#just like me. i didn’t need to drank cocaine and wine i just needed to. be more delirious with exhaustion than anyone has ever been | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

luminousvision · 1 year ago

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At Sea

A few of his friends from Long Island said he once owned a veritable mansion in Virginia on a thousand acres, all to himself, before he sold it and set sail forever. No, he had never spoken about a wife, children, or about any family except his sister who had some early onset of dementia or schizophrenia—something of that unfortunate sort—and didn’t recognize him anymore. It doesn’t sound very funny, they admitted, but it was hilarious when he told the story. It must have been, because everyone laughed.

I met Marcus Venacio on a soggy San Diego morning, aboard a yacht named In Between. We had a mutual friend who suggested the adventure would help me find myself. He said Marcus was a fun person with a great sense of humor. I sold street paintings after high school, but this barely paid the bills, so I thought it was either the army or the seas. Between these, the decision was easy: I’d take the undulating ocean over the rectilinear military life any day.

When I stepped on deck, Marcus looked me up and down, the same way my best customers inspected my paintings. He was a short man with jet black hair combed over. He wore a nice white suit.

“So, you’re interested in heading over there?” Marcus gave no indication of where that might be.

“Absolutely.”

He paused. “You know where ‘over there’ is?”

“Anywhere but here, I’m sure.”

Marcus looked into my eyes. “Second question. How many people live worthwhile lives?”

This question sounded rehearsed. “Well, many of them,” I said. “Different people find their own calling.”

“That’s unfortunate, don’t you think? We each only get one life. What should we do?” Marcus crossed his arms.

“We should just live all of them at once.” This was a joke, but he did not laugh.

“What’s your name?”

“Ricardo.”

“Welcome aboard, Ricardo. We leave in two hours.”

We departed for some place in El Salvador where we stayed only an hour for supplies, and then left for Havana where hundreds of his friends were waiting. A dozen new crew members appeared and organized a celebration, bringing out more food and wine than I thought could fit on a yacht. I asked one of the guests what they were celebrating. Why, they were celebrating Marcus himself, she said. Everyone loved this remarkably cosmopolitan man.

Marcus put me on janitorial duty because I was new, so I spent an unpleasant night cleaning after the revelers. I woke up when we were adrift in the middle of the ocean, unsure of when I fell asleep. I asked where we were. We were headed to Caracas. What was at Caracas? More of his friends, I soon learned. We repeated this around the world, somehow never docking in the same place twice.

Marcus was no hedonist. He drank no more than was necessary to loosen up his friends. No women stayed on the yacht. His only real pleasure was setting sail. One day leaving Singapore, I asked him why he seemed so happy to leave. He enjoyed the reminder that nobody could hold him anywhere, Marcus explained. Each Marcus at each destination was unique except that each had many friends, stories, and jokes to laugh at. Singapore Marcus? He lives one day, not longer.

In Buenos Aires, his friends whisper that he’s in with the Saudi prince. In Dubai, they say he runs Venezuelan oil by day and Colombian cocaine by night. The English suspect he’s French, the French suspect he’s Swiss, and the Swiss are probably too polite to pass any judgment at all, except Marcus doesn’t have friends in Switzerland. Only the Americans admire his braggadocio and his dislike for any particular flavor of nationalism. Just like a true American, they say.

Marcus Venacio directed us around the world with the thick mustache and smile of a pirate hauling bounty, arriving at one port with the express intent of leaving it.

After fourteen months of docking, partying, working, contemplating, and departing port after port, we finally docked in San Diego. We’re back home, Marcus told me. So are you, I replied. I’m always home, he said, smiling. I had land duty. We needed some paint, lumber, and plumbing supplies, so I went to Sam’s Hardware. Old man Sam used to work every day, but I did not see him. Instead, a high school classmate scanned my items at the register. He didn’t recognize me.

I stopped by my old home, a quiet heap of brick now coated with lichens. The car wasn’t there—perhaps my parents were on a trip. I looked in through the windows and saw a pristine house still furnished. The front yard had a few spiky weeds in the parched dirt and little else. I considered venturing downtown where I had made a name for myself selling paintings curbside, but I didn’t have much business there anymore. I instead headed back to the port, looking into the glistening blue ocean in the distance.

Dozens of times, I had sworn to quit the Marcus Circus the moment we returned anywhere near San Diego. I would declare this crazy adventure complete and return to my old life. But the hundreds of Marcus’ San Diego friends who came aboard that evening looked, smelled, and partied just like Marcus’ friends everywhere else. They even spoke English with an accent.

Marcus pulled me aside the next morning.

“Visit your parents?”

“Yes.”

“You miss them a lot?”

“Not as much as they miss me.”

Marcus nodded. “Surprised?"

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Well, congratulations on your first year, Ricardo. I’m glad you’re still with us.” He patted me on the shoulder and handed me a solid bar of gold. My bonus.

I asked him what the hell I was supposed to do with plain gold. Marcus winked at me. It’s for the house on land someday, he said.

“Someday,” I said.

I sailed with this same Marcus Venacio for another two years before the fateful day we docked in Hong Kong. Three serious men in black demanded Marcus off the yacht. I didn’t hear their subsequent conversation, but he shouted at me to get the papers below deck. I did not know of these papers. When I hollered back that I couldn’t find anything, Marcus walked steadily towards me until he was halfway down the length of the yacht. He then took off like a jet on an aircraft carrier. Suit and all, he launched himself into the sky and plunged into the water. He swam away faster than his yacht had ever left port.

A few of his friends in Taipei called me some weeks later, saying that they’d found him washed ashore, miraculously still alive. The sea does funny things to a man. His hair was grey and he didn’t have a mustache. He insisted he was Jesus because he had been reborn onto land to save each human being from himself. Consistency, he shouted several times, delirious. I asked his friends to inquire whether he had a sister. They struggled to get an answer because the man wouldn't stop laughing. He did not have a sister.

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thebestpartofwakingup · 1 year ago

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ALSO it is IMPOSSIBLE to become addicted to ANYTHING you do/try only once. A positive first experience might give someone the confidence to continue to partake which can lead to habit formation and addiction — but that first experience did NOT drastically alter their brain chemistry

The most dangerous recreational drugs are always drug cocktails whether taken intentionally or not — that’s why something LACED with fentanyl can be so dangerous, because 1. Drugs interact and can change their effect when mixed and 2. MOST PEOPLE pursue recreational drugs to reach a very specific and temperamental type of ‘high’ — if you do too much of any drug even before it becomes life threatening it will make you sick and people don’t like being or feeling sick. I’m, medically, and alcoholic. I can tolerate a higher intake of alcohol than someone my size would be able to if they didn’t form a habit and some other medical stuff idk — because I drink on average 3-4 drinks a week. That’s a glass of wine with dinner every other night or two happy hours a week or one night of light bar-hopping/clubbing a week. I’ve gone months completely sober before, this is a comfortable habit for me and a socially acceptable one.

I can comfortably drink 2 beers and get enjoyably tipsy, that’s about 24 oz or 0.7 L. I get the same effect from 2 shots of whisky or 3oz or 0.09 L.

If, somehow, I was given a beer that tasted just like beer and looked just like beer but had the alcoholic concentration of whisky — and I drank it fast enough to not notice (or say was pre measuring and then injecting it all at once or snorting it all at once etc.) I would get as drunk as if I shotgunned 8 beers in a row — some people can tolerate that but I can’t, it’s very likely I’d vomit, pass out, or even need to go to the hospital

But 1 beer usually isn’t my go to when I want to be drunk and not just a little buzzed, I usually drink 2.

That would be the equivalent of 16 beers.

Assuming 2 normal beers is enough to get me legally drunk at 0.08% BAC than 2 whisky beers would put me at 0.64%. That would kill me.

Accidentally taking laced drugs is so dangerous because it leads people to take way higher levels of concentration of [X] substance (and whisky and beer are the same drugs but often when drugs are laced they’re laced with something completely different, which can lead to additional reactions in the body) because a totally safe amount of drug A might be the lethal dose for drug B. That’s why testing kits are so so important because it lets people make actual informed decisions about what they want to put in their body a— a fundamental human right

Additionally, one of the most common and dangerous cross drug cocktails is depressants and stimulants, which often leads to the “im getting sick I should stop” side effects and reaction to both drugs being cancelled out — that’s the other reason addiction can be so dangerous, the more of a drug you tolerate the higher a dose it takes to GET sick. If you aren’t an alcoholic you will not be able to freely drink enough alcohol to OD. You will literally pass out before you can do that. And you’ll get VERY sick before that happens and likely vomit and be unable to keep anything down long enough to get more drunk. Meth, cocaine, tobacco, and other stimulants in that at a certain dosage you will feel awful, pass out, get sick, vomit, not have any earthly desire to put any more of that drug in your system. You can get so accustomed to and addicted that you don’t get that reaction until your ingesting extremely dangerous amounts of that drug, but that’s why addiction can be so dangerous (additionally it is also not very easy to OD on the first sample of most drugs if given the proper dosage to experience a high for the first time. Injections are easier to fuck up the dosage for than with beverages since your putting it all in at once, but the “first time high” dosage of a CLEAN UNLACED drug is not going to be close to the lethal dosage*)

*cocaine is the exception because if you’re snorting it you can just get extremely unlucky and snort it wrong since it is a topical anesthetic and accidentally numb a vital nerve. Other forms of ingesting cocaine do not have this issue.

This cancellation of side effects is so dangerous because without the “I am getting sick now” response it’s absurdly easy to miscalculate how much of a drug you’ve infested and extremely easy to overdose.

That’s why medications like Fentanyl are FINE when taken in a prescribed dosage and with clear guidelines about what not to mix it with — you know what your doctor is giving you and how much you have to take and how often. Opioids were so dangerous because it wasn’t well understood by the medical community how addictive the drugs were — and they were prescribed when other drugs would’ve worked fine or when medical intervention that insurances wouldn’t cover would’ve also fixed the problem — because insurance companies DID cover opioids and for many an imperfect treatment you can afford is better than nothing.

Then as this threat points out there was the overcorrection, some opioids were dropped by insurers or insurers started requiring smaller dosages and some doctors got cold feet out of fear of getting a patient hooked — because US culture greatly overstated the efficacy and possibility of cold turkey approaches the people already addicted or who weren’t addicted but didn’t have a strong enough prescription anymore were left on their own

Which meant no doctor to oversee their dosages or guarantee a clean drug source.

9 times out of 10 the drug isn’t the problem it’s the sourcing.

Been slowly scrolling back through my inbox and queuing up answers. Finally got back to two weeks ago when I mentioned the hospital gave me fentanyl, and the number of "alarmed" messages I got from non-followers lecturing me about taking such a "dangerous drug" has me rolling.

Like c'mon. First of all, it was a one-time dosage to knock me out for a procedure that didn't even knock me out, and second of all, I'm not a fucking cop <3

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blinder-secrets · 4 years ago

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Lion Tamer - Part 4

part one | part two | part three

also on ao3

an: i am so so happy to be finally updating this, please let me know what you think!

wordcount: 2800

It’d been two weeks since you’d seen Arthur, two weeks of Tommy coming back and fourth, with no sign of his brother in tow. No word of how London was treating him. Naturally, it had begun to bother you, or rather, it had bothered you - now it just pissed you off. You hadn’t expected Arthur to check up on you, at least not religiously, but it was hardly asking much to want a phone-call from him; he could at least let you know how he was.

After the first week, you’d given up on hearing from him. The days continued as they always did: you went to work, you went to the Garrison, and you went home. You gave Pol the numbers, you bought John a beer, and then you ate alone in your kitchen. The same day, relived seven times over.

On the Saturday, you went for a drink with a man Lizzie knew. An ex-customer. You didn’t know if he knew that you weren’t a whore, but he was tall and nice, and well, it didn’t really matter what he thought. Anything that would shake up your routine was welcome to you.

‘I’m glad you came,’ he’d said, sitting back in his chair, stomach full and face rosy.

You’d smiled. It wasn’t genuine but he didn’t seem to notice.

‘I’d always thought you were spoken for,’ he said, ‘when I’d seen you about.’

‘Never am,’ you replied, before lifting your glass to finish the last of the wine. You knew what was implied - when he’d seen you about, with them, the Shelbys. He’d thought you were out of the question, untouchable, and who wouldn’t? Especially now Tommy had more say in your love life than you did.

‘Do you want another?’ your date asked, quickly, like he was worried that you were about to make your exit.

‘No.’ You pulled your coat from the back of your seat. ‘Shall we go?’

He’d agreed so you’d taken him home and then sent him away again once it was done with. Not through any fault of his, he was sweet, and gentle, but once you were both spent it felt like an intrusion. Like he’d disturbed the little peace that you’d created, and every minute after was just another chip from your woodwork. It had been a while since you’d let a man in.

After he left, you’d cleaned the house entirely despite the hour, you’d even washed the kitchen floor. Just about anything to keep your mind occupied. Anything to make your home feel yours again. It did strike you that it never felt that way when Arthur was visiting, he even had a key like it was as much his right to be there as yours. You chased the thought away with suds. It was only like that because you were used to him, because he was there enough. Or perhaps because his visits were never more than a friend stopping to say hello.

On the following Wednesday, John was in the Garrison before you were, waiting with an ale in hand. He cleared his throat as you entered the private room, sitting upright as you shut the door. ‘Tommy says you’re avoiding him,’ was his welcoming statement.

‘Does he now?’ You undid your coat and sat across from him, setting your bag on the table between. ‘How can I avoid the man I work for, John? I’m in the office every day.’

He shrugged. ‘Just what I heard.’

You sighed. You hadn’t been avoiding Tommy, you just hadn’t made conversation. Or eye contact. Every day you went to work, at the desk two down from the door to his office, and then you left when the clock said you could. That was it. ‘He doesn’t like me,’ you told John. ‘Why should I pretend to like him?’

He put his hands up, claiming ignorance to the conversation he had started. ‘Am just saying what I heard.’

‘You Shelbys gossip like fish wives.’

‘Nah,’ he snorted around the word, ‘just like to stay updated on what I miss when I’m in London.’

‘Which appears to be never.’ You reached across the table, knowing he wouldn’t stop you, and stole a mouthful of his beer. ‘You’re in here every night,’ you said.

John laughed, watching you drink again, before adding, ‘Not by choice.’ He sighed and relaxed into his seat. ‘Esme would kill me if I wasn’t. Specially now she’s pregnant again, s’like having a fuckin’ firecracker in the house.’

‘One you lit yourself, John.’ Satisfied with your beer-wetted tongue, you went into the first pocket of your bag and pulled a cigarette from the box tucked in there. You barely had it in your mouth before he was questioning you with raised eyebrows.

‘I didn’t know you smoked,’ he said.

‘It’s a recent habit, keeps me company.’ You lit it and took a drag, still awkward in the motion. ‘Something to put my lips round.’

A deep laugh burst from him, sinking into a snort before he could reply. ‘If Arthur fuckin’ heard you then,’ he scoffed.

Your eyes rolled. You took another drag and let the menthol sink into your throat before exhaling again. Arthur never laughed at jokes like that. They rubbed him the wrong way, though he never had the balls to say why. ‘He hasn’t given me a second’s thought since he left for London,’ you said. ‘Fuck him.’

‘You don’t mean that.’

‘Have you spoken to him?’ you asked, watching his chin dip as soon as you did. You both knew the answer to that one.

‘It’s not his fault,’ he started, ‘it’s all that fucking snow. He hasn’t come up for air.’

‘Cocaine?’ He nods. You didn’t know Arthur used it. ‘That doesn’t seem like a good idea,’ you said.

He laughed once, emptily. ’Nothin Arthur ever does is a fuckin’ good idea.’

‘Right.’ That you could agree with, at least now anyways. Before he left you might have argued that he was perfectly capable of making good decisions. Of knowing how to conduct himself, for the most part. But the more days that passed, the less inclined you were to defend him. If you were so far out of his mind, why should he be on yours?

‘You worry about him too much, y’ know,’ John said.

‘No,’ you corrected, ‘I don’t worry about him at all.’

- - - - - - -

It was Friday again when Ada called. She wasn’t speaking much to Tommy, nor any of them, and you could hardly blame after losing Freddie. But she did what she could for them, and for you.

‘Here,’ she said, sweet treacle down the phone, ‘I got the number of the hotel where Arthur’s staying. He isn’t there much, but it’s something.’

‘I don’t want it,’ you told her. ‘He’s been gone two weeks and I’ve not heard anything.’

‘If I believed you didn’t want it, I wouldn’t have rang.’ She sighed. ‘Have you got a pen?’

After she hung up you sat and looked at the paper in your hand. You’d scribbled it quickly, wanting to get it out before your pride could intervene, and it had made your handwriting almost illegible. Almost. You knew where he was now, you could find him if you wanted. Your shift had long ended but there wasn’t a phone at home, and this wasn’t a call you could make at the pub, so you lingered in the offices still. The decision itched at you. If you called and got an answer, what would you even say? Half of you just wanted to see if he was conscious, if he was even in London at all. The other half wanted to call him a prick and hang up again.

