of his Mustang, smoking his morning cigarette. He must’ve been out there for a while, because he dropped the butt onto the ground before stomping it out and picking it back up. When he came back up, he noticed you and smiled.

“Want another ride?” He asked, standing straight and running a hand through his long hair. 

“Beats walking,” you said, walking up to the Skywalker driveway and climbing into the car as Kylo threw his cigarette butt away. Kylo climbed in next, starting the car as soon as he closed the door.  

“So my uncle told Gran and Granpa that you and I have been hanging out,” Kylo started as he pulled out of the driveway. “Can you believe they already want you over for dinner?”

You shook your head with a smile on your face. Even though they were your next door neighbors, you hadn’t really spoken to Kylo’s grandparents. “Sounds like fun. When?”

“Friday,” Kylo responded

You simply nodded in response before staring out of the passenger window. Then, you remembered.

“Do you want to hear about something Shawn sent to me yesterday?” you asked, turning to Kylo. He furrowed his brows in confusion as he glanced at you from his peripherals. 

“Did you not block him?” he asked, the same confusion he wore on his face mixed into his tone.

“No, I did. He sent me this through email, if you can believe it,” you said.

“Go ahead, I’m all ears,” he replied.

You recalled the contents of the email to the best of your ability, and as you did, you watched Kylo’s knuckles slowly turn white as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. 

“And after all of that, he has the nerve to say he loves me? After everything he’s put me through, he has the balls to say he loves me? Apparently not, if he’s perfectly okay sticking his tongue down some other girl’s throat,” you said with an angry huff, as tears threatened to fall. They weren’t sad tears, however. No, these were the tears of pure unbridled rage that only became realized when you talked about the situation out loud. It was weird, but admittedly the feeling was welcome. You were tired of being sad, and angry was a much better improvement. At least with anger you could stop moping around.

“I hate that shit,” Kylo commented as he stopped at the red light at the end of the neighborhood. “They always try to tell you they love you, but if they loved you they wouldn’t have cheated in the first place. Fuck that.” 

“My sentiments exactly.” There was another good thing about Kylo; he could relate to you. You knew that none of your friends had ever been cheated on before, so it was a lot harder to talk to them about it. Kylo, though, he knew the pain, the resentment, everything. He would know exactly how you were feeling and not make any judgments-not that he would do it whether or not he’d experienced it anyways. It was such a different change of scenery, it was honestly refreshing. 

Not that you didn’t love your friends, you treasured them dearly. There was just something about knowing someone who’d had the same experiences as you.

The light turned green and Kylo drove forward into the school parking lot, maneuvering into his spot. When he placed the car in park, there was a small ding from his phone, and he grabbed it, checking the notification.

“Milo’s gonna drop Sami and Alan off, so they’re gonna hang with us before class. Means you can meet Milo,” Kylo said before texting a reply. You didn’t know why, but you had a really good feeling about Milo. After all, he was a friend of Kylo’s. 

It was about five minutes later when a grey Honda Civic pulled up beside the two of you. Needless to say, that was not what you were expecting. You watched as Sami and Alan stepped out of the Honda Civic, followed by who you assumed was Milo.

He was maybe an inch taller than Kylo, his hair bleached white with dark brown barely peeking out at the roots of his hair. He had a cigarette between his lips, and you wondered if that was where Kylo had picked up the habit. When Kylo rolled down your window, he leaned against the car and peered in through the window while Alan and Sami climbed into the backseat behind the driver’s seat. Once they were in the back, Kylo set the seat back, settling in and closing the door. 

“You must be (y/n),” he said, holding out his hand to you. You shook his hand and smiled up at him.

“That’s me,” you answered before dropping your hand onto your lap. 

“So, are we still on for Friday?” Milo asked, turning to Kylo. Kylo frowned before letting out a sigh.

“Shit, I forgot. Told my grandparents that me and (y/n) would have dinner with them. If you wanna go later though, I can probably sneak out,” Kylo responded, running a hand through his hair.

“That’s fine, just don’t get caught. Wanna come along too, (y/n)? Sami, Alan, Phasma, and Pat are coming,” Milo said, turning back to you.

“Where exactly?” you asked, turning to Kylo.

“Jordan’s place, she graduated with Milo. She’s having a kickback before heading to Coruscant for college,” Kylo explained.

“I don’t want to intrude,” you started, a little uncomfortable about being invited to the house of someone you didn’t know.

“If you go, Kylo might not have to sneak out,” Sami suggested from the back. “Besides, Jordan’s really chill, I think you’d like her.”

“How would her going with me make it to where I don’t have to sneak out?” Kylo asked, turning around to face Sami.

“Well, no one really expects (y/n) to go to a party. She could just tell your grandparents that the two of you are going to study,” Sami offered. As you thought it over, it was a pretty decent idea. You didn’t really have the party reputation, and everyone knew it. 

“I’m game,” you answered. Kylo looked at you with a look of surprise, but simply shrugged as he pulled out a cigarette from the box.

“Sick. I’ll see you Friday then. I gotta go, I have a shift in thirty minutes. See ya, Alan, bye babe!” Milo said before blowing a kiss to Sami. She smiled back at him and waved goodbye as he climbed back into his car, driving off out of the parking lot.

“Oh, (y/n), you might wanna tell your parents you’re staying at my place on Friday night,” Sami said as Kylo lit his cigarette. “Jordan usually has drinks at her ‘kickbacks.’” You nodded as you looked back at her.

“So did he ask you yet?” came Alan’s voice, his eyes refusing to leave the screen of his phone.

“As a matter of fact,” Kylo said after taking the first drag of his cig. “I did. Me and (y/n) are planning to ‘date.’ And Sami thought I wouldn’t have the balls.” He blew the smoke out of the window, before taking another drag.

“I never said that,” Sami said with a frown. “I just said that your explanation of your plan seemed a little lacking. I’m glad you agreed, though, (y/n). Shawn’s a piece of shit.” 

“You’re telling me,” you said as you let out a sigh. “Can’t wait to see the look on his smug little face when I start ‘dating’ someone he hates. Wasn’t aware that Kylo shared his plan with everyone, though.” A small flush arose in Kylo’s cheeks, and he didn’t make eye contact with you.

“You would be surprised, when he’s not being an emo prick, he won’t shut the fuck up,” Alan added, looking up with a smirk. Kylo looked back at him with his brows furrowed. 

“Like you’re one to talk,” Kylo huffed out. He finished up the last of his cigarette before checking the clock. It was 8:00 already.

“Shit, let’s get going, punks,” Sami said, lightly kicking the back of Kylo’s seat.

“Fuck, I’m getting out. Hand me my bag,” Kylo said as he tossed the cigarette butt into the car’s ashtray. Without warning, a black backpack went flying towards Kylo and hit him on the chest. “Fuck you, Sami.” He grabbed his bag by the straps and stepped out of the car, bringing the seat forward so Sami and Alan could climb out. You stepped out of the car and closed the door behind you, putting your backpack onto your shoulders while you waited for everyone to step out. Kylo walked forward first and you fell into step beside him.

As the four of you walked into the building, you could feel people turn to stare at you, and you remembered your reputation. You weren’t the kind of girl to hang out with Kylo Ren and his ilk, you were one of the good girls. A small voice in the back of your head resented that. 

Alan split off pretty quickly, bidding his farewell before heading to his first class. Sami was next, saying she wanted to be early to art, so she said her goodbye before speeding away. 

“Guess I’ll see you at lunch,” Kylo said as the two of you parted, and you headed for your econ class. 

Much like yesterday, the pace of which your first two classes moved was painfully slow. You weren’t surprised, the first day of actual class was horrible, but you tried to stay focused and take notes. Whenever you got distracted, though, you kept thinking about the plan you and Kylo had established. It felt like the perfect revenge, “dating” someone Shawn hated. However, the more you thought about it, the more you wondered why exactly Shawn hated Kylo. Kylo had said it was because he’d punched Shawn, but you felt like there was something there that you were missing, some truth that Kylo didn’t want to say.

You couldn’t worry about it too much, though. It was Kylo’s business, and you didn’t want to pry if he didn’t want to tell you exactly what had happened. You definitely weren’t going to go to Shawn for the reason, and you doubted that Shawn would tell you the truth anyways, so it would have to remain an unsolved mystery in your mind. 

Lunch could not have come sooner, and as you flowed into the cafeteria with the rest of the people who had third lunch, you looked around for your new group of friends. You saw Phasma first, who waved at you to come over to her. As you walked closer, you watched as she stepped out to the outdoor seating, and you followed, noticing everyone else sitting there too. There were only a handful of other groups outside as well, so it was much more quiet and calm than being in the loud cafeteria. 

“Man, Mr. Jinn’s class is kicking my ass,” you heard Alan say as you sat down between Phasma and Kylo.

“How, it’s only the second day of classes?” Phasma asked before biting into a roll. 

“Have you ever had Mr. Jinn’s class, Phasma?” Kylo asked, putting a bookmark in the book he was reading.

“No.”

“Then don’t say shit. He’s a cool guy, but damn he gives a lot of homework. Alan, if you need help, don’t come to me,” Kylo said, leaning against the table. Alan frowned as he looked up at Kylo.

“Wow, thanks, Kylo, you’re such a hero,” he quipped. 

“So, (y/n), how was the beginning of your second day?” Sami asked, pushing aside her untouched lunch as she leaned forward to talk to you.

“It was alright, but I’m getting tired of people staring at me,” you responded. Even though you’d tried your hardest to focus, the whispers were still hard to ignore. It almost felt like you were being punished for Shawn’s actions.

“People don’t know how to mind their own goddamn business,” Phasma stated. “They just want shit to gossip about. When you’re not the fresh gossip anymore, they’ll all but forget you exist.” 

“I can’t wait for that to happen. I’m tired of hearing rumors about something involving me. Especially since I basically don’t know shit,” you admitted. This caused Sami to raise her eyebrows.

“How do you mean? If you don’t mind, of course.” For a second, you pondered on whether or not you wanted to talk about it, but your doubt washed away pretty quickly. It was amazing how comfortable you felt around these people. You did look around the courtyard though, to make sure there was no one there that you didn’t want to hear what you were talking about. When you decided the coast was clear, you let out a sigh before you spoke.

“Well, on Thursday, I was sent a picture,” you started, feeling the pang in your chest, but not as fiercely as you did yesterday. “It was of Shawn making out with some girl. I’m guessing it was one of his friends who sent it to me, but it wasn’t from a number I had saved. I’m also assuming that whoever it was that sent the picture also sent it to a lot of people. I got a lot of messages that night from people I’d maybe spoken to once about what happened, but the thing is, I don’t know what happened. I didn’t want Shawn’s explanation, because I didn’t think he’d be truly honest, and I wasn’t sure who to ask about it. Shawn’s friends would probably defend him.”

Sami’s face turned to one of deep thought, as if she was trying to solve some kind of puzzle. 

“Did you think about texting the sender?” Alan asked. When he said it, you felt kind of dumb for not thinking about it.

“I did not,” you admitted.

“I can write something up for you,” Sami offered. “That way you don’t have to look at the picture again.” You shrugged, and handed your phone to Sami, who took it in her hands, bringing it close to her face. She tapped on what you assumed was the conversation with the sender, and for a moment, you could have sworn there was shock in her eyes. If it had been there, it didn’t last, as her face instantly went back to the one of thought. She hesitated a moment, then started typing away.

“How does this sound: Hey, I want to thank you for sending this. Do you mind telling me how you came upon this picture?” She said aloud.

“Yeah, that sounds fine,” you said. Sami tapped the screen again, sending the message, before handing your phone back to you. A part of you felt a little anxious. On the one hand, you wanted to know the story behind the photo, but at the same time, you wanted to remain willfully ignorant. It mostly branched from a fear inside you that he’d been cheating for a long time. 

However, the rest of lunch passed, and you hadn’t received any messages. While it was a little relieving, it still added on to the anxiety that had settled in the pit of your stomach. You tried to ignore it though, as you and Kylo headed to physics, the two of you walking in a comfortable silence. 

When you got to Mr. Windu’s class, the two of you took your seats, while people whispered from around the room.

“Can you believe she’s hanging out with him now?”

“She really shouldn’t lower her standards like that just because of what happened.”

The last one had you whipping around, trying to find the person who said it. Everyone looked away when you did, though, so there was no clear suspect, but it didn’t prevent you from glaring at everyone around the room. At least, you did until you saw Shawn walk in. Once you caught even the slightest glimpse out of the corner of your eye, you turned back around, boiling in your anger.

“Don’t worry about it,” Kylo said softly, unbothered by the whispers. “I’m the town disappointment, of course they’re going to say that.” You looked up at Kylo and frowned. 

“What makes them so holy to pass judgement like that? I’m sure they’ve all done fucked up shit too, their parents just aren’t as in the spotlight as yours,” you huffed out as Mr. Windu began to take roll. 

When Mr. Windu’s lecture started, you were your normal studious self, taking detailed notes and making sure to get any equations down. Every once in a while, you would look over to Kylo’s notes and noticed the bare minimum of notes being taken. At one point, you looked at him incredulously. He simply shrugged before writing in the margins of your notes.

