#six kings slam

[se-dissimuler]

I’M CRYING ITS NOT PHOTOSHOP? THEY DRESSED LIKE THAT FOR THE PHOTOSHOOT?

[wimbledonstrawberry]

in my humble opinion these silly exhibition posters are the best thing that has happened to me lately

x

[charlesleclerc]

this is the first laver cup i've watched properly and it has confirmed to me that i need jannik to play next year

[sleepytypewriter]

sorry for my tardiness but the revised second chapter of you'll love me at once(the way you did once) is going up tonight at about midnight est(9pm pst)

[sonolynn]

The Aftermath-Blood and Cheese part two

summary | The after math of blood and cheese.

pairing | Aemond x Wife!Fem!Reader

tags | mentions of death, grief, swearing, infanticide, murder, talks of pregnancy and birth. Not proof read.

w.c | 2.0 k

note(s) | please ignore my lack of political or architecture knowledge in regards tp the rooms in Kings Landing or Driftmark. also! Fuck you Criston Cole.

____________________________________________ 

“Have any of my letters to my daughter been answered?” Rhaenyra asked calmly.  The messenger anxiously shifted from his heels. “No, your grace.” Rhaenyra nodded solemnly. Within the past couple weeks, her daughter had not responded to any letters that she’d had sent. Of course, Rhaenyra felt that something was wrong, “motherly instinct” Daemon had so gracefully commented when she had confided in him one night about her fears. 

“Do tell me if anything comes?” 

“Of course your grace.” With a bow, the servant moved out of the way so that Rhaenyra could make her way downstairs.

____________________________________________

The looks Rhaenyra got when she entered the meeting room were nothing short of sympathetic. Daemon sat in his chair, his legs crossed and a look of boredom on his face. Jace stared at his mother as she walked, as if words had been stuck on his tongue. Rhaenyra looked between everyone until she couldn’t handle the prolonged stares and discomforting silence for much longer. 

“What is this…silence? Has Aegon struck?” Rhaenyra asked, slowly making her way to her seat. When no one answered, she turned and looked towards Rhaenys, who, at eye contact, quickly looked towards Daemon. “Well?” 

“It’s troubling news, your grace. The princess’ son, Baelon, was murdered in her arms not but a few weeks ago.” Rhaenyra smiled slightly, disbelief coursing through her mind as she laughed. 

“Murdered? He was only six months old! He had no enemies-” Rhaenyra stopped, seeing the solemn looks everyone held. Her face dropped, and she breathed out slowly as the smile faded from her face. “My…grandson is..dead?” Rhaenyra asked, her voice slightly shaky. 

“Yes. Murdered, your grace,” Rhaenys stopped, looking up towards her queen. “The greens think that you were behind this heinous crime.” 

Rhaenyra paused and a disbelieving glare settled on her face. Her? Her?!

“Me? They think me responsible? I have not but lost my own son! And to think I would inflict such a grievous pain on my daughter-” Her voice cracked, and suddenly she found herself too weak to stand. She slowly sat down, holding a hand over her stomach as the realization set in. 

Daemon looked down, his jaw clenched, his own gaze set away from Rhaenyra. He had not meant for this. 

____________________________________________

“You did this?!” Rhaenyra yelled, slamming her hands on the table where Daemon sat. The room had cleared, and now, Rhaenyra stood, barding her husband as she held back tears. 

“As I have said-”

“I said I wanted Aemond! Not my grand-” She stopped, her voice breaking as she turned away from Daemon. Daemon rolled his head to the side before he spoke, too calmly for Rhaenyra’s liking. 

“It was an accident.” 

“An accident that cost me yet another loss!” Rhaenyra yelled, her glared piercing into Daemon. Once her eyes locked with Daemon's, a deep seated feeling of dread and  anxiety fill her. How could he be so careless, so calm about the matter of her grandson’s death? 

“You barely know the child!” Daemon refuted. Rhaenyra stopped, and she breathed slowly to ground herself before she spoke. Though it did not help. Daemon spoke softer, and he looked at her with a hard gaze. “It was an accident.” 

“Accident or not you killed an innocent child, Daemon! My sweet girl-” Rhaenyra stopped, placing a hand on her mouth as she felt the tears start to bubble up in her eyes. She turned, holding back a sob as she tried to imagine how her innocent, sweet daughter could have possibly felt and reconciled with the death of the babe she worked so hard to conceive. 

“I may not have known the babe personally. I may have only held him perhaps once but it is not the boy that I am sad for! This-This mistake that you made has not only cost me lost support from the great houses, utter humiliation, and grief…but you have cost me my first born daughter!” Rhaenyra took a breath, and when Daemon said nothing she wiped the tears from her eyes and spoke slowly, turning back to face him. “My daughter thinks that I have done this. That I ordered the murder of an infant boy, Daemon!” 

“Your daughter knows you better then-” 

“My daughter may know me better than the ground that I walk on, Daemon but you underestimate a mother and her grief. You cannot possibly understand the conclusions that will be drawn from her mind when she hears that this happened in my name.” At this Daemon goes quiet. He looked away from Rhaenyra as she continued. 

“My daughter is grieving. And in her grief she will blame no one but herself. But the moment that she hears of the hideous rumor that I did this? Her grief will be overcome with anger and she will resent me!” With no more words left to say, Rhaenyra quickly turned and walked away. 

In the solace of the castle halls she broke down, sobbing heavily. She leaned against the nearest wall for support as she shook her head. Rhaenyra was unable to wrap her mind around how her precious little girl could be grappling with this grief. ____________________________________________

You were in the nursery, as you always were these days, when Crison Cole passed by. When Rhaenyra had given birth to you all those years ago, he felt a mix of emotions, but the top one was anger. He had let himself go, a moment of weakness in his own words. When Rhaenyra spoke your name, the anger grew even more. 

As you grew the relationship between you and Ser Criston grew apart. You held no resentment towards him for a while, trying to be an understanding “daughter”. 

Criston stopped, seeing you on the floor next to the crib. He felt sadness, of course he did. But more than that he felt guilt. Perhaps if he had been there, perhaps if he wasn’t occupied he could have saved your innocent son. 

And in truth you blamed Criston more than anyone. He was the head of the Kingsguard, but more than that he was your father. Even though he stayed up at night trying to deny you as his own, biologically you were his and no amount of self inflicted drunkenness or denial could change that. 

Criston stood at the door, opening his mouth to speak, before you interrupted him. 

“Where were you, Ser Criston?” At the sound of your harsh, irritable voice, he stopped. The words he meant to speak suddenly lost in his throat as he cleared throat with a cough. He spoke your name softly, taking a step forward but you picked up a nearby book and threw it at him. “My son would not be dead if you had not been fucking my mother-in-law!”

“Princess-” 

“No!” You stood, walking towards him fast as you glared at him. He had never seen you so angry, with such a look of pure hatred in your eyes. “If you had done your fucking job I would not have lost my son!” You went to hit Criston’s chest, but Aemond came quickly, holding his arms around you tightly as he pressed a soft kiss to your head, as if the anger you felt in your chest could be resolved with the feather light weight of a kiss. 

“Take your leave Ser Criston.” Aemond spoke harshly, and Criston went to speak, but Aemond looked up at him, glaring with his one good, tear filled and red eye. “I said leave, Ser Criston.” 

Criston Cole bowed, and he left quickly. He was willing to blame anyone but himself for his grandson’s death. Anyone but himself.

____________________________________________

Two years. It took you two years to fully grasp your mind around the fact that your baby was truly gone. It took Aemond a matter of months, but he still felt the loss, deep within his heart. He would stand outside of the nursery as you laid by the crib and sobbed. He would stand outside of your chambers and listen as you screamed and cursed your mother, Criston, anyone you could verbally blame. 

You couldn’t even be intimate with him without breaking down into sobs. And truly, Aemond did not wish to be intimate. He wished to be there for you, a supporter that you needed and not just some mindless lustful husband. So he waited, and he waited patiently. Holding you while you cried, escorting you out of the Red Keep when the court’s children would run about. 

By the third year, long after you had let your husband back into bed, you became pregnant. A gift from the gods, you were sure. And when you finally gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl whom you named Viserys and Visenya. 

Aemond loved the twins, with his every breath he loved them. But, he felt some disconnect from you. You seemed more connected to your daughter than your son. When Visneya would cry you would go running, but if Viserys cried, you would hesitate, before ultimately having Aemond go to the boy. 

____________________________________________

You were in the nursery, staring down at Viserys as the babe slept. He had such an uncanny resemblance to Baelon that it made you physically sick. You could not hold the babe, much rather opting to hold his sister than him. Holding Viserys felt like holding Baelon, and when you thought of holding Baelon, all you thought about was the night that he was taken from you. 

Aemond knew this. How could he not. He himself had a hard time with Viserys. Viserys reminded him of his failure to protect his first son. At first that is. Sooner than later Aemond would grow fond of the babe, promising himself, and both of his children, that he would never fail them. That he would come to them every night and bid them a goodnight. 

On the night that you stood in the nursery, staring at your son, Aemond came. He leaned against the frame for a while until he heard the boy start to whimper. He came closer to the crib, and he saw the baby boy reaching out towards you, seeking the neglected embrace of his mother. 

“He wants you, my love.” Aemond spoke gently, knowing that if he raised his voice too much, he’d accidentally frighten you. He watched you closely, watching your conflicted face as you shook your head. 

“Perhaps you could-”

“My love, please. I cannot take him forever.” You nodded at his words, knowing that it was true. You took in an uncertain breath before you shakily reached down into Viserys crib and picked him up. 

You felt like a new mother, holding a babe you barely even knew even though you carried him for eight months. You stared down at the squirming babe, and all you saw was Baelon. Baelon, Baelon, Baelon-

Aemond came behind you, wrapping his arms around you and supporting Viserys under your own arms. Your breath stopped, tears filling your eyes as you felt the embrace. 

“You’re okay, my love. I’m here.” Gods you relished in those words. For the past three years Aemond had been your rock, your anchor, taking you back down from your swirling thoughts and telling you that you were okay. 

Taking a deep breath, you looked down at your baby boy, and for the first time in three months you saw Viserys. You saw Viserys. The thought almost made you sob; All these months, being detached from the very human you created made you feel like the worst mother in the world. But then, he smiled at you. You felt your whole resolve weaken at the sight of your son’s smile. 

You resented Criston Cole, for not being there as a father, for not being there the night Baelon was murdered. However, this innocent little creature didn’t resent you, he simply missed you. He could feel no hate, no resentment for your own trauma. The thought of being so easily forgiven by this little innocent life made your heart swell and your eyes tear up. 

Instinctively, you pulled away from Aemond and you started to rock the boy. Viserys smiled, the same, lopsided smile Aemond had. Your heart swelled and you smiled down at the boy as tears filled your gaze. Viserys reached up, holding his tiny hand to your nose as he giggled. You looked at this boy, no longer thinking of the life you had lost, but the ones that you had gained.

