#it would never happen and i think it would make both of them worse but i wanna see it anyways

[luvergirl-866]

dreams, fairytales, fantasies

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 7.9k

c/w - language, drinking, fluff, and ofc smut (sub p, sub a, strap, eating, fingering…it’s a lot) (also heavy usage of pet names bc i am a sucker for them)

a/n - this is just a real depiction of what happens when lesbians go two weeks without sex 😔. no but fr, i hope yall enjoy!!! (feedback much appreciated, esp bc this is not edited) (also, im majorly crediting the smut queen @basketball-lesbians bc ease and stiff changed the way i write smut forever).

The much anticipated make-up sex doesn’t happen until a week later, which is about six days after they’ve actually made up—which they manage without the involvement of sex. And that’s a great thing for them, considering they have a history of resolving arguments via orgasm, but they also can’t give themselves the credit because the no-sex thing wasn’t really their decision. (If it had been up to them, Azzi would have jumped Paige’s bones that very night they made up).

That day, though, was spent talking, reliving their breakup and the horrible year afterward for the sole purpose of truly processing it. They had continued talking during that time, of course, claiming to be ‘best friends’, but they meticulously danced around the topic of their high school relationship and the fact they were both miserable once it ended, grieving it in their own ways. They talked for hours, and both of them quickly came to realize that there was so much they hadn’t told each other. Azzi was shocked to hear that Paige spent her entire freshman year moping around, never getting out and having fun like Azzi wanted her to do. (“Seriously? I thought you hoed around?” she said when Paige gave her this information. Paige shrugged and said, “I told you I did, so I didn’t seem lame. But yeah, no. I smoked a lot and looked at our pictures and that’s—well, yeah, that’s pretty much it.”)

Paige was just as shocked when Azzi told her she tried going on a date with someone else, just to get the breakup off her mind, and they kissed at the end of the night and she went inside and cried for a long time. (“I didn’t know you went out with anyone,” Paige said, not particularly jealous, just a little hurt because even though they were exes that year, they were still best friends, and they usually told each other everything. Azzi picked her thumbnail, eyebrows drawn at the memory. “It hurt too much. I didn’t even tell my mom.” That, if possible, made Paige feel even worse).

Anyway, by the time they talked everything through (with some crying involved, and maybe a little kissing, too), it was late at night and they were both emotionally exhausted from the day. They’d gotten ready to sleep and laid in Azzi’s bed and murmured about how much they’d missed each other for about two minutes before they promptly assed out.

And then it was the week, their time consumed with classes, homework, practice, and even grownup things like grocery shopping. They spent as much time together as they could, practically magnetized to each other, attached at that hip when they were in the same vicinity. But they were both swamped with homework and while they tried to do it together that Monday, they quickly realized that it was impossible to focus around each other. Or at least, Azzi did. (“C’mon, we’re doing okay,” Paige said, at approximately 1 A.M., when they had been at it for four hours and had gotten absolutely nothing done. “I wouldn’t say that, P,” Azzi mumbled, slinging her bag over her shoulder and pecking a sulking Paige on the lips. “No more school around each other, ‘kay?” She couldn’t help but be amused at Paige’s exaggerated pouting. “I think we’ll be okay. See you tomorrow, baby.”

That night, her phone had blown up with messages from Paige, most of them silly selfies of her pouting at the camera as she sat at her desk with schoolwork laid out in front of her. Even that was enough to distract Azzi from her work).

So, no, it’s not until Saturday—the night of their second-first date—that the make-up sex (that can’t really be considered make-up sex anymore) happens. But, as the saying goes, good things come to those who wait. And that must be true because that night turns out to be very good indeed.

It all starts before the two of them are even together, with Azzi picking her outfit for their date. She’s never been good with decisions, and this is a big one in her book. She needs to wear the perfect outfit—something sexy and cute and romantic and alluring all at once. An hour into choosing the outfit, Caroline is beginning to regret offering to help.

“Okay, you’re just overthinking it now,” she says, exasperated, watching as Azzi frowns at herself in the mirror.

“If I don’t overthink it I’ll end up looking ugly,” Azzi says, turning this way and that in the mirror, making sure the outfit looks good from every angle. But when she takes a step back, leans her head to the side just so, and turns to the left, the shirt suddenly makes her look atrocious. With a frustrated sigh, Azzi takes it off, tossing it onto the ground.

Caroline groans, flopping onto Azzi’s bed. “What was wrong with that one?”

“Everything,” Azzi replies, going back to her closet to try again. “Has my wardrobe always been this bad?” she mutters to herself.

“You look good in everything, Az,” Caroline says. “And your clothes are cute. Paige is going to love you in whatever you decide to wear.”

Which is true—Azzi could be wearing jorts and a flannel and Paige would still swear up and down she’s the prettiest girl in the world. But love and want are two different things. After two weeks of no sex Azzi needs to be wanted.

“You know what your problem is?” Caroline asks as Azzi rummages through her clothes.

“What?” Azzi asks, sort of desperately.

“Your bra,” Caroline says simply.

Azzi looks down at her bra, then turns to Caroline, a little confused. “It’s a cute bra, though?”

“Yeah, it’s cute,” Caroline concedes, leaning back on her hands and giving Azzi an up-and-down look. “But I thought you were trying to get laid tonight?”

Azzi nods, because duh she’s trying to get laid tonight. It’s all she’s been talking about all week.

Caroline wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “Then, this isn’t really about your outfit. It’s about what’s underneath.”

As she stares at her genius best friend, Azzi nods slowly, starting to get it. “I need lingerie.”

“Yup.” Caroline smiles, satisfied. “As soon as you put some sexy panties on, I promise you, girl, you’re gonna feel better about yourself.”

Azzi is already reaching back into her closet, opening her special drawer and rifling through it. “Should I wear one she hasn’t seen before?”

“Yeah, for sure,” Caroline agrees, standing up and walking over to Azzi, peering over her shoulder at her array of underwear. “And don’t tell her you’re wearing it, either. It has to be a surprise.”

Azzi pulls a few sets out, but none of them particularly catch her eye, and it isn’t until they’ve been searching for a few minutes that Caroline reaches into the closet and grabs a still-sealed box, the logo of a designer lingerie brand on the lid. “What about this?” she asks.

It takes a moment for her to remember what the box contains. She’d bought it just a month ago, on a whim, and while it had cost her a fortune she also couldn’t not buy it. She’d, of course, had Paige in mind when she’d bought it, but they haven’t exactly had lingerie sex in awhile—with their busy schedules, they’ve only had time for spur-of-the-moment quickies and lazy mouths and fingers in the mornings before practice.

But this—this is going to be post-date, make-up sex. The absolute perfect occasion to wear insanely expensive lingerie catered specifically for Paige.

With an excited smile, Azzi (with the help of Caroline) gets all laced into the set. And once it’s on, it becomes surprisingly easy to choose the perfect outfit. Because Azzi knows, by the end of the night, Paige will forget all about what she’s wearing, the memory replaced by what she’s not.

———————————————

Paige, of course, tries to fuck her multiple times before they even get to the restaurant. It starts immediately, when she comes to pick her up and they share a chaste hug and kiss, and Azzi takes the flowers from her hands and turns to find a vase to put them in—Paige’s eyes trail down to her ass and stay there for longer than she’d like to admit. And then Azzi is carefully arranging the flowers, talking about how excited she is for their date, when Paige comes up behind her and holds her tight. It’s a gesture that Azzi thinks is innocent until Paige kisses her neck and murmurs, “You look good, Az. Makes me wanna make us late for our reservation.”

Azzi’s entire body heats at that, but she playfully shoves Paige away, not about to let their hormones get in the way of this date.

But then, it happens again, in the car on the way over. Paige’s hand rests on Azzi’s thigh while she drives, which isn’t unusual, and Azzi doesn’t question it—that is, until her fingers trace a slow but sure path between her legs. Azzi lets it go farther than she probably should, only pulling Paige’s hand away once she’s fully touching her clothed center. Laughing, Azzi returns Paige’s hand onto her side of the car. “Your thigh-touching privileges are revoked for that.”

Paige groans. “I didn’t even do nothing, don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Just keep your hands to yourself, weirdo.”

And when they get to the restaurant, Paige opens her door for her, guides her in by the small of her back, pulls out her chair. It reminds Azzi of a more mature, experienced version of the Paige she dated in high school, and it reminds her exactly why their relationship was so perfect back then. It also reminds her of the aching need between her legs, the one that’s been there for two long weeks and that now practically burns in anticipation. But, she forces herself to ignore it, to just focus on the romance of it all. Paige decides to make that difficult by running a foot up and down her calf, and when she hisses at her to stop, Paige laughs and says, “You’re imagining things.”

It’s not five minutes later that Paige picks up her phone and begins typing. A flash of annoyance comes from the side of Azzi that thrives off attention, more particularly Paige’s attention, and that’s so used to constantly having it it’s a little off-putting when she doesn’t. But then, a moment later, her own phone buzzes, and Paige sets her’s down with a satisfied little smirk.

Azzi rolls her eyes. “You’re stupid.”

“Look at your phone.”

“That’s rude,” Azzi teases. “We’re on our first date.”

“We’ve been on a million dates before,” Paige says, which is technically true. “Look at it.”

Amidst the usual lighthearted, joking tone of Paige’s words, Azzi also catches a hint of something demanding, something that leaves no room for argument—at least, not without repercussion—and it makes it impossible to focus on the setting they’re in without also thinking of the events that will occur when they get home.

She picks up her phone, and there’s a text from one ‘P Boogs 💗’. When she opens it, she finds a stupid, horny text, nothing short of what she expected: can we go fuck in the bathroom or??

Rolling her eyes, and a little relieved that Paige didn’t actually write anything sexy (because if she had, Azzi’s not sure she would’ve been able to resist), she kicks her under the table and sets her phone down. “No, Paige. What’d I say about no more public restrooms?”

Reminiscent of a small child, Paige crosses her arms and slumps back in her seat. “I rebuke that.”

“You don’t know what that word means,” Azzi waves her off, before motioning to their plates. “Now eat before your food gets cold.”

Azzi has only two glasses of wine, so by the time they’re driving home she’s the perfect amount of tipsy. Wine also tends to make her horny, which doesn’t hurt the situation.

“You’re really okay?” Paige asks for what seems like the millionth time. “Because if you’re even, like, a little drunk, we don’t have to—“

“Paige,” Azzi says before she can finish that god-awful sentence. “I’m mostly sober. We’re all good.”

Paige glances over at her, and when she sees the firm look in her eyes she nods, relaxing into a sly smile. As she focuses back on the road, she says, “Good. Because I have an empty apartment tonight.”

The thought of it—the thought that Paige asked her roommates to clear out for the night, knowing what was to come—makes Azzi shift in her seat. The ache between her legs is crossing into painful territory at this point.

By the time they get inside Paige’s apartment, every instinct in Azzi’s body tells her to jump Paige’s bones as soon as the door is locked behind them. But Paige doesn’t really give her a chance—first kicking off her shoes and then immediately heading towards the kitchen. Azzi trails behind her as she opens the fridge.

“Hungry?” Azzi asks, a little confused considering they just had a fairly large meal at dinner. But Paige shakes her head, reaching into the side drawer of the fridge and pulling out a seltzer.

She waves it at Azzi with a smile, though it’s a little unusual—almost wavering? Not the familiar one Azzi’s used to. “Wanted a little drink.”

“Okay,” Azzi says slowly, leaning against the counter, watching as Paige cracks the can open. She shouldn’t be surprised—she herself is tipsy and it’s only fair that Paige would want to catch up after she had to drive. But Azzi has been a little blinded by the filthy thoughts that have been playing through her head all night, and was under the impression they’d fuck against the front door the minute they got home.

She’s already waited two weeks, she reminds herself. Paige only needs a drink or two—they don’t want to be drunk, not tonight—so what’s a couple more minutes?

“It’s kinda hot in here,” Paige says abruptly, and when Azzi looks at her, her cheeks flush. “Isn’t it?”

Azzi’s a little warm, but it’s mostly a mix of the alcohol and pure horniness, so she shakes her head. “Feels okay to me.”

“Oh,” Paige says, and then takes a long swig of her seltzer. She offers up that strange, wavering smile again.

Azzi studies her. This is her best friend, the girl she knows better than she knows herself. Paige is practically an extension of her at this point, it’s that easy for them to read each other. But right now, Paige is acting strange in a way Azzi can’t quite place. She’s been flirting like normal all night, but now that they’re alone she’s putting space between them. And that’s not to mention the blushing, the weird smiling, and the need for a drink.

As Paige takes an extra-long gulp of seltzer, it finally clicks where Azzi has seen this behavior from her: Back in high school, not long into their relationship, the first time they had sex.

She’s nervous.

But, no, that can’t be it, can it? They’ve slept together countless times in the four years since then. Paige knows Azzi’s body like the back of her hand. There’s no reason to be nervous.

Sure that she’s got it all wrong, Azzi crosses over to Paige, watching the way Paige’s gaze falters as she sidles up to her. “Hey,” she says, wrapping her arms around Paige’s neck, “you good?”

Paige blinks, then swallows thickly. “Me? Yeah, I’m all good.” She takes a sip from her drink. “Why you asking?”

Azzi hums, bringing a hand down to guide Paige’s free one to her waist—something she usually never has to do, as Paige tends to be pretty handsy. “You’re acting…weird, all of a sudden.”

Paige gives her a long, hard look, and Azzi thinks she’s about to deny it again but then Paige is sighing and setting her drink on the counter behind her, wrapping both arms around Azzi’s waist. “I guess I feel a little…nervous, for some reason?” she shakes her head, locks her hands behind Azzi’s back as if to steady them. “I’on know, bro. It’s stupid.”

Azzi shakes her head, playing with the baby hairs at the nape of Paige’s neck. “It’s not stupid.”

“Kinda is,” Paige says, chuckling at herself but it’s a shaky, breathy sound.