I’ve always been good at science. You let out a small huff of air before writing back.

Lucky. Kylo smiled before looking back up at the board, where Mr. Windu was writing another equation. 

When the bell rang, you quickly shoved your stuff into your backpack, and waited for Kylo so the two of you could get to fourth block. Once Kylo had his stuff packed, the two of you were off. You were free, at least that was what you thought. The notion of freedom disappeared when you felt a hand on your shoulder, causing you to stop in your tracks, and for Kylo to stop as well. Turning around, you had to resist the incredible urge to punch Shawn in the face.

“You haven’t been responding to my messages,” he stated. He was obviously trying to sound hurt, but you could hear that hint of anger in his voice. It was something you were familiar with, but it was weird for it to be directed at you.

“Fuck off, Alvarez,” Kylo said, stepping forward, his figure looming over you. You looked up at Kylo and shook your head. 

“I don’t remember asking your opinion, Solo,” Shawn said, trying to puff out his chest. It was kind of funny to see, honestly, because he was at least six inches shorter than Kylo. Despite how funny a part of you found Shawn’s response, though, you stepped between them. 

“Have you considered that the reason I haven’t responded to you is because I don’t give a fuck about what you have to say?” You finally said, crossing your arms as you looked at Shawn. Looking at him straight on like this for the first time in a week was causing your stomach to churn, and your heart to clench, but you were tired, in every sense of the word. You just wanted to be left alone to deal with your emotions, and not have him harassing you every three seconds.

“You have to let me explain myself-” he started, but you let out a laugh, one of those laughs that dripped of sarcasm and anger.

“I don’t have to let you do shit. You cheated on me, end of story. Please, just leave me alone,” you said before turning around and walking off. After a few seconds, you heard Kylo begin to follow you, catching up to you with ease and falling into step beside you, not saying a word. You appreciated that, as you were trying your hardest not to cry. As much as you thought your anger had taken over your sadness, it was really just a blanket. At this moment, it felt like you were shriveling from the inside, and anything said to you would immediately cause you to start sobbing. It was a special kind of hurt, being cheated on. So many emotions ran through your head, but the one that remained in your heart always lingered; why weren’t you enough?

The two of you walked into fourth block not but two minutes before the bell rang. You took the same seat you sat in yesterday, and settled in your seat, breathing deeply to keep yourself calm. You saw Sami and Phasma both look at Kylo, confused looks on their faces. Kylo merely shook his head before pulling out a notebook. Taking one final deep breath, you did the same, sitting straight as you waited for Mr. Skywalker to call roll.

Once he’d done so, he picked up a crate, placing it on the desk nearest to him.

“Alright, go ahead, come up, and grab your copy of Beowulf,” he said.

“I’ll get them.” Kylo said as he stood, walking up to the crate and waiting behind your other classmates as he waited to grab the books. When he came back, he handed a book to each of you, and you gave him a half smile. It was all you could really manage, but Kylo matched it with a little more enthusiasm than you. 

Once everyone had their books, Mr. Skywalker decided to go into the history of Beowulf. However, during his explanation, you began to zone out. You really just wanted to go home, curl up in your room, and sleep until tomorrow came. You did feel a hand tap you, and you turned to Kylo, who was holding out a slip of paper to you, while keeping his eyes on the board. You took the folded paper from his hand, and opened it up. On the paper were two phone numbers, the top one being Phasma’s, and the lower being Sami’s. You typed both into your phone and sent a simple “hey” to each number. Sami responded back.

You okay?

With a sigh, you started typing on your keyboard.

Yeah, just had a run-in with my ex. You watched Sami out of the corner of your eye as she read your message and responded.

Shit, I’m sorry. She then sent a picture of a ridiculously fat cat, which actually did make you smile. 

The rest of class passed by pretty quickly, even after the class started the beginning of the poem aloud, which, like anyone else, you had to admit was the worst part of class. When Mr. Skywalker had decided the class had done enough reading, everyone began to pack up as they waited for the final bell to ring to let them out of class. Phasma and Sami both turned around in their seats to strike conversation for the last few minutes of class. 

“Glad that’s over,” Phasma said, frowning. “Why do we have to read aloud in the first place?”

“Torture,” Sami said sagely. “We’re meant to suffer.”

“Pretty sure it’s so that people can gain confidence reading aloud and speaking in front of a crowd,” Kylo said as he leaned back in his seat, looking at his phone.

“What academic input, truly an improvement for such a delinquent,” Phasma quipped, causing Kylo to look up from his phone, eyebrows raised, before returning to staring at the screen. “So, I heard you’re coming to Jordan’s on Friday.” Phasma now turned to you.

“Yeah. I’m actually pretty excited,” you said, leaning forward to feel more present in the conversation. 

“As you should be, Jordan knows how to have fun,” Sami said, making herself sound like an expert in the subject of Jordan. You laughed as the bell rang, standing up and stretching before slinging your backpack onto your shoulder. You watched as Finn, Poe, Rey, and Rose all walked by, waving at you as they went. You waved back to each of them, but frowned a little once they’d passed. You hadn’t really spoken to them much since Thursday, and you felt kinda bad about it. You would talk to them tonight, you decided. 

Soon, the four of you filed out of the classroom, walking at a comfortable pace as Kylo and Phasma walked together, talking about skating. You and Sami walked side by side in silence, until Sami leaned closer to you, so that the two in front of you couldn’t hear.

“I think I know who the girl in the picture is. Text me when you get home,” she said before drifting away again. You felt your chest tighten, but you only nodded, deciding to change the subject.

“I’m gonna tell my mom I’m staying at your place Friday night when I get home. She’s a little weird about sleepovers, so she might want to talk to you,” you said as your group reached the front of the school. 

“Hey, I can probably just tell my grandparents that the three of us are gonna study at your place,” Kylo offered. 

“Yeah, that works. After all, I am the only one of your friends who hasn’t wound up with the title ‘delinquent,’” Sami quipped. Kylo gave a frown in response, before stopping in front of the entrance to the school. 

“Well, we’ll see you tomorrow,” Kylo said. The two of you waved goodbye before heading to Kylo’s car. There was silence at first as the two of you climbed into the car, and Kylo started the engine, but it was broken with a sigh from Kylo.

“We don’t have to do this, you know. If Shawn’s just gonna harass you for even being around me, it isn’t really worth it,” he said, pulling out of his parking spot. You couldn’t help but let out your own sigh.

“That’s not the reason he’s harassing me,” you started. “He’s harassing me because he thinks he can still control me, and convince me that he didn’t mean it. Honestly, the easiest way to get him to leave me alone is if we stick to the plan.” It was a frustrating realization, but it was certainly true. If Shawn thought you had moved on, he was probably more likely to leave you alone. Sure, he’d probably have some choice words to say about you, but you seriously doubted that he’d say them to your face. 

The rest of the drive home was spent with the music loud, Kylo occasionally singing along softly. When the two of you pulled into the driveway, you waited before stepping out, and turned to Kylo.

“Thanks for sticking up for me again. You really don’t have to do that,” you said. Kylo shook his head and ran a hand through his ebony hair.

“You’re my friend, (y/n). I’ll always stick up for you,” he responded before turning the car off. You gave him a small smile before opening the door.

“See you in the morning,” you said before stepping out.

“See ya, bright and early,” he responded with a smirk. You shook your head as you turned to head to your house.

Upon walking in the door, you saw your mom sitting at the dining room table. She was looking at what looked to be some documents from work, but she looked up when you closed the door, and gave you a warm smile. 

Here goes, you thought to yourself before returning her smile, and walking up to the table.

“How was your day, honey?” she asked, shifting her attention to you. 

“It was good. Actually, my friend Sami invited me to stay at her place on Friday,” you responded. You actually felt a lot of anxiety in your chest, but you were trying your hardest not to let it show. You’d never really lied to your parents like this before, and it was strange for that to start your senior year, but you actually really wanted to go. The opportunity to hang out with your new set of friends, not to mention Kylo, was so exciting.

“Oh, is this that new friend you were talking about yesterday?” she asked. It almost looked like there was a great deal of happiness in her eyes. They practically lit up, and you couldn’t really say you blamed her. After all, after you’d gotten home on Thursday, you had shut yourself in your room, refusing to come out. Making new friends and being invited to one of their houses? It was definitely an upgrade. 

“Yeah. She’s really cool, and she’s trying to get into art school,” you said, smiling at your mom.

“Alright, but I want you to message me throughout the night. Are you gonna head home with her that night?” Your heart dropped at that. You hadn’t mentioned anything about Kylo- obviously- and you were supposed to be having dinner with the Skywalkers on Friday as well. There really was no point in lying about that, it would be too easy to get caught.

“Actually, I’m supposed to have dinner with the Skywalkers next door that night, too. I’ve been getting rides from Ben, and his grandparents invited me to dinner,” you said, waiting for shit to hit the fan. Surprisingly, your mother’s face didn’t turn red, but she did frown.

“I don’t know about you hanging around with Ben Solo…” you could tell she was trying to be delicate, but there was no mistaking in her voice that she felt the same way about him that all the parents did. You knew another lie was needed in this scenario too.

“He has been giving me rides, and they really just want us to be friends because they think I’ll make him be a little more responsible. But he did offer to take me to Sami’s house too. I promise, when I get there, I’ll take a picture with Sami and send it to you,” you said. You could see the cogs turning over in her head as she thought it over. When she finally let out a sigh, you knew she had relented.

“Alright, but I want to see you after dinner, before you leave for Sami’s, okay?” she said. You smiled and nodded before turning on your heels, heading for the stairs.

“I’m gonna go ahead and get started on dinner,” she called as you practically skipped up the stairs. 

When you got into your room, you let your backpack fall to the ground before plopping onto your bed and pulling your phone. You had two messages. One was from Sami, and you remembered what she had told you earlier. With a pang in your chest, your excitement for Friday extinguished, you decided to look at the other message.

It was from the sender of the picture.

[mrsalwayswrite]

The Difference Between Champagne and Rum Part 4 (Alfie Solomons x OFC)

Thank you everyone for your patience with this. Finally!! Here is the next part! I am not sure when I will have Part 5 & 6 done but I promise they are already plotted out...just got to write them. So this takes place in Season 2, so we get to see our beloved Alfie in his gangster glory. 

Warnings: Swearing, some racial slurs, mild sexual content, nothing major

Words: 10k 

The Difference Between Champagne and Rum

Part 4- Chance Encounters and Necessary Libations 

~1922~

“Fuckin’ Italians.” Alfie Solomons muttered as he pushed through the door of Darby Sabini’s club in London. The obnoxious mixture of perfume, cologne and cigarette smoke assailed his senses making his throat close up. For the briefest of moments his mind returned to the smoke-filled, blood-saturated fields in France, with that nauseating smell making his throat constantly feel like it would rather seal itself closed than force more of the poisonous air into his lungs. Bombs going off. Piss running through the trench, mixing with the fresh blood. Men, boys really, screaming for God or their mothers…or crying out for death. Quickly Alfie shook his head before the memories could escape the locked box in his mind that was reserved for them. No, he had a different kind of pain in the ass to deal with currently.

He moved just off to the side of the main entrance, eyeing the swarms of men with slicked-back hair, women in flapper dresses and pearls, and the workers hovering in the shadows waiting to assist the guests. Realistically, the pause was also to give his hip a moment’s respite before he had to pretend the pain radiating like a flare out of his right hip was nothing. He would rather suffer then give Sabini one hint of weakness. The man was a shark, sniffing blood in the water and attacking anything weaker than himself. He scanned the place, noting the gaudy décor, bold colors and the aura of alcohol and lust infused in the air seeking to corrupt the mind with every breath. This was definitely Sabini’s place. Alfie sent a silent prayer heavenward that he never had to cross this threshold again. This place was certainly far from kosher. After he left, he might have to repent of sins he had not even committed just to cleanse himself of the stench of this place. 

“Fuckin’ hip.” He rubbed a hand over it for a moment before straightening. The sooner he met with Sabini, the sooner he could leave. “Let’s get this shit done.”

Black hat on, long black coat hanging off his wide shoulders, scowl on his face- he stepped out of the shadows and moved forward. The guests parted before him, like Moses parting the Red Sea. Not that he minded, he actually got a thrill out of seeing people’s reaction when in his presence. He could be the personification of intimidating when he chose to be. His cane tapped on the floor with each step, only taking some of his weight. It could be its own added force of intimidation. A solid strike with it had taught many people it could be used for more than just a handicap.

“Mr. Solomons!” One of Sabini’s men finally approached him. The pinstripe suit, slicked back hair and thin moustache were enough of a giveaway before the man even opened his mouth to speak in his thick accent. “Mr. Sabini informed me to meet you at the entrance.”

“Yeah? Kinda hard to do that when you got your fuckin’ tongue down that girl’s throat, eh?” Alfie pointed at a girl walking by in a cream-colored dress, attempting to adjust it back into place. “Where is Sabini? He said to meet him here.”