____________________________________________

TAGLIST @aleemendoza2425-blog @fallout-girl219 @spacexdrago @callsignwidow @lizziela @roseidol @esposadomd @luvaerina @bigback112 @rinirinse @ananas26t @marihoneywk @4everwoke

Hope it was up to everyone's standards!!

[rose-tea-and-strawberries]

Of Lions and Mice

Leona Kingscholar x Reader

Reader is intended to be female

Masterlist

Leona was annoyed.

Once again, his golden goody-two-shoes older brother decided to shirk his responsibility of being a father and dump the overexcited, disgustingly bright-eyed crown prince on him for the day. And not only that, it had to be today of all days - a rare day where you were free from picking up Crowleys’ slack, where the loudmouthed, nattering extras that always followed you were otherwise preoccupied (and bribed to bugger off with a bag full of tuna), where he was certain he’ll spend the day in bed with you right next to him. 

But no. Just like with everything else in his miserable existence, his dreams were crushed and he had to spend the day playing caretaker to his nephew instead of wrapped up with you. What’s worse was that, you’d decided to carry the pint-sized load off of his back and gave your undivided attention to the cub when it should have been rightfully his. How he hated that selfless nature of yours, that sweet, caring, gentle nature that would make you look at anyone that wasn’t him with that loving gaze, that would make you brush your fingers through Cheka’s golden orange curls the same way you would Grim’s fur or the stray cats you’d find around campus or any other being instead of his mane. 

He hated just how loving you were, how your eyes could see the beauty in everything.

How, now that it’s late at night, and he’s closed his eyes and pretended to sleep in his attempt to actually get some shut eye and so that the little hairball would quit bothering him but Cheka just continues yapping.

Even in the darkness under his eyelids, he could feel you cast a worried look his way from the spot where his bed sags a little.

“Hey Cheka,” your sweet, dulcet voice (which is currently being used to please his nephew and not sooth him to sleep with the sweet nothings it usually does) pipes up, “how about I tell you a bedtime story from my world?”

“A bedtime story?!” Wow, even with his eyes closed he could see the stars coming out of his nephew's eyes, “yes please!”

Once the little cub has settled into bed, he asks you, “do you know any stories from your world with lions in them?

“Any ones with lions? Hmm, well, I suppose I could tell you about Narnia but I think you might be a bit too young for that and - wait,” you punctuated your words with a snap of your fingers, “I know a short one. There was this man called Aesop who wrote these short stories called fables.”

“What’s a fable?” Cheka asked, his words covered in that innocently curious lilt that all six year olds seemed to have during every occasion Leona wished they wouldn’t - and that was all of them.

You, however, seemed to have much more patience than him, “A story with a moral in them. Like, always be honest, or share, or work together, that sort of thing. I had a book of them when I was younger and I really enjoyed reading them.”

Figures. Of course, the shining beacon of sickeningly polite goodness grew up with such stories. He would’ve teased you for that but he had a child who he’s still trying to convince he was asleep.

“That sounds so cool, Aunty Y/N! Will you tell me more?”

“Of course, I will,” he can hear your smile, “but I’ll tell you them later, okay. Now, it’s time for you to rest.” 

“Okay, Aunty Y/N.”

“Alright so,” you clear your throat, “there was once a lion that lay asleep in his den. A shy little mouse came upon him and in her fright she ran away, only whilst doing so she accidentally ran over his head, waking him up.”

“Oh no,” Cheka gasped, “that lion is going to be so angry if he wakes up.”

Oh, so the little hairball does have a brain after all. 

“You’re right. Furious that he had been woken up, the big lion slammed a paw down on the tiny mouse and grabbed her by the tail. Holding her up, he growled at her,” here you made your voice noticeably deeper, trying to imitate a gruff growl, ““How dare you wake me up! I am the king of beasts and anyone who interrupts my slumber deserves to die! I shall kill you and eat you!””

It took everything within Leona to not burst into laughter at your adorable imitation of a ‘big scary lion’. It’s a voice you’ve used before whenever you tease him, playfully repeating the words his old self would have said to you, and it’s one that he’s rather fond of. 

He loves and respects you, Herbivore, and he’s the first to attest to your formidability and capability - even though you have the annoying tendency to not only blur the line between bravery and reckless stupidity but also play skipping rope with it - but intimidating you are not. 

“This scared the terrified mouse even more. Shaking with fear, she begged for him to let her go,” you make your voice higher at this part, squeaking in a way that oddly suited you, in Leona’s not so humble opinion, ““please, your majesty, I beg of you, please don’t eat me. It was only a mistake and if you let me go I’ll be sure to repay you. If you spare my life one day, I might even save yours.””

“The lion looked at the tiny creature and laughed, amused at how such a small mouse could ever be of use to an animal as powerful as him, “You? Save me? How absurd. You’ve made me laugh and put me in a good mood so I shall be generous and let you go.”

“Thank you, your majesty, thank you,” the mouse squeaked as she was put back on the ground, before scurrying away as fast as fast as her little legs could carry her.”

“Yay, so the mouse is free.” Cheka giggled.

“He is,” you said, “but there’s still more left. A few days later, the lion was prowling around when out of nowhere he was caught in a hunter’s net. Try as he might, he couldn’t get out of it. He tossed and turned, roaring angrily as he struggled to escape.”

“Wait, so now the lion’s in trouble. How’s he going to get out?” Cheka asked in worry. 

“You’ll see. Hearing his cries, the mouse followed the sound, recognising it from the lion he met earlier.

“I have to help him,” she squeaked as she scampered towards him.”

Upon seeing the lion in the net, she said, “hold still your majesty, I’ll get you out!”

And she quickly started to nibble on the ropes with her sharp little teeth, biting until all they broke apart. It wasn’t long until the lion was free.”

“So the mouse saved him. Was it because the lion helped him earlier?”

“It certainly was Cheka. “Thank you, little mouse,” the lion said, “I laughed at you and didn’t think you could ever help me but you saved my life.”

“It was my turn to help you.” The mouse replied, ”never forget that even a creature as small as a mouse can help a lion.”

And that’s the end,” you say.

“Thank you, Auntie Y/N, I really enjoyed that. Do you think the lion and mouse became friends after that?”

“You are very welcome, Cheka. I think they did. They did help each other, after all. Now I think it’s time to go to sleep.”

And once you were sure that the crown prince was asleep, you made your way next to your boyfriend, running your fingers through chestnut locks, “did you enjoy that little story, Leona.”

He opens his eyes to see your endeared smile. Rolling over so that he could wrap his arms around your waist he muses, “it seems awfully familiar don’t you think? A scared little herbivore wakes up a sleeping lion and ends up saving him later.”

“I’ll have you know, Your Highness, that I was never scared of you. Even when you were a rude old brute who threatened to knock out one of my teeth. And I’m certainly not little.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.” 

He pulls, letting you flop down on his bed beside him so that he can spoon you.

“Sweet dreams, little mouse,” he kissed your forehead, “I hope you know that I don’t ever intend on letting you go. Not after you helped in ways you could never even imagine.”

And so the lion fell asleep, holding the prey who rescued him from the confinement of his past safely in his arms.

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

RUN RABBIT, RUN RUN RUN. ( House of the Dragon x Reader )

AUTHOR NOTE! Thanks for all the love. <3 pairing: DARK! King Aegon ii Targaryen x Common Folk! Reader prompt: Aegon has been watching you from years. Now that he is King, he intends to make his intentions clear. key: Y/n = Your name, R/n = Random name, E/C = eye color word count: 1, 000+ words

He was six and ten when he first met you, well more of, he saw you from a distance. You were a pretty little thing⎯well, for some common folk girl, you were pretty. From what he saw from a distance, you worked as a barkeep, cleaning tables and sometimes serving ale or whatever shitty drink they served at that tavern. 

You were pretty, maybe growing more so in a few years, but enough for the other drunks to take notice as well. He didn’t like it. Even though he had never spoken to you, or really interacted with you at all. You were his pretty little barekeep to gawk at.

It took everything in him to not set Sunfyre upon all of them, burning the shitty little tavern up in flames. So then, he could take their charred remains and show what happened when others touched what was his. But, he digressed. For now. 

Slowly sauntering into the tavern, he searches for you in the crowd of common folk, his gaze predatory and determined. Since his coronation as King, he had been busy, far too busy to leave the Red Keep to go to Flea Bottom. All he wished for now was to have a drink and watch you as he had done a dozen times before. He was sure if he was going to speak to you yet. It wasn’t that he did not have the courage to speak to you. 

He was a Targaryen, and now King, he had nothing to feel ashamed of or worried about. But rather he liked the way you squirmed under his gaze. He liked the way you would grow stiff and then blush a soft pink when you realized that it was just him. It was adorable and a good ego boost to know that he could get you all flustered without even needing to speak. 

“All hail the new King!” Some drunk slurs aloud, “From the King of Flea Bottom to the King of the Seven Kingdoms!”

“Aye!” 

“All hail!”

Rolling his eyes at the drunken babbling that filled the tavern, he sits down at his usual table, kicking his feet up on a chair. Drumming his fingers against the table, he looks around for you, growing wary as he doesn’t see you in the tavern. Clenching his jaw tightly as his temper starts to rise, he holds back at lashing out, his mind running a million miles per hour.

“Where the hell is that damn girl?! Y/n!” A barkeep behind the bar rants, “Oi! You, go get Y/n.”

Not even the other barkeep’s knew where you were at. You weren’t here. You were always on time. Why the fuck were you not here? Where the fuck were you at?

Feeling his temper bubbling with each second that he doesn’t see you, the loud slamming of a door fills the tavern, nobody paying any mind to it. Seeing you walk inside all soaked from the rain, he instantly calms down at sight of you. 

Slowly trailing his eyes over your soaked figure, you look ethereal like this. Hair all soaked and clothes sticking to you like a second skin, accentuating  your curves. Feeling a presence beside him, he snaps out of his daze, seeing some other barkeep trying to speak to him.

“Can I⎯” 

“No, no, her. I want her.” He orders, pointing at you. 

Watching as you dried yourself off with a rag, he smirks at how your linen underskirt was practically sheer. He wondered, if he spilled his seed in you, would a bastard grow in your belly? Would then he be able to whisk you away to the Red Keep, far far away from the drunks and fools that surrounded you both? After all, you would be so grateful for him to do such a thing. You, some lowborn common folk girl, getting the luxury of carrying his child in your belly. 

“Bring me her. I will take nothing but what she brings to me.” He orders.

Feeling a familiar pair of predatory eyes on you, you slowly turn around to see the now King, watching you. He sat at the same table as always, in the center where he and those silvery locks could be gawked at. Furrowing your brows in confusion, you watch as R/n walks away from the table, rolling her eyes hard with a scowl. Cocking her head to Aegon, you didn’t even have to ask to understand that he had rejected her. 

Wiping your hands dry with the rag, your eyes locked onto Aegon’s, e/c meeting predatory violet eyes. Shivering at the gaze, R/n motions for you to go to him with a cock of her head, her iration clear as day at not getting any coin from him. Mustering up your courage, you walk over to him, coming face-to-face for the first time ever. He was a lot more handsome up close. Alluring violet eyes, silvery white Targaryen hair and pouty lips. 