‘One bell,’ you said aloud, reaching for the telephone. You’d ring once - just to see - and then you’d put the idea to bed. There was no point agonising over what-ifs.

You asked the operator to connect you to the hotel and waited while it rang, your grip tightened around the stand as soon as the call was answered. ‘Hello,’ you said, ‘I was wanting to speak to Mr Shelby, I was told he’s staying with you?’

The receptionist confirmed that he was. You don’t what emotion that registered, but it wasn’t quite relief. He was saying something else but you’d missed the first part. ‘Can I take a message?’ he asked. ‘Who shall I say is calling?’

You cleared your throat. ‘Sorry?’

‘For when he returns, Ma’am.’

Your gaze sat, unfocused, through the painted glass of Tommy’s office door. ‘No,’ you told him eventually. ‘No, it’s okay. Thank-you.’

The receiver was back on the stand before he could say goodbye.

You’d originally planned to go straight home after work, to treat yourself just once to some real, genuine quiet. But your feet clearly had other ideas; you found yourself in the Garrison, having walked subconsciously toward its warm glow, its Friday night hum. You’d been sat at the bar barely ten minutes before someone joined you and, as God would have it, it was a Shelby. Again.

‘Hello, Polly,’ you greeted her, as she sank into the bar stool to your right.

‘I thought I’d find you here,’ she replied, looking down her nose at you. She always looked that way but it wasn’t insulting like it was on others, it was knowing. A settled confidence that she’d seen you, seen you right to the centre, and she was amused by what she found. She ordered a gin and put her gloves on the bar-top. ‘I wanted to speak with you.’

You gestured for her to go ahead. Your glass was full, you had the time.

‘Are you happy here, [y/n]?’ she asked, turning with her body toward you, facing you wholly. ‘In Small Heath?’

You drank, only looking at her briefly when you answered. ‘As much as anyone can be,’ you said. ‘Why? Taking census for the council?’

‘An opportunity has come up,’ she replied, ‘a chance for something new.’

‘I haven’t been doing well with new.’ It was the old that you missed.

‘We’ll be opening offices in London, once it’s safe, and we’ll need people to fill them.’ She looked at you over her glass, sipping gin between the lines of the proposition. ‘I’d like to offer one of those places to you.’

You snorted. ‘Does Tommy know?’

‘As company treasurer, it’s my recommendation that he listens to. You’d be an investment for the company, someone we can trust.’

‘Thank-you,’ you told her, ‘really. But, I don’t want to move.’ You hadn’t even paused to consider it, it was a no as soon as the words left her lips. You liked it here, you liked your flat, your friends. There was nothing for you in London.

She looked you over, carefully, before reaching to put your glass down for you. It was only half empty, but she set it away from you like you’d finished. ‘You aren’t yourself,’ she stated. ‘You left the day he did.’

‘I’m just the same, Pol.’

She snorted. ‘Yeah, right, and I’m the Madonna.’

You finally turned to her, knees bumping, and asked what you really wanted to ask. ‘Why me? For London, why me?’

She took a moment to consider. You could see in her eyes that she was reading the script you’d withheld, hearing what was implied before you’d implied it. ’If you think I’m asking because of Arthur,’ she said, ‘you’re wrong. I don’t want you there for him.’

‘But for the company,’ you finished. Sure, it was always for the company.

Polly leant forward and put a hand to your wrist, her hold was warm despite how hot you felt yourself. ‘Love, I asked because you deserve to want something more. Something bigger than Small Heath, than Birmingham.’

You didn’t reply, you just looked at her and your world collapsed into itself under the possibilities. You’d never thought of leaving, you’d barely thought of tomorrow, and that was enough in itself.

‘London is an opportunity,’ she continued, ‘for all of us.’ Satisfied that you were understanding, she sat back again, reaching for her drink. ‘I want you to think about it.’

‘Pol, I don’t-‘

‘No,’ she interrupted. ’Just sit with it. Think it through.’

You nodded. She didn’t want an answer yet, which was lucky because you had no fucking idea what to tell her. You couldn’t even think about London as a place of work, or a home, without first dealing with the Arthur-shaped cloud that hung over it. If you were to even consider the offer, you had to resolve that.

‘When does Tommy next go?’ you asked her, coming around from the quick pattern of thoughts you’d just had. ‘To London?’

‘Tomorrow,’ she answered, a faint smile growing. ‘Why?’

- - - - - - -

The gravel was wet beneath your feet, gripping and scuffing against your soles as you attempted to run faster still. You didn’t know what time he was leaving, only that he’d be gone by the afternoon and, well, that left very little room for error. It was already pushing eleven as you approached Watery Lane. You hadn’t meant to leave it that late; you’d sat at your table, turning the idea over and over in your head, wondering if Tommy was even civil enough to do you a favour in the first place.

The thing that eventually made you decide yes, fuck it, you’ll ask him, was that he wouldn’t hesitate if he were in your shoes. If Tommy wanted something from you, he’d say it without the slightest doubt that you’d decline. It was only fair you showed him the same grace.

That’s why you found yourself half-running, half-trotting down Watery Lane to catch him. You couldn’t see him on the approach, thank God, the thought of Tommy Shelby seeing you running frantically toward him was almost vomit-inducing; you were running for your own sake, not his. When you reached the car parked by the bookies, you found it empty — minus the driver—and came to a thankful and panting stop.

You’d packed quickly, and light. Just enough to keep you for the weekend. Now you were stationary, you felt inclined to check the bag that hung over your shoulder, as if the small gift you’d put atop your clothes would have somehow fallen out. It hadn’t. It was still there.

You’d almost left it behind, having decided that the last thing Arthur deserved was a present, but then your heart beat your pride and you’d picked it up anyway. Perhaps something normal was what he needed. It was a book, a favourite of yours, packaged in brown paper with a card between the wrapping and the cover. A note that said you were missing him. That you hoped he could find you between the pages.

When the door opened behind you, you span, and let the flap fall closed over your bag. Tommy stood in doorway with a half-raised eyebrow, his suit smarter and neater than usual.

‘Tommy,’ you began, having lost all track of the words you’d intended to use. ‘I need a favour.’

He considered you for a long minute before replying, only speaking once he had begun to step around you. ‘I don’t have time for favours, love, it can wait ’til Monday.’

You cut him off, putting your body between him and the car, though the pavement allowed you very little space to do so.

‘I want to come with you,’ you said quickly. There was no time for sales pitches, you had to say it now or not at all. ‘I’m coming with you.’

To your surprise, he didn’t laugh. He just blinked once, shook his head, and then said, ’Go home, [y/n].’

‘Polly said I could come,’ you explained. ‘She said if I wanted to move to London, I’d have to visit it first.’

He put a hand to his brow, like you’d just put a pain directly behind it, and sighed. After a moment he said, ‘Alright,’ and from the tone of it, you knew he couldn’t believe it himself. ‘Alright, get in.’

‘Thank-you,’ you said, smiling. Catching him just before he left had worked in your favour, he didn’t have time to argue with you. As you started toward the car, your fingers on the handle, he stopped you again.

‘But one fucking word about Arthur, and I stop the car.’ He brought his face an inch closer to yours. ‘I don’t care where it is, I’ll stop the car, and you’ll get out. Alright?’

You knew if you disagreed you’d lose your spot. You wouldn’t get to see the city, to taste the new life Polly had tempted you with. You wouldn’t get your needed breath away from the black stones of Birmingham. And, as much as you tried to convince yourself that it wasn’t the purpose of your trip, you wouldn’t get to see Arthur. So, you agreed.

‘Alright,’ you told him. ‘I promise, no Arthur.’

Read part five >>

#Arthur Shelby #arthur shelby x reader #arthur x reader #peaky blinders fanfic #tommy x reader #i literally could cry ive been trying to update this for so long i feel so accomplished oh my god #i feel good about this

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sunnikos · 4 years ago

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Christmas Eve Headcanons 2

A/N: I decided to make some more headcanons but with the big 3 because all of them do be finnneeee! Hope you enjoy!

Prev | Next

Mirio

Brought to you breakfast in bed

Gives you affection all day

Watches a couple holiday movies with you

Bakes cookies and makes a gingerbread house with you

Christmas puns x100

Brought Eri over to visit and let her open her presents early

Hes weak for those puppy eyes

You got a call from Deku saying Merry Christmas

Nejire pops in with Tamaki to see you guys

She had decided at that moment that she and Tamaki would spend the night at your guys place and be with you on Christmas

You put on The Nightmare Before Christmas for them because they hadn't seen it yet and that was absolutely unacceptable

Nejire def asked to eat the gingerbread house

What a rebel lol

Yall ended up drinking some wine and doing a little karaoke

Spoiler alert, Nejire dared Mirio to sing All I Want for Christmas is You by Mariah Carrey

I want to say he slayed it but we both know my boy sounds like if a walrus did crack cocaine

You and Nejire are living for it though

As Allmight would say, “Yes my boy!”

Tamaki steals the show by slyly taking the mic and singing a ballad

Wowzas all around

Nejire sings with her heart

She's not bad but she is belting the lyrics

Mirio disappears to the bathroom for a suspicious amount of time

Suddenly “Santa” walks out

You all play along

You all sit on his lap and tell him what you want

Nejire goes first, “get me a pony please!”

All jokes aside she really wants that pony dksjdcienf

Your next, “I want bread”

He looks at you confused, “what kind of bread?”

“Baked bread.”

You then promptly hop off and shove Tamaki onto your boyfriends lap

He says, “All I want is for you to change back into normal clothes”

“Aww you're no fun Tama!!” Nejire pipes in

Mirio pouts and reluctantly changes back into normal clothes

The rest of the night is spent playing a christmas pack for cards against humanity

Nejire

Drinks the fuck out of hot cocoa

Got Mirio and Tamaki to help decorate

Also Deku ended up showing up to help too???

Nejire wasn't surprised though

Went shopping?????

Not for presents she just wanted to go shopping with you

She ended up bumping into Uraraka and waved

She bought so many christmas headbands

Like christmas is tomorrow and they're done for until next year

Where yo mind at girlie

She really got her head in the clouds sometimes

But you love her XD

For some reason she visited a pet store in the mall

And was just enamored with a gecko

Like she had big eye, and she watched it like it was I cute kitten walking around

She tried really hard to convince you to let her buy it

But you told her she need to research and prepare to get things for the gecko

That calmed her down some

Took you to a big christmas party

Mirio and Tamaki were also there

But you didn't see all that much of them

There was green and red disco lights

And a north pole themed bar

Whoever was hosting put a lot of time, money and effort into it

The playlist was full of holiday remix songs

There were mistletoe cookies, Santa cookies, and a christmas tree looking thing that had other sweets displayed on it

All the rooms had an activity going on

Like one room was for christmas themed games like truth or dare, never have I ever

One was a whole dnd one shot session

You totally joined in on that

One room had a bunch on consoles and christmas special games

Talk about going all out

And what a party it was

Needless to say you woke up very late on christmas

Tamaki

He isn't as into the holidays as Mirio and Nejire

You managed to convince him to dress up as an elf though

I meant come on look at those cute little elf ears he has

He's so awkward and nervous

You can't help but giggle at him

You went out and bought christmas themed sugar cookies with icing for him

He took small tentative bites of it

So cute

Then you got out minecraft and set up a christmas pack for you two to explore and play in

Tamaki noted that the horses had become reindeer

You both went out exploring and eventually decided to build a cute gingerbread themed house together

Next you built a cool christmas tree while Tamaki made cute decorations for the world

He made gigantic cookies on the ground

And a medium scale christmas hat that lead to an underground cave

Which he also decorated

You also built medium scale present under the large christmas tree you built

It was really pretty

You two decided you'd been on long enough and logged off

Only to start playing Mario Kart

Really, neither of you know how it got to this

Suddenly trash talk and banter was going back and forth with you two

The Mirio and Nejire barged into your home

Carrying presents and food

You had forgotten that you invited them

Nonetheless the food and presents very very welcome

They joined you in play Mario kart and even went onto minecraft to see the world you two created

They asked to add a few things and you let them while you munched on the food they brought with Tamaki

Suddenly it was 3 in the morning and Mirio decided then was the time to make hot cocoa

So you all drank hot cocoa and you put on a hallmark movie to sip it to

After the movie you all fell asleep in the living room

You in Tamaki's arms

Nejire at the base of your christmas tree

And Mirio sprawled out on the floor in front of the tv

All of you woke up with cramps in your necks

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bumblesimagines · 5 years ago

Text

The Runaway

Listened to Heaven and Back, Dancer in the dark, and I never existed by Chase Atlantic while writing this. I’m also not completely sure how old Fangs and Sweets are but I’m gonna say seventeen.

Y/N) hopped out of the back of the truck, knocking on the side to tell the driver he had gotten out. The pickup drove off, the driver waving to him. (Y/N) pulled his hood over his head, noticing the odd stares. (Y/N) looked around the gas station. He cleared his throat and approached an older man.

“Excuse me, sir. Do you know of any diners around here?” The man looked at him.

“Uh, yeah... Pop’s. Best burgers and milkshakes around.” He gave him directions.

“Are you new? Saw you getting out of that truck and you seem pretty young to be alone.” He crossed his arms, raising a brow. (Y/N) swallowed, glancing away from him.

“Uh, yeah. I’m eighteen.” (Y/N) replied, giving the man a small smile before turning around and walking away. It wasn’t a complete lie. He was gonna turn 18 in a month or two. (Y/N) followed the man’s directions and spotted the bright red sign. He jogged up to the door, glancing at the teens on motorcycles. (Y/N) entered the diner, hesitating in taking off his hood. He looked around the diner, eyes landing on someone. His heart skipped a beat and his breath caught in his throat. Veronica seemed to feel eyes on her and looked up, eyes widening.

“Oh my god...” She whispered. (Y/N) quickly spun around, leaving the diner. The door opened and he heard her calling out.

“(Y/N)! Please! (Y/N)!” Veronica yelled. (Y/N) stopped in his tracks, closing his eyes shut. Veronica caught up to him, grabbing his arm and spinning him around, almost collapsing into his chest.

“Where have you been? D-do...” Veronica sniffled before breaking down, gripping his jacket as she cried into his chest. (Y/N) glanced at her friends, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Vivi.” He whispered. Veronica pulled back, trying to compose herself. She wiped her cheeks and checked her fingers.

��Thank god I’m wearing waterproof makeup.” She whispered, sniffling. (Y/N) couldn’t help but chuckle.

“When mom told me you had gone missing... Oh, god. I didn’t... I couldn’t...” Veronica stared at him, eyes watering again.

“Do you know how worried I was?” She glanced at her friends who were watching with concerned and confused gazes.

“I didn’t think you’d remember me to be honest.” (Y/N) said, blinking away tears. Veronica scoffed.

“Sandbox love never dies.” She quoted his favorite movie, Jennifer’s Body. (Y/N) smiled.

“God, did you walk here?” She asked.

“Some. I hitchhiked.”

“You hitchhiked?! Do you know how dangerous that is?!” (Y/N) shushed her, getting looks from the teens on the motorcycles. Veronica took a couple of breaths, calming herself.

“Okay. I’ll call mom-”

“No!” (Y/N) interrupted her making her blink.

“She’ll tell (D/N). I can’t go back, he’ll send me off to rehab or boarding school. I just got out of juvie, I don’t want to be locked up somewhere again.” (Y/N) said. Veronica stared at him.

“Excuse me, what?”

“You wouldn’t understand, Vivi. I’ll get going-”

“I just got you back, I’m never letting you out of my sights again.” (Y/N) sighed, knowing she meant it.

“Come.” She grabbed his arm, dragging him inside. She made him sit next to her, the guy with a beanie having to pull up a chair.

“Guys.” Veronica breathed out. “This is (Y/N).”

“Wait, the runaway friend? How’s that going...” Beanie guy trailed off, getting a pointed look from the blonde.

“(Y/N), these are my friends. Archiekins, Betty, and Jughead.” Veronica introduced them. (Y/N) nodded to them, taking off his backpack and placing it on his lap.

“I don’t wanna sound rude or anything... Why’d you run away?” Betty asked.

“I have a lot of issues. Wanted to clear my head.” (Y/N) replied.

“Welcome to the club, buddy,” Jughead mumbled, grabbing some fries from Betty.

“I got out of juvie....” (Y/N) trailed off. “How long have I been gone?”

“Almost a full month.”

“Yeah.” (Y/N) shrugged.

“Why were you in juvie?” Archie.. kins? asked.

“Caught with drugs. I was in there for a year... A trip alone helps.” (Y/N) sighed, rubbing his forehead.

“Drugs?” Archie’s brows raised.

“Like I said... I have issues. Being an addict is one of them.” (Y/N) sighed, fiddling with his bag.

“Are you going to leave?” Jughead asked.

“I was thinking Louisiana or New Mexico-”

“Absolutely not!” Veronica shook her head.

“Why not? Both places are nice.”

“I’m not talking about that! You can’t leave. Stay with me.” Veronica pleaded.

“Vivi... Your mom has enough on her plate.”