“Hey,” Azzi says gently, bringing a hand up to brush a stray strand of hair from Paige’s face, “if you’re not up to it, we don’t have to.” (Even though she spent the entire night suffering through a thong up her ass. The things we do for love.)

But Paige firmly shakes her head, gripping Azzi’s waist more tightly just to show how much she means it. “No, I don’t—you have no idea how much—“

“Yes, I do,” Azzi says incredulously. “I really fucking do.”

Paige’s breath hitches, and her gaze flicks down to Azzi’s lips. Azzi does the same, allured by the shiny gloss there, knowing it’s vanilla flavored from their previous chaste kisses tonight. She wants to taste more of it. Wonders if Paige’s lotion is vanilla, too.

“P,” she murmurs. Paige’s eyes don’t waver away when she hums, “Yeah?”

“Don’t be nervous,” she says quietly, bringing a hand down to cup her cheek, which gets Paige to look at her. “You know me,” she almost whispers.

Slowly, Paige nods, and when she leans down to connect their lips, Azzi nearly groans at the slight contact. It’s chaste to the point of innocent but it’s something, and they’re alone, and god does Paige look so good in this outfit. Paige readjusts, shifting so their legs are slotted together as she deepens the kiss just slightly, and Azzi reminisces on how she’s been waiting for this all night. Since that fateful night at Ted’s, really.

With Paige’s leg between her thighs, Azzi takes the opportunity to bare down, just slightly, only enough to increase the tension between her legs more than relieve it. But Paige groans into her mouth at the feeling and it lights her senses on fire.

They found a good dynamic years ago, and it’s one in which Paige often leads, allowing Azzi to follow without giving her the responsibility of being the first to move, to make decisions—something she’s always been more hesitant with. The past six months they’ve experimented some, stepping out of the comfort zone they had in high school and trying new things. But they still found that, for the most part, Paige prefers to lead, and Azzi prefers to be led—it just works.

But, even now, as Azzi dips her tongue into Paige’s mouth and brushes it against her’s, Paige still seems a little withheld. It’s obvious that she’s overthinking this, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why—this is big for them. They’ve talked about their feelings and gone on their first date and this feels a little like the last step in a routine that will throw them back into that all-consuming, intense relationship they had in high school. Which is exciting, and it feels natural, like it’s only the right thing to do—but it’s a little scary, too. And, knowing she’s being expected to lead, Paige is worried about getting it wrong. Messing up, somehow.

So when Azzi pushes against the fabric of Paige’s blazer, letting it slip off her shoulders, it’s not really a conscious thought that she’s taking over this time. It’s just—something she needs to do. And, if the absolute fire in her belly says anything, it’s something she wants to do, too.

Opening her mouth a little wider, Azzi sucks Paige’s tongue gently between her lips, drawing it out slightly, and when she pulls off it she opens her eyes to find Paige with her mouth wide open, tongue out, barely five minutes into kissing and already looking so desperate for her.

The sight makes Azzi groan a little, her eyes trailing from Paige’s lips, to the curve of her jaw, to her slender neck, and without thinking about it she slides her hands around Paige’s throat, squeezing experimentally. It elicits the right reaction, Paige’s eyes widening, hands sliding down to Azzi’s ass.

Pulling her close again, Azzi ducks down, moving a hand to the side to kiss sloppily at the skin revealed there. Paige sighs, always having liked being kissed on the neck, and Azzi mutters, “Marks?”

There’s a slight pause, Azzi’s lips hovering just shy of kissing the skin of Paige’s neck, and as soon as Paige hums out a noise of affirmation, she’s basically attacking her, tongue soothing over skin as she sucks hungrily. Her hips grind instinctively down on Paige’s knee as her hands slide lower, down her chest to squeeze her tits through her thin tank. Paige gasps, using her leverage on Azzi’s ass to pull her down harder on her leg. At this point, she’s sure she’s soaking through her fancy lingerie just listening to the little noises Paige is making, and suddenly, Azzi feels hungry. The kind of hungry that tends to be insatiable.

As soon as the thought comes to her, her hands fly to the button of Paige’s jeans, staring down to watch her hands work it open. Paige watches, too, then brings a hand up to Azzi’s cheek. Azzi halts her movements, looking up at her, searching her face for any sign to stop and finding a little hesitancy there. “Hey,” she says, “you good?”

Paige nods, then glances furtively down at Azzi’s hands. “I don’t think I’m ready for—your fingers.”

Soothing her hands across Paige’s hips, Azzi nods, pressing a tender kiss to her cheek. “I know, baby,” she says—Paige has always needed a good amount of buildup before any actual intrusion. “Wasn’t gonna use my fingers.”

Paige blinks, thoughts obviously a little sluggish as it takes a moment for the words to register, but once she does, she nods eagerly. “Shit. Okay.”

With one last peck on the lips, Azzi’s fingers get back to work, and as she slides the jeans down her legs she goes down with them, dropping slowly to her knees. She helps Paige step out of the pants and then tosses them to the side, looping her arms around her thighs and urging her to widen her stance. She presses a few comforting kisses to Paige’s pelvic bone and across her hips, breathing in the familiar scent of her as her kisses stray lower. As she licks up the inside of a thigh, her eyes open, glancing at the girl’s boxers and the wet patch growing on them. Feeling quite proud of herself, she smirks, biting at her thigh and relishing in the way Paige hisses.

“Stop messin’ with me,” Paige breathes, bringing a hand to Azzi’s head and trying to move her closer to her cunt.

“Uh-uh,” Azzi says, using a hand of her own to move Paige’s firmly away. When she looks up at her, Paige looks wrecked, which does amazing things to Azzi’s ego considering she hasn’t even touched her yet. Loving the expression on Paige’s face—lips slightly parted, eyes fluttering, the picture of submission—she decides to try and coax more out of her. “No touching,” she adds, something Paige likes to do whenever she’s being particularly needy. When Paige starts to protest, she moves her hand to her clothed clit and rubs harshly, cutting her off. “You heard me, baby.”

Paige’s eyebrows furrow, either from pleasure or annoyance or, more likely, both. “Azzi, please—“

“Shh,” Azzi soothes, removing her thumb and licking a stripe up her boxers—the faintest taste of her already addictive. “Be patient.”

She expects more resistance—the few times they’ve switched roles like this, it takes at least an orgasm for Paige to take her commands. But today must be different—is different—and Paige dutifully shuts up, using her hands to brace herself against the counter as she tilts her head down to watch.

Pleased, Azzi removes her boxers, salivating at the pretty pink peeking out from between her legs, and it’s all she can do when she uses her thumbs to spread her open, groaning when she gets a good look at the familiar, dripping folds. “So pretty,” she can’t help but mumble, leaning forward to press a kiss against her, licking her lips to taste the arousal left there. Paige’s hips buck, and Azzi gives her a sharp slap to the thigh. Paige nearly whines, which is kinda new—they’ll have to experiment with it later. “What’d I say, hm?” she asks, unable to keep herself from pressing her tongue between her cunt lips and licking upward, eyes nearly rolling into the back of her head at the taste. “Be patient.”

“Fuck,” Paige gasps above her.

It takes every ounce of self-restraint in Azzi’s body to not just dive in and devour her like a woman starved. It’s been far too long since she went down on Paige, even before their two weeks of celibacy, and she wants nothing more than to push her tongue inside and draw out as much slick as she can. But she also knows all too well that Paige likes to be ate slow. So, slow it is, as she licks up around her folds, tongue dragging delicately over her clit.

Her eyes fall shut, focusing on how wet Paige is against her tongue, dipping just slightly into her hole where the taste is the strongest and reveling at how good it is.

When Paige makes a high-pitched noise in the back of her throat, Azzi looks up at her, watching her reaction as she gently sucks her clit into her mouth. Paige is leaning back against the counter, cunt pressed into Azzi’s face desperately, and it’s obvious she’s trying to keep still. But when Azzi’s tongue flicks against her clit as she sucks, Paige can’t help but gasp, hips bucking just slightly.

With painted nails, Azzi squeezes her thigh just enough to get her attention. When Paige looks down at her, she pulls off her clit with a wet noise and says, “Hold your shirt up, babe.”

It’s amazing how quickly Paige obeys, rucking her tank up to reveal her bare chest, nipples pink and hard. Azzi doesn’t even try to stop herself from reaching up to play with one of them as she dives back into her pussy.

Her clit is already puffy, sensitive to her every touch based off the way Paige moans when she flicks her tongue against it. She licks little shapes, taking note of which ones draw the most sound out of the older girl. It’s mostly for her own benefit when she traces the letters of her own name on her pussy, but Paige whines high-pitched and needy like she knows.

Azzi pulls away just enough to see that her clit is an angrier pink now, twitching almost imperceptibly, and she gives it a break, moving lower to suck around her hole, drinking the copious juices she’s teased out. When she presses her tongue inside, she finds much less resistance than last time, and her fingers itch to be inside her.

This time, when she pulls away, Paige whines again—the sound a mix of frustration and desperation—and Azzi soothes a hand up the inside of her thigh. Paige’s eyes are hooded now as they lock with Azzi’s, and Azzi smiles up at her. “Hey,” she mutters.

“Uh-huh,” Paige breathes, nearly panting at this point.

“Think you’re ready?” Azzi asks. Paige gives her a quizzical look and she holds up her right hand in explanation. “Wanna finger you.”

As if on their own accord, Paige’s hips jerk forward. When she says, “Yes,” it’s nothing more than a breathy little sigh, but it’s enough.

Nodding, her eyes go back to Paige’s cunt, gaze immediately going to her hole, clenching around nothing. She brings two fingers up and dips inside, then drags them through her pretty folds, making sure they’re plenty wet. And then, without another warning, she plunges into her pussy, moaning as she’s immediately swallowed by wet heat.

Paige’s reaction is visceral, hips pressing down to meet her halfway, hands falling to her head, previous no-touching rules forgotten. Azzi decides to let it go, though, as she watches Paige’s features contort beautifully, pleasure etched into every sound she makes.

Azzi pulls out, presses deeper. Does it again, and then stays inside long enough to push up against her walls.

It’s then that Paige starts talking.

“Oh, fuck, Azzi,” she breathes, still generally pretty quiet, something Azzi plans to have changed once she’s done with her. “You feel so—good, Az, fingers feel so fucking good.”

“Yeah?” Azzi coos. She loves it when Paige gets to the babbling stage of fucking, and is quick to egg her on. “You like that, huh?”

“Mm-hmm, missed it—needed it—I don’t—“ she chokes on her sentence when Azzi plunges particularly deep. “Oh, baby, right there. So fucking good at that.”

“I know,” she murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to Paige’s clit. “You missed me, right? Missed this?”

“Of course I—“ she gasps, arches forward, “did.”

Suddenly, Azzi speeds up, filthy squelching sounds filling the room as her fingers move relentlessly inside Paige, palm coming to meet her clit again and again. Paige mewls, shifting a little, and Azzi uses her free hand to hoist her leg over her shoulder, allowing for a better angle.

“Oh!” Paige cries out, hands gripping Azzi’s head for leverage. “Oh, oh fuck. Baby, baby—mm, so deep—Azzi, more.”

“More?” Azzi asks, pulling her eyes away from where she’s wrecking Paige’s cunt to double-check. Paige usually can’t take more than two.

“Uh-huh,” Paige nods fervently.

Azzi doesn’t slow down, concern about hurting the other girl cutting through her own haze of pleasure. “You sure?”

“Yes,” Paige says, exasperation filling her voice.

“I just don’t want to hurt y—“

“Azzi, if you don’t give me another finger right now I swear to God—“

That’s all it takes for Azzi to pause her movements, pulling out enough to add another finger, and finding it surprisingly easy when she slides back in again. It’s not long before she builds up to her earlier rhythm, Paige’s hips moving against her hand, and then wet sounds are filling the room again, slick trailing down Azzi’s wrist.

Somewhere between Paige’s high-pitched moans and desperate little whines, she calls Azzi’s name. Azzi presses a kiss to her belly and says, “Yeah?”

“Can you—?” there’s hesitance in her tone that gives Azzi pause, movements slowing once again to look up at her.

“What’s up?” she prompts, gently as possibly through the arousal scraping rough against her vocal chords.

“Just, come here,” Paige finally says, hands moving from Azzi’s head to her shoulders, urging her up.

Azzi softens, mind becoming a little less cloudy at the request. Carefully, she eases Paige’s leg off her shoulder, then works up to her feet, keeping her fingers firmly inside Paige all the while. As soon as she’s up, Paige’s arms go around her shoulders, pulling her in, and Azzi smiles softly at the absolutely fucked-out, but undeniably lovesick, look on the other girl’s face.

Pressing a kiss to Paige’s cheek, she starts moving again, staying close so that Paige’s lips are right by her ear, hearing every sound she makes.

“I love you,” Paige mutters, forehead dropping onto Azzi’s shoulder.

Azzi presses a smile into Paige’s hairline, the gesture so innocent compared to the hand between her legs. “Love you, too, P.”

At that, Paige chokes on a moan, only just managing a feeble, “I’m close.”

Azzi nods, doubling her efforts. “Take your time, baby.”

“Mm-hmm,” Paige hums, but then she’s reiterating, “oh, fuck, Azzi, I’m really fuckin’ close.”

To be honest, Azzi is, too. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s come untouched, deriving pleasure from the simple act of giving it to Paige. But she holds back, forces herself to focus on the girl in her arms, running her free hand up and down Paige’s waist. “Yeah? About to come?”

Paige grasps her tighter, too fucked out to respond, but her following whines are answer enough.

“Give it to me, P,” she urges, knowing words are always the last thing Paige needs to tip her over the edge. “Wanna feel you coming all over my fingers, okay? Need you to show me how good I make you feel.”

Paige nods, and Azzi coos a, “Good, girl,” into her ear, and that’s all it takes for Paige’s hips to stutter, abs tightening as she spasms around Azzi’s fingers, crying out her name like it’s the only word she remembers. And at this point, it might be.