The man attempted to wipe the lipstick off his lips, causing some to smear on his cheek, never mind the few spots on his neck he seemed oblivious too. “Mr. Sabini had an important family meeting come up. Once that is finished, he would meet with you. It should not take long.”

Alfie grumbled, rubbing a hand over his mouth and jaw, his beard prickling the skin. The idea of waiting for Sabini sounded awfully boring and insulting. Yet he needed to have this meeting. If for nothing else then confirmation that his new alliance with those gypsies was still worth his time.

Somehow the man seemed to sense Alfie’s decision to stay and gestured for him to follow. They passed the dance floor, nearby tables being used for both alcohol and snow, and the band at the head of the room. There was a slightly elevated section that the wop led him too. Only a handful of others sat at the tables, too focused on their own conversations and drinks to pay any attention to Alfie.

“I’ll inform Mr. Sabini of your arrival, he will be out soon.” The man gestured to a table in which Alfie took a seat. “All drinks are on the house.”

Alfie watched the man scurry off before ordering a whiskey when a server approached. If Sabini had not shown his ugly face before Alfie finished his drink, he would leave. Fuck this waiting-power game Sabini was playing. The truce between the two of them wavered like a flickering flame, some moments stronger than others but this newest insult was too much. He was affecting Alfie’s business and that was something the Jewish gangster would not tolerate.

His thoughts turned to his schedule for tomorrow and what needed to get done. Ollie had been harping on him to get a secretary with how business and paperwork had been expanding and piling up. Each time Ollie tried to bring it up, Alfie’s glare would shut him down. He did not need nor want someone else sticking their nose in his books and affairs.

About halfway through his whiskey he heard footsteps approach from behind. They were not Sabini’s usual cocky stride. No, they were light and with a clip from high heels. Alfie internally rolled his eyes. He wondered if Sabini sent a whore to distract him, he would not put it past the arrogant wop to try that.

“Is this seat taken?”

Her soft, sweet voice swept over him, causing him to tighten his fingers around his glass. His plan to be rude or ignore her flew out of the window. Her voice was a siren’s call, a lingering song from his past that he had never truly forgotten.

The chair across from his slid out and she gracefully settled herself. Light caught and danced off all the silver beads on her sleeveless gray flapper dress. Long gray gloves covered her hands that held a flute of champagne. His eyes traced up her form to her red, plump lips and delicate features to stare into her hypnotic gaze with gemstone eyes. The biggest change was her shortened hair, a bob now, very fitting with the current style apparently but a part of him lamented the loss of her long, sleek, blonde hair.

The air froze between them. Time and space no longer mattered. Their eyes beheld one another as if a magnetic force refused to let them escape. Trapped in this disbelieving look. Trapped in this moment. Yet there was nowhere else Alfie would rather be. Even after all this time, even after all the shit he had seen and survived, even though it had years since he last saw her…she was still the most beautiful woman to him. He doubted that was something that would ever change.

“It is you.” She breathed out as if momentarily in awe.

“Angel?”

A small smile tilted her lips up. “Damn. Alfie Solomons in the flesh. This must be my lucky day.”

A sound between a snort and a laugh emerged from his own mouth but never once did his eyes come off of her…not did hers leave his. A bubble of silence encased them but it never felt uncomfortable. They just stared at one another as if seeing the moon for the first time. His mind struggled to convince itself that the woman sitting before him was the very same woman he had pinned after for so long. Eight years had passed since he last laid eyes on her. Eight years in which he went to war and returned to expand his empire and reputation. The year before the war ended, her letters stopped. One of the only sources of light and joy in that fucking war ceased and it hit him harder than the bomb blast that sent him to the hospital. All his hopes, dreams and promises of reuniting with her ended then. Yet here she sat in front of him now.

His brain finally decided to start functioning again and he asked the first thing that came to mind. “What are you doin’ here? Your last letter said you was in America.”

She tensed minutely, barely anyone would notice but his eyes were trained on her and did not miss her reaction. After taking a quick sip of her champagne, she answered him. “I have been. I am currently traveling for business.”

“Business?”

“Mmm…I am not sure if you have heard but over in America, this awful law was passed and now alcohol is illegal. Apparently, it is the root of all evil, if you listen to some of the old women.”

“And where does business come in?”

She shrugged casually, peering over the dance floor for a moment. “There are some people willing to pay for alcohol, especially those with money…they just lack the connections to grant them this great evil.”

“So that s’where you come in. You’re a supplier of an illegal substance.”

“I prefer to think of it as a supplier of the finer things in life and good times.”

He chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. Even after all these years, she still continued to surprise him. “So what you sayin’, yeah, s’you still a trouble maker.”

“My dear Alfie,” she gasped dramatically, placing a hand over her chest in mock horror, “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Yeah, yeah, you s’fuckin’ angel. What are you doin’ at this club?”

She rolled her eyes, glancing around quickly. “My business partner and I were supposed to meet with Mr. Sabini but we have been waiting over an hour already.”

“Why the fuck you meetin’ with the likes of him?” He narrowed his eyes at her. Something within him roared in anger at the idea of her meeting with scum like Sabini.

“My partner thinks he has connections we could use. I disagree. With what I have heard, he is not a man to trust easily.”

“Yeah, you s’right, love. Stay well away from ‘im. What kind of connections you lookin’ for? Maybe I can help.”

“I actually planned on calling on you next week. Between us, your reputation may have…frightened my partner. He does not want to utilize your resources. He says you are too volatile and unpredictable.”

“Fuck ‘im too.”

She laughed shamelessly, eyes crinkling as she tilted her head back.

Heaven above, that sound was like music to his ears. He could not help as his own lips turned up at her amusement.  Every fiber in his body demanded he snatch her up and leave with her, never let her out of his sight again, beg her to smile and laugh for him because he had forgotten how it warmed him from the inside out. Although, if he somehow doubted that she would approve of his idea of kidnapping her. That idea made his smile broaden slightly. They both may have changed since they last saw one another but he doubted her independent streak had abated much.

“Come to me bakery tomorrow. Yeah, I’ll show you me bread and give you some names to check out.”

“I would like that.”

“Right! S’settled!” He clapped his hands together loudly, drawing the attention of the few other patrons sitting nearby. “Stop by in the mornin’. Mmm…yeah. I’ll have Mrs. Liebgott in the front expectin’ you.”

“If I may be so bold…” She gestured to his hands. Curious, he nodded and watched as she changed seats to sit next to him. Hesitantly she pulled his left hand closer and seemed to be examining it.

“S’you a gypsy now? Gonna read me palm for me fortune?”

A small smile appeared, the only indicator that she heard his tease. Now so close, her scent taunted him. That same lavender scent, even after all these years, still hung around her like a pleasant aura. As subtly as possible, he inhaled deeply, wishing to permanently brand his nostrils with her scent. Fucking hell, what was happening to him? He was starting to sound like some kind of miscreant stalker.

“Is that…from the necklace I gave you?”

He glanced down to see her finger gently touching one of his rings. “Yeah, the chain got damaged during…” he swallowed thickly, “…during a fuckin’ blast. Kept it in me pocket until I got back to London. Eventually had the gold melted from the chain to form the ring and had the star put on it.”

He wondered what she thought of it. The star was no longer perfect like when she had given it to him. There were dings and scratches on its surface. One of the star’s spikes was dramatically shorter than the others. Yet it still was the same star and same gold, just now a thick gold band encasing the simple gold northern star.

“I can’t… I am surprised you kept it.”

Unsure if those were really tears in her eyes or just a reflection off the club lights, he placed his other hand over hers. Her hands were now sandwiched between his.

“Course I kept it. It was the company’s fuckin’ good luck charm, given to me by me angel, yeah? Why the hell would I get rid of it?”

A genuine smile appeared as she squeezed his hand. “I am glad it brought you luck. From what your reputation says, even the devil himself could not have taken you down, Mr. Solomons.”

“Fuckin’ hell, he tried a few times. I had a promise to keep though. An angel told me I wasn’t allowed to die.”

“You certainly are a man of your word.”

“Mmm…yeah, yeah. That s’me.” His thoughts seemed to move sluggishly when he realized how close they were. Hands clasped between the two of them, bodies leaning forward. It felt surreal. She was truly here…in the flesh. All he wanted to do was pull her into his lap, wrap his arms around her and never let her go. Yet it had been eight years. He had changed, and he suspected she had too. Did she still want him like he wanted her? Could she? Or was this all a dream sent to torment him?

A voice destroyed their peaceful moment. A figure coming to stand near them. “Sarah, I think it’s time we leave.”

“Of course, Hector.” Sarah squeezed Alfie’s hands one last time before releasing him and standing up.

Alfie stared at the man who helped Sarah slip on her fur-lined coat. His eyes narrowed as he noticed the man kept his hand on her lower back.

“Who is your friend here?” The man asked, his American accent easily recognizable. His blue eyes peered through his thin-rimmed spectacles, an intelligence there that was undeniable.

“Yes, my apologies. Hector, this is Alfie Solomons. Alfie, this is Hector Richardson, my business partner.”

Hector nodded slightly. “You seem to know each other well for how long you were talking.”

“We s’old friends, yeah. Haven’t seen her in years.” Alfie said, drumming his fingers on his cane.

“Old friends.” Hector repeated slowly. “Well pleasure to meet you, Mr. Solomons, but as I stated earlier, Sarah and I need to leave.”

Alfie grumbled, an unintelligent consent, wishing for this Hector to find himself at the bottom of the Thames. He did not like the look of him. He could not be much older than himself but this American carried himself like somehow Alife had insulted his mother. He had a handsome enough face, minus the slightly hooked nose and thin lips pursed in annoyance. What bothered Alfie the most was the possessive touch he had on Sarah. The idea to do some digging into this- Hector Richardson- sounded worthwhile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Angel?”

“Yes, I promise.” She winked at him, furthering the scowl on Hector’s face. The two walked away, getting lost in the midst of the crowded club.

Her heady scent of lavender lingered behind like a pleasant memory. The feel of her hands in his brought a warmth to his soul that had been cold for a long time. In all reality, he knew he was overreacting to her reappearance. It had been eight years since he last seen her and truthfully at any moment she could vanish once again. Yet the irrational piece of his brain he usually silenced chirped that it felt like a missing piece was back in his life.

Grumbling to himself, he rubbed his hand over his mouth and jaw, thoughts now turning to tomorrow and their meeting. He could not help but smirk at the knowledge that she was getting into the illegal liquor business. Even after all these years, the girl who should have been a princess and high above the rest of the peasants was still rolling in the mud with them. Even if she still carried a dignity and grace about her that made others turn heads and take notice. She may be in the mud with the peasants but she was a queen, no one could deny that.

“Mr. Solomons.”

Alfie turned to the wop from earlier who approached, now cleansed of lipstick.

“Mr. Sabini can see you now.”

Quickly Alfie slammed the rest of his whiskey back, that familiar burn bringing him back to the present and this god-forsaken meeting.

“A’right, lets get this done, mate.”

 *****

-The next day-

 “So you see sir…that’s…that’s what ‘appened. Just an accident.” The young man stood quaking under Alfie’s gaze, eyes darting around as if any of the other bakers would step in and help him.

Alfie grunted, turning to stare at the large spill of rum soaking into the floor. All he could see was money wasted, laying on the ground. Sure the other lads had managed to save most of the rum in the broken barrel but that did not alleviate one of the newest bakers from learning to be careful with the goods. Normally the foreman on the floor would be dealing with this mess but unfortunately Ishmael was out checking a new batch of cane sugar from Jamaica before bringing it back to the bakery. So that left dealing with this imbecile to the boss.

“Clean this fuckin’ mess up.” He demanded, paused a moment to see the young man nod erratically then turned to head back to this office. The shit that needed to get done today kept piling up without any signs of a reprieve in the future for him. This was something he really did not need to happen today. A shipment was supposed to go out tonight that he wanted to look over once more then there was that pub owner he needed to address for his late payments along with…

“I’m sorry, sir… I won’t spill no more rum. Thank you, sir…”

Before the young man finished uttering his sentence, Alfie turned around to tower over the lad. He glared, summoning all his repressed anger and intimidation, then poured it like hot oil over the lad.

“May I remind you…that the distinction between bread and rum, yeah…IS NOT DISCUSSED!” Alfie ended roaring into the quivering lad’s face. “GET IT THROUGH THAT THICK SKULL OR I’LL FUCKIN’ CRACK IT OPEN!” Without waiting for a response, he turned and started towards his office. If the smell of piss was any indicator, he guessed he would not have any troubles again with that one.

Back in his office, he slammed the door shut, startling Cyril from his nap on his bed on the floor. The bull mastiff looked up at his master before laying his head back on his front paws, watching the muttering man, unaffected by his foul mood.

Shuffling around his cluttered desk, Alfie checked his pocket watch and groaned. It was only 9am and already he wished for the day to be over. He dropped down onto his seat to stare at the paperwork before him. It was an unending pile that he seemed unable to escape no matter the number of late nights or early mornings. Slipping his halfmoon spectacles on, he started again on the notice he had been reading earlier. Someone must have dropped it by late last night. It was from one of the police officers on his payroll, saying how they were getting a new captain and a few new recruits with a list of names. Alfie made a mental note to have the captain checked out, see if he could be of use before Sabini got to him.