“I’d offer my place but my parents are pretty... Strict.” Betty said, frowning.

“You can stay with me. I’d have to talk to my dad though.” Archie said. (Y/N) shook his head.

“I don’t wanna be a bother. Plus, I don’t think I can trust adults yet.” All eyes went to Jughead.

“I have a friend. Sweet Pea-”

“No. Sweet Pea is not on the table.” Archie shook his head making Jughead do the biggest eye-roll (Y/N) had ever seen.

“Fangs.”

“Why not Toni?” Betty looked at him.

“Someone named their child Fangs?” (Y/N) whisper-asked Veronica.

“My name’s Jughead, you shouldn’t be too surprised,” Jughead said with a chuckle as he stood.

“Come. They’re outside.” Jughead said. Veronica scooted out of the booth, letting (Y/N) out. Archie and Betty paid, following them outside.

“Sweet Pea, Fangs!” Jughead called. (Y/N) trailed behind, tempted to take off. He didn’t, seeing Archie’s jacket, figuring he was on a sports team and was probably faster than him.

“What’s up?” One guy asked.

“Do you have space to take in (Y/N). He needs a place to stay for...” Jughead glanced at him.

“Probably a week or two.”

“(Y/N)-”

“A week or two.” (Y/N) cut Veronica off. The guy nodded slowly.

“I have two beds,” He told him, glancing at the tall male beside him.

“Fangs Fogarty, by the way.”

“(Y/N).” Veronica looked at him.

“What’s in your bag?” She asked, taking it and opening it.

“Were you seriously expecting to survive on alcohol and drugs?” She asked, rummaging through.

“It was worth a try.” (Y/N) shrugged, making Fangs chuckle.

“Fangs, promise you’ll take all these drugs away.” Veronica looked at him.

“Not the heroin-”

“Heroin?!” Betty’s eyes widened. (Y/N) glanced at her. The only girl sighed.

“Toni Topaz.” The two shook hands.

“It depends on what drugs you have. Taking some away quickly can kill you.” Toni informed. Veronica sighed, holding her head.

“Okay. Make sure he stays perfectly healthy. Please. Includes the alcohol.” She said. Fangs threw a leg over his bike.

“Hop on.” He said. (Y/N) took his bag back from Veronica, taking the helmet and getting on. Fangs started up the engine.

“I’ll visit every day,” Veronica said. (Y/N) sighed but nodded. Fangs pulled out of the parking lot and drove off. (Y/N) tightened his grip on Fang’s hips making the male glance back. (Y/N) looked up at the sky, liking how hard the wind felt against his skin.

“You seem pretty used to riding.” Fangs said.

“My ex had one. He liked racing a lot.” (Y/N) explained, gently resting his head on Fangs shoulder. He felt Fangs tense a bit but eventually relaxed. They continued to ride in silence until they reached the trailer park. Fangs parked his motorcycle, letting (Y/N) get off first.

“Home sweet home.” Fangs said, taking the helmet from (Y/N). They entered and Fangs gently took the bag from (Y/N).

“That Lodge girl wasn’t kidding.” Fangs mumbled, taking out the multiple bottles of vodka, whiskey, wine, champagne, and so on. (Y/N) scratched his neck, shifting his gaze elsewhere.

“Alright. Weed, some pills, cocaine, painkillers, pretty sure that’s morphine, and lastly heroin.” Fangs breathed out.

“Do you take all of these?” Fangs asked.

“Not the cocaine.” (Y/N) said, somewhat innocently as the tall guy from before entered.

“Cocaine?” He questioned.

“This is Sweet Pea.” Fangs introduced. Sweet Pea eyed him before turning his head and kissing Fangs. His brows raised upon seeing the contents on the table.

“Damn.” He whispered.

“Withdrawals gonna kick your ass.” Sweet Pea added, crossing his arms.

“Thanks for the encouragement.” (Y/N) sighed. He saw a small amused smile appear on his face for a quick second.

The next weeks were hell. (Y/N) was surprised his body hadn’t given out on him. Fangs, Toni, Vivi, and Jughead kept an eye on him, encouraging him. Sweet Pea would occasionally ‘babysit’ though he’d mostly complain about Northsiders and Bulldogs. (Y/N) knew he cared a little. He’d had a worried look whenever (Y/N) had a bad reaction. Eventually, the hell weeks were over.

“I’m gonna relapse. I already wanna down a whole bottle and inj-”

“Quit talking like that.” Fangs cut him off. (Y/N) sighed softly, resting his head against the wall. There was a beat of silence before he heard rustling and felt the bed shift. He turned away from the wall, staring into Fangs dark brown eyes.

“You’ve done pretty well so far.” Fangs whispered. (Y/N) gently reached forward, playing with his dog tag.

“Thanks.” He mumbled, looking down at the tag. Fangs watched him before placing a hand on his cheek. (Y/N) flinched slightly, the coldness of Fangs rings being unexpected. Fangs smiled at his reaction.

“Go to sleep, (N/N).” He patted his head. (Y/N) rolled his eyes and pushed his head away, facing the wall again.

“I’m not a child.”

“Mhm.” (Y/N) closed his eyes, sleep coming easily to him. He finally slept peacefully for the first time in some weeks. The next morning, he actually felt refreshed. He woke up, noticing that Fang’s bed had been untouched which made him wonder if Fangs had slept beside him. (Y/N) got out of bed, leaving the bedroom and entering the kitchen.

“Moring, (N/N).” Fangs greeted with a smile, glancing at him.

“Hey.” (Y/N) answered, yawning. He took a plate of pancakes from Fangs and ate it as Sweet Pea entered the trailer.

“Morning.” He greeted both of them. (Y/N) started the chew slowly, realizing he had slept in one of Sweet Pea’s flannels. He glanced at the male who was already staring at him. (Y/N) drank some orange juice, avoiding eye contact.

“Will you be staying in Riverdale?” Sweet Pea asked.

“I don’t know.” (Y/N) replied, looking at them. Fangs and Sweet Pea shared a look.

“(N/N), you know this is like... Your home now, right?” Fangs faced him.

“I rea-”

“Stop saying you don’t want to get us in trouble. It’s almost been two months, do you really think we’d let you stay here if we didn’t want you here?” Sweet Pea stared at him, pressing his lips into a thin line. Fangs smiled, amused at Sweet Pea’s silent embarrassment.

“Right.” (Y/N) nodded, going over to the sink and washing his plate. Sweet Pea cleared his throat.

“We were gonna head over to Whyte Wyrm. You two coming?” He asked. (Y/N) glanced at Fangs.

“I’ll stay here.” He said. Fangs frowned but nodded, leaving the trailer with Sweet Pea. He heard the motorcycles start-up and the roar of the engine fade away. (Y/N) shifted his gaze onto his bag. He walked over to it, opening it and seeing that his money was still inside, along with some other stuff. The itch to leave started to annoy (Y/N). Rule number one that he learned from other runaways was to never stay in one place for too long. (Y/N) wanted to follow that rule.

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jj-lynn21 · 5 years ago

Text

HOLLYWOOD MOBSTERS Starring Bill Skarsgard and his family ch 1

ch 2 ch 3 ch 4 ch 5 ch 6 ch 7

Wedding music

Entrance Music for Wedding Reception

Warnings: fluff, smut, violence, cussing, angst

Tag a few I thought would be interested.

@cheeseandthankyou @crazyjam-pot @madamaholmes @super-pink-a-palouza @dreambigbeawesome @shenevertricks1831

Photoes from esquire Singapore Septemper 2019, Calvin Klein, IMDB and Ejalo’s Instagram

Twinkle lights hang sporadically in the white tent fit for five hundred people. Guests start streaming in to sit at soft pink linen covered tables. Pale pink and white roses with baby’s breath that match the bride’s bouquet are the center pieces on each table. Light music plays. A half an hour after the guests are seated the wedding party arrives in their white limousine.

To make some time for the guests to arrive at the reception before them the wedding party had the driver drive around town as they drank in the back. Laughing and enjoying each other’s company. It was the Skarsgard’s only sister, Eija’s wedding day. The ceremony was beautiful outside at the Cypress Sea Grove in Malibu.

Views of the ocean behind the happy couple and wedding party made the photographer’s job easy to capture moments of love. Now the same wedding party that was perfectly put together at the ceremony falls out of the limousine. Eija, her husband Zeke, Valter and his college girlfriend Angel, Bill and his companion Genna, Sam and his wife Pat, Gustaf and bride’s maid Rose, and Alex with Maid of honor and his partner in crime so to speak and very literally, Princess are laughing for no apparent reason getting themselves together before entering the reception behind the family mansion.

Genna and Valter attempt to try to fix Angel’s dress. When she fell out of the limousine first, obviously intoxicated more than the others, the strap on her champagne pink top fitted flare bottom dress broke. Stellan just shook his head as he watched the young people try to get it together. Him and his wife Megan had driven in a second car with ring bearer eight-year-old brother Ossian and flower girl, a Cousin, Sara. He didn’t think the limousine would be any place for the children. And by the looks of things he was right.

Stellan got the little ones to dance with each other. This melted the hearts of the crowd. They were clapping as Stellan and his wife danced next followed by Bill who spun Genna out on to the floor. They smiled as they looked into each other’s eyes lovingly. Camera flashes going off repeatedly. Angel was still giggling as Valter lead her on the floor with her pinned up strap falling off her shoulder. His right hand in hers as his left rested on the small of her back. She rested her head on his chest and her free hand on his shoulder. She believed herself to be the luckiest girl at the University to be dating him. Sam and Pat took to the floor elegantly. Gustaf followed suit with Rose gliding on to the floor like some kind of dance pro. But Alex made a grand entrance with Princess. They swayed to the music like Johnny and Baby in dirty dancing captivating the crowd. He didn’t mean to over-shadow the others, especially his sister on her wedding day but he just had this natural way of pulling attention to himself and anyone else he was with and Princess loved being in the spotlight with him.

By the time Eija and Zeke made their way into the tent everyone that could stand were standing. Many hooting and whistling their approval for all the couples. She felt blessed and loved with all her family and friends around her on this perfect day. Other couples joined in the dancing. Megan took the children to a table to give them some black and white cookies before the caterers had even put them out. This would appease the little ones until dinner was served, Stellan motioned for Alex to join him at the bar. Princess went to mingle eventually joining Bill, Genna, Valter, Angel and the rest of the wedding party at their table in front of the crowd.

Stellan and Alex get some scotch before discussing business in a way that doesn’t seem completely illegal. They never know who is listening or if a bug is planted to pick up every word they say.

“We have a truck coming with coke cola tomorrow, “Alex informed his Father. Coke cola really being cocaine. “The Malforals would like us to share the shipment. They were unable to get their own for some reason. I thought I would charge them the regular costumer price plus thirty percent.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Stellan tipped back his drink. “You talk to your little brother about what he wants to do for the family after he graduated college next month? He has been making us plenty at his University. Referring his friends to Bunny’s. Maybe he can replace the current bar tender. I don’t fucking trust that guy.”

“I’ll talk to him before he goes back to college,” Alex downed his drink and snapped his fingers for another. “I think he has his hands full tonight. That girl of his can’t handle her liquor.”

“How about Bill,” Stellan asked, “Is he going to play for the family baseball team? We could still use him as clean-up batter.”

“I’m not sure he has a good time playing ball with the family,” Alex said. “But you are right he is the obvious choose for still being the clean up batter. I’m sure there is something I can do to convince him to join the team on a more permanent basis.”

“Good,” Stellan waved and smiled to some friends as they passed. “Let’s go celebrate your sister. This has been enough shop talk for tonight. Update me when necessary. Get Gustaf’s help with the Malforals.”

“Sure thing,” Alex downs another drink.

Stellan starts to walk away, “I think you can do better organizing the whole team together.”

Valter is feeding Angel some canape’s as she giggles. Water in her wine class. She keeps tapping it with her spoon to signal the new married couple to kiss but she also kisses Valter each time insisting the whole wedding party is supposed to follow what the bride and groom do. He just chuckles having no problem kissing his girl in front of everyone. But when his sister gives him a look the tenth time, Angel makes her glass chime, he takes her hands.

“You don’t need to do that for me to kiss you,” He kisses her passionately, “my Angel.” He whispers in her ear as he moves her hand to his lap. “You can keep your hand busy under the table instead.”

Angel blushes and giggle. His lips brush over her earlobe before he moves his head up to look at her. He grins mischievously. He puts her hand with his over his bulging dress pants. Not the roomiest pants he has ever worn. He thinks the tailor could have let the crotch out a little more for him to be comfortable.

“No,” She giggles blushing whispers in his ear, “Ththere isss no ways you could keepp straight fasse if I give you a hand job under the table. Ssso no begging.” She was slurring some of her words.

Valter gives her a pouty puppy face, “we can just go to my room inside the house?”

She puts his hands in her lap. “Traditions sssay we can only leavvve after the bride and groom, ssso you wait. You knows good things come to those who wait.” She giggles more.

Alex makes his way outside. He lights a cigar as he walks towards the family’s private beach. Noticing he is being followed he dodges behind a large fat palm tree. He grabs the person pushing them against the tree wrists pinned up with one of his hands. He puts the cigar out on the tree and puts it in his inside pocket.

“You are getting better, Princess,” he grinned. “I didn’t notice you following me until I was almost on the beach. I bet you were following me from the tent.”

“I was,” She stared him down. “What did you hear first, my breath or my heel hitting the rock at ten paces?”

“The way you suck your breath in to quickly before holding it,” he breaths in Princess’ scent nuzzling his nose into her neck. She takes in that breath he was just telling her about. “I don’t know about others, but I can feel that breath you take in my groin.” He groans. “Do it again and see what happens.”

Princess grins his hands still holding both of her wrist above her head. “Do your fucking worst to destroy my will Alex, I dare you.” She took a deep breath and let it out right in his face. The smell of champagne and the strawberries she had snacked on before stalking him hit him like cupid’s arrow. He smashed his lips to hers as he undid his belt. Princess knows him by now and didn’t even bother wearing panties under the long dress Eija chose for all her ladies. As soon as his pants hit the ground, he has her dress pulled up fucking her relentlessly against the tree.

When they met, she was a cop. She didn’t get paid shit. And didn’t see any way she was going to workup to captain. Because of the way she looked, her commanding officer often hand her playing a hooker on Hollywood Blvd. to catch pimps trying to put underage girls on the street. She knew most of the ladies were just trying to feed their kids. She thought it was her job to beat the shit out pimps that got to rough with girls or turned out underage girls like twelve-year-olds. Alex had picked her up one evening while she was working. He knew she was an undercover cop. Her partner was on the payroll. Alex also knew she would protect the girls at Bunny’s gentlemen’s club. He made her an offer she couldn’t refuse. They had been friends with benefits ever since. He like she didn’t give a shit who else he fucked. She liked the money of course, but also that she was the woman he chose to have on his arm at any event.

When they were done, they casually walked back up to the tent. They were just in time to watch the couple cut the cake. After that there was one more dance before the bride and groom left to go on an exotic vacation to an island the family owned. Valter and Angel slipped out soon after to his room in the main house. They were both to drunk for anything but sloppy awkward laughing at each other sex, but it was enough to put them out cold within a half hour. It wasn’t always like this. They practically lived together in his frat house even though it really wasn’t allowed. No one was going to tell such a prestigious alum not to do something they were going to do anyway. Sometimes he would stay at her sorority. Pretend to be one of the girls using a high voice to get out the door if the house mother saw him. He even put on his girlfriend’s cloths to get past her out the door once. They both thought it was hysterical.

Most of the family and some guests stayed the night at the house. But Bill, being the BAL (Bank America Loan) owner and head manager had to go to work the next morning so he and Genna went home. He tucked her into bed, her eyes heavy with sleep, before stepping into the bathroom a few feet away to brush his teeth. He had been with Genna seven years but didn’t believe they needed marriage to show their love for each other. She was everything he ever wanted. Other than laundering money for the family a handful of times he didn’t go near the family business. He wanted nothing to do with it. He didn’t want to know more than he already did which wasn’t much in his opinion. As soon as he heard the window break, he grabbed the closest gun which was taped under the sink. He went back in the room shooting at the figure in all black and the person fell over the balcony right after he grazed Bill with a bullet.

Bill didn’t bother to look over the balcony. He pulls the bloody white comforter off his companion. Her eyes fluttered as she gasps for breath. Blood is ran down Bill’s arm where the bullet grazed him. He did not feel the pain of that. He only feels the pain of loosing the love of his life.

“Its alright baby girl, I got you,” tears run down his face, “I’ll call my brother. Sam will save you.”

Bill calls Sam to his apartment. But its to late. When Sam gets there, Bill is holding his dead girl’s body in the blood soaked comforter against him sobbing uncontrollably. Sam’s not only worried about the abrasion still seeping blood on his brother’s shoulder but also his mental state.

Alex hobbles in and sat on a chair in the corner. He seems stunned by the site. “Fuck, I think they tried to take us all out. I chased a shooter off the grounds at the main house. They grazed my shoulder and hit me in the thigh. I tied it off like you said Sam. Bill what happened here?”