It takes awhile for her to come down, letting Azzi continue to thrust slowly for another minute or so before finally pushing her away. “Too much,” she breathes.

“Okay, baby,” Azzi says, pulling out slowly, bringing her hand up to Paige’s lips once she’s done. Paige doesn’t hesitate to take them into her mouth and suck, and it’s as she runs her tongue between her fingers that Azzi is reminded of just how magical her mouth is. Trying to sound casual, Azzi takes her hand back and says, “Hey, you all done?”

Paige is panting, hands going down to hold Azzi by the waist, looking as if she can barely hold herself up—but still, she shakes her head. “Nah, I can go for more.”

“Good,” Azzi says, stepping out of Paige’s grasp with a sly smile. Paige opens her mouth to protest but then Azzi swiftly pulls her shirt over her head, revealing her lavender lacy bra which leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. Whatever Paige was about to say dies in her throat. “I may have planned for this when I was getting ready.”

Her pants are still on—Paige hasn’t even had the pleasure of seeing the garter yet—but already her jaw is practically on the floor. “Oh, shit.”

“Uh-huh.” Reaching out, she takes Paige’s hand in her own, leading her down the familiar path to Paige’s room. “You can thank Caroline, by the way. Was her idea.”

“For real?” Paige asks as they enter the bedroom. She plops down on the edge of the bed, watching as Azzi locks the door behind them. Her eyes rake not-so-subtly over her frame as she watches her. “I’ll send her a card and flowers for this shit.”

Azzi laughs breathily, leaning against the doorframe.

Paige raises her eyebrows and then reaches behind her head, pulling her own shirt off and discarding it on the floor. “Aight, I think I can feel my legs again. Lay down, mama.” She smiles deviously. “I’m bouta get you right.”

—————————————

Paige has never been a good liar—which is clear, considering twenty minutes later she has her head between Azzi’s thighs, making her legs shake as she eats her relentlessly.

She’s already put on the strap, and this is her way of getting Azzi ready—alternating between eating her slow and then absolutely devouring her, pulling away every time she gets close to the edge, overstimulating her without even making her come.

“Paige, please,” she basically cries out for the nth time since they started. “I need you.”

Paige only smirks from between her legs, quite cocky considering she just got fucked into oblivion less than an hour ago. “What was it you said to me earlier? About being patient?”

Azzi rolls her eyes (though it may be more from the way Paige sucks on her folds than how annoying she is). “Mm—shut up, you liked it.”

Paige sure as hell isn’t about to admit that. Of course, though, she had enjoyed it, had reveled in the pleasure she took from giving up control, letting herself be told what to do. But now it’s Azzi’s turn, and she needs to regain control of the situation-hence, the edging. “Do you want me to fuck you?” she asks, muffled in Azzi’s pussy. “Or not?”

Azzi can’t say no to that, obviously, but still sounds a little ashamed when she lets out a meek little, “Yes.”

Paige quirks an eyebrow up at her. “Yeah? You done bossing me around?”

Azzi doesn’t respond to that, lips forming into a cute little pout that’s also reminiscent of the face she makes when she gets bratty. Chuckling, Paige shakes her head, pressing a lingering kiss to her clit. “I’on think so, baby. You had your fun.” Slowly, she crawls her way back up the bed, Azzi scooching up with her. “Now you’re gonna tell me watchu want. And you’re gonna be polite about it.”

The demanding tone in Paige’s voice is usually enough to set Azzi right, but she must’ve gotten too big a head after her little stunt earlier because now she doesn’t say anything, just looks at Paige a little defiantly.

Admittedly, she looks adorable, and Paige wants to kiss that look off her face. But she can’t let Azzi think that this is how it’s gonna be now. “Alright, pretty girl. If that’s how you’re gonna be, I’ma get right back down there and make you come on my tongue. You won’t get no strap tonight.”

At that threat (which is baseless, considering Paige is absolutely going to strap Azzi down one way or another tonight) Azzi’s eyes widen, and she shakes her head. “Okay, okay, no, I’m sorry, I don’t—I need you inside, Paige. Please?”

Grinning, Paige leans down and kisses her forehead. “That’s what I thought.”

Taking the silicon in her hand, Paige balances on one elbow as she drags it slowly through Azzi’s folds, taking extra care to bump the head against her swollen clit. When Azzi gasps, her eyes flit to her face, checking that she’s okay. “You ready, baby girl?”

Azzi hesitates, looking down at the toy between them. “It’s bigger than the last one.”

It’s true—this is a new strap, one Azzi herself actually suggested, claiming she wanted to try something bigger. They still have their last one, just in case this doesn’t work out, and Paige is about to remind her of that when Azzi shakes her head to herself and says, “It’s okay, I’m good.”

“You sure?” Paige asks suspiciously. “Because if it’s too big…”

“Nope. I’m sure.”

“Babe, we don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna.”

Azzi’s eyes move down to follow the cock, watching as Paige moves it methodically through her soaking folds, and her eyes grow a little wider. “Yeah, okay, I’m definitely sure.”

Amused, Paige watches as the younger girl stares, incredibly hungrily, at the toy. “Okay, princess. You gotta tell me if it hurts, though, okay?”

“I will,” Azzi promises. With that, Paige guides the tip down to her entrance, pushing her hips forward and against the resistance she finds there, studying Azzi’s face carefully.

After a moment, the head slides in, and Azzi gasps, wincing a little. “You good?” Paige asks, taking her hand off the cock to stroke Azzi’s cheek.

“Good,” Azzi confirms, swallowing thickly as her eyes meet Paige’s. “Just—go slow.”

“‘Course,” Paige says, leaning forward to press their foreheads together as she pushes in further. “Sweet girl,” she murmurs, mostly to distract her, “y’look so pretty like this, mama.”

She’s about halfway in at this point and Azzi gasps again, breathing out a word that sounds enough like a stop for Paige to halt. “Too much?”

Azzi’s knees are bent, feet flat against the mattress as Paige lays between them, but now she readjusts, wrapping them around Paige’s back for better leverage. “Okay,” she says once she’s done, giving Paige a little nod. “I’m good, keep going.”

Not loving the bossy tone of her voice, Paige makes a face at her. “Manners, princess.”

Azzi frowns but still lets out a little, “Please,” anyway.

With that, Paige jerks her hips, burying the dildo inside to the hilt. Azzi cries out, surprised and left breathless from the sheer stretch of it. “Shit,” she breathes, “so much for going slow.”

“Mm,” Paige hums, ducking down to kiss into Azzi’s neck. “‘S what you get for being bratty.”

“Yeah, okay,” Azzi sighs—Paige can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic or actually conceding—and her head falls to the side, allowing more access to her neck, which Paige already marked up earlier.

“I good to move?” Paige asks.

“I think so,” Azzi replies, breath still caught from the sudden fullness.

Paige rocks her hips back, eyes flitting from Azzi’s face to her pussy, unable to keep from watching as she slides back in, eyes widening as she watches her cunt swallow it whole, basically sucking her in.

When she does it again, a little more smoothly this time, Azzi fists the bedsheets so hard her knuckles turn white. “Mmph—so deep, P.”

“Yeah? Feel good?” she asks lowly, rutting her hips flush into her when Azzi nods, building a steady rhythm. Her eyes land on Azzi’s face, contorted with pleasure, then rove down over her body—her neck, her tits, her stomach—until she lands back on the strap. The sight has her leaning down on her elbows, heart racing as she breathes deep to steady herself.

Picking up the pace just a little, Paige lifts herself up, watching as Azzi’s eyebrows furrow, her fists tight in the sheets. The bed is starting to squeak now, which just turns her on even more if that’s possible, and she nuzzles her nose into the crook of Azzi’s neck, muttering, “Hold on to me, baby, it’s okay.”

Azzi’s arms come up to loop around her neck before she’s even done with the sentence, and Paige smirks, pressing a few kisses into her cheek. “How’s it feel, hm? How deep am I?”

“So fucking deep,” Azzi breathes, and it shouldn’t come as a surprise how close she sounds considering Paige has been working her towards the edge for awhile now.

Paige brings a hand down between their bodies, using it to rub a few tight circles against Azzi’s clit, stopping when she starts whining. And Azzi makes a sound of protest but it’s quickly cut off by a moan when Paige’s hand moves instead to press against her lower abdomen, pushing down hard enough to feel the strap moving inside her.

“Baby, baby, please,” Azzi slurs, crying out in time with Paige’s thrusts, “right there—keep doing that, fuck.”

Who would Paige be to tell her no? There’s that whiny edge to her tone, all desperate and needy, a telltale sign she’s getting close. Pressing down a little harder on her stomach, Paige speeds up significantly, angling her hips up in an attempt to hit that spot deep inside.

Based off the high-pitched moan Azzi let’s put, it works.

“Shit, look at that,” Paige says when she looks between them again. The strap is soaking now, and so are the bedsheets, a mix of Paige and Azzi’s arousal leaking down onto them. Angling her hand down, Paige uses her fingers to spread her lips open, groaning as she gets a better view of Azzi’s cunt swallowing the entire dick. “Taking it so good, mama. Fuck, that pussy crying for my dick, huh?”

“Paige, fuck, yes,” Azzi gasps, clawing almost desperately at Paige’s shoulders.

“Close?” Paige asks, trying to gauge where she’s at based off the way her legs are beginning to shake, noises becoming less breathy, more insistent.

Azzi nods, maybe all she can manage at this point, and Paige rocks forward deep, pleased with the way Azzi’s mouth falls open, tits bouncing with each thrust.

They’re silent for a few moments, nothing but the sound of the bedframe fighting for its life and Azzi’s pussy squelching around her cock filling the room. “Hear that?” she asks, using her fingers to rub harshly against her clit, only adding to the filthy sounds in the room. “Best pussy in the world, baby. And it’s mine, huh?”

Azzi only manages a pathetic “uh-huh”, and that’s just not good enough for Paige. “Nah, you gotta tell me, princess. Tell me whose pussy this is and I’ll let you come, okay?”

It takes Azzi a moment, probably trying to gather her scattered thoughts, before she whines out a needy little, “Yours, fuck, my pussy’s all fucking yours.”

Nodding, Paige presses a kiss to Azzi’s parted lips. “That’s right, mama. You wanna come?”

Tears are gathering at the corners of Azzi’s eyes when she nods, and it only spurs Paige on further. “Go ahead, pretty girl. Come all fuckin’ over my dick. Lemme feel it, baby.”

And that’s all Azzi needs, her back arching off the bed, moaning all high-pitched as she comes, pussy clenching around the dildo, nails scratching down Paige’s back, leaving her shuddering. She doesn’t stop, though, rolling her hips deep into Azzi’s through every tremor, only stilling when Azzi shakes her head, tapping against Paige’s hip.

She gives her a moment to catch her breath before saying, “Can I pull out?”

“Uh-huh,” Azzi sighs, throwing an arm across her face as Paige slowly eases out of her. She manages to get the strap off and tosses it onto the floor, a problem for future them to deal with, before laying next to Azzi, pulling her into her chest. She chuckles at Azzi’s blissed-out expression, and Azzi’s eyes open at the sound, peering at her a little sleepily.

“You laughing?” she asks, no real accusation in her tone.

“At you? Never,” Paige jokes. Azzi slaps her chest, collapsing back onto it, sighing as she wraps a leg around Paige’s waist. She’s not the touchiest person in general, and Paige finds it endearing how snuggly she gets after sex.

Her hands begin to run up and down Azzi’s bare back, and when she hears Azzi sigh, she’s quick to speak, trying to catch the younger girl before she inevitably falls asleep. “Hey,” she says, “you okay?”

“Mm,” Azzi hums.

“Was it good?” Paige asks, even though she already knows the answer.

“Very,” Azzi replies, cuddling closer into Paige’s neck. “Missed you.”

“Two weeks is too long,” Paige agrees. Azzi chuckles softly, and Paige angles her head to look at her, only to find that her eyes are closed and her lips are slightly parted.

“Why are you tryna sleep,” Paige very nearly whines.

Azzi lifts her head lazily, resting her chin on Paige’s chest to raise an eyebrow at her. “Because you just fucked the shit outta me. I’m tired.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Paige sighs dreamily.

Rolling her eyes, Azzi lays her head back down, settling back into her. “Lemme sleep, okay? I need some energy for the morning sex tomorrow.”

“F’real?” Paige can’t keep the excitement out of her tone at this.

Azzi shrugs coyly, yawns. “If you’re good.”

Internally, Paige vows to be the absolute best. Even if it means no yapping.

Her silence only lasts a few moments but, surprisingly, it’s Azzi who speaks. “And, babe?”

“Yeah?”

“You’d better ask me to be your girlfriend tomorrow.”

(Paige does, in fact, ask Azzi to be her girlfriend ‘again’, as she puts it. Azzi, of course, says yes.)

(Oh, also, Caroline does receive a thank you letter and a bouquet of flowers in the mail a few days later. Confused, she opens the letter, to find it reads, “Thx for helping azzi pick that fit for our date. you’re a g mama carol. p.s. the sex was ridiculously good.” Caroline sends a photo of it to Azzi, wondering why she needed to know about the sex. Azzi replies with a shrugging emoji and a, “She’s not lying though”.)

[fernpetals]

Precious

An extension of THIS ask

More of Yandere John Wick and his dollification-kink

Warning: Stalking, manipulation, hints of infantilization, implied restraining, NSFW, John is soft but dark, tracking,dollification(obviously), a hint of corruption kink

Credit to the GIF owner.

Unedited Piece.

I kind of lost myself with this one. Note that the reader does not understand Russian in this one. So if any of my readers do, I apologise.

Precious. That is what you are to John. He sees you as precious and fragile. Especially if you are a civilian working a regular job. That is the most unfortunate of circumstances for you. Canon John is protective as such. Imagine yandere John—he is paranoid that something or someone is going to hurt you. There is a tracker somewhere in your car, and you are never going to find out. And your phone? He has the right connections—people who have your phone bugged for him.