A gentle knocking brought Alfie out of his thoughts but kept his eyes glued to the paper before him. “Oi! What s’want, Ollie?”

The creaking of his door alerted him to Ollie’s entrance.

“This better be good, yeah, or you can just fuck right off now.”

“Would you prefer for me to come another time?”

The teasing, sweet, feminine voice had Alfie almost giving himself whiplash with how fast his head jerked up. Ollie stood just inside the office, keeping the door open, meanwhile Sarah stood in the doorway looking like a vision as usual, a mischievous smirk on her lips.

“I like the spectacles by the way. They make you look…scholarly.”

Alfie snorted, taking the glasses off before rising. “Fuckin’ hell, love. I didn’t think you’d actually come.”

“I said I would. I always follow through with my promises.” She stepped further in, her heels clicking on the wood paneled floor. “I can come back another day if you are busy.”

“No, no. S’fine.”

“Ollie,” she turned back to smile at the man, “perhaps that pot of tea and scones would be beneficial right now.” She started to peel her fur-lined coat off, the same from the prior night if Alfie was not mistaken. Ollie immediately jumped to her aid, taking her coat and hanging it up on the hooks near the door. Sometimes Alfie wondered at the true intelligence of his assistant but the lad was certainly raised well in how to treat female guests. Probably due to his mother who was a tyrant when she wanted to be but would tear down governments for anyone she cared for.

“Of course, Mrs. Bondurant. Anything else I can do, Alfie?”

“No, just that.” He leaned on the edge of his desk, running a hand over his mouth and jaw. “Then we aren’t to be disturbed, yeah? When Ishmael returns, he can leave the papers with you for now.”

“Yes, sir.” Ollie gave one quick nod, his shaggy hair shaking with the movement before closing the door behind him.

“Mrs. Bondurant, eh? You married?”

She smiled slyly before taking time to look over his office. “Would it change things if I was?”

“Well that means I’ve been having inappropriate thoughts about a married woman, yeah, very inappropriate.” He watched her, wishing he could read her mind. He wondered what she thought of his office. It was cluttered with bookshelves and files. A fireplace sat abandoned in one corner, only used on the rarest of occasions in the dead of winter. There were a map London on one wall and a couple drawings from an local artist he admired. He also did not mind admiring her in the cream calf-length skirt and plum blouse, a very sophisticated and modern look. She looked ready to take on the world, especially in those heels that made her legs look like a divine treat but were sharp enough to stab someone with. He wondered if she wore them because of how they looked or as a weapon. Probably with her, both reasons.

Slowly, she moved from where she had been admiring a drawing to stand before him. “And if I am not? If I am simply Sarah?”

“You ain’t never been just Sarah to me.”

Her lips twitched as her eyes trailed over his face and eyes, reading and weighing out his words. One of her hands came up to brush through his bristly beard, her thumb rubbing across the scar just above his jaw.

“France.” He answered her unspoken question. “Shrapnel from a bomb.”

“I heard you were made a captain.”

“Not noteworthy, love.”

“I disagree, I like the sound of Captain Solomons.”

There was that teasing, mischievous look back in her gemstone eyes that he remembered so well. Standing so close, even in her heels, her eyes were level with his chin. A strange realization that so much had changed since they last saw one another except for this. She was still the perfect height in his opinion. Her hand on his cheek, he drew his own hand over her cheekbone before running through her shortened hair.

“Why you cut your hair?”

“Are you not aware? It is the latest fashion.” She batted her eyelashes and pouted her lips, the perfect image of a spoiled aristocrat.

He chuckled, running his hand through more slowly this time. At least it did not feel full of product like some women wore their hair. “Sure it is. Never guessed you’d be one to follow the rules.”

“Maybe I will grow it back out. It does help me not to stand out.”

“Love, you are a beautiful angel. Anyone who don’t see that is a fuckin’ fool.”

“I see you still have that charmer’s tongue and honeyed words.”

“I am a man of many talents.”

“Mmm…I seem to recall a few of those talents, especially involving that tongue of yours.”

“Only a few? S’shame, yeah, gonna need to fix that, yeah.” His hands landed on her hips, holding her close. Their gazes remained locked, a heat spilling out between them to fill the air. This teasing, flirtatious banter they so easily fell into felt different this time. Maybe it was because they were different people now. Maybe it was because the time spent apart. Yet Alfie guessed it was because they no longer were hindered by her family and his limited time before the war. No, now they were free. He hoped.  

“Please tell me you s’unmarried, I don’t need to be fightin’ no angry husband later.”

“Afraid you will lose?”

“No, Angel, its cos if I kiss you, I ain’t lettin’ you go again, damn your husband.”

“How do I know you are not married?”

“Been too busy.” He dragged his lips over the shell of her ear, loving the way her hands gripped the front of his shirt like a safety line. “Now answer me question, love.”

“No, I am not married.”

“Mmm…good, good.”

“What now, Captain Solomons?” One of her hands reached down to gently cup his growing erection. “I thought I was here to talk business and see your bakery.”

He suppressed a groan, trying to keep his thoughts in line. It was hard to think beyond this bubble of lust they were creating. The lock on the office door had been replaced lately, so being disturbed was not an issue. There was nowhere to lay her down though. If memory served him correctly, she did not mind being pinned against a wall (although his hip may protest). He wondered how she would feel about utilizing his desk. It was very sturdy. His hands slipped down to cup her ass, pulling her closer as he lightly kissed a trail down her neck. “It ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

And of course that was the moment Ollie chose to reenter with the tray of tea and biscuits. Opening the door, his eyes fixated on the two, his mouth gaping slightly. In all honesty, he probably did not expect to see his boss caressing this strange woman as one of her hands cupped his cock, her other tangled in his hair, pulling his head closer. That would give anyone a shock.

“Ah, um…I can come…”

“That is alright, Ollie.” Sarah stepped away from Alfie, somehow disentangling herself with ease and speed that astounded him. Probably did not help all the blood had rushed from his brain down to his cock. “Tea sounds delightful. I have been missing a good pot of English tea. Soothes the soul.” She peeked over her shoulder at Alfie, who had a scowl on his face. “Business before pleasure, sweetheart.”

Ollie almost dropped the tray on Alfie’s desk with that last comment.

Grumbling, Alfie tried to subtly adjust himself and get his mind off the feeling of how good her body felt under his hands. God, it was like the best wet dream and a nightmare simultaneously; having her so close and ready, yet then it being ripped away suddenly.

“Oh? And who is this handsome boy?”

Alfie straightened, fear coursing through him. So lost in her he had forgotten about the dog. “Sarah, wait-“

It was too late, she knelt down on the other side of Alfie’s desk near Cyril’s bed. Even Ollie momentarily looked horrified. Alfie expected to hear a cry or a growl, yet the immediate sound that greeted him was her cooing and a tail thumping. Coming around to the other side of his desk, shocked did not even begin to describe how he felt at the scene before him. There lay his massive dog that had torn men to shreds in protection of Alfie, who normally disliked strangers and even then was choosy about who he let touch him….now lay on his back, legs sprawled, tongue lolling as he got his belly and chest scratched. Sarah knelt on the floor, facing him, her voice low and cooing at him like he was the sweetest puppy. It would have been comical if Alfie could wrap his head around what his eyes were seeing. Exchanging a look with Ollie only mirrored his own surprise.

“Didn’t know you s’dog person.”

She looked back at Alfie, the widest, genuine smile on her face he had ever seen. “I love dogs. They are the most loyal companions and great for cuddling.”

“Mmm…” Alfie muttered, rubbing a hand over his face and jaw. He watched a second longer, transfixed by the sight in front of him. Glancing to his side, he suddenly remembered Ollie standing there, who now was staring at her with a dreamy look. “Oi! Keep those eyes in your head, boy. Now fuck off!”

He did not have to be asked twice, most likely knowing Alfie was pissed at him already for interrupting…whatever was happening before he arrived with the tray. Ollie stumbled an apology, along with a parting before scurrying out of the office, closing the door behind him.

“Are you always so harsh with him?”

“Didn’t like ‘im starin’ at you.” He reached a hand out to help her back to her feet, much to Cyril’s dismay. Rolling her eyes, she allowed him to pull her to her feet. Before he could get his hands fully back on her, she evaded him to glide over to the tray.

“Now, tell me the tale of how Alfie Solomons became a distiller of rum and owner of such a fine bakery. I must confess I tried one of those honeyed scones with Mrs. Liebgott, who is a delight herself, and it was delectable. I may have to come back just for that.” Sarah poured herself a cup of tea while she spoke then sat to blow gently on the steaming liquid. At her last comment, a soft whine came from around the side of Alfie’s desk. “Precious boy, I will come back and see you too. Oh! What is his name?”

“Cyril.” Alfie shook his head at the strangeness of this encounter, but then again, when had him and Sarah ever met like normal people. He rounded his desk to sit in his seat, shuffling some papers out of the way to not spill tea on. “Why you askin’ ‘bout me business?”

“Curiosity…perhaps I am impressed and am trying to see how the young man I once knew with bloody fists has now become such a successful businessman.”

“You forgot to mention dangerous gangster.”

“You would not be the first of those I have encountered.”

He squinted his eyes at her, disliking that comment. Gangsters were not to be trusted. Who else around here besides Sabini had she ‘encountered’? Had she somehow met the Shelbys? The fuckin’ Russians? Why could she not stay out of trouble?

As if reading his thoughts, she waved a hand dismissively. “In America. Apparently it is a growing trend. Now, I am still waiting for my story.”

“A’right. First,” he pointed a finger at her, “where this ‘Mrs. Bondurant’ business start? Then you’ll get your fuckin’ story.”

Several silent moments passed, her holding her tea cup against her lips as she stared off to the side. Softly, just above a whisper, she finally spoke. “My father disowned me, said I was a disgrace to our family name. I never fit into the mold that he wanted.  Do not look at me with that pity, it truthfully was not a surprise to anyone. Once he realized I refused to be married off to benefit his business and position, he no longer had a need for me. Besides, he had my brother who was beginning to follow in his footsteps. So I went back to stay with some distant family in America…”

“That’s why your letters came from there. The men thought I had me an American sweetheart.”

She chuckled. “I remember you mentioning that. Ishmael wrote me a letter about how you got into a fight when one of the men called me a ‘whore’ or something. Still defending my honor even in the middle of a war.”

“Fuckin’ hell…he did?”

She nodded slowly, smile growing on her face.

Grumbling about useless friends under his breath, he motioned for her to continue her story.

“I traveled around some, New York City, Chicago, Charleston. I have some cousins who got into the liquor business of distribution to places willing to pay for the stuff even though it is illegal now. Apparently I have a good mind for business and numbers so they convinced me to help them.”

“That man last night…”

“He is a distant cousin, a business partner. Him and his brother are the ones I work with.”

He shook his head, secretly pleased the man was not a suitor. “Why the fuck he so possessive of you?”

“We have had a few encounters with gangsters who…who wanted me to be part of the deal. They have become a bit protective of me since. And also his wife is one of my good friends. Before we left to come here, she told him if anything happened to me, she would cut his cock off.”

He laughed, not expecting that.

“He has a valid reason to be afraid. You do not mess with Southern women, they are usually sweet and kind but they can be brutal if they want too. Anyway, after an…incident, I had to lay low for a while. Hector had me stay with some friends in Virginia who are moonshiners. Actually one of them reminded me of you. It was uncanny. His name was Forrest Bondurant. I guess at one point while I was resting, some men came to the house asking questions about me. Forrest told them I was his wife…and it just stuck. It certainly kept the men in the area from trying anything. It is not like I wanted to go by Sarah Byron anymore.”

“Mmm…what was this incident?”

She shook her head. “No, I answered your question. Now I get my story.”

Fiddling with the rings on his hands, he found himself pouring out about life after the war. Only two women in his life had been able to boss him around, his mum and the angel staring at him with eyes of interest and affection. He talked about how coming back he noticed how many men could not get work, their families forced onto the streets. Plus while he was gone, his mother started to get sick. Without proper care, because she could not afford it, she began to deteriorate. Seeing this, he began to figure out ways to make money to pay for her care. Thus the rum business began. He still had all his prior connections, memories of how everything worked and now the man power to make it a business. The idea of the bakery had actually been inspired by his mum who complained that he always came home smelling of molasses and rum. He managed to afford her the best care until she passed two years ago. Now his life consisted of his business. He still “ran” Camden, giving protection to those willing to pay for it and trying to keep the wops off his turf. He dabbled with races some but that was more Sabini’s territory. With the growing popularity of his nephew, he was thinking about getting into boxing matches more instead of it just being recreational. He was unsure how long he spoke for, her asking questions along the way. The tea and scones were long gone. Cyril had gotten up at some point and sat next to Sarah, laying his head on her knee so she could pet him absent-mindedly as she listened to Alfie.

Dramatically, the office door opened. Ishmael entered, a surprised and smug look on his face.