“They fucking killed her Alex,” he was still rocking her bloody body. “I don’t even have anything to do with the rest of you and they fucking killed her. I will fucking find out who did this and kill them. Who the fuck have you been doing business with?” He glares at Alex.

“We do business with a lot of people that see are family as a threat.” Alex said flatly. “I will help you, we will all help you find who did this to you best girl. I am sorry brother but you have to put her down so Sam can see if you need stitches. I have a bullet hole in my leg but you first brother. I insist.”

Bill slowly puts Genna’s body down in the bed. He closes her eyes and kisses her cheek before pulling the comforter over her completely. Tears still flowing even though anger is rising. He feels no pain. He just feels emotions, grief and hate.

“Bill look at me,” Sam pleads. “He checks bills reaction to light. His pupils are dilated. He washes Bill’s arm off, and he does not even flinch when Sam wipes the wound with stinging alcohol.

Alex and Sam are both concerned. Sam stiches up his arm. Bandages up the stiches and puts a water-proof wrap over the bandage.

“I need to work on Alex.” Sam throws the bloody suture kit in the nearby trash. “You should shower. You will go back to the house tonight. A cleaning crew will deal with the apartment and make sure your love is taken to our family funeral home. We can deal with the rest tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Bill mumbles, “they are all fucking dead by tomorrow night. Whoever planned this and whoever did this and there whole fucking family are dead.” He gets up slowly. Then goes to shower stripping off the bloody remnants of the night before turning the shower on and stepping inside.

Sam checks out Alex, “Keep an eye on him closely. He is in terrible shock.”

“We will all take care of him.” Alex assures.

#hollywood mobsters #valter skarsgard #bill skarsgard #alexander skarsgard #alex skarsgard #gustaf skarsgard #stellan skarsgard #fiction #fantasy #creative writing #writing #mobsters #crime family #crime #love #lust #angst

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whitewallwhispers · 5 years ago

Text

Little Lies

Narcos - Javier Peña - Series

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine

A young writer moves to Colombia to perform research on the drug war for her latest novel. She’s willing to do anything for information, which leads her down a rabbit hole that begins to blur the line between pretending to be someone and becoming something she might not be ready for.

Her latest target is a D.E.A. Agent named Javier Peña. And things are getting complicated.

Warnings: Drug use (cocaine), alcohol use (wine), strong language (pretty much every expletive under the sun), smut - mentions of oral sex (male receiving), rough sex (mentions of hair pulling, choking), unprotected sex (wrap it up, folks), daddy kink

My hope is that you can imagine this character as any race with any style of hair (as someone with short hair I get annoyed when every fic mentions long locks and ponytails).

This is kind of a dumb note but I feel the need to clarify that this smut is completely aimed at Peña - I love Pedro but in a completely different, non-sexual way. It’s a credit to his acting skills that he can make me want to fuck nearly every character he plays when IRL I just want to be his best friend.

He certainly left bruises. On her hips, her wrists. Purple at first before fading to yellow in the week that had passed since she last saw him. She’d gone to the bar every night, drinking away her parents’ money in the faint hope he’d show.

He didn’t.

She tried not to take it personally. She tried not to think about the possibility that he’d gone back to his regulars and forgotten all about her.

Maybe that’s why she’d decided to blow through an entire packet of coke, railing line after line off her counter as she wrote, though it wasn’t long before she was running into a dead end of ideas. If Peña had given up on her, she’d have to find another cartel member soon to give her more information. If she couldn’t gain the perspective of the opposite side, she might as well gain more insight into the one she already knew.

Her high made her forget that the next packet of her supply still laid on her bedside table. It didn’t help that she’d gone for the bottle of white wine she had in her fridge, drinking deeply straight from it as she moved to turn on her stereo, dancing to herself to Billie Holiday as she took another pull, her lips numb and limbs buzzing.

Maybe I should call it a night on writing. She’d been stuck for the past hour and even the coke had failed to stimulate her further. Maybe she could drown out the strange strain in her chest with the next packet she had. Maybe the wine would give her a hangover, and she’d spend the whole day tomorrow thinking only about how miserable she felt instead of wondering what Peña was doing and if she’d ever see him again.

Thirty minutes further into dancing by herself she’d drank nearly half the bottle of wine and taken another line from her fresh pouch.

She was being irresponsible.

She thought there wouldn’t be consequences.

She wasn’t thinking straight.

So when there came a knock at her door, she opened it straight away without peeking through the chain to see who it was.

Fuck fuck fuck.

She now had her door wide open to Peña, who was giving her an apologetic look.

“I know I said I wouldn’t turn up unannounced next time, but you wouldn’t believe what a week it’s been.”

Before she could even think he was stepping into her apartment.

“Wait,” she choked. “Hold on.”

But by the time she’d thought to stop him, he was already in the door. He could already see what she was about to do. He’d see her hiding the coke and he’d know and he’d hate her and she’d lose her only chance at writing about both sides of the story. He saw her panic.

“What’s the matter?” his voice was full of concern, too sweet in contrast to the severity of the situation.

“Can you close your eyes? Please? I know it sounds weird, but…”

“I - uh - sure, I guess,” he answered, mercifully shutting them without question.

She reached behind her to the counter to put down her wine and grab her manuscript before sprinting to her bedside table, stuffing the baggie of coke on top of the papers and shutting them safely away in the drawer.

“Okay, you can open them now,” she said, returning in front of him.

He was on her immediately, lips hot and heavy as he pushed her further into the room. It unfolded much like last time. He forced her onto her knees. This time she did a better job of relaxing her throat, and as such he thrusted into her harder than before. She didn’t gag once, and he rewarded her by eating her out before he began to pummel her into the bed in every position imaginable. There were no handcuffs this time, but plenty of hair pulling and insistence on calling him daddy and choking.

He came inside her again, and this time she made sure she got up to go to the bathroom first. He required no cleanup. That should automatically grant her first dibs.

But it was a mistake. After she’d taken care of everything she washed her hands and opened the door, only to find Javier standing there, jeans on but shirtless, his gun held lazily in his hand that rested against the wall as the other held up his badge.

“You wanna know what this means, sweetheart?” His voice was calm and even, but his eyes were dark.

Fuck. Had he looked when he said he’d close his eyes? Had she forgotten to hide something? Or please, for the love of God let this be some weird sort of kinky roleplay bullshit. He took a step towards her and she fought the urge to take a step back. It’d look too suspicious. Instead she tried to play dumb.

“Hmm…American Beurau of Fuckall?” she asked coyly.

“Wrong letters.”

“Unless you’ve been studying up on the Berlin Wall I don’t think you get to quiz me about anything.” She rolled her eyes and turned back to the mirror, frantically looking for something to do with her hands. Lipstick. Bingo. She pulled open her makeup drawer and grabbed the first tube she found before hurriedly applying it. She prayed he couldn’t see the way her hand was shaking.

Javier stepped fully into the bathroom now, standing directly behind her, his arm holding the gun wrapping around her waist while the other returned his badge to his back pocket. He pushed her forward until she was stuck between him and the counter.

“That thing better not be loaded,” she joked, “and your gun better be empty too.” She finished with her lips and began to toy with her hair instead, avoiding his eyes in the mirror.

“What’s this?” he asked, bending so his mouth pressed close to her ear, dangling something small in front of her.

“What does it look like?” she said with a shrug. Holy fuck. It was a baggie of coke. Her coke. She couldn’t tell if she’d left it out or he’d gone looking for it and honestly it didn’t matter right now. The only thing she needed to focus on was sounding as oblivious as possible. “If you want some go ahead, I don’t mind.”

His grip on her tightened painfully, the cold metal of his gun biting into her bare skin.

“Where’d you get it?”

“A friend.”

“What kind of friend?”

“The same kind you are.”

His arm loosened its hold on her slightly, but she was still pinned between him and the sink.

“Do you know who your friend works for?”

“I mean, he’s never said, but given he pays me half in coke I think you and I can wager a guess.”

Javier nodded.

“How often do you see this friend?”

“Not often.” A lie. She’d only seen him once. But he made sure she knew where to find him again.

“Are you friends with anyone else he works with?”

She shook her head.

“Could you be?”

“Why?” she laughed. “Bored of me already? Worried I’ll go broke when you stop calling?”

“I’m D.E.A.”

She blinked. “Yeah, I still don’t know what that means.” Oh, yes I do.

“Drug Enforcement Administration.”

Time to play it up.

“Oh shit, Javi, listen, I can explain,” she stammered. “Please, don’t -”

“Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble,” he reassured her, placing the baggie on the counter and stroking her cheek. “Not unless you refuse my offer.”

“Offer?”

Okay, now she was lost.

“See your friend more often. See his friends. See his friends who are more powerful than he is. And I’ll keep seeing you, and if you tell me where they are or what they say or anything useful about what they’re doing, I’ll pay double.”

She gulped. On the one hand, she’d already been considering seeing cartel members more frequently for info. On the other, she wasn’t sure if she was prepared to really commit to being a prostitute. It wouldn’t be pretend anymore. Instead of a writer playing at being a whore, she’d be a whore who was writing a novel.

“You…you won’t get in trouble for sleeping with someone who does coke?” she whimpered, trying to still sound scared of him while inside she was really just scared shitless of herself and the mess she’d gotten into.

“What, you think you’re the only whore in Medellin who partakes? You think you’re the only one I see?”

She bit her lip. Why the fuck did that hurt?

“Right,” she nodded, suddenly unable to look him in the eyes.

“You’re so naive,” he sighed. He placed his gun on the counter and returned his hand to her hip, thumb brushing over the bone with the same intensity as when they fucked. His lips found her neck and they began to press feverishly against her skin, gently biting her between every kiss.

His free hand reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, briefly letting go of her long enough to pull out a stack of bills and toss it next to his gun.

“The only info I have on him is old, probably useless to you now,” she stammered.

“That’s not what it’s for.” After shoving his wallet back into his jeans he gripped her waist and pushed his body so tightly against her back that her hips ground painfully into the sink. She gasped at the way it hurt, but it only made him groan into the crook of her neck, biting her harder now.

“J-Javi,” she breathed, not knowing which pain to focus on.

“Why do I want you so much?”

She blinked in surprise. His voice sounded so vulnerable. Raw and honest.

“I know I just told you to, but…I think about you fucking someone else and I can’t help but feel jealous.” His hands tugged down her panties and she could feel his growing erection pressing into her lower back.

What the fuck was she supposed to say to that?

Especially since she felt the same way.

Come on, think of something clever.

She couldn’t, her mind was completely scrambled between the way her hips were embedded against the cold porcelain, the way his lips were trailing across her collarbones and shoulder, the way his hands were pulling out his cock and pushing it between her legs.

His hand came to her other shoulder and bent her forward, her reflection flying towards her as she leaned closer to the mirror. She looked at him in the glass, noting the way his eyes were heavily lidded and mouth was hanging open slightly as he breathed heavily.

“I find myself daydreaming about being inside you all the time. It’s so fucking distracting,” he huffed, sliding into her and meeting her eyes in the mirror. She braced herself against the sink, crying out gently as her hips were pushed further into the counter. He pumped in and out of her slowly, keeping his eyes locked on hers.

“See how pretty you look when I fuck you?”

“Javi,” was the only response she could think of. Think of? There hadn’t been any thought in it, it slipped out of her as she threw her head back. He felt so good, and hurt so much. Not just the way he trapped her against the sink, but the way she wanted him.

She’d gotten attached.

She really was too naive, too inexperienced, too out of her depth.

Childish, almost, in the way she let herself develop feelings for him just because he was the first man to make her orgasm, the first man she dreamed about when he wasn’t there, the first man to make her feel desirable. She felt so silly, so ashamed of how she’d lost her professional objectivity.

She was so lost in thought she didn’t notice the tears that welled in her eyes. It wasn’t until one slipped down her cheek that she realized she was crying. Javier pulled out of her immediately, turning her around to face him.

“Am I being too rough?” he asked, eyes searching hers.

“No,” she shook her head, her voice pathetically weak. “Go harder.” Maybe the physical pain would drown out the embarrassment and confusion currently filling her mind.

“I won’t if you’re crying.”

“Please just do it. I’ll use our safe word if it’s too much.”

His eyes surveyed her dubiously for a moment before he turned her back around, pushing her against the counter once more and bending her forward. His hands found her waist as he began to thrust into her again, grunting as she tensed around him.

She watched his face in the mirror, a few more tears spilling out her eyes before they stopped as she steadied herself. Focus on the physical, she thought. She closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip so hard she was sure she’d break the skin. Her hips would be bruised again, much worse this time, but she began to relish in the way her bones ground against the sink.

He picked up his pace, slamming into her with stuttering breaths.

“No one feels as good as you,” he whispered.

“Don’t.” She hadn’t meant to say it. But it came out of her mouth anyway.

He froze inside her.

“Don’t what?” he sounded concerned again. Sweet.

Stop it.

“Don’t be nice to me. Don’t say nice things to me. Just fuck me and go.”

“I - are you sure you’re okay?”

Oh, great. She could feel herself getting choked up again. “Javi, just do what you’re paying me for.”

He sighed heavily and pulled out of her. “Fine. But not like this.” He pulled her up and shut the bathroom door, pushing her back up against it and kissing her gently, his fingertips softly brushing over her cheeks and neck. His hands trailed lower, sliding around her to undo her bra, pulling it off of her carefully and placing it on the counter beside his gun. His thumbs circled her nipples as he brought his lips back to hers, tongue hesitantly slipping into her mouth.

“You made your lip bleed,” he said, pulling back and looking at her with furrowed brows.

“Good.” Her voice was flat. The way he was treating her so softly was making everything worse.

“What’s going on?”

Frustrated, she grabbed his wrist and thrust his hand against her throat. “Please stop being like this. I want you to hurt me.”

His fingers flexed weakly against her neck, but still, he didn’t let go. “You’re acting different. Something’s off.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it. Just fuck me.”

“Look, you don’t have to be an informant for me if you don’t want to, I won’t get you in trouble, just -”

She went on her tiptoes and kissed him as hard as she could, her hand wrapping around and stroking his length.

“I’ll do whatever you want if you just finish this the way you started,” she breathed. “Please.”

Her touch seemed to bring his base instincts back into control, because his fingers began to tighten around her throat while his other hand hooked under her knee and pulled her leg up, pushing it beside her chest and testing the limits of her flexibility.

It burned. He held her leg in place so firmly she could feel the muscles straining as if they were ready to snap. As both his hands were occupied it was up to her to guide him into her center, but once he was inside her she let her hands brace herself against the door.

Their height difference made things a little awkward until he finally released her throat and scooped her other leg up, lifting and holding her against the door with his body as he thrust into her again and again. Her hands came to his shoulders, gripping them to feel the way the muscles were pulled taut with her weight.

He buried his face in her neck, panting against her hot skin.

There was no pain now, only pleasure, and it was almost too much to bear. He felt so good against her, inside her. She ran her fingers through his hair and breathed in the smell of sweat and sex and faded cologne that encompassed him.

She didn’t want to cum. But she did anyway, biting her lip again to keep herself from saying his name. She couldn’t do it to herself. It would hurt too much in the wrong way. In the way that came from inside.

“Good girl,” he murmured as she pulsed around him, legs shivering.

She hung her head back against the door, closing her eyes and trying to numb herself to his touch. It sounded like he’d finish soon and then he would leave and then she would never see him again.

She wouldn’t allow herself to.

Fuck it. Her book would only take place from the cartel’s perspective.

It wasn’t worth getting her heart broken over.

Because the money on the counter beside her bra and his gun was all she meant to him, all she’d ever be worth to him. And if she fucked him one more time it might kill her.

He came inside her, groaning as he held her against the door one long moment before gently bringing her down. As soon as her feet the floor she was picking up her clothes and the money, pushing through the door without looking at him. She rushed to get dressed before he could follow her, but she only got as far as her bra and panties and shirt before she heard his footsteps coming out of the bathroom.

“Cigarette?” he asked, walking past her and picking up his own shirt off the ground. He turned to study her while he buttoned it, but she didn’t look at him. Couldn’t.

“No,” came her blunt reply. She debated putting on her shorts but the minute he was gone she’d be under her covers feeling like shit, so she decided it wasn’t worth it. Instead she stood awkwardly against the back of the couch, arms crossed, looking everywhere in the room but at him. When she heard him light himself a cig she thought she should polish off the last of her wine.

Not wanting to risk walking near him in her suddenly unbearably small apartment, she decided to forgo actually stepping into the kitchen to get it and instead leaned over the counter from as far away as possible to grab it, her hips aching in protest as she did so. She took a deep swig before moving to go back to her perch on the couch, but when she turned she found herself nearly running right into his half-exposed chest.

“Why won’t you look at me?” he asked quietly.

Defiant, she met his gaze and was taken aback by how sad he looked.

Goddammit.

All she wanted to do was kiss away his frown and push back the messy hair from his face.

“Don’t show up unannounced next time,” was her only response.