And most probably, all this happens even before he is ‘officially’ your boyfriend. In his eyes, the proposal is simply a formality, just so that you don’t freak out. 

Once in a relationship, it all turns worse. You don't want to move in with him so soon? It has been a month! His patience is now running thin. This might even be the cause of your first major disagreement or serious fight. If you choose to ignore him after that, even for a day, you are only making it worse for you. Suddenly, your home is broken in, thrashed or suddenly, you are locked out of your own home. The lock just wouldn’t open and it’s late at night. But either way, you don’t need to fear, John is just a call away. Or just happens to have been on his way to your place, to apologise, of course.

Sadly, this is just the beginning of manipulation and gaslighting.

Once he has you under his roof, there is no going back. Isn’t it strange? Some of your bathing and beauty products are already lined up in his bathroom cabinet.

 “I bought them just in case you decided to stay for weekends. I was thinking of inviting you over.”

It is reasonable but you can see through it. Anyone can—he is trying to ease you into living with him. It’s harmless in your eyes, only if you knew how far he has gone and is willing to go.

John loves it when you put on pretty dresses—your closet is slowly filled with more and more of them. Either it is a dress he has delivered to you, or left on your bed, or he simply appears with a random dress in a bag. 

“Thought it would look lovely on you.” 

It is incredible how he gets the measurement right, even before you both get intimate. It’s like his hands have a mind of their own, mapping your form even through simple touches.

The truth is, you are all in his mind, every touch, every trace is imprinted in John’s mind. It takes him incredible self-control to not have his hands all over you. His throat dries up when he gets to touch you, even if it seems innocent, a squeeze on your shoulder, holding your hand

Expect random trips to a boutique of his choice, he makes you try on as many dresses as you want, and he wants and every time you give him a twirl, he has to remind himself that you both are in public. If he likes a dress a little too much, he will invite you to his lap.

“Aren’t you a pretty doll?” His eyes have the darkness that unsettles you, just for a moment, before you shake it off

John is a gentleman, a true gentleman. A catch really—that is what you firmly believe. At least until you move in with him and the mask begins to fall. 

Suddenly, you realise that you barely have time for yourself, your closet is filled with the dresses he likes the most and you never go out with your friends as often. In fact, it has been a while since you have gone out. You are always rushing home after work because John prefers that you do not stay out till late. When was the last time you had a night out with your friends?

But by the time you come to realise all this, it is too late, you are so deep in his lair, entangled in his web. It is not easy to keep a sane mind with the amount of times his head is buried between your legs, or his fingers or both. And let’s not talk about what a silly mess his manhood thrusting in and out of your slick folds makes you. 

Like Donaka, John too has a corruption kink. You do not know how cruel the world is, you are a precious angel in this hell on earth. He wants to protect you, he will protect you and take care of you, regardless of what you want but he also gets off at your surprised expression when he bends you to a new position while your pleasure-drunk eyes look up at him. Only he will get to see that, of course. 

What would you do without him? You are going to work? He is dropping you, soon, you will see that you do not need to work at all. He is your protector and provider. You genuinely enjoy it? Well, you can continue what you do as a hobby, what is the need to take the pains of going to work every day?

John does not understand that. As I mentioned before, he sees you as something precious and fragile, a sweet doll that belongs to a safe, cosy, soft dollhouse. He makes sure that you have enough sleep, and enough nutrients and that you do not engage in any ‘dangerous’ activity. You do not need to cook, he will happily do that. If you insist on helping, he will let you mix things up, and even stir maybe, but you are staying away from hot oils and knives.

John is also the type who loves to kiss you on the cheeks for some reason, his lips softly touching your skin has a familiar warmth enveloping his heart. Even during intimate moments, he kisses you all over, like his lips tracing your body.

It is perhaps during the passionate, intimate moments that you get to see a glimpse of carefully concealed darkness. The sweet nothings make you blush. he says things in Russian that you have no idea of-

“You are meant to be fucked stupid and sleep soft and cosy in this bedroom, aren’t you? Why even bother stepping out? I have everything here for you.”

“Aren’t you pretty like this? My precious doll, all dressed up for me.”

“You were mine since the day I laid eyes on you.”

“Should keep you here all the time, huh? It’s too dangerous outside.”

“You need me, don’t you?”

“You are mine, aren’t you? All you need is me.”

“I could have just taken you, and you wouldn’t be able to do anything…”

If you do manage to put the dots and confront him someday, he will try to manipulate you and if that doesn’t work and you still want to leave…Good luck. Besides, he will have a good laugh watching you trying to fight him. Might even be condescending and mean about it.

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 82: Vivian's Peace

Prev > Masterlist

tw: broken leg, mind control, lots o' stabbing

October 1925

Vivian's scream echoed through the safe house as Oliver, disoriented and hallucinating, tripped and fell down the stairs before she could catch him. She'd seen many gut-churning injuries in her time as a hunter, but it still didn't prepare her for how Oliver's leg was bent in an unnatural way. Blood trickled down his face, and his eyes were glassy, staring at nothing.

"Oliver!" She rushed to his side. "Oliver, can you hear me?"

"…Yes," he said weakly.

"All right. Don't try to move. I'm going to take you to a doctor."

So much for hunting her vampire quarry this evening -- but there was nothing that could be done about it unless she was okay with leaving Oliver to suffer and maybe even die.

"What happened to Oliver?" Emily had run over. "Oh my god, his leg…"

"It's broken. I'll need help loading him into the car so I can take him to the hospital. It isn't far."

Emily looked pale as she helped Vivian pick Oliver up. He looked pained as they accidentally jostled his leg, but he didn't cry out, seemingly lost in a place far away. His eyelids were drooping, and Vivian knew that he was still under the effect of the sleeping draught she had given him.

She thought she was doing him a favor. He was panicking about the possibility of his vampire master being killed, even though most of the enthrallment should have been cleared from his mind. The vampire had such a strong grip on the unfortunate man, and he was clearly going to be a hindrance in his own salvation. It seemed like a mercy to put him to sleep until the morning, when hopefully the vampire who tormented him had been returned to hell and he could think clearly once again. She had never expected this.

The two women struggled to get a semi-unconscious Oliver into the car. He was pale and shivering now.

This was all her fault. She shouldn't have been a coward, terrified of enthrallment, a fate far worse than death. She should have killed Alexander when she had the chance. She'd been so intensely gripped by panic when she felt his spell starting to breach her defenses -- if this was how she reacted to Alexander, how could she ever hope to destroy his vile sire and avenge her mother?

And now, he would be hunting her. Oliver was bleeding, and that would make him easier to track. What if Alexander picked up the trail, and it led him straight to the safe house? What if he brought the Maestro with him? She wasn't remotely prepared to try and kill both of them at once, especially not with the former thralls' lives on the line.

"Emily, listen to me," she said, pulling a wad of cash from her wallet. "You need to run."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Just trust me. Take this money, go to the train station on the corner of 7th, and get a ticket going anywhere, enough to put some distance between you and vampires. Gather up the rest of the thralls and take them along too."

"What about Bobby?" Emily asked.

"Try to get him out, but if you can't, lock the doors and leave him. Hopefully I'll be able to get back soon and get him myself." It was an awful thing to consider, but she wasn't willing to tell Emily and the other thralls to sacrifice themselves to save someone so far gone he might never return.

"But what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to take Oliver to the hospital, and then I'm going to hunt vampires." It was the only thing she could do. Oliver made a low noise of distress, and Vivian knew she couldn't wait any longer. She waved goodbye to to a frantic Emily and drove off.

"I need to go," murmured Oliver, half-asleep. "It's the only way. I need to go."

Perhaps taking Oliver had been a mistake. He was so deeply ensorcelled that her magic couldn't fully dispel it. She would have just tossed him back at the vampire to make her escape if it hadn't been for Emily's request to help him.

Vivian looked over at Oliver, his face screwed up in pain even as the sleeping draught kept him mostly asleep. A hopeless case -- she could see that now. Even if Alexander died, he was the sort that would be selling himself back to a vampire within three months, no doubt. The way he defended that monster sickened her. He'd rather see her condemned to a lifetime of mindless servitude than to have her slaughter the creature that'd kept him captive. Even if it wasn't his fault, even if it was just the spell that had been placed on him, she could hardly stand to hear it.

Then again, Oliver had given her by far the most information she'd had on the Maestro. That made his rescue worth it.

Unfortunately, if the Maestro were actually on her trail, she was not prepared to fight him yet. Her rune's effectiveness had faded before she could finish the job with Alexander, and the Maestro was no doubt stronger than that. She needed better safeguards if she wanted to stand a chance.

The car sputtered to a stop in front of the hospital. Thankfully, Vivian was strong enough to carry Oliver, who was in no shape to walk on his own. He groaned as she took him through the double doors and into the dingy lobby. Vivian was very well acquainted with this hospital, as it was the only one in the city open throughout the night.

The night nurse behind the desk put down her magazine. "What happened to him?"

"He accidentally fell down a flight of stairs and broke his leg. He also hit his head and may have other injuries."

She nodded and stood. "We'll get him into a bed right away. There are no doctors on staff right now, but one of the nurses can examine the fracture, set the bone, and give him something to ease the pain. There will be a doctor to see him in the morning."

"That'll do." Vivian followed the nurse into a hall, where patients lay on thin white mattresses. They were mostly asleep or half-awake, but a few stared at them with wide eyes as they passed. The nurse gestured to an open bed, and Vivian lay Oliver down on it, trying to be careful with his battered leg.

"Are you his wife or his sister?" the nurse asked.

"Nothing like that. I hardly know him. He was… in need of a room, and staying at my house temporarily."

"I see. Does he have any family we could contact?"

"No. In fact, if anyone comes by claiming to be his family, you should turn them away." It wouldn't do much good if Alexander came calling, as he'd have this nurse's mind in his grasp in seconds, but she might as well try.

Vivian and the nurse returned to the lobby, and the nurse waved a piece of paper at Vivian. "Could you at least fill out the intake form? We'll need his name and --"

"His name's Oliver. I don't know his last name or anything else about him. And I need to get going." This unexpected emergency had burned a critical part of her night, and she needed to get back on track if she had any hope of finding Alexander before he found her. With Oliver's blood in the air, she was at even more of a disadvantage.

She'd done what she could for Oliver. With the way his leg looked, he might never walk properly again, but that was the doctors' problem. The best thing she could do for him now would be to dispose of his vampiric master.

Vivian got back in the car and slumped in the driver's seat. She took out her knife and carved the familiar rune, something she might need to do several times tonight in case she were ambushed. Where was Alexander most likely to be? If he caught the scent of Oliver's blood -- and depending on how keen his senses were, he might be able to do so from miles away -- then he'd be either here at the hospital or at the safe house. Hopefully the thralls had evacuated for the train station by now.

With any luck, she'd be able to catch her quarry prowling near the safe house. As she drove, she considered her strategy. She knew now that she couldn't rely on the rune for long, not when Alexander began to sing, so she would have to make it quick. She had an incapacitation spell, but it probably wouldn't be enough to stop his voice, and --

Vivian screamed as a pedestrian appeared in the road in front of her, swerving the car and driving it halfway onto the sidewalk. She'd been so absorbed in thought that she hadn't even seen the woman in time. Heart pounding, she opened the door and went to the poor soul she'd nearly hit. It was a young woman in a floral sundress, with an innocent and sweet face, a visage that would have fooled anyone but a seasoned hunter. As it was, Vivian realized her mistake before she'd taken even a few steps.

"Don't move," said the woman, her voice carrying an air of authority. Vivian's rune burned as it absorbed the command, and she could tell immediately that this vampire was extraordinarily powerful. With Alexander lurking out there, this was the worst time possible for her to run into another vampire.

And it would be much, much worse if it wasn't a coincidence at all, if the two vampires were working together.

Vivian pulled her silver knife with one hand and a strength draught with another. The possibility that she was working with Alexander meant that her usual trick, pretending to be enthralled to get the vampire to let their guard down, wouldn't work, and that meant she had to rely on physical prowess to quickly end it. The vampire was at least a foot shorter than Vivian, a bit plump with no muscle, and if she were a human, she'd be no match for Vivian. With vampires, though, their appearance was a poor indicator of their abilities.

"Oh, dear, is that any way to treat me after you nearly ran me over?" said the vampire, honey sweet. "Why don't you just lay down that weapon and relax, and we can have a nice chat."

Vivian didn't bother to respond, as there was no point. Anything this vampire said was intended for the sole purpose of trapping her mind. She downed the strength potion in one gulp, trying not to gag on its rotten meat smell, and charged.

The vampire seemed to be taken off guard by the force of Vivian's blow, staggering backwards and losing her footing. Vivian didn't hesitate, jumping on top of her and pinning one arm, aiming her silver knife straight at her heart.

"Stop!" she cried out, and although her rune absorbed the magic, it was enough to make her hesitate for just one second, enough time for the vampire to toss her off and stand up again. Vivian leapt to her feet and was about to try again when she heard an echoing song from nearby. Alexander. He was here too.

"I don't want to hurt you," said the vampire, weaving her spell. "You'll feel much better if you calm down and stop fighting."

Sleep, said the song in her mind. Give up and rest. You're exhausted. Close your tired eyes and go to sleep.

The rune was searing itself into her arm, its power draining too quickly with the enthralling spells of two vampires prodding at her mind. She had to take one out quickly, and judging from the fight last night, Alexander was the weaker of the two. She feigned as if she were lunging at the other vampire again, and as soon as she braced herself for the impact, she turned and leapt in the direction of the song.

"Oh, no, you don't." The other vampire grabbed her arms from behind, restraining her. "I told you, you need to calm down and stop fighting."

Alexander stepped out of the shadows, his song more insistent. Surrender. Obey. Sleep.