“Do you wish to make your King happy?” He asked, his voice rough and low.

“I do, your grace.” You nod, “ How can I be of service to you?”

“I can think of many ways.”

Growing tense at the lewd comment, you shift in place, unsure if he was jesting with you or if he was being serious. You have never spoken to him up to this point, just watching from afar or in passing. You could not tell. Chewing on your bottom lip a little nervously, he places a hand on your waist, letting out a full belly laugh. Weakly nodding unsure, he slowly trails his hand down to your hip, not quite inappropriate but not appropriate at the same time. 

“Can I get you some ale, your grace?” You ask, attempting to change the subject.

“No.”

“Or mayhaps some bread from the kitchen?” You try again, “I am sure we can find something for you if that is what you desire.”

“No.”

Blushing under his intense gaze, he slowly stands up from his seat, looking like a predator stalking its prey. Tilting your head up as he towers over you, you resist the urge to cower, not wanting him to see your fear. In your time working here you learned men tended to like seeing women cower, it was like a game to them. Softly gulping as he digs his nails into your hip, a voice in the back of your head tells you to run away, that he was dangerous. But, your legs would not let you move. 

“Your grace?” You whisper, your voice weak. 

“Then you will not scream, cry, or protest as I take you back to the Red Keep.” He whispers, “I would hate to have to kill you when I have just gotten you within my grasp. Now walk, my little rabbit.”

----

@lovelykhaleesiii

@fragileheartbeats

@danytar

@nightvers

[lerokpaw]

🐉Dragon grass 🐉

You lit incense, but you didn't even think what it would lead to

!!!nsfw !!! !!! 18+ !!!

! All characters 18+!

Female reader

Sorry english don't my first language. But I hope you enjoy it 🐉

Status : Couple Y/N - Perfect (The head of a dilapidated dormitory)

A small heat source in the form of a green firefly lit the way for one of the most mysterious people in Twisted Wonderland or for you Tsunagotaro/Mal Mal/Malleus. His task at the moment was to see your face, or rather a smile on it. But first of all, to invite you on a little evening date. You and the future king of the Valley of Thorns have been dating for about six months and one of his favorite pleasures was to see you in a good mood, and if his favorite combo in the form of you, gargoyles, your love and beautiful art, which he saw in all of the above, were collected in one place and at one time, then Malleus was literally melting with love. And in the sky you could see how the stars were shining brighter. Wandering in his thoughts, the Dragon discovered that he nuzzled your door, while accidentally touching the bell with his horn, and he notified the resident of the Dilapidated dormitory of his majesty's presence. Hearing rapid footsteps on the stairs, the so-called Tsunagotaro moved away from the door and waited for your face to appear in its crack.

-Hello, Mal Mal! -"Greetings, my dear," horned smiled with his trademark gentle smile.

-Oh, listen - She slightly covered the already small gap as if to show that he does not have to see what is behind it. But now Malleus' interest has only grown.

-Yes, honey?

-I understand that you probably came for me on a date, but I'm a little unprepared… And could we sit here in the dorm today?

-I dare not refuse my dear couple this request, - he bowed familiarly You laughed a little

-Then come on in, I'm sorry, I'm a little at home.. I'm going to run to the kitchen for ice cream and return it, go to my room for now.

-Ice cream? Won't you need any help? - he already imagined how his favorite dish would be on his tongue.

-It's not worth it! Come into the room! - I was already shouting from the kitchen. The old wooden floorboards and stairs creaked under your boyfriend's feet. He was slowly moving deeper into the dorm when he felt a pleasant and sweet smell in his nose. Approaching your room, he realized that this fragrance was coming from there. When he entered, he saw Grim, who also exchanged a glance, but no longer friendly

-"Henchman, you brought that Tsunagotaro again without my knowledge! Malleus just narrowed his eyes and smiled at the furry creature.

-Don't go make-up, please, if something doesn't suit you, then go downstairs - she shouted through the whole dorm

-I'll actually go to the Adeuce duo then! At that moment, the monster ran out the door and pointedly slammed it -Sorry, Small, for this performance - she said calmly as she approached the room

-It's okay, I understand, my dear

-Your ice cream

-Thank you very much

Sit on the bed Have you started noticing how your boyfriend's pale face is starting to turn purple?

-Honey, are you hot?

-what? Oh, I'm sorry, I don't quite understand what's going on.. Am I just not used to it?

-Hmm, do you have an allergy to herbs?

-As far as I know, no, why? - now he was interested in what was happening to his body.

-Well, I just lit incense.. And I thought maybe they made you feel bad.

he approached you slowly and carefully, trying not to scare you off

- Can I smell you? -N-an unexpected offer- you blushed slightly - but I don't mind - you pushed the hair that was lying on your neck to the side, as if trying to tie it into a bunch

-Thank you - Mal said almost in a whisper and approached your neck inhaling the armat and now his previous sensations have doubled. As if waking up, he jumped back.

-I just don't know… It seems to me… - after these words, he attacked you with a sensual kiss. You've kissed before, but this… It was something that foreshadowed something more. After you stopped getting enough air.

-As if I want all of you - finally the thought was complete.

-What!? I'm sorry!? He abruptly leaned back from you

-Oh, I'm sorry.. I just.. I don't know what came over me Malleus rubbed the back of his head confused

-No! It's not that I'm against ours.. Continuations.. You started gesturing actively

-It's just me.. I didn't expect you to. Similar actions

-Hmm really? Malleus said, approaching you with a slightly mischievous smile and half-open eyes.

-Y-Yes! I am.. Sorry. I'm a little nervous.

-Maybe then you're not ready? I'll understand.. I won't insist - he gently took your hand and kissed it gently

-I didn't say that! It's just… this.. Nervous

-Are you afraid of me? -No! I love you very much! And as you can see, when you're so close to me, I don't push you away. Because I'm not afraid..

-Then I'll try to be gentle... Malleus smiled at you tenderly and ran his hand over your cheek You're blushing

- You always know how to embarrass me. Tsunagotaro gently ran his hand down your neck and ran his fingers a little over the top of your pajamas. He pressed his nose against your shoulder and inhaled the fragrance, his pupils sharply narrowed

-Darling? - He said in a slightly trembling voice

-What is it?

-Are you sure you agree to what happens next? I won't be able to restrain myself..

-Yes.. Just be gentle to start with You felt his smile appearing on your skin. It was important for him to hear the permission from your mouth. Now small spikes and a tail began to show on his back. Although it wasn't visible through his clothes yet

-Good...- he slowly began to take off your shirt. After he took it off, he said

-Darling.. I didn't think your kind had such cute gadgets..

He pointed to his chest and gently kneaded it with his hands

-Tell me if it hurts you. even in his lust-intoxicated state, he tried to take care of you. -M?!

She turned her head away, blushing

-Except yours.. Is there no view of them?

-There is, but I never paid attention to it…

He leaned against the chest area with a languid look and began to kiss her slowly and sensually.

-Mm.. The taste is as incredible as the smell ~

After his words, you whimpered softly while he kissed you and smiled, and his hands slowly made their way to the area below your stomach. Now Malleus was slowly sliding towards your stomach and was already kissing you there.

-Mm~ My rose.. Will you let me go on?

-Yes.. Oh sure The horned fairy grinned and his hands pulled the elastic of your night pants a little, gently pulling them off you. After that, your underwear became his barrier to your wonderful taste, he puffed up a little from this fact. But he continued to slowly spend his hands removing this obstacle, while feeling like you were already wet. Pushing your legs apart a little, the scent of your arousal hit him right in the nose and the smell of incense gave him even more strength to continue.

-It really looks like rose petals.. - he said, spreading your vulva

-Mm!? Where.. How? Where did you find this comparison? - She said, looking at him with one raised eyebrow

-Well.. He massaged it a little with his fingers and looked down intently.

-It's a little awkward..

-What could be more embarrassing than my position in front of you?

-Hehe, you're a darling.. Once.. When I was younger, I became interested in the topic.. Mating. And I asked Lilia what it was like.. Well, he told me that "everything is so beautiful for women that I look like rose petals" Frankly, I did not believe him, and I did not quite understand what he was talking about. But now that I see it all in person.. His words make sense

-Well, that's an interesting comparison..

-Do you think so?~ - he said in a seductive tone when his face was between your legs, where he slowly ran his tongue between the folds -Mh!? - you jumped a little out of surprise, thereby hitting him a little in the nose with your hips

-Honey, calm down.. Otherwise, I'll go crazy before I give us pleasure~ I'm already holding on with all my strength so as not to eat you.. That smell.. Intoxicating~ - Malleus tightened his grip on your legs, scratching them a little with his claws, starting to run his tongue up and down.

-Mmm~

-That's what I wanted to hear, my rose ~ -

He mimicked the movements of his tongue in your petals. Quickly finding the middle, he rushed there. Each time, his movements became more violent, as he quickly began to lose his composure. Listening to your moans, he couldn't hold back his own mooing, thereby sending you impulses that didn't help you not melt in his grip.

-Ah! - From his accidental sharp thrust, you moaned and mechanically moved your hands to his horns. With these actions, you finally pulled the trigger from the dragon, who was now furiously beating his tongue at you and your petals

Driving in like that for a couple more minutes, you felt a wave of pleasure begin to catch up with you. Malleus felt your back begin to arch and your legs to shake.

-Mm~ Have you already?

-Don't talk.. Ah! Go on..

-Hehe - you felt his smile tremble in you

-Mmm~Ah! - when he hit you with his tongue the last time, you sprayed him in the face, squeezing between his legs. The dragon rose slowly, carefully releasing your legs. His eyes were sparkling with a green light, and his whole face was in your netar. He licked his face and approached your already breathless face.

-Malleus.. phew..

-Yes, my rose ~ before you say it, I want to say that you are magnificent both in taste and aroma, as befits a flower ~

-You.. The dragon is too greedy..

-Naturally ~ - he gently tucked your hair behind your ear.

-Phew..

-Are you ready to continue? ~ - Malleus is clearly pissed off after your taste

-WHAT!? We just did..

-Hehe, this is just the beginning, I want to feel your nectar not only on my lips ~

-You.. You're vulgar! - you got up and hit him with a pillow

Ahaha, darling, but you like it ~ He stopped you by grabbing your hand - And since you're already so active, I can continue~

The incense finally burned out.. But the smell of "Dragon Grass" has long filled the whole room..

[unfinishedslurs]

party king (steddie)

“You want me to what?”

“Go to a party with me,” Eddie says, looking at Steve like he’s the weirdo here. “What’s the big deal, King Steve? You’ve been to plenty of parties.”

“You know, no one actually called me that,” Steve tells him, abandoning his tapes to put his hands on his hips. “Billy started it. I think he just wanted people to call him a king.”

Eddie visibly considers this before nodding, like it makes sense. Which it does. Billy was, in Steve’s private thoughts, an egotistical maniac who needed to calm down.