Something flickered across his face so quickly she didn’t get the chance to recognize it before it was gone.

“Meet you at the bar, then?”

“Sure,” she nodded before pushing past him, resting on the back of the couch and taking another draw.

She’d never go to that bar again.

#narcos #narcos fanfiction #narcos fanfic #narcos smut #Javier Peña #Javier Peña fanfiction #Javier Peña fanfic #Javier Peña fic #Javier Peña smut #fanfiction #fanfic #smut #heeeeeeeeeeere we go #pedro pascal #bye #little lies

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icangothedistancee · 5 years ago

Text

CW: Toxic relationships and emotional abuse

I wasn’t sure whether I should post this or not but I think it’s important to tell these kinds of stories and acknowledge them. It’s important to share experiences so other’s know they aren’t alone. I wrote it last summer when I was just out of a toxic relationship and I kept it hidden since. At the time writing it was a form of therapy for me, but reading it brought back too many memories. I’m not completely healed from this experience, but I am SO much better and reading it now I’m able to see how far I’ve come since. It’s important to talk about abuse and how it affects you rather than suppressing it. Talking about it is a huge part of how I get better every single day. This isn’t my whole story, but this is part of it:

Did I ever tell you

that I cried myself to sleep most nights? Either I was alone because you left or you acted like I was poison, as if touching my skin would leave you burned.

I tried as best as I could to wrap my arms around my body. I wished my mind and my arms would be comforting enough. I wished I could keep it all inside my head without feeling like I was going to burst, but it seeped through the cracks and I didn’t have enough hands to catch it on my own.

Did I ever tell you

You made me feel like there was nothing left and then you pulled me in again and again making me feel like I needed to stay.

You let me ride on the memories of the highs. Addicted to them. The only thing I had to hold on to when my mind was screaming that I didn’t deserve to be in this world.

I stopped crying and numbness took over. I was a vessel for my body but I didn’t really exist.

I was no one.

I took care of you, I took care of me, I took care of everything.

My eyes looked bruised.

Although it was from exhaustion, from anguish, from the constant aching in my heart and in my body.

I never knew what to say when people asked me if I was okay. I would just tell them I was fine.

Did you know that? Did you notice?

Remember when you told me you hated my friends? The people in my life tried so hard for you and you stepped all over them and I let you.

You refused to let me meet your friends or your family and being seen in public with me was shameful. I felt disgusting. I thought I wasn’t worth being seen.

Remember when you were supposed to come home because I needed you and instead you left for days? I waited. You drank alcohol and did cocaine and stayed up all night.

So I got a bottle of wine to drink alone and then I smashed it and I cried. I’m embarrassed to admit it. It sounds stupid. You’d call me dramatic, wouldn’t you?

Empty promises

Vacant heart

You took my pride, my happiness, my confidence.

You took me away from myself.

You made me feel completely worthless. You made me feel like I deserved the vulgar words you used on me.

F*ck you

C*nt

B*tch

A**hole

‘Are you fucking stupid?’ You would scream.

I was always wrong. My thoughts, my feelings didn’t matter.

Nothing you said ever followed through.

When I was sick you told me it was too much so I pretended my pain didn’t exist, yet I still cared for you. You took advantage of my empathy because you knew you could.

Did I ever tell you that I’m afraid of everything now? I’m afraid of noises and shadows and loud voices and swaying tree branches.

My body shakes now. I can’t stop making my own hands bleed.

Did I ever tell you that I have nightmares?

Nightmares of your face, of your words, of your voice? Nightmares of you still trying to convince me that I’m worthless. That I deserve nothing.

Your feelings were the only ones that mattered. You’re selfish. You ignored my hurt. You never took responsibility for your actions and you probably never will. It took you finding someone else and fucking them in MY bed to admit this to myself because I was terrified of you.

That’s the only thing I want to thank you for because that finally gave me the courage to leave.

#mine #my thoughts #cw #recovery #no ones gonna read this #but maybe it’ll show one person that it does get better #and that they are not alone #sorry its long #emotional trauma

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sirfleurs · 5 years ago

Text

i was sixteen years old when my hand was blue.

The grayscale pitch

Preface

Life is not easy when you are high and alone watching television or pulling an all-nighter listening to Jimi Hendrix. The brain becomes dull. Overstimulated by genius. You stop thinking and overthink at the same time. I guess that’s what some people call daydreaming. All your bad thoughts get loose and all your inhibitions disappear. I figure this is right before the moment you are most likely to kill yourself. I’ll give it an hour before my Manic-Depression shows its ugly face. As I haven’t killed myself yet in an age of 23 I think I’ve done pretty well. I was sitting in my room in some Woodstock apartment writing on my first ever soon to be book. I had decided to call it ‘The Pitch’. It would be about some witty guy who had a great idea and he would be trying to sell his ‘pitch’ to everyone who’d listen. I had thought the rest of the story through. To be honest I didn’t know more than that. As I was about to sit down I had a beer, smoked a cig and 5 minutes beforehand I had masturbated to a busty forest nymph. Believe me was I tired.

A week ago I was checked-in at Fitzroy Hostel in New York City. It had been insane. My supposedly friends and I were drinking cheap wine in our room during this pandemic across the country. Geez after two bottles of wine I somehow managed to pay for- and eat two caps of MDMA and it blew my mind. I sat on the floor to cool my ass but everything began to spin and it hit me hard like a jolt. Andrew said “hey dude, maybe you should go to the bathroom and stick two fingers in your throat you don’t look too good”. But he was just too late. I burst like a water balloon, vomiting on the floor of Duncans room. Duncan was this nice guy that played XBOX and drank occasionally. Geez was I sorry. I locked myself in the bathroom to get the caps out. I was trying to vomit and I began to feel heated. The MDMA had already kicked in and it was too late to reverse it. I would have to wait this one out. Everything started to feel nice all around the body. My eyes became big as small plates and my teeth began to clench. I got an strange urge to stick my hand in the toilet to cool my body. Something I am not very proud of. On the small shelf I found a shampoo that I emptied in the toilet too just for the hell of it. Minutes later people would lock the door up with a coin and find me covered in shampoo. The helped me in the shower and I went to bed shortly after. Hours later I woke up. Two guys invited me for a joint. Something I couldn’t decline. It was only the second time I had ever tried drugs. While we smoked this cat, Alex told me “you know this only happened because you drank too much. You can never be too careful with mixing alcohol and MD. It doesn’t help that you hadn’t eaten anything either.” “Geez, I was not in control at all. I’d better stick to weed and drinking. That’s something I know”. Always do drugs with very good pals of yours.

So I went to the street and couldn’t make any money. I was to make something one way or the other. Which isn’t always easy when you don’t know what profession you want to be in. All I knew was that I didn’t need any tiresome busy work in my life. I like to feel needed but not so much that I can’t laugh and have breaks during the day. Life is life you know. But I would dance down the street like drums banging through the air. Long time ago I would have taken every job offered to me now I’m not so sure. I went to a fruit parlor in the New Habor Market in near Manhatten in princess St. I asked the first guy :” how much are these avocados.” “two fifty for three piece”. Fruit in the markets are much cheaper than everywhere else and the life is strong on the street which I thought couldn’t be bad. Everyone just running back and forth doing their bussinnes as usual. The markets was one of the places that hadn’t closed due to the pandemic. Nice, I thought to myself. I handed the guy three dollars and told him to keep the rest. “ hey man, how you get a job here standing here selling fruit, I’d really like to know”. “ah young man, I could take a look at your resume if you’d like”. Problem was I didn’t have much to offer him, so I stalled him trying to promote myself in person. I can be a very persuasive guy sometimes. When I’m in the right mood and I felt it crippling in my fingers my mood was good for this situation. “Hey man, I don’t exactly have a written resume. But I’ll tell you everything you’ll need to know. Im good at shouting and a quick learner give me a shot and ill prove to you, you didn’t waste your time”. I sounded like a sucker. But I couldn’t eat my words. The guy didn’t seem interested. I said “I promise give me a shot and I will not blow it.” He looked me in the eye and we stood for a few seconds staring at each other. “come down tomorrow at 6 sharp I’ll see what you can do. You won’t be paid for your three first shifts and from thereon you’ll be paid commission on how much you sell”. Sounded good to me so I nodded “you betcha” I said with a coy smile I sounded like a dork geez. Anyhow that’s how I got my first job. It went fairly well. I continued down the street. I still had something else to do before my first shift. Let me stand next to your fire I thought to myself. I was excited as hell. Down the road I saw a green balloon it was helium filled balloons. A clown was giving them out to kids. Everything was nice the weather was good and you could hear the wind sweep from central park. I needed to buy some weed for the next time coming. So I got up my phone and rang my friend Alex who had a connection. “O boyy I got a job fix me up with some of that green”. I met him outside the hostel and bought a quarter ounce for 50 dollars which is a fine price for nugs like these. Then I went home and lit a blunt. Just a small one while I sat at my outside porch. We had a giant tree and a lot of ungroomed weeds in our garden. We also had a cat I personally named Pysser in the name of my favourite old person who recently died. He was a sergent Knud Romer was his name. He once wrote an article about me when I was fifteen going to summer camp for young boys with no other places to go for their vacation. God was I sad to see him go. When I was done with the blunt I went up to my room and opened my book. It was called Pimp and the author went by the moniker Iceberg Slim. What kind of badass shit was that. It was kind of interesting the way he proclaimed the pimp life. And he was a real gangster. His bottom whore at the end of her mileage. Meaning the whore who kept every other whore in his house in line. When she goes everything always goes to hell for a pimp. He conend her. He made a whole setup with actors to con her into thinking she killed a rich motherfucker. She would be in the hotel room and this guy would collapse on her. Slim would come up to the room and call a doctor and get the guy collected. Slim conned her into thinking he bribed the police. That way his bottom whore was good to go for more tricks. That’s some cold shit. My thought whirled reading about the cocaine snorting and his nose hurting feelings of something scraping at the roof of his brain made me dizzy. I closed the book and stared at the ceiling. Dreaming. Aw man what do I do now. My head bounced like a bass line I felt slick. Breathing heavily but still relaxed. I went down for a cig to clear my thoughts. Sitting there I couldn’t stop looking at all the animals we had in this household. Cat and two dogs just lying freely whenever wherever.

The next morning I came back 6 sharp. A long 10 hours shift. My legs were aching and my head spiining. I wasn’t used to long as shifts. I was only used to lying around doing nothing chilling with friends. But it would come to me In time oso I ekpt coming there shouting like the others. Loud and confident keeping my back steady trying to pull in costumers in. At the end of each shift you would get paid a percentage of what you’ve sold. The first day I sold I couple of vegetables to this old lady who though I was cute and some couples wanting watermelon smoothies. It didn’t go so well. And I sure as hell didn’t want those pity purchases from old ladies. I made two fifty. It really wasn’t much. But at least I was paid the first day. Something I wasn’t expecting. I went to home sat on the couch with the other living there. We sat there chilling drinking beer and playing chess. And some girl that was visiting was playing skyrim.

Dreamers day

I remember when I was a small kid. I would look at the ocean and dream of being a bird. I would be on the moon. I was a gay kid, really. So much that my mother and sister thought I was actually gay. I remember the beach of Turkey. The warm ocean on my limbs under the moonlight. The salt burning in your eyes. Those were the days of happiness and good rest. Father would show us to surf the water on our stomachs whenever a wave came. Also the days of Levanto were nice. Father and I would hike the mountains at daybreak. We would struggle to find a parking spot and Father would cuss. Sister and I would get mojitos and look at the natives. The parties were everywhere. We would bathe in the clear water by the cliff. I remember many young adults would jump in. Everyone wearing speedos except one skinny langy kid. A couple kissing. The guy would get a boner and the girl would cover his little man with her belly. They kissed passionately. People would jump in from 5 meters and even more. Chances were one day they wouldn’t jump far enough into the water and they would hit the sharp rocks at the cliffs bottom. I picked small black clams from the rock and lurked it open. Levanto was a trip through forests cussing. We were in Italy. Driving a big bad car. I would lie across the extra three seats in the behind. I would push my bare feet against the cold glass of the window. I would see the damp print of my feet and the water drops on the other side of the window. I was glad I was inside the warmth of the car. My sisters friend was along. I liked her. She must have been sisters best friend. Not anymore.. I would lie in the bed reading. I was afraid of small gold fish. We would see the colosseum. I would ask “is it real”. Father would laugh for 10 years. I am now here in bed. On the other side of the world. Mother was different. We would be inside. I would care about her. She would be weaker. Depressed. I would be worried sick. I am still worried. But I am also smarter. She can care for herself. She stopped smoking now for the seventeenth time. She says one day she will make it. I hope it for her sake. I am not sure. The price of cigarettes went up. I would watch television. I would come out and talk to her she would listen and I would cry. This pretty much sums up our relationship. I still love her though. I was a dreamer. My English teacher told my sister I lived on the moon. That was fine with me. Not anymore. I want to be in this world now. I want to do good.

The days when we were friends we would go around your backyard make silly films. Scream like small girls. But we were small boys. Guess there is not that big of a difference. We would draw silly faces in class. We would play on the smartboard. We didn’t care about anything but fun. We would be older and try to learn music. Try to do good in school. People break apart and new people find each other. Right now I don’t find anyone. I am alone with the people I live with. The are polite and we drink together. But we are not friends. Not yet but we could be., I think things can happen. “Don’t think twice it’s alright”. You can get everything down the first time you try. You see poetry and stories are written in the haze in the bottom of your mind. You have to write it now not think too much. Know what you want to write and hurry up. Times against you. You have to run or it will be dull or you will be drowsy. Don’t let anything walk up behind your back. Keep your ears and eyes open for everything. This is not the time for storytelling. Open your eyes open your ears. You didn’t see the best minds of your generation starving hysterical naked.

Three small kittens

The day came after the weekend to go back to work at the fruit parlor., The guy seemed to be very contend with my abilities. I would make at least ten dollars for my self each shift. And I would have just enough for food for the day. Not that it was enough. I still had rent to cover. So I seeked my boss for help asking “how do you make a living out of this. Whats the catch.” He responded “the catch is catch 22 anyone who wants to get out of combat duty isn’t really crazy”. “would you have to be crazy to want to be in combat?” he nodded “and it works the other way around too”. I pondered it over “you would have to be rationel to want to come out of combat?” “exactly”. It didn’t make any sense to me. What did that have to do with anything. After the shift my chef handed my a fairly small red book with the title Catch-22. I had only made eight dollars this day. It felt lousy. At least I was able to take as much leftover I wanted. That would cover my hunger, but the money wouldn’t cover my rent. Soon I would run out of money and I had no idea as to what to do. I came home and fell down the stinking madras on the floor of my room. I opened the first page of the book he had handed to me. Whatever it was about I was kind of excited to dick in. Every two hours I would go down for a cig and occasionally a glass of water. Didn’t eat anything except avocados. They sustain you for a long time and are delicious with salt. Just be careful some of the avocados are bad inside and will give you diarrhea. It isn’t very comfortable to go to the bathroom every ten minutes during a shift with your boss around. Next I had collected 330 dollars earning eleven dollars for myself. Which is a personal record of mine. I knew I could do better. Catch 22 was a real witty book I didn’t know what I had to learn from it. Each day I would come back to work my boss wouldn’t mention the book. He would just keep yelling for ten 12 hours straight like a muezzin standing on the top of the tower calling to prayer. He was insane. During the day his temple would pulsate like an angry cat who had catched syphilis. Sometimes his lips would be blue and he would have to sit down. Whenever that occurred shortly after he would pull up a small orange container from his pocket and down some pills. He must have had a heart disease or something. I wouldn’t get involved though. He never brought it up himself. So I figured he must have had a good reason to keep low profile. It wasn’t my fight to fight. Four times a day I would go further away with some of the other youngsters trying to make it as a fruit parlor. I was doing the worst but who really cares. It was no competition. I was just trying to make a living.

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i-llbedammned · 5 years ago

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So I may have gotten a little bit out of control with the idea of time travel and written up some Good Omens fluff and smut because of it.

Title: August 1984

Word Count: 4034

Summary:Set in the year 1984, Crowley and Aziraphale meet in a bar. Aziraphale has a long seated idea that he has in his head and he wants to try and explain Oscar Wilde to his dear friend Crowley. However how is one supposed to focus when there are several millennia of tension between you?Inspired by the album Purple Rain by Prince.

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19972843 Fic below

August 1984

Crowley slunk about the back of a bar dressed in a black leather coat and trousers, his usual bar the one with the dark wood and the windows out front that overlooked the most lovely garden. It was a hot summer with the flowers, gardenias on the window sill, giving off the most satisfying smell. He was greatly enjoying the smell of them, particularly because he thought that he would never be able to smell anything ever again after the incident last week. That nosy bastard Beezlebub had been asking after him and his business, poking and prodding around. He swore that they were going to flay him on the spot, which would be most inconvenient and require a whole lot of paperwork and pain that he was not in the mood for. Luckily for him, he had a quick mind and had told Beezlebub that he was in a most delicate situation and needed to fan the flames of cocaine addiction in America without supervision. He didn’t of course, the humans sought it out enough on their own, but it got him out of trouble and that was the important part.