“What the fuck, mate?” Alfie demanded.

Ishmael glanced at his boss and friend before turning back to Sarah. His eyes scanned over her like she was a new species he had discovered. “Damn, Ollie was right.”

“Ishmael?” Her eyebrows rose as her mind seemed to connect his face to her memories.

“Yeah, love. It’s me. What you doin’ here?”

“Just talking history and business.”

Ishmael leaned against Alfie’s desk, ignoring the glare being sent his way by Alfie, focusing on her. “You comin’ down to the floor to see the bakery? I’d give you a tour.”

“Oi! You got somethin’ important cos if not then fuck off, yeah?”

“Seein’ the lovely woman who holds me friend’s heart is important.” Ishmael winked at Sarah before looking over his shoulder at Alfie, a shit-eating grin on his face. “And I came to tell you that one of our lads got in a fight with one of them Pikey boys and now that big fella, the red-head, is demandin’ to speak to you.”

“Fuck.” Alfie groaned, rolling his eyes skyward. He needed all the patience to deal with that particular man, who was good at his job but just continued to rub Alfie the wrong way constantly. Looking over at Sarah, he could read the amusement and understanding in her eyes. “Love, I’m sorry…”

“It is fine, Alfie. I am sure I have taken up more than enough of your time today. You do have a business to run.” She stood up, brushing out her skirt.

“Have dinner with me tonight.”

“What?”

He rose, coming around the desk to stand before her. A sudden desperation in him that he could not let her leave without knowing he would see her again soon. “Lemme take you out tonight. I’ll pick you up at eight. I still didn’t hear none of your time in America and we never talked business.”

She paused a moment, eyes scanning his face. “I would like that.”

“Mmm…good, yeah, good.” Before she could grab it, he reached over and snagged her coat, helping her into it. “Ollie! In ‘ere!”

Ollie stepped in, seeming to have been waiting just outside the door. Probably expecting to get chewed out for letting Ishmael in.

“Good. Take Mrs. Bondurant to the hotel she is staying. Use me car, yeah, have David drive you.”

“Alfie…” She started to argue, hand placed on his chest.

“No, that’s an order, yeah?”

She cupped his cheek, before pressing her lips to it. “Of course, Captain. See you tonight.”

He mumbled something unintelligent, brain suddenly on hiatus with the feeling of her lips on his skin.

Giving a brief smile to Ishmael, she followed Ollie down the walkway, looking like a goddess amongst the dim and dusty bakery.

Alfie shook his head, dragging his eyes away from the door to Ishmael to ask him a question. His foreman and friend just stared at him smirking. “What?”

“Gonna propose proper this time?”

“Ah, fuck off.”

Ishmael laughed, pushing off Alfie’s desk. “Bout time you married and started having a house full of babies. Me wife is sick of making dinners for you all the time.”

“I’m just waitin’ for you to finally die then Ruth knows I’ll marry her right after your ass is buried in the ground. ‘sides, your ankle biters like me more.”

“Well you be waitin’ around a while…don’t plan on dying yet.”

“Good, good. I need you still, you fuckin’ bastard. Now let’s go crack some heads, yeah? Cyril, c’mon boy.”

Ishmael clapped a hand to Alfie’s shoulder quick before walking out of the office. Straightening the rings on his fingers, he allowed his boss persona to rise to the surface. Alone with Ishmael, they could joke but out in the bakery, he was the boss you did not fuck with or your blood spilled on the ground. Cyril at his side, he strode out of his office, wanting to deal with this mess as quickly as possible. He had a pile of things he needed to do still but nothing would stop him from seeing his angel tonight. He cracked his knuckles. Like she said, first business then pleasure.

 *****

Unfortunately business took longer than Alfie wanted. It was closer to nine that evening when his car pulled up in front of the hotel Sarah was staying at. A nice place with brick walls, banners and an attendant at the door to greet guests and provide information. Alfie let his driver go home claiming to need the drive to clear his head, when truthfully he just did not want to be around anyone. That afternoon had been exhausting from dealing with the Pikeys working in his bakery (damn Shelby for convincing him this was a good idea) and then trying to catch up on paperwork. Parking the car on the side of the street, he hopped out, almost getting hit by an erratic driver before heading towards the hotel.

“How can I be of service, sir?” The attendant politely asked when Alfie approached the double doors.

“Um, lookin’ for a friend. She s’stayin’ here.”

The attendant glanced him up and down quickly as if assessing Alfie’s worth of being allowed through his doors. Before Alfie could give him a piece of his mind, the man spoke up. “Would you, by chance, be a Mister Solomons?”

“Um…yeah.”

“Ah. A Mrs. Bondurant said she would be waiting for you at the bar, sir.”

Grumbling to himself, he nodded to the man before slipping past the double doors and heading off to the bar area on the right. His eyes shrewdly scanned over the patrons before landing on her. What should of brought elation only caused a shot of fiery anger to course dangerously through him. Sitting next to her at the bar was a man who was much too close and much too focused on her in Alfie’s opinion. He was fully turned facing her, holding a glass of amber liquid in one hand and the other draped across the back of her chair.

Sarah was only turned slightly towards him but one of her hands were carefully holding a wine glass and the other a lit cigarette. Her dress was a deep red, V-necked so her cleavage peeked out enticingly, and two strands of pearls hanging over her chest with black heels that were sharp. She looked positively beautiful and sinful at the same time.

The man brought his face closer to hers, whispering something before leaning back and chuckling about whatever it was. Sarah laughed along but it seemed fake to Alfie. To his growing rage, he witnessed the man place a hand on her thigh as he continued talking casually.

Without warning, Alfie stormed over and practically yanked the man out of his seat, causing him to spill his drink all over the counter. “Keep your fuckin’ hands and eyes off ‘er, yeah? Or I’ll cut ‘em off. Got it?” He growled into the man’s face.

“What the fuck?” The man scrambled to stand up straight, made impossible by the way Alfie was gripping the man’s suit jacket. His own voice rising to meet Alfie’s anger. “We were just talking. Who the fuck do you think you are? Get your bloody hands off me.”

Permission granted and uncaring of the amount of stares he was receiving, he pulled the man upright to get into his face. “I’m Alfie Solomons, that’s who the fuck I am.”

Alfie watched the lightbulb go off in the man’s eyes as his name sunk into his thick skull. Where there had been irritation and rising fury, now was doused away with the realization of who held him and pure fear at the unknown of Alfie’s actions.

“Good, good. Anymore questions? No? Then fuck off, mate.” He released the man, who stumbled back before righting himself. He opened his mouth as if to say something but with Alfie’s pointed glare, he clamped it shut and briskly walked away without even looking at Sarah.

Rubbing a hand over his eyes, Alfie turned back to Sarah. She had not moved, a single eyebrow raised as she took a sip of her wine.

“You look like you need a drink.”

He chuckled darkly. “More than one.”

Taking the man’s seat, he plopped down and ran a hand over his eyes. He signaled for a whiskey from the bartender, who quickly cleaned up the spilled drink. “Sorry, ‘m late, love, I had some unforeseen business…”

“Was that necessary?”

He stopped at her abrupt interruption. Turning slightly to face her, he eyed her. “What?”

Pursing her lips, she took a drag off her cigarette before speaking, the smoke dancing out of her lips and floating above her head. “Was it necessary to come after William like that?”

“William, eh? You two s’friends?”

“No, I just met him.”

“Then pardon me but what the fuck is the problem then? You didn’t seem to enjoy none of how close he was to you or was I readin’ that wrong? You tryin’ for his attention? Hopin’ to fuck him?”

With that, she turned to face him, emerald eyes glowing with unbridled rage. “You listen, Alfie Solomons,” she spat out, keeping her voice low but no less deadly. “I can talk to, spend time with and fuck whomever I want. I am not some innocent posh girl you need to protect anymore. Nor am I yours in any way. I am my own and I can do whatever the hell I want. If that affects us then you can be on your way and do not expect to hear from me. Am I making myself clear?”

Alfie’s own anger rose up instinctively. No one had talked to him like that in years and he remembered how much he hated it. His own blue eyes met her emerald, flames practically flickering between them with the surrounding air thick with tension. He did not flinch nor look away when the bartender hesitantly slide his drink in front of him. This battle of wills between them, staring purposefully into her heated gaze made him notice something. There was a darkness that lingered in the edges of those beautiful, gemstone eyes he had always loved so much that had not been there the times prior they had met. No, this was something new and it broke his heart. It was the same darkness that lingered in himself, in returned soldiers, in people who had seen far too much violence and their minds could not forget. She was haunted, just like him. Whatever anger he held crumbled like dust at this realization. All he could think of was pulling her into his arms to protect her from her own pain. What had happened since he had last seen her those eight years ago?

“A’right, love, a’right. You s’right. Just don’t want to see you hurt, yeah?”

After a long pause, he could see the tension drain from her posture. Slowly, she brought a hand up to cup his cheek, her thumb rubbing over his scar. “Why do you still care? Why are you still looking out for me?”

“Cos you s’me angel. You deserve it.”

A hint of tears glistened in her eyes as she held his gaze once again, but with a very different emotion this time.

“Now, it’s been a fuckin’ long day after you left. Me temper may have gotten the best of me. Here we are and this mornin’ you promised to tell me your story…mmm…so…”

“Is that so?” She chuckled, pulling her hand back to grasp her glass, and there was that twinkle in her eye that meant trouble. “Perhaps I want to see if you will beg for it?”

He leaned forward, invading her space intimately, as he whispered in her ear. “There is only one reason I would beg…and we will both be naked before that happens.” Returning to an upright position, he witnessed her pupils dilated slightly and lick her lips subconsciously. A jolt of desire shot through him at her action.

“An interesting proposal, Mr. Solomons. There is one thing I have heard that I am most curious about.”

“Mmm?”

“Some new friends I have made informed me that at the Paradise you regularly pay more for blonde company.” She smirked, lifting the cigarette to her lips again.

“Fuckin’ hell, what are you doin’ at a whorehouse?”

“I told you, I thoroughly research those who I may be doing business with.”

“You s’still trouble, Miss Sarah. Fuck…what you learn ‘bout Sabini?”

Shaking her head, she laughed making a smile appear on his own face. The prior tension between them fully gone.

“When you start smokin’?” Not that it bothered him terribly. During the war, he had become used to the smell. It was one of the few ways a soldier could attempt to relax while in the trenches. He never acquired the taste for it personally, much to the amusement of some of his men.

She shrugged, “I cannot rightly say. It just happened.”

He nodded, taking a sip of the whiskey. Not terrible stuff, surprisingly. Opening his mouth to tease her about it, the words died on his tongue as a different voice called out to her.  

“Sarah? Sarah Byron, is that you?”

The tightening of her hand around her glass was the only give away of emotions. Gracefully she turned to face the man now standing behind her. Alfie’s ire returned, especially with the look this man was giving her. In his crisp suit, cropped hair and smug smile, he looked the part of an arrogant aristocrat. He practically smelled of money from family inheritance.

“Yes…Joseph?”

He smiled broadly, eyes trailing over her body. Quickly he took that last step forward, plucked her hand and kissed the back of it. “My dear Sarah, it is a true pleasure to see you. I do believe your beauty has only grown since I last saw you. Unfortunately I have a brief meeting I must attend now but after, could I take you out for a drink or food? There is a splendid restaurant not far from here my driver could take us.  It has been far too long since we were able to talk without any preconceived notions and expectations.”

“Sorry, mate, she s’busy tonight.”

For the first time, the man turned his focus on Alfie. Meeting his narrowed eyes, all Alfie could think of was a serpent.

“Oh? Is she? And who are you?”

“Alfie Solomons.”

The man’s eyebrows rose. “The gangster?” He looked back at Sarah. “Fascinating company you keep, my dear.”

“And who the fuck are you?” Everything in Alfie screamed at him to stand up and have this bastard’s face meet his fist…repeatedly.

“I am Joseph Coventry, Earl of Lancashire.” Keeping his sly gaze on Sarah, he pulled the single red rose out of his suit jacket’s pocket. He held it out for her, who took it somewhat reluctantly as he spoke again. “Truly a shame I must leave but I will call on you soon. Have a pleasant evening, Lady Sarah.” After a quick peck on her knuckles this time, he headed towards a far table already containing three men dressed similarly and with an air of high class.

“What the…”

Ignoring Alfie, she turned to the bartender. “Whiskey, a whole bottle, yes that one will do. Two glasses. Put it on my tab, please.” Snatching the glass bottle and glasses, she stabbed her cigarette out and left it on the ashtray before she got up and started towards the nearby stairs.

Alfie stared at the men a moment longer…this Joseph Coventry…an arrogant bastard if he had ever met one. It might be prudent to ask around about him. Alfie could usually get a good read on people, those that were trustworthy or not. Everything about this prick made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and his hand to unconsciously twitch to grab the pistol under his jacket. There was something there…something dangerous and deadly just under the surface…and the man had his eyes on Sarah. No, Alfie would not tolerate that.