May he rest in peace.

“But you’ll come to the party with me, right?”

“Give it up, Eddie,” Robin calls from where she’s rewinding tapes. “Steve hasn’t been to a party in forever. He’s basically a grandpa now.”

“Hey!” Steve objects. That’s rich, coming from her. Going to bed at nine some nights so he gets a few more hours of sleep before waking up in a cold sweat does not make him a grandpa. It just makes him traumatized  

“Steeeeeeeve,” Eddie whines, widening his eyes until it looks like they’re going to pop out of his sockets. His exaggerated pout isn't going to do him any favors either. No matter what the kids say behind his back (looking at you, Henderson) he isn't a pushover.

“Why would I want to go to a high school party?” He crosses his arms, leaning against the counter. “I graduated. I have better things to do with my time.”

“Like lose arcade games to freshmen?” Robin asks. He flips her the bird.

“Please, Steve?” Eddie asks. “Pretty please? Pretty pretty please, with cherries and whipped cream and six little nuggets on top?”

“What the hell are you even saying anymore?”

“You want him to eat his babies?” Robin shrieks. “Like Kronos? Is one of them going to cut off his head and free the rest?”

Eddie’s eyes light up, and Steve slaps a hand over his mouth. He doesn’t know who that guy is, and he doesn’t want to deal with the two of them chattering over whatever movie villain he’s assuming is in their weird cult classic films when he still doesn’t know why Eddie is asking him to this party.

He doesn’t even flinch when Eddie licks his hand.

“I’ve been slobbered on by actual monsters,” he says flatly. “Your spit has zero effect on me.”

Eddie bats his eyes and gives his palm a kiss, right where he’d laved his tongue. Steve rolls his eyes and wipes his hand on the side of Eddie’s face.

“Hey!”

“Don’t dish what you can’t take,” Steve says. “Now, why exactly am I getting asked to go to a high school party?”

“Jessica Roberts needs some kush, and she asked me to sell there.”

“Okay? Still not answering my question.”

“There’s gonna be jocks at the party,” Eddie finally confesses, “and I don’t know if they’ll try shit. But given my track record lately…”

“So you need a bodyguard?”

“Hey!” Steve shouts, and is summarily ignored by everyone. So he does what any normal person would do, and slams an abandoned beer bottle against the edge of the counter so it shatters. 

The jocks turn and look at him after that.

Steve glances down at the jagged edges of the bottle in his hands, flipping it like it’s his old ice cream scoop. Yeah, this should work. 

“Leave him alone,” he says, steely inflection to his voice. 

“Or what, Harrington?” One of them asks. “Heard you just been sittin’ in this room all night. What, you hanging around the queers now? Didn’t take you for a f-”

He stops talking when Steve grabs him by the hair and presses the broken bottle against his throat.

“Here’s what's gonna happen,” he says quietly, taking a look at his buddy. He’s let go of Eddie, a lot more spooked now that his friend is shaking in his Nike’s. “You’re going to leave this room. You’re going to leave Munson here alone. You’re not going to bother him, or anyone else in his dragon club ever again. If I hear that you or your little friends are fucking with him, I have a very nice nail-studded baseball bat in my trunk I’d be more than happy to introduce you to. Capisce?”

“Woah, woah, woah,” the guy that was holding Eddie says. “What the hell, Harrington?”

Steve doesn’t break eye contact with the guy he’s threatening. “Capisce?” He asks again, putting a little more force into the word.

“C-capisce.”

“Good,” he says, shoving him away. “Now get outta here.”

They scramble away. Steve walks over to the trash can and throws away the remains of the bottle, running a hand through his hair. He finally turns around to see Eddie staring at him with wide eyes, frozen.

“Sorry-”

“Fuck me.”

“What?”

Eddie’s entire face flushes, like he didn’t mean to say that. “Uh.”

Steve looks at him, and then around the kitchen they’re in. Glass and beer on the floor, music blasting loud enough to set him on edge, a crowd of people that look at him like a zoo exhibit. Fuck, his head hurts. 

“Yeah, okay,” he decides. “We’re going to mine, though.”

“Wh-what?” Eddie looks like a deer in headlights, even though Steve’s offering exactly what he asked. 

“I…have no idea what I’m doing,” Eddie confesses. 

“Oh, are you not…” He trails off, gesturing towards Eddie’s back pocket. “I assumed…”

Eddie laughs abruptly, slapping a hand over his mouth like he startled himself with it. “You know hanky code, Harrington?”

“Can you call me Steve when you’re in my bed?” He’s already got his shirt off, for God’s sake. “Listen, man, if you don’t want this, it’s no biggie.” He starts to get off, and Eddie’s hand clamps over his thigh. 

“No, no, no, don’t you dare. Just gimme a minute, I’m processing.”

“Processing,” he repeats flatly. 

“Yes, processing. I’ve got the guy of my extremely virginal wet dreams shirtless on top of me. I did not think this would ever happen. I didn’t even know you were queer until tonight.”

Steve’s mouth shapes into an “o” of understanding. “You’re a virgin?”

“Jesus, could you focus on anything else I said?”

“You dream about me?”

“Let’s go back to the virgin part.” His fingers start nervously tapping against Steve’s leg. 

“You’re not subtle,” Steve says flatly. “I know when you stare at my ass.”

Eddie colors in a flood of bright red. “What if I wasn’t? What if I was…uh, jealous or something?”

“I guess that’d make sense, since you’re flat as a board.”

“Wh—hey!”

[amourcheol]

filmbro-zoned (teaser)

❝Who knew all it takes is a hot girl with top-tier taste for a man to admit he's wrong?❞

g e n r e : college! au, fluff, crack, suggestive

w o r d c o u n t : 1k for teaser (approx 20k words for full fic)

s u m m a r y : self-proclaimed movie mastermind chwe vernon minds his business—whether that be avoiding the popular, problematic kids in his college to reducing customer interest in his parents' film store. his plan of isolation, however, is completely destroyed when you, a seemingly insane disney fan, slams his perfect movie taste and ask for his help to take down an evil ex.

w a r n i n g s : loosely inspired by watching the detectives, film major! vernon who owns an outdated film store, mc is the baddest (but also the craziest) bitch in this fic, vernon is a loser, film major! mingyu who will be violated many times in this fic sorry king, mentions of many filmbro films which will also be violated, self-indulgent mentions of some of my favourite films, kissing, mentions of sex but no actual sex because im fearing god today, barbenheimer reference <3

p l a y l i s t : if you're too shy (then let me know) by the 1975 || q&a by seventeen || wonderful women by the smiths || confidence by ocean alley

t a g l i s t : @hyuckworld @hiraethmae @lllucere @intoanothermind @kokoiinuts

a u t h o r ' s n o t e : who would have thought i'd be writing a college au huh...alice will never let me live this down...also guys once again so sorry for constantly posting this hopefully i have found a way for the loophole...let us see if this teaser gets shown in the tags...

“WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS ON WOLF OF WALL STREET, AMERICAN PSYCHO, PULP FICTION…FIGHT CLUB, SAVING PRIVATE RYAN, SCARFACE…”

You squinted at the list, finding the names neverending. “Jeez, this list keeps going, huh?” 

He could not help the scoff. “And you called me a Filmbro.” He set his forearms on the counter, locking his hands together. “What do you need these movies for?”

“They’re for my ex-boyfriend.” 

The term had him pausing. Of course—the ex-boyfriend. How has he heard of this man, but not know a thing about him? Shit, he did not even know your name.

“This ex of yours has an…interesting taste,” he said slowly. “What’s he like?”

“I can tell you he attends the same college as you. Well, us,” you clarified, jerking your head towards the college colours of your server’s hoodie. “Film major. Just like you, actually.” 

“Oh?” Small world. “What’s the name?”

“Kim Mingyu. Do you know him?” 

Vernon Chwe nearly shit his oversized jeans.

A hesitant nod of his head. “I have a few classes with him.”

“Oh?” Your stare was a little more intense now. “What do you think of him?”

Right. 

Another fated question—the people around him had to stop asking him such controversial questions, or else he was bound to piss someone off. You were already letting him off the hook too many times; one more judgemental comment, and he was having that Princess movie set smashed on his head.

Kim Mingyu. Fuckass Kim Mingyu. Film major—just like him. One of the most popular boys in the year—very unlike him. All the teachers love his essays, all the girls love his freakishly-perfect six-pack, which Vernon is extremely irritated (and devastatingly intimidated) by. 

What all these people failed to realise, though, was that Mingyu was the biggest piece of shit to grace the halls of his university—and the planet, if dramatics were in order. If you thought that Vernon was a filmbro, then Mingyu was Filmbrother. Filmcomrade. Filmnemesis. 

It was as if you could hear the thoughts churning in his head. “You can be honest, you know. He did dump me at the end of the day.” A smirk began to appear. “Say your worst.”

The reassurance did not help. “I mean,” he started, swiping your card, “He’s okay? I haven’t talked to him enough to have an opinion on him.” 

A half-truth—that should suffice. 

But because the fates like to shit on his head every now and then for kicks, they decided to leave you unsatisfied with his answer. “Or, you can keep lying!” 

Excellent intuition, really. “I’m not!” he exclaimed, slapping the card back on the counter. “I really don’t know much about him.”

The big man upstairs was testing him even further, when, with a determined gaze, you set your elbows atop the surface. You leaned closer, tilting your head to the side as you inspected him, and Vernon blinked back at the sheer lack of space you had created. His mouth twisted, eyes frantically darting at the features of your face, not quite taking in the entirety of your being. Your vision seemed to work perfectly, because it caught the slight flush at the tops of his cheeks, where it was just pale skin seconds before.

Your smirk deepened. “Judging by your blush, you’re either terrible at lying…or,” you offered, voice lowering a little as you drummed your fingers against the counter, “You’ve never had a hot girl this close to you.” 

Fuck everything and everyone, because that only made him blush more furiously. You could not help the chuckle that escaped, deciding to cease torturing him and take your card. “I’ll not say the answer, Mr. Filmbro, but I think you already know.”

Since he had no plans of turning into a human form of a ketchup bottle, he evaded the topic entirely, instead focusing on interrogating you. “You still haven’t told me how Mingyu is related to the movie list you made.”

That seemed to hold your interest. “Oh, of course!” Putting the list back into your bag, you began, “Well, the list holds my ex-boyfriend’s favourite films. I wanted to know your opinion on a few.”

He could not contain his sigh. Oh, he had an opinion on these films that you mentioned. Again, he would rather be buried with his thoughts on the specific genre than ever tell you. The curiosity, though, was eventually going to eat him alive.

So much for minding his business.

“I mean…” he began to think, trying to find the right words. “I don’t mind them? Godfather is a good film, but I’ve seen better from Brando. I like American Psycho, but again, people tend to miss the point of the movie.”

As you nodded, listening to his two-cents on the movies you mentioned, he paused, furrowing his brows. “Why do you care about my opinion?”