The whole world was feeling wonderful and warm right now, just enough to where he wished he could stretch out on a rock and relax for a bit in the sun. It was perhaps a bit reptilian, but considering how much humans liked going to the beach he hardly thought that he was alone in that desire. His gangly legs splayed out on to another chair as he watched bugs crawl over the leaves and idlly heard some married man spill sweet nothings to a man who was not his wife at the bar. He likely shouldn’t be drunk at 3 in the afternoon, but there was going to be footy game later and he didn’t want to miss the fights then by being drunk.

“Ah! Crowley! What are you doing here?” came a soft voice from the doorway. His teased out hair bobbed over his eyes as he turned to face one angel Aziraphale, who was dressed most unsuitably for this bar in a pastel blue striped linen suit with a light pink shirt underneath. His white-blonde hair was very tall and slicked back. The various rough and tumbles in black leather and torn jeans looked at him with suspicion but didn’t question it as he took a seat at Crowley’s table.

“Yes, what would I be doing in my favorite bar?” Crowley drawled, pouring Aziraphale a glass of whiskey and pushing it towards him, “The real question is what are you doing here, angel?”

The other man, for today he certainly was presenting as a man, grinned a small grin, his eyes flicking to the side at Crowley as he spoke, “Well, I just so happen to be in the area doing a small bit of business helping a poor family find their faith again by getting jobs in the arts like they always wanted and I thought I would stop by and have a small drink to whet my whistle.”

With a gulp he drank the whiskey and without asking Crowley poured him a double noting, “Well if you want to whet your whistle with me you better catch up. I have a bit of a head start and don’t intend on slowing down once I get a second glass.”

Aziraphale gladly drank the whiskey, breathing it out with a sharp sigh and a wince. He placed a hand upon Crowley’s fishnet gloved one before the demon could pour another shot, “As kind as your offer is of free alcohol, I was wondering if you would rather drink something a bit more gentle back at the bookshop for a bit. There is a lovely volume of Oscar Wilde I would love to discuss with you.”

“Oscar Wilde? Come on, angel, you know I don’t like to read. It’s boring and,” he began and then he stopped himself. Aziraphale’s hand was still on his and there was a look in his eyes that shone like all the hope in the world rested upon his shoulders.

“I could, maybe read to you then? Explain the parts that seem too tedious?” Aziraphale’s voice was low, as if the very nature of being asked to read Wilde to his friend was scandalous.

“You got a record player?” Crowley asked, his shaded eyes not looking at his friend and instead looking at the bar, trying to challenge any onlookers to try and start something with him and this prep.

“Yes, I do.” The blonde haired man looked confused, but eager as he put his hands back on his lap. Whatever Crowley was up to, he was game. “I’ll let you explain Wilde to me if you do me two favors.”

“One, you have to let me show you Queen on the record player, and two,” Crowley poured another double for his friend, “Drink up. We have to be even-stevens going into this.”

Aziraphale grimaced at the whiskey, but then drank it quickly before giggling, “It’s a date then.”

They walked alongside each other, both shining brightly in the sun though Crowley couldn’t tell if that was Aziraphale’s natural glow or just an effect of him always wearing bright colors in the sun. The angel always looked so utterly at peace with the world around him that it made the demon a bit envious at times. The only moments of peace were the small ones he could steal when the higher ups weren’t paying any attention to him and certainly he wasn’t ever able to seem like he enjoyed his life. Who could imagine the scandal of a demon actually enjoying something without trying to torment anyone over it?

Aziraphale was grinning up at the birds and Crowley allowed himself a small smile upon seeing the joy on the other man’s face. In that moment he was truly alive, watching the birds flit about the rooftops and merrily chatting about a book he really enjoyed recently. The red headed man knew he would be banished to a deep, dark level of Hell if they ever caught him associating with an angel- so deep and dark that the light of Heaven and of Aziraphale himself would never be able to find him. And that was merely for associating, never mind the dirty thoughts that sometimes danced through his mind where he imagined himself making love to the great angel gently and passionately.

Love! Why the very idea didn’t suit a demon in the slightest! He would be fine if they just thought he was fucking an angel, that sort of thing was perfect for corrupting a pure soul, but he would certainly never be allowed to have feelings or to treat him gently. Why such a thing would be sacrilege – if such a concept even still existed in Hell.

“….And so he has been truly underrated in the modern age where people feel like his language is too old fashioned. Wilde is loved for his wit but the depth of his plays can still be appreciated even today even aside from the pithy quotes.” Continued Aziraphale as he opened up the glass doors of his shop. He looked embarrassedly down as Crowley strode in, “Sorry for the ramble. I just find Wilde to be a very intriguing author.”

Throwing himself upon the brown leather couch near the record player Crowley raised his eyebrows, “No need to apologize. It’s good to listen to you ramble, I suppose, in a kind of nerdy way.” He grinned in a cheeky way and his compatriot continued on as if everything was fine.

“One moment, I will return.” The soft voiced angel flitted into the other room, his footsteps slowly fading from earshot.

Removing his glasses, Crowley let his slitted eyes scan the shelves, finally locating the record player shoved away in the corner. With a grumbling effort, he got up and looked at the record in the player. To his surprise it was not anything classical, but instead Prince’s Purple Rain record. That was indeed interesting. Aziraphale hardly seemed like he was a Prince sort of being, what with the soul of the music being something that Heaven most definitely would not approve of. Perhaps years of being on Earth had finally given him taste.

He flicked the switch on and dropped the needle into place and “Let’s Go Crazy” started playing. With a dramatic flair he once more began lounging on the couch with his legs splayed open. The sounds of Prince sounded through the air and Crowley sang along,

“All excited but we don't know why Maybe it's 'cause we're all gonna die And when we do, what's it all for Better live now before the grim reaper Come knocking on your door”

Go crazy, he only wished he could. Not actually crazy mind you. He didn’t want to be someone shoving heads on pikes or pulling out their own hair. No, the fun kind of crazy where you got drunk and banged your best friend without hesitation. Normally he was a bit more controlled with these thoughts, but the whiskey was running nicely through his system and right now all he wanted to do was pry himself out of these leather pants and beg Aziraphale to have his way with him. Wouldn’t that be a sight? Aziraphale running off to get a book at then coming back to find Crowley naked on his couch. He wondered what the supposedly pure angel would do, would he be repulsed or would he enjoy it.

But no, he didn’t want to alienate the poor dear. He certainly thought that surprise stripping would be a one-way ticket to banishment and considering the fact that he had barely managed to get back in his good graces a loss of Aziraphale was not something he wanted to live through again. The fall didn’t hurt half so much as being unable to speak to him even though he kept seeing him everywhere he went.

Book in hand and a bottle of wine in the other, Aziraphale returned and blushed deeply upon hearing the record player and seeing Crowley splayed out. That got a wicked grin from the demon as he relished the way that the angel’s blue eyes lingered upon him,

“You have better taste than I gave you credit for,” he said casually, though of course he didn't mean it casually. He was genuinely surprised.

“That- oh that is just a new record. I thought I would give it a shot since it is so popular.” Hurriedly the preppy angel turned off the record player and took a seat next to Crowley, leaning up against him so that their shoulders touched.

“And what do you think of it?” Crowley asked, taking the bottle of wine, popping it open with a twist of his talons in the cork, and snagging two glasses off the shelves where they had left them a previous week.

“I think in the right company it must be lovely,” Aziraphale took the glass of wine and clinked his lightly against Crowley’s, “Cheers then. To good stories.”

The red wine tasted of vanilla and had notes of almond in it, giving it a sweet taste as it slid over Crowley’s tongue. “Now what I enjoy about Lady Windermere’s Fan is that it discusses morality in an interesting way. Take this quote for example, it says “I think life too complex a thing to be settled by these hard and fast rules”. In the context they are talking about the dynamics between men and women, but I feel like the concept of a complicated world is one that we can carry into all of our lives.”

“You mean like a demon and an angel being friends?” Crowley stared at the nape of Aziraphale’s neck, wondering just how fast he could undo that thin blue tie and unbutton the shirt. If he kept drinking like this, he just might give it a shot even if he would regret it later. Another sip of wine went down his throat.

“A bit like that, yes.” Aziraphale shifted in his seat, taking in a deep breath to steady himself. Nervously he licked his lips. “But I always took it to mean that perhaps our concepts of good and evil aren’t quite what you think they are. That perhaps angels can be a bit wicked and perhaps demons can be a bit good. Like the yin-yang concept, but taken in a very literal sense” “Demons are never good,” grumbled Crowley, his eyes looking away as he remembered the years of pain and of being told how corrupt he was by everyone but Aziraphale, “Especially not at resisting temptations.” “Ah!” The angel’s blue eyes lit up with hope, ““I can resist everything but temptation!” I see you have read this one before.”

The wicked grin returned to Crowley’s face, “Not quite, but I do know temptations well.”

“Oh I know exactly what you mean!” The angel’s face was animated, leaning in closer to Crowley as he gripped the book tightly to his chest, not even bothering to open it, “It is just like Lord Darlington and Lady Windermere is it not?”

“Yeah, sure. Just like them,” Though honestly Crowley had no idea. He had never read this book before in his life and honestly he was wishing he had left the Prince album on rather than being roped into a literary discussion. “Do you think she should have run away with him? Left behind her stuffy husband for an exciting new man?” Aziraphale’s face was inches away from Crowley’s and he indulgently breathed in the scent of Cool Water and wine.

“Well it’s probably not the safest idea, but it certainly would be more fun for her and it’s not like her husband would immediately know unless she told him.” Mostly unconsciously, Crowley moved closer, experimentally bumping his crooked nose against Aziraphale’s.

“I was so hoping you would say that,” whispered the other breathlessly as he leaned forward and crossed the remaining space, pressing his lip gently to the other’s.

The feeling was immediate and overwhelming. Thousands of years of pent up emotions all wanted to surface at once. His heart felt like it would burst out of his chest merely from that chaste kiss. Crowley responded back in kind, pressing himself more urgently to the other, moving a hand up to cradle his jaw.

Aziraphale parted lips and gently placed the book on the side table next to the couch, reaching past Crowley who nipped at his ear and bit him down the sides of his neck, earning him a soft laugh. With a giggle Aziraphale responded in kind, snapping his fingers. In an instant both of them were suddenly gendered, both male for this time around, and the windows of the shop were blessedly closed.

“Wait, angel, aren’t you worried about me corrupting you?” Crowley asked in a daze, wondering if this was really happening or it was instead a wonderful dream, feeling his new found manhood twitch to life as the angel’s hands ran over his crotch and he suppressed a moan as teeth bit lightly at his neck.

“Let me worry about that, my dear.” The blond crooned, into his ear, gently digging his nails into the back of his head, “For now, just let me give you this moment. We’ll worry about what will happen later when it is later. I do not think that the world will begrudge us this one moment.”

“All it takes is a moment to fall, angel.” It pained him greatly to stop this close to what he had wanted for thousands of years, but the last thing he wanted on his conscience was to have the grace snuffed out from the light of his life due to his careless desires.

A petulant sigh and a look of annoyance crossed on the angel’s face as he was once more interrupted, “A moment of perfect love and perfect trust will not be begrudged by Heaven. I have checked with several scholars who seem to be of this mind and since the Almighty is keeping mum, I think discretion falls to me. Unless of course, you object?” His heart looked as if it would break through his gaze if the answer was no.

“Angel, I have not objected to this for a couple thousand years,” Crowley answered, kissing him again and again, letting his tongue run over the other man’s lips. The angel responded by stripping out of his suit jacket and tossing it to the side.

Lips met lips and Crowley melted into it, pulling Aziraphale onto his lap, wrapping his legs around the other man. Now that the go ahead was given he didn’t hesitate, rolling his hips gently and feeling the sharp tug of the leather pushing against his cock as he rocked back and forth. Deft hands undid Aziraphale’s tie and unbuttoned his shirt slowly. With each inch of flesh exposed he moved his lips down to kiss the soft flesh, relishing the sheen of hair on the angel’s body.

Blood pulsed through him and his whole body felt like it was on fire as his friend, ran his hand underneath the black shirt to stroke his stomach. Well that would never do with the jacket in the way, so Crowley tossed off his leather jacket flinging it somewhere else. Seeing more flesh exposed, Aziraphale began to run kisses up his arms, starting at his hands and ending with licks at the base of his neck.

Angelic hands unbuttoned Crowley’s trousers and the little self-restraint he had was gone as Aziraphale wrapped a hand firmly around his shaft, gently squeezing it under the trousers as . A low, deep moan came from his mouth as he reached down to try and free the angel from the restraint of his own trousers.

“No,” Aziraphale moved his hands away, making Crowley hiss with annoyance. “Let me service you first. Then I will claim you.”

“Service, what-“ Crowley began, but Aziraphale was already pulling the black T-shirt over his head and was slowly moving downward with his kisses raining down upon his chest and abs. Oh, that’s what he meant. The angel knelt upon the ground and moved Crowley’s legs to accommodate him. Strong hands pulled his trousers down and Crowley was glad he didn’t wear smallclothes that day. It at first had been merely to uphold his look, but this was so much more pleasant.

His cock, now unrestrained, grew to its full length under the angel’s ministrations. He licked up and down the shaft, causing Crowley to hiss softly with every new contact, closing his eyes because if he had to look at that sight he just might pop off that second. It was all soft, wet, and hot as Aziraphale placed the cock into his mouth.

There it was, that lovely blonde head bobbing up and down on his cock. He leaned back into the couch, bucking his hips experimentally. A soft moan issued from the angel so he did it again. And again. He kept thrusting, digging his taloned hands into Aziraphale’s hair. A passion coiled up in his stomach, in his balls as he moved his hips gratefully against the tongue and eager mouth. His breath echoed raggedly as he cried out Fuck with every thrust, fucking the angel’s face until he came rough and hard with a loud cry. God, he hoped God and Satan heard him cry as well as any of those toughs down at the bar. Hot cum spilled into the angel’s mouth and the sight alone was almost enough to make Crowley cum all over again.

As his cock wilted and he gasped for air that he didn’t even really need to breathe, Aziraphale spat the whole mess into a bin. Quickly rinsing his mouth with wine, he returned to give Crowley kisses that tasted of cum, grapes, and almonds. Softly he groaned and as Crowley regained a semblance of composure, he moved his hands to unbutton the blue striped trousers that Aziraphale was wearing as the angel shrugged off the unbuttoned shirt he had been wearing.

Aziraphale had given himself a girthier length than Crowley, but not as long. A halo of soft hair surrounded his manhood and under the smallclothes Crowley ran a hand through the curls that were there. “Now it’s your turn, yeah?” The demon raised an eyebrow.

“In a moment,” panted Aziraphale, parting once more and stepping out of his small clothes. He went over to the record player and flipped over the record, letting the sounds of Prince singing “I Would Die 4 U” rain over the bookshop. He returned back the couch, kissing Crowley deeply as they explored each other’s bodies fully. Every inch of skin had to be touched with gently hands and the soft scraping of talons and nails. Gently, the rounder man pushed the thinner one back til the demon lay flat against the couch.

“Think you have the right company for this album now?” Crowley moaned as Aziraphale plunged a finger into his bum.

“None better for it. I might actually enjoy the music now,” quipped the angel. Soft hands guided his hips over, gently teasing the hole til it was properly warmed up. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Crowley and even though Crowley had taken it much rougher from others the last thing he wanted was to have his first time with Aziraphale be over too quickly. Hell’s preferences for what he should do in bed be damned.

As his best friend entered into him, the demon found himself getting strangely emotional. It wasn’t rough lust or anger, that would be understandable. No it was something, soft, delicate even. The kisses that the angel gave him were gentle, twisting things that made him want to cry with how slowly he dragged his lips over the other’s. It was almost as if he was worshipping, like the whole act was an act of ascension that the other was doing. Crowley arched his head back, groaning with pleasure as each thrust brought him closer to a second orgasm. “Crowley,” the angel whispered softly, caressing his shoulders, his arms, his neck, “Why you beautiful creature you.”

“I’m not beautiful, angel. You’re just in a sex-induced haze.” Crowley sniped, trying to get that delicate feeling that made him want to cry to leave him.

A lazy smile crossed Aziraphale’s face as he thrust deeply into Crowley, sending a shudder through the demon’s body, “You just think you aren’t because you can’t see yourself now. Sprawled out on my couch, mouth agape, hair splayed out like a halo around you. You are just so good.” His breath came out in ragged gasps, “So kind. So selfless, like a work of art.”

“Art? Like a Michalangelo?” Given their past history, it only seemed fitting even though it was perhaps a bit tacky to bring up an ex in the middle of making love.

“Like a Wilde.” Moaned the book keeper, a devious smile also on his face and undeterred, “Oh sweet Crowley, I love you.”