"No, let go of me!" Vivian managed to free the hand with the silver knife, only to have it caught by Alexander. Her potion gave her the strength to shake him off, trying to plunge the knife into his chest, when the other vampire dragged her backwards, causing her to swipe at the air.

"None of that. You don't need to fight," whispered the sweet voice in her ear. "You don't need to think. You just need to surrender."

Go to sleep. Shut your eyes. Surrender. Open your mind and listen.

The brand on her arm was flickering, and now Vivian was truly scared. She was at a severe disadvantage now that she'd failed to take either vampire down quickly, and if her protections faltered, it would be impossible to resist their spell. She kicked backwards at the vampire holding her, managing to sweep out one leg and sending them both toppling onto the road.

"So feisty!" she said, laughing. "Oh, you're going to be a fun one. All you have to do is surrender, and then we can play together."

Alexander wrenched the silver knife from her grasp, cutting himself in the process and tossing the knife half a block away. Even as he clenched at the wound on his hand, his singing didn't falter.

But Vivian's brand did. She could feel her muscles relaxing against her will, her mind clouding.

The other vampire pulled her close, speaking seductively in her ear. "Good girl. Just submit to me. Submit and surrender yourself."

Surrender yourself, Alexander's song echoed. Sleep and obey.

She pushed against the insidious commands with all her might. This was it. She had one last chance. The other vampire had made the fatal mistake of allowing Vivian to be close, believing her to be enthralled. She would only have one shot at this.

As quick as she could, she pulled her second knife from her belt and thrust it towards the vampire's heart.

"Lily!"

Time seemed to slow. Alexander shoved the vampire aside, the silver knife catching him in his upper arm. He cried out, clutching the burning wound, as Vivian reeled.

Lily. The expert in human subjugation, the name on every other thrall's lips when they were asked who had hypnotized them. The vampire who'd captured and enthralled every hunter who'd gone after her. The vampire that scared Vivian more than any others save the Maestro. She was here, ready to silence Vivian's mind forever.

"Oh, no, you don't, you rotten little brat!" said Lily, grabbing Vivian around the chest. Vivian's hand was still free enough to plunge the knife into her side, earning an agonized shriek. Lily collapsed onto the road, the gash steaming where the silver had burned her.

The triumph was short-lived, however, because Alexander grabbed her from behind and sang a pure, clear note in her ear, one which stopped any thoughts in their tracks. Vivian pulled away, but he was singing of sleep, sleep, sleep -- and her defenses were faltering. She swayed uncertainly on her feet, lifting up the knife to defend herself, even as thick drowsiness enveloped her mind and body.

When she swung the knife at Alexander, it was clumsy and slow, not like the blow she'd used against Lily. He caught it easily, disarming her of her second knife and grabbing both of her wrists.

The brand on Vivian's arm went numb, shedding the last of its protection, and with that, Vivian felt herself sinking into a fatal stupor. She'd never felt this way before -- like she was going to lose.

So this really was it. This was her end, captured and forced into servitude. It was just like she'd told Oliver would happen, if she lost.

And this was the vampire Oliver thought she could reason with! He'd brought a specialist in human enslavement as his backup. All vampires were the same deep down, just as she'd thought.

Surrender, he sang. Submit to me and obey.

"Oliver… thought you… were better than this…" she said.

"What?" That startled the vampire out of his perilous song, giving Vivian a moment to try and collect herself.

"Focus, Lex," said Lily from where she was curled on the floor. "She's trying to get a rise out of you."

Alexander resumed his song before Vivian could truly catch her breath. Go to sleep, go to sleep and surrender, let your mind sleep and open to my words.

"That's it, go to sleep," Lily coaxed. "No more fighting. Off to dreamland."

Vivian had never been this exhausted before, so utterly spent that no matter how hard she fought against it, she couldn't stop her head from nodding forward and heavy eyes from closing. Alexander caught her as she pitched forward, holding her gently and stroking her hair. He smelled of soap.

And Vivian's tired mind finally gave up.

It was like a rubber band finally snapping under tension. As soon as she lost the battle against enthrallment, she fell deep and hard into enchanted slumber, immediately dropping down into the hypnosis she'd fought so hard against. Alexander continued to sing to her, his voice dark and sure, and Vivian opened to it, allowing the song to pour into her defenseless mind.

"There, now, you are truly under my control."

"Yes, sir," she said, without a second thought. That was what thralls said, and she was a thrall now.

"Very good. You will tell me the truth."

"I will tell you the truth, sir."

"Lex, be careful. She might be trying to trick you again," said Lily.

"If it's a trick, it's a damn good one."

"Not a trick, sir," she murmured. "I'm under your spell." It felt so right, in the strangest way. She knew what thralls did, what they acted like, and so she knew exactly what she was supposed to do. She'd never felt so at peace, forgetting what had made her so frightened.

"Where is Oliver?" he asked.

"In the hospital, sir."

"The hospital!"

"He broke his leg falling down the stairs, sir."

"Damn," Alexander swore. "Which hospital?"

"Mercy, sir."

"I know where that is," said Lily. "I had to take a thrall there once."

"I have to go to him," said Alexander. "But I can't just leave you, and we'll need to make sure the hunter doesn't wake."

"A broken leg isn't fatal. Oliver will be just fine in the hospital, with human doctors to treat him. You can go to him tomorrow night."

"But my sire --"

"Will do what he pleases regardless of what you do. But I can't get home by myself like this, Lex, especially not with the risk that the hunter might wake up."

"You're right. I hate to leave him there in pain, but -- you're right." Alexander hummed a tune of obedience and docility, sinking Vivian further. "I can't carry you and tend to the hunter all at once, though. You'll need to heal up enough to walk. You need fresh blood."

"I was thinking the same thing," said Lily. "Her blood smells amazing. It's just the thing."

"And drinking from her will help subdue her as well. Here, let me bring her close."

Vivian felt herself being set down on the road. She was dimly aware that the vampires were going to drink from her. She'd never had a vampire's fangs on her neck before, except in her nightmares.

Alexander's song changed. Let her feed, give your blood, be still and quiet.

Vivian couldn't move, could hardly even breathe, as her shirt was pulled aside and her body arranged to make her neck more convenient for Lily to access.

"Good girl," said the sweet voice in her ear. "This won't hurt at all. This is going to feel wonderful, and then you'll know what your true purpose was all along."

Still and quiet. Feel no pain.

The cold fangs settled onto her vulnerable neck for just a moment before biting down, and Vivian was lost, so utterly lost.

Prev > Masterlist

She'll be fine, probably. Next week: One of Alexander's worst days.

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[mur-art]

I was a dam builder

Across the river deep and wide

Where steel and water did collide

A place called Boulder on the wild Colorado

I slipped and fell into the wet concrete below

They buried me in that great tomb that knows no sound

But I am still around

I’ll always be around

***

You’ll never guess where I went this weekend. /s

Yep, I went and toured the Hoover Dam! It was pretty dam cool.

Factoids, Headcanons, Ramblings and some inspo photos under the cut!

-The Hoover Dam is a concrete arch-gravity dam in the Black Canyon of the Colorado River, on the border between the U.S. states of Nevada and Arizona. Constructed between 1931 and 1936, during the Great Depression, it was dedicated on September 30, 1935, by President Franklin D. Roosevelt. Its construction was the result of a massive effort involving thousands of workers, and cost over 100 lives. (Wikipedia)

-Headcanon time! Nevada and Arizona themselves were among the workers who helped build the dam. Specifically, they were “high scalers,” who climbed down canyon walls on ropes to remove loose and weakened rocks along the canyon walls. This was a super dangerous job, but Nevada and Arizona, being immortal(ish), experienced with mining, and suckers for an adrenaline rush, were ideal for it.

-Neither of them have a fear of heights…it helped. They both still enjoy rock climbing together…for fun now though!

-The dam and its water helped make both of them what they are today, for better or worse. It helped Las Vegas grow from a tiny train stop to a major city in just a couple decades. It helped Phoenix and Tucson boom as well. You know what they say; build the future you want for yourself? 😅 They literally did that. I don’t think either of them could have predicted everything that would happen in the future, though.

(Some pics that I used for reference, feat. a photo of an actual high scaler.)

[majaloveschris]

However, I don't know if leaking the contract would be bad for both of them. I think most people would be happier if this turned out to be PR rather than him being married to someone like her. And I mean her and her friends' personalities. You know the racist, pedo, and Nazi stuff. Maybe some people would be angry because he's lied, but I think most of us probably would be relieved he wasn't actually in love with someone like Alba. //

Logic anon coming in, people have to understand the fandom although it feels big is very small especially compared to the rest of the world. The general public doesn’t care about these two and many think she looks like she’s his daughter. Now, If this fandom were like the fandoms with “names” ie the Swifties, Belibers, etc This shitshow would have exploded publicly to the point the truth would have came out and there’d be no debate. The world would be aware of her and her friends and many would probably defend her, it would be team pr vs real on a bigger level. But technically something similar yet small did happen….. remember the “crazy” fan article in the beginning because the fandom was calling out the bs.

This stunt wasn’t for the fans, but I assume they thought this fandom would jump whenever Chris said to….wrong. The fandom went into detective mode so much to the point they kept having to keep up with the lies that so many called out. Remember all the holes in the cheese they tried to fill. If it were real, why the need to do that.

But yeah the point for whatever reason was to make this appear legit to the world, not this fandom. The fandom got involved because of how stupid things got. Had Chris and team learned that he had a MO that ONLY his fandom was aware of and had her and her little racist friends not trolled, things might be different.

Too much has happened for me to assume any of this is legit unless Chris has sincerely lost his mind, is going through a midlife crises or willingly thought being married might help his career/image? Idk 🤷‍♀️

In terms of said contract being leaked, that would be awesome for the fandom and possibly those who think he’s a red pill fool, but for the overall public…. I don’t think so. He’d be a liar and how could anyone trust someone who lied about being married, but again it’s Hollywood and business so who knows, it could be a shock factor, people discuss and then move on and he’s able to reinvent himself or something or people would crack jokes and never let him live it down, etc.

If a contract got leaked and had specific details it could help him and people would go omg look what Hollywood forced Chris Evans to do and I knew he’d never marry anyone that young, etc. ya know the “poor Chris”, coddling scenario he’s use to. 🙄

At most, a divorce could be announced and TMZ can state they were never legally married and leave people to question whatever. Chris moves on, focuses on his career and learns to keep his private life private and no more PR shit.

I think they thought Alba would get much more recognition and fans because of Chris. That the fandom will like her, that they will start following her and start her career. The why is beyond me, though. I wouldn't say even his real girlfriends were that liked by the public, so why would a fake one with whom they look so distant and who is a worse person than the others be? I don't think they thought this through.

I wouldn't say this wasn't for us; most of the time, a PR relationship is. A random person who's watched a few projects of yours won't start following or supporting someone's partner. A fan would. Like how many people have started following Travis since they went public with Taylor? A lot. I assume they wanted something similar to happen to Alba, but they didn't succeed. As you said, the general public cares more about the age gap and the appearance. They don't have to sell them anything because they don't care. They have to make it look legit for the fans, because they are the ones following all of their steps. They will be the ones who start following the partner or check out their works. When it comes to a PR relationship, the fans need to like the partner or accept them in the close circle. The general public just doesn't care enough to make someone's partner more famous; fans could do that. Chris's fans could've started liking Alba and watching her projects, making her more wanted in projects. That's why they wanted to sell the happy relationship; that's why they filled the holes. They need fans to do their parts, not the general public.

I still think leaking something would be the best. He's lost a lot of fans, and I'm not saying that would get him everything and everyone back, but this PR wouldn't still be better than him actually being in love with her. I think it would be. Obviously, that doesn't take away the stupidity of this whole thing and that he got involved in this. It wouldn't make everything okay, but it would make it better. General public doesn't care enough about this. They would forget about him being in a PR marriage after like a day, especially right now, when a lot of much worse things are going on. This wouldn't be the worst thing a celebrity did. Right now, they should care about fans, not about the general public. Those people who've left are the important ones. They're going to go and watch all of his movies, not the general public.

I just hope that if this is truly PR, they all learned from this and have already realized that this whole thing was a mistake and will never try something like this.

[johanarchy]

Because I cannot be stopped in my madness in any way whatsoever, here is the man, the myth, the legend (and his four boyfriends)

Laurel Doppler and the Bodice Rippers

I am now deeply invested in them and their stories. More yapping under the cut. Questions are welcome

So, the Bodice Rippers ! First of all, they're really not big fighters; they are first and foremost artists and entertainers who happen to do a lot of fighting in the process. This is important because if they had to rely on their skill on the battlefield to earn their fame, they would still be nobodies (or dead bodies tbh). Lucky for them, they serve both a legion and a god that heavily relies on social events and entertainment, so by making it their specialty, they were able to earn a modest amount of recognition.

Story-wise, the four of them were neophytes during the Laer campaign, along with my other EC boy Antares (who rolled with them for a while post Heresy), so they're pretty old but they hardly knew the legion without slaaneshi influence.

They can all play a variety of instruments, but the usual distribution is Hook on the drums, Kronos on the bass, Nicky on the guitar or piano and Vega on the guitar and lead vocals (backup vocals can be done by all).

Vega is the closest thing the band has to a leader. He's a diva, people looking at him is his greatest pleasure in life, making him very motivated to get famous.

Hook probably has a real name, but nobody knows what it is, even pre-Heresy he tended to just go by Hook. He's a masochist, even by slaaneshi standards; he will purposefully dislocate his wrists and knees before every drumming session because being in pain makes him play better.

Nicky was already vain before the corruption took hold, and it has only gotten worse with time. He is obsessed with staying young and pretty and goes to ... appropriate slaaneshi lengths to do so.

Kronos took the idea of the tortured poet and ran with it. He's a self described "heartbroken romantic" who stews in his own sadness until he can make art out of it. He is also obsessed, and I mean OBSESSED with Fulgrim, who he views as the ultimate tragic figure.