You smacked your lips together, folding the list back. “I don’t know much about you, Mr. Filmbro,” you began, “But you don’t run a filmstore without knowing a thing or two about the films you sell.”

“So?” He crossed his arms atop the counter. “Shouldn’t you have asked the guy who you made the list about?”

“Trust me,” you said, your smirk turning more into a rageful flash of teeth, “I know exactly what he thinks of these films.”

Don’t particularly know what to make of that comment. “Well, I don’t know what my opinion for these films is going to help you in any way.”

“It has helped.” You paused then, waiting to see if he would egg you on, asking how his seemingly tame opinions would play into the grand scheme of things. “All part of my master plan.”

Master plan? Vernon may have been interested before, but he was certain that, before, he could have hid it without letting you catch onto it. In a sudden flash, though, as if his mouth was beyond his control, he regrettably slipped out the words which had you smiling more than he would have liked.

“What master plan?”

He almost closed his eyes. Shit. Now I’m fucking invested.

The corners of your mouth, lifting upwards, had him almost nervous. “I was hoping you would say that.” 

[gamblersdoll]

so since sukuna goes for a woman who can hold her own, what would happen if she always won?

well let me tell you.

talks of sex, maybe praise???

he has always been on your side. a bitch tryna argue? “whoop her ass!”

a man tryna holler at you? “either you do it or imma do it. it looks hot when you do it.” (he has seen your short frame bring a six foot plus man to his knees and cry, and he got a raging hard on.)

and when you both bickering hes always baffled by your snarky ass remarks.

“ha, women. am i right?”

“yo thousand year old ass smells like earwax and piss, play wit cho mama.” and hes like …? and when he takes a whiff of himself after hes the primary host hes lowkey livid cause how dare you put him on the spot??

each fight youve won, hes lustful. hes not begging (he is) he’s demanding to switch with yuuji, he wants to hold you, kiss you, reward you for makin him proud. but its not like you do it for him, you just are on a different level than these lousy boys and girls.

or do you do it in the sentiment of pleased for yourself? sure you could get kicked out of jujutsu tech high school, but hey you got slurped up and dicked down? thats a plus?

so when you exercise a cursed spirit, a special grade all on your own, matter of fact, four of them, he’s practically drooling. (women in his age could not necessarily handle that, so seeing it turns him on severely.) and he wants to spread your folds and slurp your clit. he wants to so bad he can only try to remember the last time.

“how would you rate my fighting skill, ryo?” you would ask, meanwhile hes having you stand against a wall while he has his head between your thighs, noisily slurping and sucking, and having to tap this man to signal hes too fuckin loud.

“it makes me so excited to see it.. fuck woman, do you know what you do to me?” he growls, and somewhat a groan. he sticks his tongue out, shaking his head side to side and it makes your knees buckle, but hes your stability.

hes been looking forward to slam his cock into you after a fight, he had to know how it feels when your adrenaline is still up. or was it light work? did you have adrenaline at all? he was growing inpatient, and your name being called along with yuuji’s make him debate should he just kill the whole school so its you and him alone.

he doesnt because he… somewhat cares? sure, you arent able to eliminate sukuna. but you did give him a hard time, harder than mahoraga, the frustration of not being able to knock you down and if he did you still got back up, even pinning him (he was originally angry, but then it turned into a lust/love.) frustration of seeing you get back up, not giving in unless it was a legitimate mutual tie. not backing down just because hes the king of curses.

sukuna could admit he loved that about you.

even if he did knock you down once, (a two hour battle,) he did not want you to be discouraged, the LAST thing he wants.

“stand up and look at me, y/n. youre strong, my strong woman, a perfect concubine to be next to me on my throne.”

[copperbadge]

I was making breakfast and listening to an episode of Just King Things this morning, which is a podcast I do recommend -- two very smart English teachers are reading the books of Stephen King in publication order and discussing them. This could go extremely awry except they're both highly conscious of his failings as well as his skill, so they do really well handling a lot of his less salutatory content.

They've hit the point in King's ouvre (this episode was about Hearts In Atlantis) that follows his recovery from the car accident that very nearly killed him, where he was struck by a van while out walking. One of them pointed out that it seems as though he came back from nearly dying determined to write the wildest shit imaginable and only write what he wanted, which struck a chord in me this time despite having listened to this episode before. Perhaps because I was thinking about my own writing and where it's going in the short term (there are a couple of short stories I want to do that I don't quite have a way into yet). I generally don't think about the drift of my creativity in the long term because when I do I usually draw the wrong conclusions.

I don't really classify my life, the way some people who've had high-impact injuries do, as before-TBI and after-TBI (Traumatic Brain Injury -- the fairly severe concussion I had in January of 2020). For one thing, given I had to cancel a trip to NYC because of it, it may have saved my life; I almost certainly would have caught COVID as someone with known lung issues in New York at the time. For another, the TBI was way scarier to almost everyone else; for me it was just one more dumb injury I gave myself and I didn't even remember most of it so it hardly registered. I used to open the story of it with a joke about waking up not remembering going to bed the night before, but nobody ever found it funny.

It's true that there are changes it wrought in my life, though. Even practical stuff like making sure my living space doesn't have tripping hazards and continuing to wear a fitbit even though I don't really need to (the fitbit told us, the morning after, exactly when the concussion happened, because it registered a heart-rate spike when I fell). For weeks after, I had to move slowly and put off making important decisions because I couldn't trust my physical or intellectual judgement; I didn't even jaywalk in my own neighborhood because I couldn't be sure I was judging the cars' speeds properly. For about a year after I had periodic post-concussion syndrome which basically just slammed me back into concussion space, which wasn't painful or upsetting but was definitely inconvenient.

And it's also undeniable that my writing shifted after the injury. It's not necessarily because of the injury, since my initial recovery from the TBI and the declaration of quarantine happened at roughly the same time, and anyone who tells you that a years-long global pandemic didn't impact their artistic expression is selling you a line. But the last thing I wrote before the TBI was the first draft of Six Harvests, and aside from the Six Harvests publication draft, which had fairly minimal changes, almost all that I've written has been blue-sky, light-hearted, PG-rated romance. It's been on my mind that I've been writing different subject matter from what I used to, but the timing of it didn't strike me until just recently.

I don't mind, really. I love fandom and I support fanfic in whatever expression it comes, but I'm also happy writing my own stories. While I'm aware it's been years since I've meaningfully written fanfic, it doesn't bother me per se, as long as I'm writing. It bothered me much more when I could write fanfic but not original fic, especially in those last few awful months at my last job. I'm proud of the literary and non-genre fiction I've written in the past, but it's also much more trying and frustrating to write at times, so I'm enjoying having a different sort of challenge that feels more fulfilling in the process. I'm sure at some point I'll go back to literary fiction -- there are ways in which it's hard to avoid turning the later Shivadh novels into literary fiction, being honest -- but for now I like what I'm writing, and I'm writing primarily to please myself and without regard to what's necessarily rational or linear.

Just struck me, is all, that it's by far the most noticeable major shift in my work. I do sort of wonder what will be next.

[trashmouth-richie]

[vol i] [vol ii] [vol iii]

Eddie x fem!reader

Summary: Eddie is slowly becoming easier to live with you’re not sure if you’re just used to his disgusting behavior or if he’s truly trying to change. You make a schedule for chores and when/who/what time showers will be taken, chaos ensues on both Eddie and you. Eddie reveals a side of him that reader hasn’t seen/ noticed before.

W/C: 6.4k

A/N: if you were looking for some disgusting! Eddie smut this is the chapter for you babe.

Warnings: NO MINORS! Smut, blow jobs, rough sexual acts, degrading, daddy!kink, vomit, crude language (as if any of my fics don’t have this)

S/O: @agentmarvel @sweetsweetjellybean @boomhauer @mopeymopeymouse @chestylarouxx @banished-big-ope-vibes @carolmunson @newlips for helping me beta read, come up with dialogue, pacing, letting me insert them throughout the fic, helping me breakdown how this disgusting little mf would act in certain situations + everything in between! You guys are the best! If you aren’t already— follow them.

/

You couldn’t deny that things had gotten better with having Eddie as a roommate (not that you would ever express that to him) but living with the overgrown child was slightly very slightly, like a teeny tiny bit, better than it was before.

After living in his disgusting cluster fuck of a room for a week, Eddie finally sat down amongst his heap of mixed dirty and clean clothes and organized it. The disaster made your eye twitch every time you walked past his room in the morning and got a whiff of his stench, reeking of weed and Doritos, you finally convinced him to get it done, and in typical Eddie fashion— it came with a price.

After bargaining for days and nearly pulling your hair out because all he wanted was a single pair of your panties—

“Why? So you can hold them up like that dork in Sixteen Candles to show all your nerd friends?”

“Babe, the ladies I fuck don’t wear panties.”

He finally settled on a six pack of Busch Light, and for you to do his laundry for a week.

“Remember to separate my delicates, sweetheart.”

Fucking pig.

The only thing delicate about Eddie was his ego when you told him his hair was thinning out on top, (it definitely wasn’t, he had more hair than cousin It) but you needed the upper hand, and criticizing his hair was the way to do just that.

His bed frame and the oak dressers he had ordered, finally arrived. Allowing him to put away his never ending collection of band tee’s and holy jeans. Clearing a path for his floor.

“Holy shit, is that the carpet?” You ask, standing in the door frame before your shift at the salon, toothbrush in your hand, minty dollop of toothpaste atop it.

He’s elbow deep in the dresser, foregoing folding anything but instead shoving the clothes haphazardly into the shallow drawers and slamming them shut with his legs, or his hip.

“Wow, Tooty, you’re hilarious,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes, “but since you asked, yes, it does, match the drapes.”

A smile spreads across his lips. Another normal conversation turning into a sexual innuendo. He couldn’t be prouder of the way you walked right into that. Since you told him what happened to Eyeball he really has been holding back his usual gross behavior, but sometimes it was just a slip of the tongue for him. Involuntary action.

You turn to leave but he stops you, crossing the room at record speed and placing a ringed hand on your wrist, the surprising warmth from his hand burning your skin.

“Hey, uh, can I get your opinion quick?”

“I’ve already told you, I don’t think the groupies give a shit what color boxers you wear.”

“Wow, okay— that’s the wrong answer! But I’m talking about this.”

He points to the shelf crammed full of his odd knick knacks. It originally belonged to Nancy, but she had left it behind. Inside of it were a hoard of books. Lord of the Rings, something that looked like manuals for Dungeons & Dragons—of course he’s still playing that— a plethora of Stephen King books, and a full— more than likely sticky— stack of playboys. Go figure.

“What about it?”

“Do you think it looks good here or should I move it under the window?” Eddie asks, hands out wide measuring and comparing in arms length the distance under the window and the width of the book shelf.

You take a step into his room, every square inch of wall was covered in posters, your former bed sheets graffitied with his band, hung on one wall, the opposite held a kitchen knife stabbed through the drywall.

“What are you trying to do, feng shui?”

“Bless you.”

“What?”