There it was, the magic phrase that send him shaking and soaring to another orgasm as Aziraphale followed shortly after. Love. A verbal acknowledgment of that which he had felt for so long, moaned in the throes of an act that both had ached to do for ages. Tears, unbidden, not of pain but of beauty sprang to his golden eyes. It was like being forgiven, even if only for a moment.

“Oh. Oh no.” Soft hands touched his angular face, “Crowley are you upset? You are crying.”

“I’m not. Just got a bit of sweat in my eye.” He responded, with a grin surprisingly genuine as he wiped away any traces. Together they lay out on the couch, positively glowing despite the fact that no sunlight could reach them buried as they were in the bookshop. There would be Hell to pay come tomorrow, but today he could grab this small piece of Heaven. This small piece of Heaven who loved him.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #fanfic #ALL THE FEELS

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kpopfanfictrash · 7 years ago

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Blackjack (III)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Jungkook

Rating: 18+

Warning: past physical / verbal abuse, past familial abuse, PTSD

Word Count: 5,356

Summary: Bangtan is one of the most vicious mafias on the west coast. Only six members are known by name though, with a mysterious seventh member dubbed only as ‘the shadow.’ When you become indebted to the worst of the worst – how, exactly can you find a way out?

“I,” you swallow, staring back at him. “I need to go.”

Surprise crosses Jungkook’s expression. “You – what? Need to go, now?”

Nodding, you bend and grab your clutch from the ground. Cheeks heating up, you adjust your skirt lower on your thighs. “This was a mistake,” you say, struggling to stay firm in your decision. “We shouldn’t have done this.”

Jungkook stares back at you, his expression unreadable. “I don’t understand.”

“That’s – you don’t have to,” you mutter, looking past.

You now realize now how foolish this was. How dangerous it was to be together, out in the open – anyone could have walked past, anyone could have seen. Thinking this, you glance over your shoulder. No one is there. No one you can see, anyways.

Jungkook has not moved from his place on the sidewalk. He only looks at you, gaze calculating in a way which reminds you who he is. Not that you ever forgot, really. It is only that when you are with him, Jungkook is never what you expect him to be. He is a part of Bangtan, a man who calls himself the Shadow and you thought this would make him cold, unfeeling. While it is true Jungkook is biting – it is true, he withholds, he has never pushed you for that you do not wish to give. He has never asked for something he would not hand over in turn. Jungkook does not shackle you to him, which is exactly what you have come to fear from men like him.

Jungkook watches you carefully though, and you find yourself remembering both who he is and what he is capable of. Jungkook is a man bred for carnage, born with deception in his blood. He understands humans, understands their inner workings – and so he understands you, or at least, in part. Drawing upon a long-lost part of yourself, you shutter your expression. You fight to feign boredom, shrugging a shoulder.

“You don’t have to understand,” you respond tersely. “You just need to know this happened before, but not again.”

The corner of Jungkook’s mouth lifts. “I think I’ve heard you say that before.”

You do not react, fighting to stifle the warmth rushing through you. “I didn’t mean it before. I do now.”

Jungkook’s brow furrows in confusion. “You do mean it,” he says.

Looking away, you shift your weight to your heels. “I need to go.”

“You said that before, too,” Jungkook counters, although quieter. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?” When you stiffen, he sighs. “That’s rare. I could make you stay, you know. It’s what most in my position would do. It’s probably what you fear I will do. I’ve been told who to be before, though and would not presume to do the same to you.”

It is growing more and more difficult not to react to his words. Jungkook speaks quietly, without deception.

“Thank you,” you say, automatic – you, also, despise being told who you are.

“Can I just ask...” Jungkook seems almost hesitant. “Is it me?”

The question is so human, such a normal thing that in the moment, you are shocked into telling the truth.

“No,” you blurt – wincing, when you realize what you have said. You should have lied and said yes, it is him. Should have insisted you felt nothing – in short, you should have lied. It would have been far simpler to leave things like that.

“Then,” Jungkook begins, but you interrupt.

“It’s interesting,” you say, taking a step closer. “You say you hate being told what to do, but are currently employed by Bangtan. Not just employed, but are head of their most insurmountable tasks – the worst things possible. I can’t imagine Namjoon gives much choice when telling you what to do.”

Jungkook’s eyes narrow. “Not,” he says, chest rising and falling, “that it’s any of your business – but I choose to work for Namjoon. He offers me a choice in all things I do and I only proceed with the request if in agreement. And,” he adds, shaking his head, “I don’t think you know what I do. Hoseok is the brute force of the operations, not me.”

You pause, since that is interesting. Normally, there are two ways to become Head of a mafia. The first is through intelligence – determined thinking, strategic planning and striking while the iron is hot. The second is strength – killing, beating and bruising your way to the top. Both demand fear though, intimidation at best. Rarely respect, which is how Jungkook speaks of Namjoon.

“Well,” you swallow, looking back down. “Like you said, it’s none of my business.”

When you turn around, Jungkook’s hand finds your wrist. His fingers wrap around you, making you weak enough to look over your shoulder. Jungkook stares back, softer than you imagined.

“I would never force you to stay,” he informs you quietly. “But I’d like you to.”

When you do not respond, he lets go. Jungkook stares at you before nodding, turning around to blend into the alley. You stare as he leaves, walking into the darkness. Your breath feels heavy, trembling fingers pulling out your phone. Precisely seven minutes pass before your Uber arrives and you climb into its backseat. Your body is numb, as though the events of the past twenty-four hours have left their mark. Sinking lower, you rest your head on the seatrest.

After a quick text to Lena, you set your phone down to stare out the window. If you had not attended the party, this never not have happened. You would never have met Jungkook, but then – you hesitate. It is true; your current life is one you worked hard to attain. You have fought tirelessly to ensure your existence is untraceable. To be certain you cannot be found, that your status remains unknown.

It seems that if you were a reasonable sort of person, you would not have gone to this party. Not with your history, what you know and what you have done. If you had truly not wanted to go, Lena would not have insisted. You agreed though, you attended their parties and played into their games. It should have been obvious to you that Jungkook was not a cop. A cop that Taehyung did nothing about? A cop who got past security? Bullshit.

Which then begs the question, why? Why did you agree? Why did you go and sit down at Jeon Jungkook’s table? Maybe you are just tired of running. Maybe you did not want to hide and for a moment, you consider asking the Uber to turn around. If you returned and found Jungkook, you know what would happen next. You would tell him you want him; you would ask him to stay. Instead, you shake your head no and sink low in your seat. There is a large part of you which wants to, but a larger part screams of self-preservation – not from Jungkook though, nor from Bangtan.

As always, you remain scared of the Vine.

The Vine is the rival mafia of Bangtan, the one which does all that their name implies – they choke out the life of everyone in their path. It does not matter to them if you are innocent or not; anyone who stands in their way disappears. You have been there yourself, have had their noose around your neck – this is what led you to disappear in the first place, before they could kill you.

Eyes opening, you stare out at the road. Being associated with Bangtan places your freedom in jeopardy because the Vine will find you, if you continue like this. Which begs the question – do you want to be found? You are certainly acting like it. Considering this, you shiver. It is a morbid daydream of yours; what should happen if the Vine ever found you. What would happen if they ever caught wind of your new name, your new life and new friends. The images are never pretty, no matter which way you think about it.

If the Vine finds you, they will show you no mercy. It is as much for Jungkook’s sake as your own that you push him away.

Sleep does not come easily that night.

The air is acidic.

It burns yellow-hot, although you find yourself unable to identify the source. Your height has shrunk, barely even with the end table you hide behind. The man is yelling again. You know he has a real name, have been told this many times before but in your mind, he is only the man. It is easier like this, easier than pretending he is anything close to your dad.

Your dad was a good man, a kind man. He was not the wealthiest of men, but when he was alive your family was happy. Your nights were filled with TV and games, him swinging your brother by his arms while your mother held you tight on the sofa. When your dad died though, things changed. Your household income disappeared overnight. Your mother had not gone to college and was forced to take odd jobs to make ends meet.

You were alone most of the time – at home by yourself, or with your brother. He was forced to become the man of the household, forced to become both protector and role model for you. He shielded you from things your mother brought into the house – willingly, or unwillingly. Her descent began small. Your mother drank the occasional glass of wine with her dinner. Just one glass but when your father died, it became two. This became three and three became a bottle. When wine failed to dull the pain she added cigarettes, then marijuana. Anything – everything, to escape.

When this was not enough, harder things dribbled in. Designer drugs, club drugs, cocaine and heroin. Anything your mother could get her hands on – which turned out to be a lot, once she started dating the man. The man was tall, blonde; you always thought he looked rather like a sewer rat, bleached from the gutter. He was kind at first, courting your mother with sweet words and empty gestures.

Once he was firmly engrained in your lives though, once your mother was hooked beyond repair, he showed his true colors. The man hated you and your brother; you both were reminders of your dad. Your mother thought about things other than him when she looked at you, and the man did not like that. He beat you for it, punished you for this silent transgression.

Your mother protested occasionally, but most times she was too drunk to notice. Those were the nights you feared most, the nights which gave you your scars – both physical and not. Typically, your brother took the brunt of things, would step forward when the man’s belt slid into his hands. It was why his scars tripled your own, although you still had your fair share of thin, silvery stripes criss-crossing your arms.

Staring down the hall, you shiver behind the table while you try to remain silent despite the tears on your cheeks. Your hands clutch wood, hoping he will miss you hiding here. Hoping he will not think to look, because tonight is a night where you sense beating Jay will not be enough.

No, Jay is already groaning and you know he will continue until your brother cannot flee. Then the man will turn, coming for you. This thought makes the tears flow harder, struggling to wrap your mind around the why of the matter. Jay’s screams have quieted, long faded to broken whimpers upon the linoleum floor. You wonder if he bleeds, if you will have to bandage him later tonight, when the man falls asleep on the couch.

Heavy footsteps reach your ears, stumbling down the hall – footsteps you recognize, since they now look for you. It is paralyzing when the man walks into the room. He scans each piece of furniture, smiling when he sees your crouched form behind the couch.

“C’mon out,” he whispers, walking forward. “You think you can run from me – think you can hide? Your brother can’t protect you,” he grunts, reaching to grasp your nightgown, despite your squirming, “and neither can your daddy – because why? Why, bitch?”

The man bends, grip bruising as the stench of alcohol enters your nostrils. You try to move, try to get away but find it impossible. He is too strong, too fast for you, and you are too small.

“Because he’s dead,” the man informs you, his gaze hazy, “But then why,” he hisses, “is there a picture of him beneath your mommy’s bed? Hm?”

The man draws back a hand, tangled tattoo peering out from his sleeve, and –

Your eyes fly open.

Someone is screaming. Someone is screaming, likely in danger – but the noise cuts off, when you realize it is you. You are the one screaming, and you clamp a hand over your mouth, shaking into your mattress. Your body is damp with sweat; it soaks through your clothes, through the sheets. Your hands clutch for your chest, then your face – you stare at trembling fingers which come away wet. You are crying. It is all too often your dreams make you cry and rather than face the world, you turn in on yourself. You pull your knees tighter. Rocking yourself gently, you multiply prime numbers in your head.

2 x 3 = 6.

3 x 5 = 15.

5 x 7 = 35.

7 x 11 = 77.

11 x 13 = 143.

Slowly, your body begins to soothe itself. Your breathing eases, staring hard at the wall. It has been a long time since you had that dream. It has been a long time since the nightmare and its resurgence leaves you shivering. It is all too clear; you can still see his face, still know the way it twisted with anger. You can still smell the stench of that room and – trembling once more, you force your eyes shut.

13 x 17 = 221.

When you open your eyes, you stare at your hands. The marks are faint but still visible. The ones on your thighs are worse, like those on your back. Thick, broad stripes where his belt cut into flesh. It is one of the main reasons you push people away. Jungkook must have seen them, must have wondered – but then again, maybe he just knew what they meant.

In Jungkook’s line of work, he must know. Scares of that maturity, that depth tend to indicate – inhaling sharply, you cut off the thought. It was a kindness that he did not ask. The source of scars is information offered, not taken. You appreciate that Jungkook pretended nothing was wrong.

Something is wrong, though – or it was, before you managed to escape. You are aware of this each time that you dress. Each time you look at yourself in the mirror you are aware of your past. It marks you, leaves weights you are unwilling, or unable to shed. Not that you have not tried. The moment you turned eighteen, you left that life entirely. Jay was still in college back then – community, so he could watch over you. He was twenty-two, in his final semester of school and old enough to start planning for ‘someday.’

With Jay, it was always ‘someday.’ Someday, the two of you would be free. Someday, he would get a legitimate career. Someday, Jay would be important, would kill the man for the things done to you. While you waited for someday, Jay got himself struck. Strapped for cash, unable to support himself, or you – he found himself working for the very people you despised. The Vine.

You remember crying when he came home with the tattoo. When you saw it immortalized on his arm, the symbol of everything you hated; you cried. It was as though he had forgotten what it meant to you, what the sight of that tatoo beating you could look like. Jay said he did not forget, but was biding his time. He needed to gain the organization’s trust, infiltrate the edges – and ‘someday’ he would dismantle it from the inside.

The only problem was, the day never came. Jay began working for them when he was sixteen. By the time he turned twenty-two, Jay was firmly within their clutches. He was higher than when he started and further entwined. Jay was part of the very thing you despised, so when you turned eighteen, you made the hardest decision of your life and left it all.

The brother you loved, the life you once knew; you disappeared. With the help of a local police officer – a good, kind woman you knew from your high school – you started anew. Now, it is years later and you find yourself at the same crossroads. Curling in on the bed, you struggle to control your rising panic.

By having Jungkook and Bangtan around, the memories have become inescapable. It is why you cannot be with him, why you must stay away. Drifting back into sleep, one hand reaches across the pillow – since the deepest, wispy parts of yourself are well-aware who you search for.

Jungkook; a shadow to stave off the night.

“I don’t understand.” Lena’s brow furrows. “I thought you and Jungkook hit it off. Didn’t you guys leave together that night of the party?”

Wincing, you continue to stir your coffee. “Yes – and no.”

“Yes and no?” Lena’s lips quirk. “That’s the kind of thing you typically know the answer to, Y/N.”

Exhaling again, you glance out the window. The day is rainy; an odd gloom to the air which matches your thoughts. “Yes, I left with him,” you say, then hesitate. “But no, I didn’t go home with him.”

Lena arches a brow. “God, this is like pulling teeth. What?”

Somewhat unwittingly, you groan. “I – uh, we –”

“You fucked?” Lena supplies.

“Lena,” you gasp, appalled. “I mean, yes, but –”

Lena claps her hands. “I knew it! You two are so in love. But then what did you mean by,” she pauses, frowning. “How did the two of you fuck, if you didn’t go home – oh my god!” she shrieks.

“Shut up,” you say, leaning across the table to grab her fluttering hands. It is hard to control yourself at Lena’s expression. “Don’t say it out loud!” you cry, nearly hiccupping with laughter.

Lena cackles, entire body shaking leaning back in her chair. “Oh my god,” she gasps, bolting upright. “You and Jungkook fucked in an alley. No – in a car! On the sidewalk?” she asks, grinning at your expression.

Burying your face in your hands, you mutter, “Behind a truck in the parking lot.”

“Holy shit, that’s hot.” Lena stirs her cup thoughtfully. “I wonder if Taehyung would –”

“Oh my god,” you say, wrinkling your nose. “I don’t need to hear more about his elephant dong – not in public, nor in private, thanks.”

Lena nearly spits out her coffee. “He’s not that big! I mean, yeah – he’s big. Like, the biggest I’ve ever been with but...” She stops when you start to mime vomiting. “You were the one who asked!”

“I’m sorry,” you cough, blinking innocently. “Do I know you? Were you saying something?”

“No,” Lena says. “But you were describing he time Jungkook fucked you behind a truck.”

You groan, lowering your head again to your hands. “No, I wasn’t.”

Lena continues as though you have not spoken. “Okay, but that sounds hot as hell. Why – o-oh,” she nods, sage. “Was he bad? Is Jungkook bad? Taehyung made a bet with me that someone as pretty as Jungkook couldn’t possibly be good in bed.”

Somewhat stunned, you peer at Lena in between fingertips. “Taehyung said that?” you ask, incredulous. “He’s one to talk.”

Lena smiles serenely back at you. “You think he’s pretty, I knew it. Taehyung will be so pleased.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you say, grabbing your coffee. “But, no – that’s not it. Jungkook is, well...” You shiver. “He’s amazing.”

Lena’s eyebrows shoot so high, they practically disappear. “Wow, did you just have an orgasm thinking about him?” With a yelp, she dodges the sugar packet you throw her way. “What was that for?”

“Stop,” you snort, clutching your mug. “You’re too much.”

“Fine, fine.” Lena waves this concern aside. “In all seriousness though, if the sex is great, what’s the problem? Do you not like him, is that it? Is Jungkook a dick?”

“No,” you mutter, looking down at the table. “He’s not a dick. Jungkook, despite what he does, seems like a good guy.”

“Then...” Lena trails off, seeming perplexed. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Yeah,” you agree, biting down on your lip. “I know it’s strange. There just are things about his life which won’t work with mine. All this, his world – Jungkook is better off without me.”