After taking that moment to memorize Coventry’s face, he followed after Sarah up the stairs. He had a few new questions for her and with her purchase of a whole whiskey bottle, he was unsure how much longer she would be sober for. Although the idea of seeing her drunk did amuse him slightly, he wondered if she would be the angry type or the giggly, excessively talking type. Personally he hoped for the cuddly type but he would never take advantage of a drunk woman. He may be a low life gangster with too much blood on his hands but he did have some morals.

He quickly caught up to her on the second floor as she opened the door to room number 16. Without a word or a look back at him, she walked through and into the hotel room, leaving the door wide open. He followed, closing and locking the door behind him before scanning the place. The room certainly had an upscale feel with its floral wallpaper, wood accents and gaudy still life paintings. There were only two other doors, one he guessed led to the washroom and the other to the bedroom. His focus though turned to the woman who had collapsed onto the couch, her high heels kicked to the side, and pouring two fingers worth of whiskey. Within moments after pouring it, she slammed it down and poured another. So many questions resided on his lips but he kept them closed. Moving around the room, he tossed his coat onto a nearby wingback chair and joined her on the couch. He sat on the opposite end, allowing her space. To his surprise, she poured him a glass and wordlessly handed it to him. After pouring herself another glass, she leaned back and closed her eyes. He could not help his wandering gaze, eyes drifting to those sleek legs with more skin exposed as her dress had ridden up with her unladylike posture, and the swell of her breast, straining against her dress.

“Do you remember…” she stopped, licking her lips as of to encourage the words to come out, “…last time we saw each other. I told you I was back because I was supposed to be getting married.”

“Yeah.” Then it clicked and his eyes widened momentarily. “That…that bastard? That s’who?”

She took a tentative sip of her drink this time, still leaning back and keeping her eyes closed.

“Fuck, love, think you dodged a bullet with that one.”

A snort escaped her but it was her eyes opening and turning to look at him that caused him to finally relax.

“Tell me, Sarah.”

And so she did. He could tell she glossed over much of her story and skipped certain parts entirely. Yet he let her talk, sharing about her past eight years and things she had done. He sat mesmerized by her and her story. After the “insult” perceived by her father, he disowned her, kicking her out of the house no matter her mother begging for him to reconsider. More determined than ever to prove herself and to never let a man control her, she got on a boat and traveled back to her mother’s distant family in America. Finally America decided to join the Great War and many men were sent over to Europe. During this time she became more involved in that family’s business and proved herself to be an asset. Once the war was over, she continued with the work but settled more behind the scenes. Prohibition happened which only proved to make business a challenge she thrived in. Her brother died in France during the war and with the grief of losing her son and disownment of her daughter, her mother fell into a deep depression and eventually died. Her father died last year, the only reason she felt confident in returning to London after all this time.

Somehow during her retelling, their postures changed. Alfie had shifted to sit closer to her, feet still planted on the ground and a glass in his hand. Sarah laid stretched out on the couch, her legs over his lap with her head on the arm rest and a glass in her hand. Together, they were slowly working through the whiskey bottle while she spoke. His hand skimmed up and down her legs, the feeling of her stockings and skin under his hand was intoxicating.

When her story ended, he asked something that had been gnawing on him for years. “Why did your letters to me stop?”

She threw back the rest of her glass, turning to look at the large window they faced. “I did something stupid and got thrown in jail for a short time before family could get me out. The sheriff was not a fan of me.”

Something about the way she tensed and refused to look at him made him wonder what happened to her while in jail. Nothing good. The thought of this sheriff laying a hand on her made his blood boil and he wondered if the man was still alive so he could kill him himself. Slowly and painfully.

Reaching a hand over, he gripped her free hand and entwined their fingers. There was nothing he could say or do to take away the pain no matter how much he wanted to. He changed the subject, hoping to bring her out of the solemnness that she was wallowing in. “How long until you head back?”

“Two weeks? A month? Depends on if we decide to go to France and meet some connections there.”

“That s’it?”

He could not disguise the sadness nor longing in his voice. Emerald eyes turned to meet his, mirroring his emotions. Slowly she sat up, setting her glass down before placing one hand on his shoulder and another on his cheek.

“I will not leave unannounced. I can promise you that.”

“Is it selfish for me to want all your time while you’re here?”

She smirked, dragging her thumb across his lower lip. “Something particular in mind to occupy our time?”

“I’m sure I can get creative.”

“Promises, promises, Captain Solomons.”

In a heated rush, his lips claimed hers. Whatever slow building fire that burned between them suddenly turned into an inferno and Alfie swore he felt like his blood was aflame. Unexpectedly  she moved to straddle him, hands tugging on the buttons on his shirt. His own hands fumbled between cupping her ass and undoing the buttons on her dress. He sipped on the sweet ambrosia that was her mouth, drowning in the taste of her tongue and the heat between her legs over his straining cock. It was heaven. It was torment. There was one thing he knew, he could not stop. Whatever self-control he had flew out the window once their lips touched. He was fully under her control and had no intentions of going anywhere else. In one last draw of strength, he pulled away to meet her lust filled eyes. They had been drinking and he did not want her to regret this come morning.

“Angel, you sure?”

Slowly, she blinked as if awakening from a fog. Then she pulled off his lap to stand before him. A piece of him died when she turned and started to walk away. Did she regret this? Had he pushed her too far? They were certainly different people and with everything she had shared tonight, perhaps this was not what she wanted.

His breath caught in this throat, hope and fear warring within him when she stopped at the bedroom door. Meeting his gaze, she reached back and undid the last few buttons on her dress. It slipped down to pool at her bare feet, leaving her standing there in a sheer shift that left nothing to the imagination. She looked like both the angel he called her and sin wrapped up in a body that begged to be worshipped and ravished until she could not move. His blonde, green-eyed siren regarded him, a smile growing on her lips as he stared.

“Coming, soldier?” Turning around she strolled into the darkness in her bedroom, the slip coming off and dropping onto the floor like a trail for him to follow.

He did not think he had ever scrambled off a couch so fast. His shirt fell onto her dress on the floor, symbolic of their owners just a few feet away.

The rest of the night was spent in a haze of lust, laughter and contentment. Neither brought up the new scars scattered along both of their bodies. Pleasure was the purpose of the night. Something they certainly succeeded at if how sore they both were come morning was any indicator.

 *****

-The next day-

 Alfie sat at his desk, massaging his sore hip. He had been forced to use his cane more than he cared for today but thinking of the prior night and the reason why…completely worth it.

A knocking on his door had him looking up. “Come in.”

One of his men came in, a fellow soldier from France and now a baker, when he was not needed as protection on the streets.

“John, good, good. C’mere.”

John shut the door behind him and took the indicated seat, the chair creaking slightly under the weight. John was a large man, muscular and thick with a bushy beard and watchful eyes. Although Alfie would never tell him out loud, John was one of the few he trusted most that worked for him and found him indispensable. But Alfie did not want to boost the man’s ego more than it was.

“I got a task for your lads.” Alfie rubbed his hand over his jaw and mouth for a moment before continuing, damn the consequences. “There’s someone I need your lads to keep an eye on for me. A Mrs. Sarah Bondurant. Don’t let ‘er know, yeah. Just report who she s’been meetin’ with and make sure no one harms her.”

“This the woman who came by yesterday?”

Alfie raised a single eyebrow.

John shrugged. “Ishmael been talkin’.”

“Fuckin’ hell, that ugly bastard. Yeah, yeah, it is. Think you can do it?”

“Course.”

“One last thing. See what you can find out about a Joseph Coventry.”

“The earl?” John asked, clearly surprised.

“Yeah, I gots me a bad feelin’ ‘bout him.”

“Yes, boss. I’ll stop by in two days. Should have somethin’ by then.”

“Good, good. Thanks, John.”

After John left, Alfie toyed with the gold star ring on his left hand, lost in thought. After hearing everything from Sarah and seeing some of her scars, it only increased his desire to protect her. She would certainly be livid with him if she knew he had men looking out for her. He both loved and hated that independent streak in her. For now though, he needed to focus on work. He had managed that morning to draw a promise to see her again tonight, and this time he planned to take her out proper…maybe go back to his place after? He smiled at the thought of her writhing beneath his sheets. Maybe they should just go straight to his house?

A loud bang sounded from outside his door drew his attention back to the present and a scowl formed on his face. No rest for the wicked.

“Oi! The fuck is goin’ on out there?!”

[mypassionfortrash]

Don’t Tell A Soul

You and Roger don’t exactly see eye-to-eye, but he’s made a few adjustments to his solo that get you hot and bothered.

Warnings: STRICTLY 18+, smut, lots of dirty talk! Notes: this was a request for an ‘enemies to lovers’ oneshot from the lovely @jennyggggrrr​ and @a19103​! Please note, I’m not taking any more requests until after November.

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A merch girl with a lot of opinions and a knack for pissing Roger off. 

That summed you up perfectly. 

He didn’t care for you. You didn’t care for him. 

That much was plain. 

But you couldn’t resist riling him up at afterparties when you had both drunk too much; the worst came when you dared to question why on earth Queen would allow Roger to have a self-indulgent drum solo slap-bang in the middle of their set. 

It was a joke. Delivered as a joke. With a cheeky wink in Roger’s direction. 

It even won a few laughs from Brian and Deacy; Freddie thought it was rather droll, too. But not Roger.

Roger’s face fizzed, flushed scarlet as he slammed his glass down on the table. As great as he was at uniting everyone, he could also reduce an entire party of forty to stunned silence. He stood up, every eye in the room fixed on him, then he jabbed his finger in your direction. “I don’t know who the fuck you are, but it’d serve you well to know when to shut up,” he seethed. Then, he turned and scuppered out of the room, leaving you all dumbfounded.

“What on earth was that?” Freddie remarked, shaking his head.

“You’ve really done it now,” Deacy followed. “He’s going to hate you forever for that.”

Brian pondered, scratching his chin. “He’s very sensitive about his drumming.”

—————————————————————————

Loading everything into the venue was a pain in the arse. You always aimed to have all your stands set up before Queen sound checked - usually before the venue’s own merch staff showed up. 

The day after your bust-up with Roger was particularly brutal. The muggy summer heat meant that after multiple trips between the truck and the venue, lugging god knows how many boxes of t-shirts, the only way to cool down was to dump a bottle of water over yourself right there in the foyer. Dripping with sweat and water, and doubled over a merch stand, you tried hopelessly to wheeze some breath into your lungs.

It slipped your mind that you were standing in the thick of a hectic foyer with road crew and musicians bustling all around. They could see you. But one voice caught your attention, mortifying you even more.

It was Roger.

“Hi,” he said, hovering over your shoulder. “About last night - can we talk about it?”

Your breathing finally gave out; your body apparently didn’t have the energy to fight him.

“I’m not going to argue with you. I promise,” he continued. “I just had a couple of ideas on how to make my solo a bit more interesting. Thought you’d be a good guinea pig since… you’re very outspoken.”

How diplomatic of him.

“We’re sound checking in an hour. I’ll play it for you.”

You turned to Roger to find him looking pathetically hopeful. He donned the sort of expression you had a difficult time saying no to, so you did the unthinkable; you gave a small nod.

His lips split into a bashful grin. He seemed utterly endearing today. “Great! I’ll see you then.”

You returned to your work-in-progress display while your brain spun, wondering why the fuck Roger was suddenly so nice to you; it eventually arrived at it being a cruel joke.

Nevertheless, that didn’t hinder you from loitering at the side of the stage an hour later, waiting to see what Roger had in store.

He passed you, glimpsing back as he strolled towards his kit.

You found your teeth boring into your knuckles when you fully took in how effortlessly handsome he looked in his skintight blue jeans and his oversized white shirt, buttoned up to his chest, sleeves pushed up to the elbow. A cigarette dangled from his lips, trailing shimmering smoke into the air around him as he played.

He started slow. Easygoing. Nothing to write home to your mum about. But about midway through, his pace hastened, gathering blistering momentum. Sweat beaded down his temples from the exertion and the heat; his entire body thrashed wildly while he thumped out a solo that thundered through your own.

Only when he had finished and smugly set down his sticks did you realise that you’d forgotten to breathe for two whole minutes. That’s how it felt, at least. 

Your heart pounded in your chest when Roger came back to you. Even though his shirt was drenched in sweat, he smelled so intoxicating that you just wanted to bury your head against his chest. So fixated on the delicate curls of hair peeking out of his shirt, you didn’t even notice him talking. You just heard noises. Peering up in a trance, you managed to mumble a disoriented: “what was that?”

“The solo - was that an improvement?”

“I - I think they’re going to love it,” you bumbled.

Roger narrowed his eyes and folded his arms, jutting out his hip like a petty teenage girl. “You bitch! You weren’t even listening, were you?”

Dragged away from Roger’s chest a second time, your eyes met his. “I was!”

“I don’t think you were. Did you get distracted?”

“No!”

You did. But to be fair, he was undeniably distracting. Just the sight of him in front of you had you tensing your thighs together. It was just a shame you didn’t have much time for him as a person.

“You’ve very distracting,” you blurted. The ache between your legs had taken the wheel, and your brain had temporarily shut down.