He shrugs, “You sneezed, and me, being the pinnacle Christian son that I am, I blessed you, now should I keep this here?”

It took you a minute to comprehend what the hell just happened and why.

“Blessed by Eddie Munson— that’s the biggest oxymoron I’ve ever heard,” you snort, a smile twisted on your lips as you look at the overgrown man child huff about where to put his shelf, shoving your toothbrush into your mouth, “looks fine there.”

-

He did start cleaning up after himself, even offering to vacuum the living room in exchange for you making supper most nights. Begging you to make the lasagna again after he ate almost the entire pan the last time. He even decided to get take out on his one night a week to cook. Thank God because you couldn’t handle one more night of burnt, made-in-the-toaster, grilled cheese or using orange juice as a replacement when the milk was gone for cereal.

You learned the hard way that you needed to buy two separate gallons of milk, after watching Eddie drink straight from the jug, a dripping white mustache formed on his upper lip as he licked it suggestively, “Got milk?” He’d ask before roaring with laughter.

-

The next few weeks with Eddie as your roommate went rather smoothly. With you working at the salon and him working long hours at Boom’s Auto shop, you two came home at almost the same time every night. He would show up covered in grease and reeking of motor oil. His work coveralls, branding a white and red labeled patch with his name on them, had the sleeves cut off, showcasing his muscled arms and the wide array of tattoos prickling up and down them, shoulder to wrist. He wore a sweaty bandana wrapped around his head, rotating between a black or a red one, depending on the day.

You didn’t mind doing his laundry since his pockets were always full of either loose bills or the occasional joint, which you would keep, and smoke later with Robin and Steve, giggling watching the stars as you laid out on blankets in the backyard.

On Saturday nights, he usually played with the band, scoring a gig at the Hideout or working at the bar til closing time, helping Tom bartend a little until Walt got back from vacation. He stumbled in at night knocking over a lamp and almost falling backwards down the basement steps. He’d pass out for a greater half of the next day, waking in the afternoon with a raspy voice and smelling like cheap cologne.

One particular Sunday morning, he stumbled out of his room, wearing black boxer briefs, and a sleepy grin, rubbing his eyes like a little kid.

“Mornin’” he grumbled opening the fridge and diving in for his notorious pickles, tilting it to his lips and drinking straight from the jar.

You shake your head, sitting at the table and sorting through the mail. Your hair in a clip and wearing an oversized crew neck sweater, your mauve fingernails flicking through the envelope flaps, jotting down what’s due and when. “It’s 1 in the afternoon, Eddie.”

He smacks his lips loudly and faces you, fishing a pickle from the jar with his bare hands, “metal has no time limits, Tooty, we play until the bar shuts down.” He makes his way towards you, wearing one sock and chomping on his pickle.

You notice something on his stomach, a new tattoo? Maybe? Riding low on his waist and almost dipping below his underwear. The closer he gets you can make out the writing, a permanent marker phone number from a groupie written on his lower abs.

You point your pen towards his stomach, “gonna get that thing tattooed on, make it official, that Eddie the freak Munson has at least one adoring fan?”

He looks down, a smile pressing on his lips, “aww no need to be sad sweetheart,” he says lowering himself into a chair beside you, “there’s plenty of me to go around, and besides, I thought good little nuns couldn’t fuck, saving themselves for God.. or are you one of the dirty ones, showing your tits for cash so you can gamble?” He winks and laughs as you shove his shoulder trying to throw him out of the chair.

“You’re so gross!”

“And yet, I’m still here.” the Cheshire Cat smile planted on his lips.

Still. You had to admit, no matter how nasty his jokes were or how annoying he could be— having Eddie around wasn’t that bad.

-

“Tooty!” Eddie yells through the bathroom door bouncing from one foot to another, banging on the door with an open palm, “I’m going to piss my pants if you don’t hurry up!”

You had only been in the shower for ten minutes. When you walked past his room this morning with sleepy eyes and a deep yawn, metal music blared from his bedroom along with the annoying beep of his alarm clock, but the prince of filth was fast asleep.

“The schedule that you made says I get the bathroom first on Fridays, which is today!”

The schedule you had designed for Eddie and yourself consisted of 7 vertical columns one for each day of the week, and 5 horizontal columns: showering, laundry day, dishes, cooking, garbage. You had more days in the cooking column than Eddie, just like he had more days in the garbage column than you did. It evened out.

“Wrong— you were supposed to get the bathroom at 7, it’s now past 7:30 so it’s my turn,” you correct, putting a generous amount of body wash on your loofah and foaming it up, white suds cleansing your skin, “not my fault you can’t wake up to your alarm.”

“Christ, seriously just open the door! I’m fuckin’ dancing around out here like a little kid!”

“Can’t hear you,” you sing out to him, laughing silently beneath the spray of water.

You hear the feverish jiggle of the brass handle on the door and heavy footsteps as he stomps away. Oh the joys of victory. You bask in the delight of getting a one up on Eddie. Something that rarely happened in the few weeks he has been living with you. Slathering conditioner in your hair and rinsing, you exit the shower, feeling refreshed and ready to start the day.

Opening the bathroom door you expected Eddie to barrel through you to get to the bathroom, you’re taken aback when you hear faint yelling coming from outside.

“… piss in the front yard of my own house— I will! Go back to trimming your hedges with your toddler sized shorts and mind your own goddamn—,”

“Eddie!”

He’s standing barefoot in the middle of the lawn, his navy boxer briefs the only clothing he has on. Double middle fingers raised in the early morning sky aimed towards your neighbor across the street, Mr. Derry, the neighborhood watch dog. He was an older man, no kids, no wife. Retired. And a grade A pain in the ass.

Eddie turns and looks to you, pink blush creeping over his cheeks, “…business.” Eyes wide in innocence as if he hasn’t done anything wrong.

You’re still in your towel, hair soaking wet down your back, watching as this crazed lunatic you have as a roommate terrorizes the neighborhood, one flash of his dick at a time.

“What the hell are you doing?!” You ask, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him towards the front door.

“Gracing the common folk of Cherry Lane with my morning wood, yeah take a picture and frame it you fuckin’ perv!”

Yanking harder you get him inside and slam the door. Your cheeks are flushed with embarrassment.

You open your mouth to speak but Eddie has already started explaining.

“Listen, I had to piss bad, like really bad. You could have just unlocked the door but no, Ms. Uptight-independent Tooty with your rules and schedules—” he stops and takes a breath. After your conversation a few weeks ago about the downfall of Eyeball and your own family abandoning you, Eddie had been trying to be more reasonable about things, more cautious about the way he worded things. Not trying to twist the knife lodged into your chest that had been driven there years ago.

“So I made up my own rule! If you’re gonna take forever shaving your legs or…other things…” his eyes cast down your body. The white towel snug against your form, you clutch it tighter around you as his eyes stare through the towel, begging to catch a glimpse of your wet, smooth skin. Water droplets taunting him as they fall down the slick of your hair. He shakes his head to clear his gutter mind. “I’m going to take matters into my own hands, and believe me princess, it was a handful.”

That’s about as dialed back as Eddie could be.

“You can’t just piss in the front yard! This neighborhood is not like the trailer park, that asshole you called a perv—“

“He was! He was looking right at my dick!”

“— once called the cops on Nancy because she parked by his curb when we were having her bridal shower.”

“Wa-wait, Nancy fucking Wheeler got the cops called on her?”

“Yeah, Hop wasn’t too happy to find out what it was for, calling Derry a waste of space.”

Eddie laughs, “Oh I’m not surprised— him and I go way back, remember?”

Of course you did, he busted Eddie too many times driving higher than the Empire State Building while bringing you, Dustin, Will and Mike back to the Wheeler’s. It was almost a running joke between him and Hopper. Eddie would slip him a joint while in the back of his patrol vehicle and away he went, no ticket, no charge, nothing.

“Anyway,” you jeer, pointing a finger into his bare chest, the tip of your nail making a half moon indent into the head of the bloody demon inked on his left pec, “he’s a fucking asshole so don’t piss him off, he’ll make our lives hell.”

“Fine,” Eddie groans, running his hands down his face “but he was gawking!”

You roll your eyes and grab your hair dryer from your room. An adjustment you’ve had to do since Eddie moved in, getting ready partly in your room and in the bathroom. After your hair is dried and styled, you opt for a pair of light wash overall shorts, and a thick strapped, high neck tank top underneath. You finish your makeup by applying a coat of Revlon’s Toast of New York on your lips. Sliding on your knock off Doc Marten sandals, you grab your purse and head for the door.

Eddie’s sitting at the kitchen table, chair pulled out as he laces up his black work boots, body bent over his knee as he jerks his hand side to side, lazily working the laces through the hook eyelets.

“Still getting groceries tomorrow?” He asks, shoving his white cotton covered foot into his other boot, repeating the process. “I added some essentials to the grocery list.” He gestures to the pad and paper with a tilt of his chin.

Scanning the list you laugh, “Dunkaroos are not essential.”

“Don’t you dare cross them off!” Eddie fake shouts, a grin stretching across his lips, showing off his straight teeth.

“I’m off tomorrow and don’t have many clients today— I know it’s your night to cook, but I was thinking of making tater tot casserole for supper, I’ll just have to stop and get some ground beef from Bradley’s before I come home.”

“Oh shit,” Eddie lamented, “I have a gig tonight instead of tomorrow at the Hideout,” he says standing, running his hands down his legs to shake down his coveralls. “It’s probably going to be late, so don’t worry about making anything.”

Ripping the grocery list from the pad and stuffing it into your purse, you think back to how long it has been since you’d seen them play. You went along to support Chrissy and since Eddie was Kev’s longtime best friend and basically your chauffeur, you at least owed it to him to go with. A memory of you head banging and holding Chrissy’s hand tight as you both screamed for Corroded Coffin clouded your mind.

Threading your purse straps through your fingers and casting your eyes downward you have to know, “… you guys still play Lady Evil?”

Eddie grins again, “wouldn’t be a Corroded Coffin gig if we didn’t play some Sabbath, Jeff would probably throw a hissy fit.”

-

Friday evenings were usually busy in the shop. Boom ran a tight ship and paid better than any auto shop in a thirty mile radius. Eddie was lucky to get hired on using his street smarts and the fact that he was the unpaid mechanic of the trailer park for every banged up old sedan that his neighbors had since he was sixteen.

The old radio crackled and fussed as Hank Williams Jr sang about the survival rate of country boys. Boom whistled along with the tune. Running his tanned fingers through his blonde hair, a Mr. Pibb and a ham sandwich in front of him.

“So Eddie,” he says leaning back in his plastic chair, “I heard from the boys that you moved into a house on Cherry Lane. Damn boy, I thought that trailer park ran deep in your blood.”

Eddie throws his empty Mt. Dew can into the trash, missing by a mile. “Ahh Boom, you know I’m the prince of the park. Just stretching my city legs, helping out a friend.”

“Didn’t know you and Eyeball’s sister were close.” Aaron sneered, lighting up a cigarette with a strike of a match against his boot.