Laurel came into the picture fairly recently. He's a post-Heresy Iron Hand, about a thousand years old, and was extremely easy to turn to Chaos, for two major reasons. Number one, his loyalty to the Imperium never ran terribly deep. Number two, this man, and I cannot stress this enough, thinks entirely with his dick. Vega was the first to seduce him into working with the band and now he has four boyfriends and an eternity of drugs, sex and rock'n'roll ahead of him

I'll stop there, but I am already getting ideas on how to make them interact with my other boys so ... more ramblings coming soon

Traitor Iron Hand who does sound engineering for Noise Marines

Is this anything ?

AND THEYRE BOYFRIENDS!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[tiny-feisty-gay]

man we all know charlie had an emo phase but I really wanna explore the possibility she wasn't always the charlie we see now. she wasn't always gentle or kind or optimistic and all of those things are hard-won after battling the opposite. that maybe at some point, bitterness and anger and spite started eating her alive and she changed for herself first. that her kindness is selfish at its root, that her altruism is self-serving above all else, because if she kept on the same path, there might be nothing else left of her. and at some point it stopped being about her and started to be about others.

and as a bonus? this version of charlie would pair perfectly with a version of vaggie who wasn't always guilt-ridden, who truly believed in her cause. who was lethal and ruthless and loved what she did because she believed and ultimately it was what did her in. who had truly never hesitated before that child, because extermination wasn't just a necessity, it was a game. entertainment.

idk I just. I love their dynamic already so much but the contrast of charlie becoming optimistic for herself vs vaggie developing guilt and shame over others, and both of them finding the harmony between those extremes?

[vaguely-concerned]

you ever think about how across three games, the only way to get varric to give up on you and leave you to handle things alone (even at times and with player characters who probably really should be given up on notably) is literally only if he's fucking dead and even then he'll gamely continue to give it a shot from beyond the grave. accuse him of many things along the way (there are many things to accurately accuse him of lol), but that man is so fundamentally not a quitter he's got ride or die instincts down to the marrow. never gonna give you up even though he may admittedly from time to time let you down never gonna run around and desert you: the man

[brummiereader]

@mischievouslittlecreature fantastic chapter, Lily 😍!

I'm sorry I'm getting so behind on reading 😩. I've currently got a nasty case of bronchitis that won't fuck off 😭, so forgive me if my comments on this chapter don't make much sense.

He nodded. “There was a message pinned to it. Look down on earth and see the seeds you have sown,” he shook his head. I love how the title of this chapter echoes that pinned note. You're so clever at connecting everything together.

He closed his mouth, eyes narrowing down at her. “You’re so bloody stubborn, you know that?” But there was no bite in his words. If anything, he just sounded very, very tired. Lucy touched his chin delicately. He didn't really think she'd listen to him did he 😅? Poor baby, I couldn't help but notice how tired he was in this exchange too. He sounded like he was stating facts more than having a conversation with her 😔.

Together, they sat, listening to the shrill squeaks and squeals of Charlie’s violin. All the while trepidation sank deeper and deeper into their bones. Although the image of Tommy having to sit and listen to the screeching noises of Charlie's violin always makes me giggle, I've never really looked at this scene and it's deeper meaning until your descriptions. They're constantly trying to simultaneously keep up some normality for Charlie's sake, all while internally losing their minds with stress with everything going on. I wonder if they both ever ask themselves if it's all worth it?

“She likes the life, ey? Well, find one that hates it. Look at him,” Tommy gestured to Arthur. “That’s what he did, and now he’s chairman of the board.” I never really understood what Tommy meant when he said this. Seems pretty counterproductive coming from a gangster 😂. But I can definitely see why Lucy picked up on this comment in particular. She's already pretty fragile when it comes to her own self worth in Tommy's life, and she has a tendency to pick apart small remarks like this until she's convinced herself that Tommy doesn't want her 😩.

How could he not fall in love with Lizzie? She was sweet, beautiful, the mother of his child, and he had known her for years. It's interesting how Lucy only ever points out Lizzie's nicer qualities. Because those far and few between positive aspects of her are often completely buried under the hatred Lizzie shows 😬.

Once that happened, she would be done for. Because when Tommy loved someone, really loved them, like he did her and Grace, he would do anything for them. Why can she never see herself in this equation too 😭? I know he often fucks up when it comes to noticing Lucy's need for reassurance, but I fear she'll never fully see how much he loves her. And I feel like this is only going to get worse as the series continues 😬.

Lucy snorted. As if Michael had any reason to be mad after he’d just lost all their fucking money. Ha, exactly Lucy! Urghh I loathe him.

I love how you explored what Polly would potentially have felt about the situation if things did continue to get worse while she was still there. Because as much as Tommy and Lucy are right about Michael,and as much I think Polly would have agreed with them, there is no fucking way she'd let Tommy take him out. I get the impression that Tommy really doesn't give out second chances to people he's not romantically involved in.

Loved this chapter, hun. I'm eager to see Lucy and Gina's interactions in the next parts 😬!

Part 26: Do You Love Me

Summary: Tommy and Lucy begin to suspect Michael of a far worse betrayal than what happened on the stock market.

Word Count: 6,076

Warnings: Violence and insecurity.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 4: The Seeds You Have Sown

Lucy rubbed at her eyes with the heel of one hand as she descended the stairs sluggishly. The house was always disconcertingly quiet in the mornings. Even more so with Lizzie and Ruby gone. Normally she got up with Tommy, which helped to cloak over some of the eeriness that the huge house exuded in the early hours. Especially in her dark, isolated wing of the mansion. 

But this morning she had woken up alone. Well, the second time she woke up, she was alone. The first time she had stirred at movement beside her, rolling over with an arm seeking out Tommy’s space beside her in the bed only to find it empty.

“Go back to sleep, love,” he had said, large hand passing over the top of her head. Rather than laying beside her, he was sitting on the edge of the mattress, already mostly dressed. 

“Mm. Why aren’t you here?” she complained, patting the spot next to her, even as she nuzzled back down into his pillow.

“There’s something I need to go check. Won’t be long.”

“Want me to come?”

“No, sweetheart, just go back to sleep,” he kissed the top of her head.

She drifted in and out for awhile after that, but it was hard to find true sleep without him there. Finally, she’d risen out of bed with a sigh, yawning and stretching and slouching her way over to the wardrobe to pull on her clothes for the day. 

Dressed and at least half awake, she was just making her way to the dining room in the hopes of finding a warm breakfast waiting for her when Charlie came exploding in through the front door. His shoes clattered loudly on the floor as he raced towards her. 

“Lucy! Dad wants you,” he skidded to a halt, nearly colliding with her. “He’s outside in the garden.”

“Charlie, what–”

“Miss. Winters, there was a phone call for Mr. Shelby’s office phone that he just missed,” Frances appeared to her left. “And Mrs. Milligan is here for Charles’s violin practice.”

Who the fuck has violin practice this early in the morning?   

“Alright, um, Charlie, you go with Frances to your lesson–”

“He said I’m to play extra loudly today,” Charlie giggled. “Because there might be some bangs outside. Do you know why, Lucy?”

Her blood went cold, eyes snapping to the windows. Suddenly wide awake. She looked back at Charlie, forcing what she hoped was a reassuring smile to pull at her lips. “Yes, Charlie. I think I do. You said that he’s in the garden, did you?”

Charlie nodded.

“Right,” she turned to Frances, who had gone a little pale. “Where’s the teacher?”

“In the drawing room.”

“Charlie, go with Frances to see Mrs. Milligan. Frances, keep everyone inside until we get back.”

“Yes, Miss. Winters.” Frances took Charlie by the hand, quickly leading him away. Lucy waited until they’d gone before running to the cupboard in which they kept a small artillery. She snatched up a tommy gun, some extra ammo, and raced outside. 

She found Tommy seated on the grass by the barren fields, smoking and rubbing at his face with hands smeared with dirt.

“What’s happened?” she asked, hooking the strap of the submachine gun over her shoulder. Her eyes darted around wildly, searching for any signs of danger but finding none. Until her gaze landed on the middle of the field, where a scarecrow was erected on a wooden cross. Lucy stared at it, breath catching in her throat. 

They didn’t have a scarecrow in the field. Not at this time of year, anyway. There was no point when there wasn’t anything planted in it anyway.

If she squinted she could make out that it was dressed in clothes eerily similar to Tommy’s daily attire: a dark coat, trousers, waistcoat, and white button down shirt, with a pocket watch dangling from its neck that glinted in the sun, and a peaky cap a top its burlap head. 

Tommy looked up at her with bleary eyes, chest heaving up and down. 

“There are landmines in the field.”

“What!?”

He nodded, gesturing with his cigarette towards the scarecrow mounted in the center of the barren stretch of mud. “All around the scarecrow. Fucking miracle that I didn’t step on one.”

“You went out there?”

He nodded. “There was a message pinned to it. Look down on earth and see the seeds you have sown,” he shook his head.

“Fuck,” she looked out at the field, watching whisps of white mist float across it. 

“In our own fucking garden, Lucy.”

“Yeah.” Already, her mind had begun to work. Who? Who would do such a thing? They were not lacking for enemies, but she struggled to immediately think of any who would be so bold as to do something like this right under their noses. 

“Charlie almost stepped on them. He came running onto the field to get me. If I hadn’t grabbed him in time…” Tommy trailed off, shoulders shuddering. Lucy’s lips parted, eyes widening. A sick feeling twisted in her stomach at the thought of what could have happened to their sweet boy. A hand went to his shoulder, clapping onto it both for stability and in an attempt to offer comfort. 

Distantly, from within the mansion, she could hear the sounds of a violin starting to play. She closed her eyes against the sound. Normally, she wasn’t particularly taken with Charlie’s violin playing. Often she caught herself wishing he’d chosen a less…shrill instrument to learn. Like the piano or even the harp. But today, she relished in the shriek and squeaks of the bow against the strings. 

“He’s okay,” she said, to Tommy and to herself. 

“Yeah.” He heaved out a massive sign, head bowing. She rubbed back and forth across his shoulder, feeling the tension in his muscles even through the material of his coat and the shirt he had on underneath.     

“What do you want to do about the mines?” 

“We need to take care of them,” he heaved himself to his feet, “so no one risks getting their leg blown off if they step out there.”

“Alright,” she unhooked the strap of her gun from where it was secured on her shoulder. “Should I shoot at the ground from over here, or…?” “No. They’re only around the scarecrow. I think.”

“You think?” 

“If there were ones anywhere else in the field, I’m pretty sure there would be bits of me scattered all over the garden by now.”

She cringed at the mental image, heart twisting upwards into her throat. “Don’t joke about that.”

He looked over at her, saw the expression on her face, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, kissing the top of her head. “Sorry.” He reached for the machine gun clutched her hands, but she pulled it away. 

“What are you doing?”

“Well…I need…” he had enough foresight to look sheepish at what he was implying. 

“I’m not letting you walk back out there alone.”

“Luces, please…”

“No! I’m not just going to stand here and watch you get blown up.”

“It’ll be fine–”

“Then you should have no problem with me coming with you.”

He closed his mouth, eyes narrowing down at her. “You’re so bloody stubborn, you know that?” But there was no bite in his words. If anything, he just sounded very, very tired. Lucy touched his chin delicately. 

“Look who’s talking.”

A ghost of a smile danced on his lips for a second. “You really would rather risk getting blown up with me than just wait right here?”

“Yes,” she said, without even a moment’s hesitation. His eyes softened, and he didn’t even need to say anything for her to know that she’d won. 

“Alright, then,” he sighed, looking back towards the scarecrow. “Just stick close to me, yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

Through the mist, Lucy could just make out the outline of another tommy gun laying on its side in the mud. He must have dropped it in his haste to get Charlie out of the field. 

“Come on.”

She followed him towards the gate that led out into the rows of soft, damp earth. She was careful to stay behind him and follow the path he cut through the mud, since he knew where the landmines were. He scooped up his gun where it lay on the ground, shaking dark tendrils from his fringe that had fallen forward out of his eyes. Immediately, he started firing upon the scarecrow. He emptied an entire magazine into it before coming to a halt, releasing the magazine drum to let it go tumbling to the ground, sliding a second one into its place with a click. Lucy’s finger found the trigger of her own gun, raising it once she came to a stop at his side. Squinting at the dirt around the scarecrow, she squeezed her finger around the trigger.     

The ground around the scarecrow erupted, dark soil and boiling flames exploding with a furious blaze into the sky. They were standing close enough for Lucy to feel the heat from the explosions on her face and smell the charred scent of smoke and burst metal. 

The explosions came one after the other as they swept the ground with bullets, setting off landmine after landmine, each bursting in its own mini inferno. 

And then all was quiet. 

Black smoke roiled upwards, rolling over itself, momentarily blotting out the sun above them before being broken apart by the wind. 

“You think that was all of them?” Lucy asked, lowering her weapon, glancing over to see Tommy doing the same.  

“Yeah. We’ll have to dig them up later.”

“Not now?”

He shook his head. “Charlie said that there was a phone call for me.”

“Yeah. To your office phone. Do you think it has anything to do with this?”

“Maybe.”

Mist danced around their ankles while he started to lead the way back to the house. She eyed him as they walked side by side. His entire face was pinched with stress, shoulders wound ever tighter than usual.

Michael was supposed to be coming back today. She knew that Tommy had been dreading the day; the tension within him seeming to build more and more as the date grew closer. 

Not that she could blame him. She felt it too; that sense of deep, approaching dread building in her stomach, hairs on the back of her arms standing on end, alarm bells blaring in her ears that danger was approaching. 

Once they were inside, she took a quick detour to lock both of their guns back up in the artillery cupboard before meeting him in his office. He was already on the phone when she slipped in, cocking it slightly when she came over to stand next to him so she could hear static crackling through the receiver, and then the buzz of the line ringing.