But it worked. Roger raised his eyebrows, staring you up and down. “And you’re not?”

Fuck. He was going there. And it made your heart pound.

“Coming in here in a soaking wet t-shirt and those shorts. It’s a wonder the crew get any work done with you around.”

“Well, they’re certainly too nice to make a move.”

Roger smirked at you, assessing the situation for a moment, then he grabbed your arm to lead you through into the backstage area and a myriad of deserted hallways. Both of you were too wracked with anticipation to say anything, but you knew where this was heading. You wanted this.

Finally, Roger stopped, shoving you into the wall. His body pressed so firmly into you that no matter how much you twisted with need, those efforts were futile. His mouth lingered just out of reach, taunting you as you tried to catch your breath for the second time that day.

He edged closer, towards your throat. “Just so you know,” he hummed, “I’m only doing this because I haven’t seen anything better.”

“You’re disgusting,” you gasped, relishing the sensation of Roger’s tongue and his teeth gliding over your skin. A delighted whimper gave you away.

“Then why do you like it so much?” Roger asked. He lost no time in pawing between your legs like he knew exactly what he did to you; he knew what he’d find beneath those shorts of yours. “Tell me why you’re doing this?” he purred. 

“Because you looked so fucking good up there. And because I can.”

Roger snickered, gently guiding your head up to suck heavy, urgent kisses on to your jaw, en route to your lips.

“Stop fucking around, Roger,” you scolded. “If you’re going to fuck me, fuck me.”

Roger took a step back from you, glancing around for any sign that you’d be interrupted, then he came back to you, tugging at the zipper on your shorts. He slid his hand in and immediately realised just how much his new and improved solo stirred you. “Well, these knickers of yours are fucking ruined, aren’t they? Bet you were thinking about this when you were watching me,” he remarked, removing his hand from your shorts. “Take these off.”

No sooner had you shimmied your shorts and your underwear down your legs, but Roger had seized you by your hips, hoisting you up and forcing you to cling to his neck, locked on to his hips. “Don’t fucking tell anyone,” you seethed, freeing his cock. He was thick; your fingers barely met around his girth as you drew your hand around it, eventually lining it up against your pussy.

Roger rammed into you in one brisk motion, taking your breath away. His face was buried in your neck. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Don’t want the rest of the crew taking turns on you,” he hissed as he gained pace. “I want this tight little cunt all to myself. Any time I like.” He removed himself from your neck to look at you with wide eyes. “Understand?”

Roger fucked you so ferociously that words escaped you. All you could muster was an enthusiastic nod and incoherent babbling as he impaled you on his cock. Anyone could hear you, anyone could walk by. But that was part of the appeal.

“Touch yourself for me,” Roger ordered. “Amuse me.”

You hastily reached between your legs, doing precisely as Roger told you, frantically rubbing away at your clit while he pounded you into the wall.

The slapping sound of him thrusting into you reverberated through the corridor, merging with Roger’s animalistic growls and your fraught moans. You were shocked no one heard and came to see if everything was okay with the racket the two of you made.

The way Roger studied you, his forehead pressed to yours, his eyes darkened and swimming with passion, flitting between your cunt and your eyes. It was enough to fire a shudder through your body, offering you a taste of what was to come. The grip your cunt had on him tightened.

“That’s it, milk my fucking cock. Be a good girl for me,” Roger purred. “You’re close, aren’t you, darling?”

The surges of ecstasy that coursed through you grew evermore frequent the harder Roger fucked you until you writhed and trembled involuntarily, at a loss even just to moan for him.

When your orgasm waned, you lacked the strength to cling to him any longer, easing yourself down on to your feet. Your legs felt like jelly as Roger whirled you around to face the wall and bent you over at the waist. He tugged at your hair for extra leverage.

Your fingers clawed at the cold, hard concrete to steady yourself while Roger resumed his onslaught. But his advances were growing increasingly jagged. He hunched over you; the hand once tangled through your hair was now firmly planted on the wall beside your face. You could feel every grunt from him coming right from his chest, growling through you. And the warmth; the warmth of one final push into you as he filled you with rope after rope of thick, hot cum. It only made you want to go for another round with him. But he was on a strict schedule.

No sooner had Roger finished inside you, leaving the evidence to ooze down your legs, but he was yanking up the zipper on his jeans, ready to rejoin his bandmates in their dressing room.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asked, his tone unceremonious and almost clinical.

You clambered to pull up your shorts and your underwear. “Yes.”

Of course, he hadn’t waited for your answer. He knew you weren’t about to refuse; he knew your type and had fucked plenty of them. 

“Hey, Roger?”

He was already a few metres away from you, but he turned back.

“Remember not to tell anyone about this. I’d hate for it to hurt my chances with anyone else on the crew.”

“You fucking wish.”

[pan1c1ng]

remember | beetlejuice x fem!reader

prompt: ❝ i hate getting flashbacks from things i don’t want to remember. ❞

summary: before his inevitable death, the ghost with the most loved a girl. a girl who lost her life too soon. 

warning(s): angst, hair changing!beej, mentions of death, mentions of cancer, cursing

author’s note: i took a different approach with this fic. in this one, beej isn’t born dead. he had a life before dying. i also kinda wanted to set this in the 60′s because i get this vibe from his suit. this also is pretty dark. i was getting kind of tired of writing pure filth so i went with a sad approach. i kinda got the idea of this from listening to twenty one pilots cover of ‘cancer’. so....that should kinda be a give away. let me know if you want more stuff like this! my ask box and dm’s are always open! - maya :)

     there were some days in which beetlejuice wanted to be completely alone. moments when the ghost with the most didn’t want to be bothered. this had been one of those days. it had been about two days since lydia deetz said his name three times. he was certainly glad to have a person around who could see him. a new friend who he related with in the oddest of ways. but, like lydia, sometimes he wanted to be alone. 

      beetlejuice sat on the edge of the roof; his legs kicking the air as they dangled off the side. his hands sat in his lap while his thumbs fiddled with each other. ❝ beej? what are you doing up here? ❞ the sudden voice of the deetz girl interrupted his thoughts. the demon jumped slightly, startled by the sudden appearance. ❝ jesus, lydia‼ don’t scare me like that. ❞ ❝ i scared you? maybe i am getting better at this scare thing. ❞ lydia sat next to him; her legs crossing. it’s then that she notices the small streaks of blue intertwined with his green hair. the single tear that slides down his cheek is wiped away like a flash. he notices her eyes fixated on his hair. 

     ❝ it changes. when i feel different things, the color changes. ❞ beetlejuice sounds embarrassed. ❝ what does blue mean? ❞ she asks. he doesn’t say anything. he had just met this girl. this complete stranger who he had so much in common with. that didn’t matter. he had always told himself to never trust people with emotions. with personal stories that could possibly be a way to strike you down. that was his philosophy. but lydia deetz was different. she might understand. she might be the only person who could understand him. ❝ i hate getting flashbacks from things i don’t want to remember. ❞

—

     ❝ lawrence! put me down! ❞ you screamed at your boyfriend, laughing in the process. he had you thrown over his shoulder. lawrence’s arm wrapped around your legs to keep you from falling. his hair was disheveled slightly after the long and tiring day at his job. he ran around the small apartment that the two of you shared; reaching the bedroom and throwing you down on the mattress. ❝ you’re just too damn cute sometimes, you know that? ❞ his hands rest on the edge of the bed. his voice beginning to sound cracky. he clears his throat. ❝ how many times have i told you to quit smoking? your voice is going to get stuck like that. ❞ lawrence rolled his eyes at your statement. ❝ god, you sound just like my mother. ❞ you laughed at his words. your arms moved to a bending position, making it so you could lean on yourself. he moved towards you, leaning towards your face. he stops himself before making any sudden contact. the anticipation in your mind is taking over. you’re waiting for him to make some sort of move. his eyes go back and forth between your lips and your eyes. ❝ i think i love you. ❞ he whispers. all you can do is smile. and before you can come up with any sort of response, lawrence locks his lips with yours.

—

     ❝ what was her name? ❞ lydia musters a response. she’s intrigued and somewhat astounded by the story; leaning her chin in the palm of her hand. all the poltergeist can do is look at her. he clears his throat. ❝ y/n... ❞ he says it in such a whisper, lydia nearly misses it. she starts to notice that this story is getting very emotional for him, as his hair is almost completely blue. there’s still one or two streaks of green, but it’s getting overpowered fast. beetlejuice goes into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. he fishes out a ring. by the looks of it, it’s old. almost rusted. it’s a simple band. no diamonds. just simple and plain. but it held such a deep meaning.

— 

     lawrence sits in the living room of the house you two had been living in for nearly a year. it was old and rustic and needed a lot of work. which you were gladly willing to take on. his legs are shaking violently; a cigarette resting in between his index and middle finger. he takes a drag from it every 30 seconds. it’s his second pack of the day. in the other hand, rests a simple, silver, wedding band. lawrence has made the decision to propose. to spend the rest of his unnatural born life with you. and now he sits and waits for your arrival home. 

    ❝ lawrence? babes? i’m home. ❞ you call out into the house. he quickly lets the cigarette fall into the ashtray next to him, blowing out the last of the smoke. he quickly gets up from the chair, practically running to the kitchen door from where you enter. he has a smile plastered across his face; fading away as he sees the condition you’re in. you look like yourself. but your eyes are red from the tears you had shed the whole way home. the familiar bags under your eyes are more pronounced and darker than normal. your skin paler than usual, though it had been sunny and warm for the past month. ❝ fucking hell, y/n! are you alright?? ❞ lawrence takes the bags of groceries from your hands and sets them on the counter. you’re perfectly fine at the moment. still standing up straight; though your body feels the weakest it has ever felt.

—

     ❝ she was sick. some shit with her lungs. turned out to be cancer. at the time, the world didn’t have the special equipment to help with that. so it was just a game of hoping and praying to some higher being. thousands of doctor’s visits. at least that’s what it felt like. then they thought it would be better if she stayed in the hospital... ❞

—

     you lay in the uncomfortable hospital bed. it’s odd to say that you could feel the medicine flowing through your body. but it didn’t feel as if there was any change. you still felt like shit. your eyes were closed, but your mind and body were fully awake. lawrence sits next to you in the equally uncomfortable chair. his head leans against his balled-up fist. he listens to the local jazz station. your eyes slowly open, moving to the view of the world outside. the room’s only light comes from the setting sun in the open window. there's a breeze that comes through. it’s slow and refreshing, and there’s a moment in which you feel so much at peace that you forget all the pain.

     ❝ if it was going to be any day, i’m glad it was this one. ❞ your voice startles your now fiance`. it’s weak and scratchy and for lawrence, it’s hard to listen to. at first, he’s confused by the choice of words, but he follows your eyes to the window. on the outside looking in, the sight of a woman sitting in a hospital bed with a man in a striped suit is dismal. quite heart-wrenching. it’s then that the man beside you starts to tear up. you notice his breaths are shorter. your eyes making your way to his sitting position. his hair is spiked up, from his constant hand movement through the locks. ❝ honey... ❞

     your bony hand moves to his. it’s hard to lift it at the time, but the pain becomes worth it once your hands touch. he grabs it and plays the wedding band on your finger. ❝ it’s starting to rust. ❞ lawrence manages to speak. your eyes don’t leave his face. ❝ it’s withering away. i guess it’s something i have in common. ❞ he laughs for a second before returning to his sad demeanor. he finally makes eye contact with you. the sunlight sat upon your face so peacefully. the warmth of it makes you feel so alive; although in a matter of minutes, that would no longer be the case. neither of you said anything. because you didn’t need to say anything. lawrence knew everything you wanted to say and vice versa. you could feel your eyes start to become very heavy. everything starts to feel strange all of a sudden. your eyes move from his eyes to the setting sun; to the light. 

—

     lydia deetz admits to shedding a few tears at the story. the girl doesn’t say anything to him. all she does is takes his hand. she makes an observation of how rough they are. his hair slowly starting to lose its blue hue; fading back to the emerald green color she’s become so used to. he puts the ring back in his pocket. beetlejuice turns to the girl next to him. he lifts part of his mouth to a small smirk. neither of them say anything. he turns his attention to the front of the house. walking up the path towards the house is a girl in a scout uniform. he shakes off the overwhelming emotions and turns back to lydia. ❝ feel like doing a little scaring? ❞

[lowkeywritings]

Games - O.D. imagine (1/2)

Disclaimer: Hello! This is my first imagine for OMB; felt like writing some Spooky stories. A second part will be coming for this, so please let me know your thoughts on it! And thank you to @spookysprincesa for helping out! (gif not mine)

Feel free to send in requests!

Warnings: language, far too angst-y, will be redeemed in second part 

Word Count: 2931 oops

//

She knew it had been a bad idea. Her sister had said as much, too. And her mamma. And that really short kid from around the block, big eyes and all. 

There are some things you just know.

The sun will rise tomorrow. Prophets are the enemy. Water is wet. The sky is blue. There’s no such thing as the ‘friendzone’. 

Also, Oscar Diaz is an asshole. 