Eddie’s light hearted demeanor immediately changed, smile fading and eyebrows pulling together, “what the hell does that mean?”

“Helping out a friend?” Sean spat, his wiry mustache shriveled into a snarl, “what are you Mother Teresa? The only help that bitch needs is a fucking lobotomy.”

“Hey,” Eddie interjects, pointing a greased finger into Sean’s face, “don’t fucking talk about her like that, man.”

Aaron talks around his cigarette, blowing smoke across the table, “It’s true, she’s smokin’ fuckin’ hot but crazier than a shit house rat.”

The pair laugh, choking on smoke and bits of crusty bread.

“Remember what Chad said about her?” Aaron laughed..

“Fuck yeah how did he put that? Don’t marry the girls with the daddy issues, even if they let you put it in their a—”

Eddie slams his fists into Sean’s shirt, grabbing him by the collar and throwing him against the wall, “another word, about her— and I’ll break your fuckin’ nose.”

“You threatenin’ me Munson?” Sean chokes out.

Eddies eyes are crazed as he glares in Sean’s, “never a threat, pencil dick, it’s a promise.”

“Fellas,” Boom hollers, shoving his chair back with an eerie scratch, metal legs scraping on broken tile, “I’ll send ya both home for the day with no pay if y’all don’t knock it the fuck off.”

Eddie shoves Sean into the wall hard once more, releasing his grip on his shirt and adjusting his rings. He cracks his knuckles as he stomps back through the bay doors and out to the Buick he had been working on.

Ducking under the hood his breathing is erratic and his fists are shaking.

He never asked what happened with you and Chad but by the sounds of it, it sure as hell didn’t end on good terms.

It was fine if he teased you, but hearing it from anyone else wasn’t gonna fly with him. Not today, not ever. But something about the way you opened up to him, showed him your vulnerable side, it made him almost protective of you, like he needed to shield you from the ugliest parts of the world.

He never would have thought that Eyeball’s little sister, tough little Tooty, the same girl who punched Billy Hargrove in the face after pinching her ass one night, would make him care so much.

-

“Told ya he’s cool,” Steve slurs over his Bloody Mary, clinking the ice in the glass as he tips it back into his mouth, “he’s like a wild animal, but once you get to know him— he’s just a tattooed teddy bear.”

You, Robin and Steve were out for dinner and drinks at Louie’s, the newer sports bar in Hawkins, sitting under an emerald and white striped umbrella in the hot humid summer air. A monthly ritual you started ages ago when you all worked at Family Video. Only back then you went to Benny’s to get burgers and concrete thick milkshakes, racing to see who could finish first which ultimately ended in Robin getting a stomach ache, every time.

“I could have killed him the first few days,” you say, sipping your Malibu and Diet Coke through two neon straws, “honestly, still debating it.”

Robin steals the pickle spear and celery stick from Steve’s drink, munching away and talking with a mouthful, Steve simply rolls his eyes and reaches for another mozzarella stick, “wait, I thought you guys were getting along better now.”

“They are!” Steve interjects, pointing the mozzarella stick around like he was directing an orchestra, “I asked him myself when I brought my car to Boom’s yesterday for an oil change.”

The thought of your friends asking your roommate, who just so happens to also be their friend, how things were going between you both, made your stomach lurch.

“Well,” Robin began, twirling her pina colada and biting into the yellow flesh of the pineapple , “I’m just glad you aren’t by yourself anymore. It freaked me out knowing you were there alone.”

She wasn’t the only one.

Before Eddie had moved in, Steve gave you his prized nail bat to keep by your bed. So far you haven’t had to use it. And with Eddie in the house, it was stored in your closet.

“Alright, I’ll admit,” you say, taking a long drink, feeling the warmth of the coconut flavored alcohol mix with the Diet Coke bubbles, a frenzy on your tongue, “he’s come a long way,” you admit, dunking a fry into the mayo ketchup concoction, “finally house broke.”

It was the truth, you really didn’t mind him being around.

-

“Shh, gotta be quiet girls, daddy’s gonna take real good care of you, but seriously, you need to shut up.”

The girls laugh, drunk off bottom shelf liquor and Jell-O shots from the Hideout. Three pairs of tangled legs stumble through the front door as Eddie hurriedly works his keys into the lock.

The two of them giggle and hush one another, planting kisses on either side of his neck and stepping out of their shoes. His leather jacket hits the floor, the shirt he was wearing was ripped to shreds from the collar down. Carol’s fingers feverishly tore at his clothing before the three of them even made it to the van.

Foregoing the zipper on the tight leather mini dress she’s wearing, Eddie shoves it down her hips, giving her ass a firm squeeze, toying with the fishnet tights, “these stay on,” he demands, slapping her ass and unzipping his jeans, a parade of cheap lingerie, and leather studded clothing start from the front door and end in Eddie’s bedroom.

Your car wasn’t home which was odd but maybe it was parked in the garage. He wasn't sure where you were but if you were sleeping he didn’t want to wake you up. You had never discussed any boundaries about him bringing someone home, but what kind of rockstar would he be if he turned down hot twins?

They had approached him after the show, twisting their evil tongues into his mouth and groping him as soon as he got backstage.

Jeff was in the back room with his long time girlfriend Ash, they were holding each other tight as he kissed her neck and she squealed into his ear.

The girl who showed up to every gig, Marissa, wearing her signature “here for the drummer” shirt, was currently bent over the bathroom sink, Gareth buried deep inside her.

Even Big D was getting some action, the waitress from Benny’s, Emily, was currently bobbing along on his dick.

All of them were getting lucky, a win for Corroded Coffin. The girls were screaming for them, bras and panties tossed on stage, Gareth sporting multiple pairs around his neck. The old bar flies drunk off beer on tap were singing along to the requested songs.

Cece’s pink floral dress is brought over her head as Eddie sucks her nipple into his mouth, teasing and biting as Carol kneels at his feet and works her palm into his boxers, gasping at the hardened length in her grip.

A monster lies beneath the cotton. Almost as thick as her forearm, her dainty fingers unable to reach fully around his girth. She pumps him slow, releasing his throbbing cock.

His fingers twist into their hair as he shoves Cece down to her knees, joining Carol in the worship of Eddie Munson’s dick. Their greedy mouths take him in, one popping his balls into her mouth the other choking on his fat cock.

Eddie wasn’t gentle when he fucked groupies. He took what he wanted and didn’t leave any room for complaints or questions. Shut off from the gentle loving side sex can bring and only seeing red, it was like he was a mad man. A different person entirely. Truly the horns of satan poked through his forehead and his eyes clouded over revealing a black veil of sin.

Demon eyed.

He was pissed from what happened earlier at work. Fucking insane with rage at Sean and Aaron talking shit about you.

Not you, not Tooty.

His frustration builds as the sound of lungs gasping for air fills his ears.

“Fuck,” Eddie groans, “Jesus Christ— don’t you wanna be good for daddy? Open that fuckin’ throat up and take what I give to you.”

He grabs Cece’s hair and thrusts himself in her mouth, ignoring her tears as she gags and swallows him whole. “Are you crying? Poor fucking baby, what a shame, on the bed now.” He grabs her up by the throat and tosses her onto the bed.

He’d kill Chad if he ever saw him again. Still had no idea what he did or why you two broke up but hearing his mantra spill from those asshat’s mouths today was enough to make his skin crawl.

The vulgar shit they were saying. The way they non chalantly said it like they were reciting their McDonald’s order. Fuck that bothered him.

Cock swinging, Eddie pinches Carol’s nipples until she’s standing, he flips her upside down, fucking into her open mouth as he bites her fishnet tights open and spits on her pussy. Tossing her on the bed like discarded trash he slaps both of their asses.

He tries to blur you away from his mind, separate you from his brain for a while to release this pent up anger. But all he can see are the small tears falling from your eyes when you tell him the truth about your family.

The Grinch’s small heart grew three sizes that day.

Shaking his head he bounds to his bed, trying like hell to focus on his task at hand.

“Are my little whores ready? Think you can handle this without tearing up?”

-

When Steve drops you off you’ve already puked in his car, twice. When he announced that drinks were on him tonight, you may have been double fisting Jack and Cokes with Robin, and taking vodka shots, racing to see who could finish first.

Robin passed out in the back of his car, snuggled up with the cold leather on her cheek.

“Steeb, I’m fine, seriously! Look how good I’m walking.”

“That’s because I’m carrying you.” Steve huffs as he opens the front door.

You’re slurring your words and talking in a volume that could raise the dead, “You’re such a good friend Stephen, why? Why why why are you single?” You hiccup, the remnants of your vomit lingering on your breath, “You need a wife!”

“Tooty, we can talk about my failed love life another day,” Steve grunts, carrying you into the house, stepping over boots and skimpy clothing, “for now let’s get you to the bathroom so you can get cleaned up and maybe puke in the toilet this time!”

“I just wanna go to bed. I’m tired,” you whine, “Stoven bring me to my room, let me go to sleep!”

Ignoring you, Steve brings you to the bathroom and plops you down on the floor, opening the toilet lids just in time for you to blow chunks all over.

“Ooh that one looks like a mozzarella stick.”

“Jesus, I’m never letting you two idiots drink again! I’m always your goddamn babysitter, it’s so annoying.” Steve laughs, riddling your hair. Ever since you stepped foot into Family Video at fifteen, looking for a job, the three of you were inseparable. “You think you’re gonna be okay? I gotta get that other shit head home before she pukes in the backseat, I already have to clean the front.”

“Oh no! I didn’t know you threw up!”

Steve rolls his eyes, dragging his hands down his face.

“See you tomorrow, I’ll call you okay?” His face is pulled into concern, eyebrows raised and pinched together

You salute him and wave, laughing at his mop of hair flopping around as he turns to leave. Struggling for at least ten minutes to get your denim overall shorts unbuckled, cursing and giggling at your own drunken stupor. You finally manage to get them un done shucking them off your legs, leaving your upper body covered by your tank top, the black panties you were wearing still on. Sliding your arms around your back you manage to unhook your bra and thread it through your shirt, tossing it into the shower beside you. Exhausted, you rest your head on the toilet bowl— falling into a dizzy sleep.

-

“Cece, come here!” Carol whispers loudly. She’s standing in the doorway of the bathroom, mouth agape at the sight of the slumped over figure hugging the toilet bowl.

“Holy shit!” She says, emerging from Eddie’s bedroom. “Is that? No fucking way.”

“I didn’t know he was screwing her too!” Carol breathes jealousy spewing from her lips.

“You really think he’d want to fuck that? Look at her! She’s a walking basket case. I heard that her family moved away because she wigged out and tried to kill her own mom.”

“Actually, the rumor is that I killed them all,” you add, raising your sleepy drunk face from the toilet, seeing double and trying not to puke on the spot, you try to stand, using the toilet to support your weight as you push off from it, wobbling horrifically.

“Get the fuck out,” you say, vision dancing as you try to point to the front door, holding onto the sink to stabilize yourself wiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, “now.”