Whoever was on the other end picked up, and for just a second, she heard Michael’s voice before it was silenced. And then an Irish lilt filtered through the receiver, the voice introducing herself Captain Swing. Lucy’s brows pinched, stomach twisting into knots as Swing explained that Michael had been caught onboard the ship he’d taken from America, in his cabin making deals with men in Belfast who wanted Tommy dead. In the background, Lucy could hear the faint sounds of Michael’s voice, screaming that Swing was lying. 

Swing offered that she could have Michael killed then and there, or she could send him home for them to deal with. Tommy chose the latter. 

At Swing’s revelation that Michael was discussing with their enemies how they’d divide up the racetracks after they’d blown away Tommy’s legs, Lucy froze. 

That was a very specific way of wording things. And a very specific type of death. 

Her eyes shifted to the windows, looking out at the misty field. Despite the mines they’d detonated around it, the scarecrow was still standing on its cross, the wind ruffling its clothes.

How did she know about the mines?

Either what Swing was saying was true, and Michael had been in on the planting of them, or Swing herself had been involved in some way.  

“What the fuck,” Lucy said, soon as he’d put the phone down. Tommy looked as if he were seconds away from a stress-induced stroke, turning his back to the room to instead stare out the window while lighting a cigarette. “Do you really think…?” “I don’t know,” he shook his head, voice dropping to a whisper. “I don’t fucking know.”

It wouldn’t be entirely out of the realm of possibility for Michael to betray them. He’d done it before, during the vendetta. But at least then he’d had the excuse of choosing loyalty towards Polly over Tommy. 

“Fucking kid…” the shock was beginning to give way to rage. “We should never have taken him back in.” If it weren’t for them, he’d be some boring accountant, probably for a firm in London somewhere. Or maybe still trapped in that little village that he hated so much. How fucking dare he try to move against them? “He’ll be in Liverpool soon. Assuming that Swing actually lets him go and he doesn’t try to run. I could go to the station and assess him. Find out if anything that Swing said was true.”

“No.” 

She opened her mouth to argue, but Tommy put a gentle hand on her arm, drawing her in closer to his side. 

“I think that if either of us were to see him right now, we might kill him on the spot. I’ll send Polly and Arthur to pick him up.”

“He might not even show.”

“Then we’ll have our answer.” He lifted his cigarette to his lips, movements slow. 

“Even if Polly and Arthur clear him, I think we should quarantine him for a while. Just to be safe.”

Tommy nodded. “I’ll have him and the American girl he’s bringing with him put up at the Midland.”

“Good idea.” The Midland belonged to them. All eyes and ears employed within its walls were theirs. Every phone call, every activity, even every fucking thing that Michael ate would be reported to them. 

“And have some of our boys see what they can find on this Captain Swing and her people.”

“Will do.”

There was the click of heels against the floor outside, and then a few rapid knocks on the door. Tommy’s chest heaved with his sigh, lifting a hand to scratch at his brow. 

“Come,” he called, voice gruff, not turning from where he was still staring out the windows. His voice sounded very far away, and Lucy knew that he was currently locked within his own head, turning each and every possibility over and over in his mind. She inched a little closer to him, and when his arm draped around her shoulders, she looped her own around his waist, hoping that the warm press of her body against his side would help to soothe him. 

Frances came in, bringing with her inquiries from the violin teacher about the bangs she’d heard. Tommy waved away her concerns with an explanation of testing fireworks. One glance at the housekeeper’s face, and Lucy could tell that she didn’t believe him for even a second, but knew better than to pry.

“Also, will Mrs. Shelby and Ruby be home for dinner tonight?” she asked instead.  

“I don’t know.”

Lucy looked down, feeling the all too familiar pang of guilt wash through her. They’d had next to no contact with Lizzie since she’d left. Both of them too afraid of making things worse if they did not allow Lizzie her space. 

But God, it was eating her up not being able to see Ruby. The little girl was like a bright beam of sunlight in the otherwise dreary, melancholic house. The whole place seemed a shade darker in her absence.   

Surely Lizzie couldn’t keep her from Tommy forever. Despite everything, she was still his daughter. She would have to let him see her sometime. 

Him, maybe. But not you. You have no claim to her. No matter how much you love her.

She squeezed her eyes shut. The idea of never seeing Ruby again made her want to curl in on herself and weep. 

Approaching footsteps had the three of them starting and turning to see Charlie standing in the doorway, violin clutched in his hands. Excited to show Tommy the new tune he’d learned that morning. 

“And what have you learned, my boy?” Tommy asked, and Lucy detected that he was making great effort to lighten his tone so Charlie would not notice the deep tension practically radiating from him. He slipped down into the chair behind his desk, a hand on Lucy’s waist urging her into his lap. She settled there, arm around his shoulders and head leaning against his.

Together, they sat, listening to the shrill squeaks and squeals of Charlie’s violin. All the while trepidation sank deeper and deeper into their bones. Regarding Michael. Regarding whoever had planted those land mines in their garden, like deadly flowers waiting to bloom in a fiery inferno. And regarding the danger that seemed to be coming at them from each and every direction. 

∗ ∗ ∗

They stepped into the Garrison to find it utterly trashed. Broken glass crunched under their shoes, half filled and empty glasses littered the tables, and spilled booze seeped into the floorboards. There were only two people occupying the pub: a girl, who roused at Tommy scrapping a barstool against the floor to perch on, and Finn, who remained fast asleep spread out in a booth despite their less than silent entrance. The girl rushed to gather up her clothes and hurry out the door at Tommy’s command.

While he and Arthur set to work dealing with Finn, Lucy grabbed up a broom from the supply closet and started sweeping up some of the broken glass littered all over the place. They seemed to get through to him alright, though Lucy couldn’t entirely shake the wariness that had settled within her when it came to Finn. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but it was something not unlike how she always felt around Polly. That instinctual knowledge that, no matter what she did or how many times she proved her loyalty, Finn would never truly accept her as a part of the family. 

At his mention to Tommy that he’d found a girl he wanted to marry, she started. Jesus, she kept forgetting that Finn wasn’t a kid anymore. In her mind, he was still that little boy running throughout the streets of Small Heath with dirt smeared across his face, grinning as he weaved between the adults’ legs at the betting shop. 

That might explain some of his recent behavior, however, what with the running head-on into danger half-cocked. Whoever this girl was, he was trying to impress her. 

“Tell me about her,” Tommy requested. 

“She likes the life.”

“She likes the life, ey? Well, find one that hates it. Look at him,” Tommy gestured to Arthur. “That’s what he did, and now he’s chairman of the board.”

She frowned, grip tightening on the broom that she was holding, catching her lip between her teeth to worry at it while she shifted uncomfortably. Finn was dismissed, though Lucy barely noticed.   

Was that what he really thought? That all of them were better off with women who hated the lives that they’d chosen to live? 

She did not fit into that category. But Lizzie did. 

Of course he missed his daughter and wanted her to come home. Lucy missed her too. But it had not even really occurred to her that he may be missing Lizzie as well. 

Her fear that Lizzie would someday replace her was a constant, forever presence in the back of her mind. Sometimes it was quiet, hardly even a whisper to be heard. Other times it was a scream, a blaring siren warning her to brace herself for heartbreak that surely would be coming at any moment. The volume of it ebbed and flowed like the tide. 

His words ran on a loop in her head, doubts growing. Maybe the type of person that she was no longer appealed to him. Maybe Lizzie was what he really wanted. A nice, normal woman. Not some basket case who woke up most nights screaming from nightmares, or who flinched at unfamiliar touches or loud noises. Who didn’t find even the smallest enjoyment out of the sport or kind of work that they did. Who rode a horse sidesaddle rather than with a leg on either side.          

Did she like the life anymore? She honestly couldn’t say. The life had caused her an awful lot of pain, as the aches in her shoulders or the twinges in her heart so often liked to remind her. But it had given her Tommy. And if the life of a gangster was what she had to lead to be with him, she’d do it all again in a heartbeat. Without even the smallest hesitation. 

She swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably. A combination of excitement and dread opened up inside her at Arthur’s report that Lizzie and Ruby would be home later that day. She couldn’t wait to see Ruby. But the idea of having to face Lizzie, especially after the fight they’d had and Tommy’s latest comments, left her feeling nothing but anxiousness. 

Tommy started to give Arthur orders for how to handle Michael once he arrived from Liverpool, but she barely heard him. 

She knew that Tommy cared for Lizzie. That had never bothered her. She cared for her too. But the idea that he might someday fall in love with her terrified her. Because if he loved her the way that Lizzie so desperately wanted him to, there would be no room for Lucy in his life anymore. No love left for her. 

A part of her had always figured it was an inevitability. How could he not fall in love with Lizzie? She was sweet, beautiful, the mother of his child, and he had known her for years. Even longer than he’d known Lucy. It was impossible that he could spend so much time in such close proximity to her–both emotionally and physically–without certain feelings beginning to bloom. 

Once that happened, she would be done for. Because when Tommy loved someone, really loved them, like he did her and Grace, he would do anything for them. And the first thing that Lizzie would ask of him would be to toss Lucy out onto the street like an unwanted dog. 

Everything she had, she had because of Tommy. She was not naive enough to think otherwise. Without him, she would lose everything. Hell, he was everything to her. Some days, she doubted she would even be alive if it weren’t for him. What would she even have to live for? Without Tommy she was completely and utterly alone. 

“Lucy?” Tommy called, and she started, realizing that he had stood and gone to the Garrison’s doors, waiting for her to follow him.

“Sorry.” Setting aside the broom she was holding, she wiped her hands down on her overcoat and moved to trail him outside, giving a sharp shake of her head to try to dislodge the thoughts banging around uncomfortably inside her mind. 

“You alright?” he asked, once they had made their way to the station and seated themselves in a compartment on the next train headed for London. The floor vibrated under her shiny black boots as they started to pull out of the station, beginning the journey south. She looked away from where she was gazing out the window with her knuckles resting against her lips to find Tommy eyeing her, mild concern shining in his eyes. 

She thought about asking him what he meant by what he’d said in the Garrison. But she didn’t have the courage to open her mouth and let the words come out. Too scared by what his answer might be.  

“Yeah,” she said, instead, shifting so that her temple leaned against the cool glass of the window. “I’m fine.”

∗ ∗ ∗

“Excuse me?”

Lucy looked up from her desk into the face of a bald man with a pointed nose and a dark mustache. He had his hat clutched in his hands, running his fingers along the fine material.  

“Yes?”

“This is the office of Thomas Shelby, correct?”

“It is.” She put down her pen. From his desk across from hers, Adam shot her a nervous look. “How can I help you?”

“My name is Stacker. I need to ask Mr. Shelby some questions. Is he in?”

“What sort of questions?”

The man shifted from foot to foot. “There was a shooting two days ago of a journalist who was in here to meet with Mr. Shelby the night before his death. I’d like to speak with him about it.”

“You’re police?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Police aren’t allowed in here.”

“I’m here in a very…unofficial context.”

“Mm,” she cocked her head, both of them aware that wasn’t truly the case. But flat out sending him away might do more harm than good. “Adam, go find Mr. Shelby and tell him that there’s a policeman here to see him.”

Adam nodded, standing and slipping past Stacker to rush out the door. 

“You can wait in his office,” Lucy said, standing and walking around Stacker to open the double doors, leading him inside. “Who’s your Chief Constable, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Chief Constable Wyatt, Miss.”

She nodded. Good. They knew Wyatt. “Mr. Shelby will be here in a moment. Can I get you something to drink, while you wait?”

“No thank you. I’m alright.”

She went out into the front office, plucking up a folder from her desk and flipping through it to appear busy while waiting for Tommy and keeping one eye on Stacker. The policeman prowled around the office, examining the papers and trinkets spread out on the big desk, then moving to inspect a painting of a white horse surrounded by a golden frame and hung on the wall behind Tommy’s chair. He didn’t touch anything, though Lucy was sure he was making mental notes about all that he was seeing. 

Heavy footfalls announced Tommy’s presence, entering the office with his briefcase in hand and Adam trailing in behind him. 

 “His Chief Constable is Wyatt,” she murmured into his ear. He nodded.

“Five minutes, then come tell me I’ve got an appointment or something that I need to get ready for so he’ll leave.”

She nodded, going to lounge behind her desk while he went in to deal with the officer. 

Just another day in Parliament, she thought to herself as she lit a cigarette, puffing smoke up towards the ceiling, keeping an eye on the clock for when she would need to rise and rescue Tommy from the clutches of the lawman.

The police investigating Levitt’s death wasn’t a particularly unexpected occurrence. Nor was them coming here to talk to Tommy about it, considering that Levitt had died not long after seeing him. Their boys had done good work on the hit, giving it enough flourish to send a message to any other journalists looking to try something, all while ensuring that the police wouldn’t be able to link it to them easily. If at all.  

Didn’t mean that their poking and prodding around wasn’t annoying, though. She had hoped that the police would simply assume that Levitt’s death was a result of conflict caused in his personal life, and they could avoid being pulled into the investigation all together. But apparently not. 

The clock chimed, and she rose from her seat, grabbing up some documents that she needed Tommy to look over anyway, going back into his office just as the last chime sounded. 

“Mr. Shelby, you have a meeting with an MP from Essex in a few minutes.” She reported, placing the documents she’d brought in on his desk. Tommy turned his gaze onto the policeman.

“Your time’s up, Mr. Stacker.”

Stacker said nothing, throat working. Whatever Tommy had said to him before she came in, it had either given him pause, or made him very angry. Perhaps a bit of both. His eyes flickered between them, and then he rose from his seat. 

“Thank you,” Tommy called to his back as he retreated from the room.

“Did it not go well?” Lucy asked, once she heard the door close shut behind Stacker, watching Tommy’s face while he moved around his desk to his chair. 

“He’s suspicious. But I don’t think it’ll stick. If it does, I’ll have a word with Wyatt about him.”

“Alright.”

Tommy’s eyes shifted to the clock. She glanced over her shoulder at it. 