“Without you?” Lena frowns. “Why do you make it sound like you’re the shadow here, and Jungkook is the one who needs protection? I could see if it was the other way around but he’s a part of Bangtan, Y/N,” Lena points out. “I think he can take care of himself. Whatever it is you’re not saying, I think he’d want to know.”

Toying with your cup, you frown. Sometimes it can be annoying, how perceptive Lena is. You think this is why she and Taehyung work so well together. Both of them are perceptive, annoying and intelligent as hell.

“Why does everyone need to be honest?” you blurt. “Why is the truth always better? Some things should be left hidden, some things are more dangerous out in the open. All Jungkook needs to know is that we can’t be together – and that’s it.”

Lena reluctantly sits back. “Fine,” she allows. “I can accept that. But you should know, Taehyung told me Jungkook is upset. He’s been moping around for weeks – which, for Jungkook, must be a real shit-show. If you’re putting him through the wringer for some stupid reason, you’re a crueler person than I thought, Y/N.”

For a moment, you pause. Maybe Lena is right; maybe you are being stupid. It has been years since you belonged to the Vine, after all. It has been years since you even stepped foot in that part of town. They may have forgotten all about you by now, or perhaps they do not care.

This notion is quickly dashed when you remember how easily Jay was pulled into their ways. Jay, who once hated the Vine, now firmly within them. You do not know if Jay is even alive – this thought always makes you nauseous – but if he is, you know he will care. Jay will always care about you. Once you belong to the Vine, you belong for good. Once you are marked by the Vine, you do not ever leave.

Lifting your gaze, you meet Lena’s. “No,” you answer, solemn. “It’s not for a stupid reason.”

Lena surveys you, then nods. “Okay. I’ll stop giving you shit for it, then – and Y/N,” she adds, softening.

“Yeah, Len?” you sigh, stirring your cup.

“I’m sorry.” Lena’s mouth tenses. “If I forced you into this, somehow… I feel like this is my fault, the entire situation. I’m sorry if I made you sad, or brought something up you don’t want to talk about.”

“Oh,” you exhale, not having realized you were being so obvious. Trying to deflect, you force yourself to smile. “This isn’t your fault, Lena. Or were you the one who taught Jungkook to be so great in bed?”

“Actually, Taehyung –”

“Oh, hell no,” you interrupt.

Lena chuckles, sliding both hands around her cup. “Okay, how about this – you aren’t invited to any more Bangtan events. From now on, you know Taehyung as my boyfriend and nothing more.”

“Alright,” you sigh, leaning back in your seat. You are unsure why this thought does not make you happy. “I couldn’t agree with you more.”

The next week, it rains.

All day it rains, until the world is a sodden mess of grays and blues and browns. You leave each morning for work, come home each night and lose track of all the time in between. It is hard for you to shake the idea you are being followed. It must be paranoia, since you have not seen, nor heard from, another member of Bangtan within the past week. You have barely seen Lena, having been so busy at work.

The rain lends itself to your mood, though. It is only the rain making you feel this way; it could not be Bangtan, nor could it be that you have not seen Jungkook in over two weeks. It has barely been that long, and you are still trying to convince yourself the separation was a good idea. Sitting at home on a Friday night, you stare blankly at your TV and hope – although what you are hoping for, you do not know.

The rain comes down in spurts. One second it drizzles; the next, a full-on monsoon. It is hard to keep the volume of your television steady – wincing, you turn it down only for the rain to increase and you turn it back up.

You are in the middle of a marathon of Friends when a knock sounds at your door. Body freezing on the couch, you lower the remote to the table. You are not expecting visitors – Lena works a double shift tonight and she is the only person who would show up unannounced.

Unless – stomach twisting, you stand from the sofa. Any other name which comes to mind is not a good one and lowering your blanket, you glance at the room. The TV, you leave on while walking into the kitchen. Its noise will muffle the soft sound of your footsteps. Easing a knife from a drawer, you turn back around – in time for the person at your door to knock loudly again.

Feet faltering, you dig deeply to find the place within where anything can happen and you will not react. It is a place you used often growing up, a place you have since tried to avoid but it comes in handy often. Pause on the edge of your threshold, you inhale – and then move fast, flinging open your door to the hall.

Jungkook’s eyes widen in shock. You barely have time to react before he slips inside, one arm around your middle while his right hand encircles your wrist. He yanks you closer, fingers curling around the handle of your knife to transfer it to him.

“Was this for me?” Jungkook murmurs, low in your ear. “Or, for someone else?” Scanning the hallway he vacated, Jungkook finds no one and kicks the door shut.

Your entire body remains frozen, struggling to process. The entire time you prepared yourself to open the door, you did not consider Jungkook an option. Perhaps this is due to your nightmares, which have returned in full force. You did not consider Bangtan – which was a foolish oversight, on your part. All you remembered were your dreams, the ones you had each night this week. You remembered the man; you thought of him and the Vine.

Slowly, Jungkook releases your body from his. Stepping away, he places the knife on the counter.

“Jungkook,” you exhale, turning to face him. “What... what are you doing here?”

“Why...” Jungkook trails off, staring at the knife on the counter. “Why were you standing there, holding a knife?”

Shit. “Uh,” you say, only to pause. Your first thought is always defense, the sudden urge to push him away. “I thought you were someone I didn’t know,” you say stiffly. “This, uh, isn’t a safe neighborhood. I might need to defend myself.”

Jungkook tilts his head. “Defend yourself from who,” he asks, running a hand over his dampened hat. “Who would you even think I was?”

“That’s not important,” you say, brushing past him. Walking behind the counter of your kitchen, you stare. It feels safer like this, not because you are afraid of what Jungkook might do, but the exact opposite. You do not trust yourself to be alone with this man, do not trust yourself to remain strong in his presence.

Already, it is hard to remember why this cannot be, why Jungkook needs to leave because he looks so good, standing in the hall of your home.

You did not think that he would. Your apartment is so small, and Jungkook is large. Your home is cluttered, the décor of it old – but Jungkook seems perfectly at home in his black leather jacket. His hair is damp from the rain, tucked beneath a soaked baseball hat.

When Jungkook realizes he is dripping onto your floor he winces, removing both hat and jacket. “Sorry,” he apologizes, folding them into a square to rest by the door. His t-shirt is just as damp, sticking to the panes of his chest when he turns. “That was my bad.”

You groan at the sight. “Oh, come on,” you complain, waving a hand at his frame. “Did you jump in a pool before deciding to visit?”

Jungkook looks down in surprise. “It’s raining,” he says.

“No shit,” you mutter, sinking both elbows onto your counter. From here, you exhale. “Why are you here, Jungkook?”

Jungkook walks until he stands on the other side of granite. You ready yourself for an excuse, prepare yourself for coercion, explanation, demands. There are many ways in which Jungkook could convince you to stay.

Instead, he sighs. “I don’t know.”

You blink back at him, uncertain. “What?”

“I don’t know,” he repeats – and in all honestly, he does look lost. Jungkook stares at you and for the first time, you notice dark circles beneath his gaze. Perhaps you are not the only one sleeping poorly. “I shouldn’t be here,” he confesses. “You made that perfectly clear when you told Lena you didn’t want to see me. I just,” he pauses, fingers tracing the granite. “I can’t shake this feeling.”

You should be annoyed, should be angry that Jungkook dared to presume he knew what was best for you. You should be mad, but you are not. Your traitorous heart races with longing, not fear and you feel electrified by the sight of him, terrified by his words and above all – happy to see him. This is the most terrifying of all.

Just the sight of him here, with that stupid face and dumb smile, makes you happy. You hate that. Hate remembering how his limbs felt curled about you in bed, how he stood up for you with Taehyung, how he did it without making you feel small. You hate how he sees through your bullshit, tells you he likes you – and continues to care, even when you say you do not. He should not be able to do that.

You hate all of this – which is why he needs to leave. You are a liar, both to yourself and to him because you do care. You care about him a lot and it is because of this, Jungkook cannot get hurt.

Jungkook tenses, waiting for an answer. When you do not respond, he shifts. “Are you honestly saying you don’t feel this,” he says, gesturing between you, “connection? You’re saying you feel nothing when we kiss?” Jungkook lays his palms flat on the counter. “Don’t lie to me. I know you can feel it, know you told Lena our sex was great.”

Your head snaps up in alarm. “Why is Lena telling you all that?” you gasp, swallowing the betrayal. It makes no sense for Lena to have told him. “She had no right to say that,” you say curtly.

“She had every right, seeing as it’s about me.” Jungkook winces, shaking his head. “Not that she did. She was talking to Taehyung and I overheard. That’s what I’m good at,” he adds with a reluctant smile.

Mouth opening, you cross your arms. “That wasn’t for your ears to hear,” you retort. “That wasn’t meant for you to know.”

“Even so.” Jungkook takes a step forward, moving around the counter.

You retreat automatically, struggling to keep him away – since you do not trust your body, your mind to remain logical.

“Tell me.” Jungkook cocks his head. “What should I have heard, then? Tell me what you think you’re protecting me from. Me,” he adds, half-amused. “I think that’s the first time anyone’s ever said that.”

Hesitating, you waver. Maybe you should tell him the truth, maybe you should just explain – then you catch yourself, reeling the words back in. “No,” you blurt. “Why do you need to know? Why,” you say, as Jungkook takes another step forward, “do you care? Just...” Your breath hitches, vision blurring. “Just let me protect you, dammit.”

“Hey.” Jungkook’s hands find your body, sliding up your elbows. “I – okay,” he sighs. He waits for a long moment before continuing. “Okay. You don’t have to tell me.”

The air becomes quiet, standing in front of him. You feel the slide of his fingertips over your skin, know the weight of his gaze on your frame. Jungkook’s shirt, hair are equally damp – they hang loose from his body, cold compared to the rest of your apartment. His skin is warm though, his body is warm and you cannot stop yourself from saying the words which come next.

“My brother,” you exhale, almost a whisper. “My brother is part of the Vine.”

Jungkook’s hands freeze, tight on your arms.

[Master List]

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spiltcandycoatedpunkblood · 6 years ago

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RANT: on alcohol culture

like, with this recent mindset after a lot of thinking (whether consciously or not), i feel even more uncomfortable looking back on how much drinking i did at uni and how much i tolerated the culture around it - although beneath the surface i could feel the dissatisfaction i was trying to drown out, like something felt wrong but i couldn’t quite put my finger on it - because i felt conditioned that it was a good way to cope

i already feel horrible for how much i drank and what my purpose was when doing it and also realising WHY i felt the need to do this

like i feel this alcohol culture has become so normalised that people even turn it into a joke let alone a coping mechanism because it’s not seen as such a massive deal in comparison with harder drugs

like this whole thing about how “alcohol helps me maintain my sanity!!!” and that “i’m only having one glass of wine!!” with the punchline being that it’s a really big glass of wine due to the loophole being that they didn’t say what the size of the glass was

and it’s not just the pushing of alcohol as a social lubricant as if people can’t have fun without alcohol, it’s those general jokes that you see online, on greeting cards, signs in pubs and gift shops and so on that create an implicit acceptance of alcohol as if it doesn’t create such a huge problem in comparison to how people see harder drugs like cocaine and heroin

and i also see how it ties into the trivialising treatment of mental illness because it’s seen as a way to cope and basically even a way of life even when someone’s like “haha life sucks i literally want to die” it makes me feel so deeply uncomfortable because i knew i felt mentally ill when i was at uni, i was so anxious and self-conscious and depressed but i didn’t know why and i felt one way to turn was alcohol so it may be down to personal experience but it’s also through the observations of myself and others

alcohol culture makes people feel so pressured to drink and i hate it with my mind, body and soul to an absolute degree that some people consider it such a joke

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peakyblinders1919 · 7 years ago

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Blood Is Thicker Than Water

“Mind if I join you?” you said, the cold night breeze picking up as you stood with two glasses of wine.

He turned around, looking up at you with a smile. “Of course,” he said, you sitting down and handing him a drink.

“What’re you doing out here?”

“It’s quiet. I can’t think in that house.” He said angrily, taking a sip and wincing when it wasn’t the Whisky or beer he was expecting it to be. Out at the table in the yard, you could still hear the faint yells of the kids as they fought in the living room, the windows wide opened. You silently thanked god you had moved to the country, having no neighbors for miles to complain about the noise.

“No one ever said having 5 kids would be easy and quiet.” You teased.

“Why did we have to have kids?” He asked with a tilt of his head. You just laughed, taking another sip.

“I mean, we didn’t have to but you were the one who always wanted to have sex. Technically, this is all your fault John. Never could keep your hands to yourself.”

He laughed, leaning over now to wrap you in his arms, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “How could I when I had a wife as hot as you.”

You laughed, telling him to stop as he got closer to you, his lips on yours. Just for a second it was if you and John were the only two people in the world. His hands were warm on your skin, though his soft touch left goosebumps trailing up and down your arms. The world was silent and melted away as he kissed you passionately, the desire flowing from his body. You held his face firmly in your hands as he pushed you back, never being close enough to you.

You laughed against his lips, pulling away for just a second to look into his eyes. “You keep going like this we might just have another.”

“I don’t care. It’ll be worth it.” He laughed, putting himself in between your legs as he kissed you again. All your worries and cares washed off of you as John’s touch made you weak, transporting you to a time when you were younger and your time together wasn’t fleeting. The kissing grew heavier, the desire to have each other more prominent than ever. His hands started to slide up your shirt as your tongues danced together. It was getting almost too heated, until the kids decided to take their fighting outside.

“Dad!!” One of the boys called, causing him to groan as he pulled away from you and his head rested on your chest. He sighed heavily again as the boys came running over to you guys, you running your fingers through his hair to calm him.

“Dad, George and Peter aren’t listening to me-” Will said before looking at you two and blushing when he realized he had interrupted an intimate moment. “Oh, sorry… I…”

“It’s fine honey.” You said, pushing John off of you and sitting up, lighting a cigarette off John’s newly lit cigar.

“What do you need Will?”

“George brought home s-”

“Don’t listen to him Dad!” George said as he ran into the backyard, a look of anger plastered on his face.

“What is going on?”

“George brought snow home to sell and tried keeping it in my room.” Will blurted, watching George glare at him.

“You’re dead.” He snarled under his breath.

“Snow? Where the fuck did you get cocaine from!” You shouted, looking at your son's angrily.

“Uncle Finn.”

“John, you’re going to have to speak to him.” You nagged, taking a calming drag of your cigarette.

“I know. Bring it here George.”

“But Dad, I’m not using it, I need to make money for-”

“I said get rid of it!” He screamed angrily.

George yelled angrily, walking back into the house, but not before walking up to Will. “I was gonna let you in one some of the profit but forget it, you fucking suck.”

“Language!” You yelled, getting up from your seat now. “Go inside, get the snow, and bring it back here. Now.”

“Yes ma’am.” He said, hanging his head and walking back into the house.

“Sorry.” Will said, bringing both of yours attentioned back to the blonde boy hunched over in the shadows.

“It’s fine honey. But if you want your brother’s to like you then you wouldn’t alway rat them out.”

“But Mum… I heard Peter saying they’d keep it in my room so they wouldn’t get in trouble if you found it. I wasn’t going to get in trouble for something I didn’t do. I’m tired of them walking all over me all the time.”

“Of course Peter was in on this too,”John scoffed, blowing smoke to the side. “You did the right thing Will. Just know no matter what they do, you always have your family’s back, ok?”

He nodded, walking back into the house, getting shoved by George on his way back to the backyard. He grabbed his shoulder as George kept walking, handing over the vial of pretty white powder to John. But that was Will’s last straw, heading back outside and walking right up to George, pushing him with all his might onto the ground. You gasped loudly, watching two of your sons fight each other on the grass. You frantically hit John, him cursing under his breathe as he got up and pulling the boys off of each other, a scratch on each of their faces.

“Stop it. Stop. Sit down.” John called, both of them falling into the lawn chairs. You waited to hear what speech he’d give them today, never once had they actually fought with the intentions of hurting each others. Just as John was about to start speaking, you saw Lucy and Katherine waiting by the side of the door. You rushed over to them quickly, trying to stand in the way of their view.

“Mum, what’s going on?”

“Nothing, just a little tuft. They’re fine, go back inside, ok? We’ll be back in soon.” They smiled at listened, but didn’t believe your words as you walked back over to the boys, overhearing John’s final words before they left.

“Blood is what we Shelby’s thrive on. If you two can’t put aside your differences and watch out for each other, then you might as well not be brother’s at all. If you gotta pick on someone George, pick on someone other than your brother. How are you ever going to trust each other when you're out on a business deal? How are you gonna trust one another to have your back? If you’re serious about wanting to be a part of this, you gotta stop fighting. Blood will always be thicker than water.”

The boys then apologized to each other and walked back into the house.

“No car for a week!” You called as they walked by. You sighed, walking over to John who drank the wine anyway.

“Jesus, where’d we go wrong?” He asked, leaning back against your shoulder.

“We had one too many kids.”

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