Yet, knowing that, and having witnessed hordes of women enter and leave Spooky’s life, most for quite short-lived affairs, she had managed, unluckily for her, to get involved with him. 

It had started the way most of these things do - somewhat intoxicated and unbothered by the idea of consequences. A few too many blunts had her floating above the sofa, getting lost in a dark, hypnotizing gaze, losing all sense of where he ended and she began. Years of friendship down the drain, of swallowing down feelings, because of course he doesn’t like you and this couldn’t work out, he’s not like that.

His lingering touches told a different story that night, yet here they were. She, locked in a damp and dimly-lit bathroom, losing a staring contest with her own reflection - he, smugly sat on a decaying barcalounger in his own living room, winning a contest of his own in which his hand battled with rising up an excessively short skirt tightly wrapped around an excessively attractive woman. 

Had to be expected, really. A few smashes after parties, unbeknownst to everyone they knew, didn’t exactly make for a solid relationship. They weren’t a thing. She didn’t want them to be, anyway. Right?

Contest over. Her reflection won, puffy eyes and all. But what did it matter? He wasn’t hers to cry over. She took an extra minute to talk herself up, index finger pointed at the mirror.

You a bad bitch. You don’t care about him, or his stupid pretty face. You’re a warrior. Show no fear. 

It seemed a bit much, but it worked, and soon enough she was ready to face the outside. 

The air was heavy as she emerged from the bathroom, blasting music bringing her back to the harsh reality unfolding in front of her. The door snapped behind her - forgot it did that - bringing a few questioning stares her way. 

His, namely. His eyes flashed of regret for an instant, so fast you could’ve almost missed it. She didn’t. 

Miss short-skirt didn’t, either, and certainly not when he stood, quite roughly, and her excessively round bottom nearly won over the floor. He held her back, his hand around her waist, and the room suddenly got blurry once again.

Confused as to why this was bothering her so much, she opted to leave it to the universe to figure its stuff out and cut the night short. Why stay around if the only person you truly want to hang out with is busy with someone else? 

What kind of game is that? 

Fresh air entered her lungs and she breathed it in, like pushing her head above water. It felt light, freeing. Nothing anchoring her down in that god-forsaken living room. She had fond memories of that place, of hanging around him without a care in the world, laughing it up. Simple times. When the idea of him feeling up some other girl didn’t matter much, because he just didn’t know what he was missing then. 

He did now, yet he was still in there with her and she was out here by herself.

She was barely passed the outside sofa, however, when she heard the door, her chest tightening at the idea that it might be him. Probably wasn’t, though. That kind of thing only happens on TV.

“Hey.”

His voice was low, but clear and unmistakably his. It cut through the dark night and stopped her going forward, feigning surprised as she turned to him. 

“Hmm?” she sang back, a perfect picture on nonchalance. She wasn’t leaving because of him, or his new conquest, and she didn’t care about his stupid ass anyway. 

“Where you goin’?” He caught up with her in a few long steps, simultaneously getting out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He offered her one, and she declined with a wave of her hand. 

“Dunno. Why?” she asked, raising an eyebrow and watching as he lit his own cigarette. 

He shrugged. “Just curious.” Yeah right. “Shouldn’t go walkin’ around too much at night, though. Lookin’ like this,” he added, avoiding her eyes as he looked around, then at the ground. 

“Like what?” she insisted, raising her eyebrow in a dramatic fashion. He smirked swiftly, the sight of his dimple making her stomach flip, but evaded the question. 

“You know,” he replied, voice low, still not looking at her much. He seemed more interested in staring into the distance and squaring his shoulders, like he was trying to intimidate the air or something. She knew, of course, what he meant. He meant to say she looked nice, like someone who might get attention. He meant it as a compliment, but seemed very intent of not letting it out.

She waited, hopeful. It never came. “Sure,” she sighed. 

He was a very poor conversationalist for someone who had chased her down in her leave. She stayed silent, watching him take a long drag of his smoke, taking the time to admire his face.

“Doesn’t mean anything, you know,” he said quite suddenly, meeting her eyes for the first time. Her questioning look let him know she wasn’t sure what he meant, and he went on. “Deena.”

He said the girl’s name like that was supposed elicit some sort of reaction. Miss short skirt doesn’t mean anything, he said. Ah.

Their own encounter didn’t seem to mean much, either, despite their prior friendship, yet they had still seen each other naked five times. Did it really have to mean something for her to be annoyed? 

She hadn’t even been with anyone else, not that he’d asked her for that. Though she knew, as well as everyone else, that he probably wouldn’t have taken kindly to it. Typical older brother, alpha-male attitude. 

Never wants to share anything. 

“What’you mean?” she asked, perfectioning the act of pretending she didn’t know, or care, that he would or had already stuck it in with some other chick. That the mere idea of it was making her blood boil. That she didn’t wish she could walk back in the house, grab that puta by the hair and yank her through a window, and flying far away from Freeridge, Spooky’s living room, and his dick.

Spooky didn’t explain, and instead studied her face for a minute too long. He seemed annoyed, for a second, like he hadn’t expected it. Like he, too, wanted her to go back into the house, hair-yanking galore.

Had he been putting on a show for her benefit, she wondered. Sounded like him, the way he always enjoyed mocking others and getting a laugh out of it. That kind of game, however, with her as the butt of the joke, seemed a bit far fetched even for him. 

“Oscar,” she continued innocently before he could say anything, taking a step towards him, getting close enough that she had to tilt her head up slightly to catch his gaze. She batted her eyelashes at him, and his eyes widened in excitement, enjoying the feeling of her soft hands on his broad chest. 

He had always liked the way she said his name. 

The way she whispered it through her lips made it sound something of a promise, a warmth he didn’t remember much of. 

The next thing she said, however, felt cold as ice. 

“You ain’t my man. Chill, okay? It’s not that serious.”

His nostrils flared as she stepped back, any hint of her presence now replaced with a gust of wind. 

She flashed him a sad smile, turning away and walking towards the street. She was heading home, not that she was going to tell him that. She preferred to give off the feeling that she was going out, enjoying her night, outside of him, who isn’t her man. 

“Hey!” he said again, this time much louder than before. She was further, to be fair, but he also seemed a little less friendly than before, too. She turned back, staying where she stood, in the middle of the street. 

“What?” she replied in the same tone, squaring her jaw. Time to drop the act, it seemed. She knew she has struck a chord, telling him to chill and leaving him behind. Knowing him, he was bound to be annoyed. Angry, even, or so his eyes said.

“What’re you playing at?”

“I ain’t playing. I’m leaving.”

He kissed his teeth, taking a deep breath. Trying to calm himself down, she realized. He really was angry. She beamed at the thought, pleasantly surprised that she could incite that in him. She had always been the one to calm him down, when he got riled up. When they were just friends.

“You’re not leaving, for one,” he said, his voice rumbling. She felt a shiver run through her spine, but hoped it didn’t show on her face. Now is not the time, hoe. “And you’re not talkin’ to me like that, either.”

“Or what?” she challenged him, using a loud voice she didn’t know she had. “What’s your problem?”

“My problem,” he went on, clenching his jaw as he took a step forward, “is your fucking tone. Now get back inside.”

She let out a humourless laugh, tilting her head to the side like she was truly wondering if he was serious. He clearly was, by the stare he was giving her, his tensed body and the dangerous steps he kept taking towards her. 

‘Spooky’ was right. 

“My tone’s just fine, and I am leaving. Give Deena my regards, will ya?” she spat, turning away like she didn’t know he was already steps away from her and about to catch up with his ridiculously tall legs. She knew by saying that, she was admitting defeat, but it was too late now.

“Ah!” he exclaimed, and she heard him very close, as he was fast approaching. Her power walking kept her ahead, however, and she tried her best to ignore him. “So that is why you’re tryin’ to leave,” he laughed, suddenly a lot less tensed. “Don’t worry, mami, you still the finest hyna on the block.”

She all but punched him square across the face as she heard him chuckle behind her.

Asshole.

She cursed herself for letting the situation get the best of her like this. She knew very well he didn’t owe her anything, and that kind of reaction only made sense if they had agreed to some sort of exclusivity, which they had not. Still, with years of friendship behind them and what she thought was mutual respect they had between them, she felt entitled to a better treatment than that. Instead, he seemed to be taking far too much pleasure in knowing he had gotten under her skin. 

“Come oooon, don’t be like that,” he insisted, suddenly catching up to her like he’d been holding back until then, rounding his arm around her waist and stopping her dead in her tracks. She fought against his hold, but he was too strong, and she turned to face him, pure rage flashing on her features. 

“What do you want? Why don’t you just go back to your putas and leave me alone,” she spat, pushing against his chest. He let go of her, letting out a loud laugh as she fumed in front of him. 

“Chillout, mujer. It’s not that serious, right?” he replayed her words, smirking. If looks could kill, he would be dead, the way she stared him down like he was the most unpleasant thing to look at on the planet. 

Far from it, obviously.

“You don’t get it.” 

“Get what? That you’re mad? No, you’re right, I don’t.”

She cursed under her breath, shaking her head, more at herself than at him. Of course he wouldn’t get it. She had been a fool to think that having known him and cared for him all this time would change anything. He was still the same guy, and she wasn’t special. 

She wasn’t special enough to be the one he would be true to. 

“Forget it, then,” she sighed, feelings tears swell up. She bit at her cheek, trying to focus on other things. Not them, him, with his deep eyes and his sweet touch and everything about him that she knew but no one else did. They way he laughed, the way he smelled, the way he said her name, the way he hugged her when they said hello, the way he kissed her forehead when they said goodbye, the way his features softened at the sight of his brother…

She closed her eyes suddenly, hiding her face in embarrassment as she tried, in vain, to pull herself back together. His face dropped, filling with worry as he realized what was going on.

“Hey, hey, hey,” his voice reverberated like a whisper somewhere above her head. She had to keep looking down or he would see the tears, and he obviously already knew she was crying by now but she couldn’t bare the thought of him seeing her.  “Baby?”

His use of the nickname only made the tears double, and she tried to turn away but he had her locked in place in a second, like he already knew what she was about to do. His palms caressed her face as he tilted her head up, getting a full view of her wet cheeks and puffy eyes. He must think I’m quite a sight, she thought. Such a sexy alternative to whatsherface in the skirt. She averted her eyes, ashamed and annoyed.

“Look at me,” he asked, and she did, biting at her lips to try and control the tears. “What’s wrong, mami?”

He was surprisingly soft, like she knew he could be, and she enjoyed the feeling of his fingers by her temple, and the proximity of his body. He smelled of smoke, and some cologne he’d been wearing since forever that she loved. 

“Nothing, I’m s-sorry. Forget it, okay? I’m fine,” she lied, staring into his eyes with her best attempt at seeming genuine. She sniffed, swiping the tears away from her cheeks, trying to erase the damage.

“Stop lyin’ to me,” he insisted, and she sighed. 

“I’m not-”

“Yes, you are. Cut the bullshit, tell me what’s wrong,” he ordered, and despite the tone, she knew he meant it to be caring. 

She stayed silent, trying to steer away from all the things she wished to say but couldn’t, wouldn’t, and she knew would make her cry more. 

“Baby, it’s me,” he insisted. “You know you can tell me anything.”

“Not this,” she finally replied, wiping away a few more stray tears. What could she say, really? 

She couldn’t exactly let him know how she felt, what she wanted from him. She knew this had been a mistake, going from friends to whatever this was. Especially knowing how she felt about him. Telling him what was wrong meant never being able to be as close as before. It would ruin everything. 

“Just tell me.”

“No.”

“Just fucking say it.”

“There’s nothing to say.”

“Bullshit!” He was getting annoyed, speaking with a bit more vigor each time, but she wouldn’t let up. She took a few deep breaths, refusing to answer. “Is there something you want to tell me, nena?” he added, searching her eyes, and her heart sped up. 

It’s almost like he knew. 

Asshole.

She had grabbed the back of his neck and crashed her lips on his before she could really register it. All she knew is that she needed this, to have him to herself just one more minute.

He reciprocated in full force, meeting her with his soft, plump lips and slipping his tongue inside her mouth in a strong, efficient effort into taking control of the kiss. She fell into his arms, his hands going to her hair, both her arms around his neck. Electricity flew through her body as she let out a moan, heat rising in her face and between her legs. This is what she craved for. All the time. 

Letting go to catch some air, she let her stare wander across his face, taking in all the details of his features like this. Panting, flushed, looking at her with a desire she couldn’t get enough of. She pecked him on the lips one last time, and on the cheek, and stepped away before he could reach for her again. 

“Have a good night, Oscar.”

Her breathing was still erratic, and her hands trembled slightly as she took a few more steps away from him. He looked at a loss, his arms fallen on either side of him, deflated.

“You can’t be serious,” he said, his voice breaking slightly, just enough for her to notice. “What are you playing at?”

“I’m not playing.”

She left before he could witness the waterworks again, going from a strong walk to an all-out run as soon as he was out of sight. He called out to her, but she was too embarrassed to turn back. 

Everyone was right. This was just the worst idea. 

She should’ve known sleeping with the man she loved was a mistake.

What kind of game is that?