“Arthur was supposed to call me at three,” he huffed, as they watched the minute hand tick over to the right. 

“It’s only two minutes past, love.” She moved around to his side of the desk, touching his shoulder. “Arthur isn’t always the most punctual.”

He just grunted, and she smiled fondly at his grumpiness, rubbing his shoulder a few times to try to massage away some of the tension she felt in his muscles. When she moved to retract her hand, he caught it in his, dipping his face to peck a kiss to the back of it. His eyes squinted at her, assessing. 

“Something’s bothering you.”

She looked down and away. His thumb rubbed back and forth across her hand where it was still clasping it. She glanced anxiously towards the door.

“There’s no one who might see us except for Adam. And he already knows about us,” Tommy said, reading her mind. “Talk to me. You’ve been quiet since we left the Garrison this morning.”

“It’s…it’s nothing, really.”

“Then why don’t you want to tell me?”

She finally looked up at him. The hard wood of his desk was digging into her back where she was leaning against it. She opened her mouth to tell him, then closed it again. It all felt a little ridiculous when she actually tried to put it into words. “Because I’m just being stupid.”

His brows pinched, fingers squeezing a little against hers. “Well, now you have to tell me.”

Her lips pricked upwards. His hand smoothed up her arm, nearly to her shoulder, rubbing a few times before finding its way back to her hand, raising it back to his lips. “Hm?” His head cocked, tempting. “Come on, now, talk to me,” he said, in a voice like a honey. Lucy huffed, trying to stifle a shiver at the warm rumble of his words, struggling to gather her thoughts into coherent sentences.

“I’m happy that Ruby and Lizzie are coming home. Really. I just…” she sighed, glancing away again. Tommy’s thumb massaged across her knuckles encouragingly, his piercing gaze fixed on her patiently while he waited for her to finish her thought. But she found that she couldn’t. She wasn’t strong enough to actually speak the words that rested on the tip of her tongue.

Am I not what you want anymore?

Are you falling in love with her?

Do you still love me?

And yet she didn’t need to. Both of Tommy’s hands landed on her hips. “Come here,” he drew her in closer, head tipping back to peer up at her through his dark fringe, gaze so softened with affection that it nearly stole the breath from her lungs. And she was left suddenly feeling very foolish that she could ever possibly have doubted his feelings for her. 

“I love you.” He laid a quick kiss on her lips. “I love you, not her. That’s never going to change.”

Her hands came to rest on the nape of his neck, skin warm under her fingers. Relief, that he understood what she was trying to say without her actually having to utter it, had tension that she hadn’t even realized had built up in her muscles melting away. A relieved breath released from her lungs. 

She lowered her head to press her lips to his hair, closing her eyes, voice dropping to nearly a whisper. “I know.” And she did. Deep down, she always did. It was just that sometimes the voices in her head screamed so loud that they drowned out everything else. “Sorry. Sometimes…sometimes I just get scared.” 

His eyes grew sad. “Don’t be sorry,” his thumb circled against her hip. “Brains can be stupid, ey?”

A quiet laugh left her. “Yeah. They can, can’t they?”

“Mm,” humming in agreement, he dropped his head to kiss her shoulder.

The phone on his desk started ringing, popping the little bubble of contentment that had formed around them. Tommy let out a soft groan, lifting his head and reaching around her to grab at the receiver. He tilted it just so against his ear so that she could lean in and hear what was being said on the other end. 

“Arthur?”

“Yeah,” the older Shelby’s gravely voice rumbled through the receiver. “Polly says Michael’s telling the truth.”   

“Did you see him?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“He was angry with us.”

Lucy snorted. As if Michael had any reason to be mad after he’d just lost all their fucking money. 

“Got some American girl with him, too,” Arthur continued. “They got married on the ship on the way here. Name’s Gina Gray. Formally Nelson.”

“What’s she like?”

There was a snort. “She’s got an attitude on her, that’s for bloody sure. Got rooms for them at the Midland. Michael’s mad as a swarm of hornets about it, but he agreed to stay there.”

“Good. What did you think of Michael?”

There was a long pause. “Honestly, Tom…I thought he was awfully fucking defensive for someone who supposedly doesn’t have anything to fucking hide.”

Tommy nodded, looking out the window, lips pursing together.

“I have my revolver with me,” Arthur said, after a moment. “I could probably catch up to them before they even get to the hotel…”

“No. I want to speak with him first. Before we make any permanent decisions. Just have our people at the Midland watch him, for now.”

“All right.”

Tommy hung up the phone, and then let out a groan, face falling forward to rest on her chest, arms looping loosely around her waist. Lucy laid her palms on the back of his head, hugging it to her while her chin rested on his soft dark hair. 

“Well, at least we can keep an eye on him here,” she murmured. With a sigh, Tommy raised his head. 

“Yeah.”

“If you change your mind and want him taken care of, just say the word.”

“We have to be absolutely sure.”

She examined his face, understanding. It wasn’t about Michael. Not really. Not anymore. Maybe at some point it would have been, but most of the good will that Tommy had towards his cousin had dried up long ago. 

This was about Polly. 

If he ordered Michael’s death without provable provocation, he would lose Polly forever. Hell, even if they were able to prove that Michael was trying to have Tommy killed, that may not be enough to sway Polly to their side. At the end of the day, Lucy believed that she always would side with him. Even over the other Shelbys, if she had to. And understandably so. Michael was her son. 

But Tommy loved Polly enough that he would not have Michael killed. Not until he either had no other choice, or he was confident that Polly would support him on it.

Delicately, she brushed a few tendrils of hair out of his face. “It’ll be okay.” 

He looked up at her with eyes worn ragged, stress pinching at the edges of his mouth and in his brow. She stroked his face, smoothing away the lines, drawing his head in close to rest on her chest again. He nuzzled into her with a sigh, eyes sliding closed and cheek resting comfortably atop her breasts. 

She wished terribly that there was more that she could do for him. All she wanted was to be able to help him. To help lessen the burdens that he carried. But there wasn’t much more that she could do. Not now, at least.

So instead, she just held him.  

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[forbiddentaako]

more monochrome practice I suppose

[guinevereslancelot]

starting to kind of date someone right before christmas is so stressful fr. do i get him a gift or what we've been on two dates but i'm seeing him tonight n it's christmas eve.....but what if he didn't get me anything then it will be weird.....

[genekies]

tag vent

[allie-ggggay]

drops big ol hc list

chan takes birth control ( cuz of david.. side eying david), iron pills n anti depressants, she diesnt admit to being emo she tells ppl she takes it for shits n giggles (shes been given it by a professional doctor) OR tracy's like "ay want some drugs" n chans like free drugs hell yeah?? but its secretly anti depressants

vros got the worse insomnia and internalized homophobia so she'll just lay there at night being like "girls cant love girls girls cant love girls girls cant love girls GIRLS CANT LOVE GIRLS"

she havs hypersexuality cuz of david, kurt n ram cuz yeah theyre gross

she picks every scab she had, but she tries not to pick any on her face, hands or neck cuz she doesnt want them to be out there and stuff

she has so many freckles, most are on her face, chest and legs but a few more are on the rest of her body

she has stretch marks and absolutely HATES them but its ok riley im joy

shes not an elegant cryer she SOBS and her nose RUNS and her eyes get all red and PUFFY

she hates getting her hair touched and messed up, mac, roni n duke have to get permission from her, if they dont they get a hand to the cheek

she hates being alone sm if shes alone you just know she's calling one of the heathers

if she gets tired of walking she'll ask mac for a piggy back ride

when chan gets hurt that girl SHREIKS, like if she stubs her toe all ur gonna hear is "……aaAAAAAAAA-"

bros got religious trauma n stuff cuz her parents r religious asf n homophobic n like, say 'gay ppl r sinners' n shes like 'wait.. am i a sinner?' n cries

chan rlly struggled making friends as a kid because she thought no one would like her since her parents never came to events or really were ever seen by her peers and how she was still trying to mask her adhd but being a kid, she struggled with that stuff n only got popular when being mature was cool and she could mask better

chans rlly clingy with the heathers (a lot more if she dates any of them or ronnie) cuz her parents didnt rlly lile, give her hugs so she gotta get lots to fill in for the ones she didnt get as a child

tw sh/suicide implied ghost heather followed veronica everywhere, when she found out what happened to mcnamara, she cried to veronica the whole afternoon, sure they couldnt touch but heather floated right above veronica for comfort, she was upset with duke but she missed both of them

tw sorta parent neglect her parents never paid attention because they wanted a boy, not a girl, if it was a boy theyd show average yet minimal love but being a girl, she got the bare minimum, she felt unloved and like she wasnt good enough, she thought of being a boy to make them happy but they were transphobic and later on she found out she liked girls in a gay way so

tw sa mention she gets a couple bruises from david sometimes, but once she got a full on scar from him, her puffy curly hair hides it but she has a scar on the back of her head from him being a tad too rough

tw sa/r@p3 when chan was 14 she met david at that years prom, he was 17 and for her she was like "ok i think hes my age and dad wants me to have a bf so i should try" even tho she was crushing on a girl, he took her home and got her drunk to sa her but he like, said he was allowed to? and shes sorta gone back to drinking after to cope and stuff also she struggles taking and accepting compliments esp on things david would say things like (tw implied sa) "your hair is so sexy to pull" or "such pretty lips, taking me so well" she'd think someone complimenting those things would mean they were thinking the same he was and planned on doing the same, some ppl have exceptions like heather n heather

tw's over, she hides it a lot but she's slightly chubby but always wears something tight to conceal is, she rlly doesnt like her body but she forces herself to get over it anyway because people would get upset if the demon queen herself was insecure shes a TERRIBLE cook, she burns almost anything she makes somehow dont ask how she just does, something she likes doing is cooking but she jst cant without burning the whole kitchen down chan HATES her grandma cuz shes one of those rlly old christian asf people that nag and nag and whenever you go over shes extremely touchy, chans very picky on who she allows to touch her and her grandma is NOT pne of those people, if shes forced to go she just plays with her nans cat she acts all tough but she has really bad sensory issues (massive projection but shhhhh) the happy ending, david broke up with heather when she turned 18 because hes a creep like that and she finally decides to go to therapy after it all, she realizes she was hella groomed but shes still so scared of him and keeps his identity secret, she finally sees shes allowed to be gay and comes out to her friends only she squeaks/whines slightly when she stretches you cant convince me otherwise once after a party (n david touched her) she didnt bring her car so she walked to dukes house and threw up on her carpet, dukes mum was awake and helped take care of her just so she could go back to bed, chan had a killer hangover in the morning and cuddled with duke all day shes really bad at spelling like REALLY bad gets either C- or D- on her spelling/vocab tests she naturally has really soft skin/hands n loves holding heather and heathers hands and being complimented on it, but a massive downside is she bruises super easily, sometimes she'll wake up with random bruises and have no idea where they came from this ones just a random au but i think its really silly, chandler survived because they actually called 911 in time and they saved her, she is forced to go mute due to the drain cleaner damaging her vocal cords to no repair, shes now forced into therapy and gets the rest of the school year off to recover, she has a few bandages and plasters from falling through the glass table, some not needing to last long but a few turning into scars, she has constant throat pain and veronica feels really guilty, she tries making it up to her but chandler cant ever bring herself to forgive or talk to her, she SO wouldve snitched but jd threatened mac n dukes safety for her to stay quiet, shes struggling to cope n wishes she just did die so she didnt have this pain continuing on the earlier insomnia hc, if she can actually get herself to sleep she can get rlly bad nightmares and have no idea where they came from (AHEM PROJECTION AHEM AHEM) n some nights she'll call one of the heathers crying at like 2am and be like "heather i had a bad dream :(((" I HAVE SM MORE BUT I DONT WANNA MAKE U READ TOO MUCH

HAPPY LESBIAN COMING OUT DAY!! @heathermcnamara1989 @therealheatherc @ask-veronica-sawyerr @norwegian-in-the-boiler-room @ask-the-younger-sawyer @thx-tiniest-lifeb0at @unnamed-freshmen-official @westerbergs-therapist @heatherdukesblazer @stonxr-chick

EVERYONE SAY CONGRATULATIONS TO HEATHER CHANDLER FOR BEING A HUGE LESBIAN!

Drop by my house too we have cake and decorations and we’ll be crashing a remington party if Heather Chandler doesn’t come

[memento-morri-writes]

I've been thinking a lot about how Rook's reunion with his former mentor, Zara, is going to go, and since I can't predict what the DM is going to have her do or say, I can only dwell on what I know is going to happen. Which happens to include taking off the illusion ring that's been hiding his injuries from her. So have a snippet of the description I have planned for that moment:

tw for description of (mostly healed) injuries

He hesitates, twisting a ring on his finger. Looking at it more closely, she can tell it’s very finely crafted, and must have been very expensive. A large emerald is set into the band. Rook sighs, and pulls the ring off his finger in one quick motion.  Immediately she’s struck by the difference in his appearance as the illusion melts away. He looks awful. His warm, healthy skin fades to a dull and sickly grey. There’s huge bags under his deeply sunken eyes, and his cheeks are hollowed, as though they have been carved out by an overeager sculptor. He looks like he’s recently risen from the grave.  While he was thin before, now she can see his ribs under the skin, and his collarbones are exaggeratedly pronounce. Thin white lines left by dozens upon dozens of recently healed cuts are scattered across his body. On top of that, faded bruises cover most of his visible skin, a mottled mosaic of purple and yellow. They’re clearly days, maybe weeks old, and she can only begin to imagine what they must have looked like when fresh. Bandages are barely visible under his shirt, wrapping around his back, hinting at even more injuries.

[lucaanis]

i don't think i'll ever not be fucked up over lleyth and viago and whatever the hell they have going on. studying them under a microscope like my most prized set of amoebas

[leori-the-unlearned]

the way digimon does conflict/drama between two characters who should be or are close: chef’s kiss <3

the way sonic idw handles creating conflict/drama between two characters who should be or are close: *wilting flower*