“Yeah?” Cece spits, folding her arms across her chest, “you gonna make us? Last I checked we were guests—“

“Not anymore,” Eddie hissed, adjusting the waist of his sweatpants as he looks into the bathroom at your disheveled appearance. Your makeup is smeared from throwing up, you’re half naked and barefoot, clutching onto the sink. Your overalls are covered in puke, and in a heap of vomit on the floor, a purple bra hangs over the edge of the tub. He wedges himself into the bathroom between you and the two girls, covering you with his tall frame from their view. His nostrils are flared and his chest is puffed out, “you heard her, get the fuck out.”

“What the fuck Eddie?!” Carol gripes, looking into his mad eyes.

He glares back, bored with her, “Did you really think you were gonna stay the night?” He prods, “Please, you can’t be that fucking stupid. Get your shit and go.”

“We live across town!” Cece squeaks, face pulled into shock and humiliation.

“Don’t care.”

Carol crosses her arms and glares into his eyes, “It’s late!”

“And?” He asks glaring back, and pushing through them, “Here let me help.”

Eddie takes their purses and shoes, tossing them out the front door into the yard. Pointing to the open door and fuming, he spits, “Out.”

The girls leave screeching ‘fuck you’s’ as they walk down the sidewalk, disappearing into the night.

He turns back to the bathroom, hearing you vomit again, one small glance and he can tell you hit the sink at least, puke splattering all over— the same reaction if you held a spoon under running water.

He turns around and comes back with the cleaner and a roll of paper towels, gagging with each wipe of the sink as he cleans it up.

Your crumbled body is slumped over the toilet again.

“Gonna live? Or should I call the coroner.” He says leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and a look of worry on his face.

“ ‘s Robin’s fault,” you mumble, voice echoing in the toilet bowl, “woulda been fine if it wasn’t for the sh—,” you gag thinking of the vodka, “—shots, I’m usually not like this.”

Eddie sits on the side of the tub. You’re wasted and half dressed. He was a lot of things but taking advantage of a drunk girl wasn’t him. He finds your robe hanging in its designated spot, and drapes it across your bare shoulders.

“Sit up a bit,” he instructs. With great effort you sit up, almost falling backwards but Eddie catches you, careful of his hand placements not wanting to graze you in your inebriated state. He helps you sit and you put your arms through the holes of the robe. He reaches gently around your middle to tie it. Putting delicate pressure on your back as he leans you forward towards the toilet. You hum with satisfaction as your face feels the cool plastic of the toilet seat. Fighting the urge to rub your back.

“I’m dying, you can have the house when I’m gone, scatter my ashes in the rose bushes out back.” You say with a whine. Groaning as your stomach churns again, puking up more and more of the mixed alcohol you drank earlier in the night.

“Need some water?” Eddie guesses.

You nod your head, feeling like it weighs a hundred pounds you set it back down.

He leaves and comes back from the kitchen with a glass of water, swirly straw included. Tapping your shoulder he hands you the Disney cup, taking a long pull from the straw, you set the cup down on the linoleum floor.

“Thanks.”

“Agh, you’ll be alright. The porcelain Gods and I are great friends— well we used to be back in high school. I haven’t prayed to them in a while,” he says with a chuckle. Sliding down against the wall behind you, sitting on the cold floor.

“Don’t forget the time you and Kev ate those shrooms and puked all night in the basement of our house.” You mutter, wiping your mouth with your sleeve and flushing the toilet.

That was a night Eddie would never forget, he was only sixteen, and he somehow scored some homemade brownies and shrooms from one of the seniors. Being young and dumb, him and Eyeball each ate three brownies and an entire bag of shrooms. The high was insane, but the aftermath was death. He hasn’t touched shrooms since.

“Shit,” Eddie exclaims, “how old were you? Ten?”

“ ‘leven,” you say, holding your elbows on the toilet seat and your head in your palms, “old enough to know you and Kev didn’t magically get the flu at the same time.”

“Man we were dumb,” he says with a laugh, rubbing his chin with his hand.

“Were?” you say slyly.

“Easy, I’m not the one who can’t hold their liquor, Princess.”

“Oh Jesus please no more mention of it or I will barf—again.”

He stands to leave, laughing and stretching his arms out over his head as a small yawn escapes him. Exhausted from the day's events: work, concert, threesome— ain’t no way he’d be up before noon tomorrow— you either.

“Think I’m gonna go to bed, you going to be okay?”

Sitting up and looking at Eddie for the first time tonight, you aren’t sure if it’s because you’re drunk, but it’s almost as if it’s the very first time you’ve seen him. His amber colored eyes are surrounded by a forest of black eyelashes, his mop of curly hair hanging in them slightly, smooth pink lips, surprisingly full, a sharp jaw with a days worth of stubble, his veiny neck dances as he swallows, adam’s apple bobbing up and down. His shoulders are thick snaking down to muscled forearms, veins protruding from them, his hands are easily double the size of yours, thick fingers adorned with the same chunky stupid rings he’s worn forever. His broad chest stretches across his ribs, nipples pierced since the 80’s. He stands with confidence. His slender waist with the tiniest patch of hair ducking into the gray waistband of his hanes boxer briefs. And the prettiest alabaster skin peeking out from his collection of black tattoos.

Mouth suddenly dry, you stutter, “I—I’m done throwing up, gonna go to my bed.”

You stand on Bambi’s legs, hitting the wall hard with your shoulder. “Jesus Christ,” Eddie laughs and scoops you up making sure he’s holding under your bent knees and around your upper arms. He carries you to your bed, his skin burning hot against your cheek. He lays you down, throwing the blankets over your head for good measure, trying like hell to ignore the flutter in his stomach as you huff and pout pulling your eyebrows inward and frowning as you place your blankets to your liking.

“Get some sleep Tooty.” Eddie says all too softly. Pushing your cute sleepy face from his mind, rocking back on his heels as he starts to leave your room.

“Eddie?” You call after him, your small voice ripping through him like a knife. “Thank you, seriously. For everything.”

Shaking his head back and forth, his wild hair flows like a curtain around him in the dark as he leaves your room, “you owe me,” he says with a small grin, shutting the door behind him.

//

////

/

SEE YOU IN VOLUME: V

[volume: 5]

putting random symbols in hopes that read more will eat this instead of the last paragraph 😩

-

-

[feyhunter78]

Chapter Six - The tourney has finished, and Jon finds himself in your chambers. As the events of the game go on Jon must adapt to his ever-changing role.

Ch 7

He is sweaty, dirty, tired, and yet he feels more alive than he has in years, perhaps it is the remaining exhilaration of victory, or the words of King Robert that ring in his ears.

You look up at Jon, then at your aunt, then back to Jon, and there is a sinking feeling in his gut. You do not want to kiss him, not even on the cheek.

He decides to spare you the shame and embarrassment, turning to King Robert intent on gracefully declining when your lips meet his cheek. It is quick, a peck, a whisper of soft lips against his stubble covered cheek and the words die on his lips.

The crowd behind him cheers, King Robert raises his glass towards him, his eyes glazed over with drunkenness. “A fine paring they would make, if it were not for his unfortunate birth.”

Lord Stark, his father, clenches his fist, but puts on a smile, patting King Robert’s shoulder. “I think it is time we retire to your tent, my friend.”

Shame washes over Jon, and a muscle in his jaw twitches as he looks away from the makeshift throne.

“Father, I have grown tired from all this excitement, might I be allowed to retire to my chambers?” You ask, loud enough for all around to hear. You are giving him an escape.

Tyrion nods magnanimously. “Of course, my daughter, and take your champion with you, lest he be mobbed by his hard-won crowd of admirers.”

It is only now that Jon realizes the chanting that he’s been blocking out is for him. The moniker they have bestowed upon him White Wolf. A reference to Ghost he knows, but it fills him with pride, never has a crowd chanted his name, never had more than his siblings chanted his name, but now? Now he was their champion. At least until the jousting began, then a new champion would be chosen. It matters not, for in this moment Jon feels special.

In your chambers nestled within Maegor’s Holdfast, Jon sits as you tend to his wounds. They are nothing, truly, some cuts and bruises, but still, you treat each one with such care.

Ghost rests his head on his knee while you work, painting on salves and covering cuts with soft gauze.

“Look up for me?” You half ask, half order, gently cupping his chin with one hand, keeping his head still as you tend to the cut on his cheek.

He winces when the cloth you are holding meets his broken skin, and you breathe out a soft apology before gently dabbing the salve on the cut. Your fingertips are soft, your focused expression allowing him to observe you. His lovely lady, truly his, until you marry that is, but there are no signs of any marriages happening soon.

Not for the first time he allows his mind to wander, to imagine you and him together—married somewhere, maybe Casterly Rock in one of the many wings you have told him about, or a keep in the North, perhaps Moat Cailin. If he could get his father to lend him the men, the supplies, it could be restored to its former glory.

“Ser Jon?” You ask, pulling him from his daydreams.

“Apologies. My Lady, I was lost in thought.”

“I asked if you had any other injuries?” Your voice is soft, as soft as your touch, and he craves it. Desires to feel more, to hear more, for you to always look at him with such rapt devotion, with such interest in his wellbeing, with such care. Gods he had never felt so cared for in his life.

Jon bites his tongue hard. He does, earlier in his duels one of the Redwyne men had slammed his elbow into his stomach, Jon is sure there is a bruise forming. “I do, My Lady, but it is in a place that would require the removal of my tunic.”

Your eyes widen ever so slightly, and you nod stiffly. “Well, it is my duty to care for my champion, so I shall turn around, then you let me know when you have removed your tunic. We are both members of great houses, we can act with decorum.”

Jon nods and waits.

You wait as well, just staring, then seem to realize what he is waiting for with an adorable “oh, right,” and turn around.

He chuckles and sheds his tunic folding it neatly and placing it in his lap, dislodging Ghost who grumbles and goes to lay on the plush pile of pillows you had moved into your chambers especially for him. “Alright, My Lady.”

You turn back around, and for a moment Jon thinks you are having a stroke.

You blink rapidly at him, your lips parting then snapping shut. “Oh, um, yes, right, where is the injury?”

He motions to the ever-darkening bruise in the center of his abdomen.

You make a small, strangled sound, one he would not have been able to hear if not for the quiet of the room, and gently kneel, salve in hand as you scrutinize the bruise. “I cannot get a good position for my hand without digging my elbow into your leg; I need to get a little closer…”

You and Jon stare at each other, you can only get closer if you invade the space between his legs.

He coughs and spreads them, looking away as casually as possible, praying to the gods, old and new, that a certain part of his anatomy does not decide to take interest in the sight before him.

You work quickly, but diligently, using featherlight touches as you apply the salve, your other arm resting on his thigh keeping you steady. “You did very well today, I am glad to see all your training has paid off.”

Jon looks at you instinctually because you are talking, he always looks at you when you speak, it is only polite, and he immediately regrets it. You are looking up at him through your lashes, on your knees between his legs, your hand on his abdomen. It is a sight he only dares to imagine in the darkness of his own chambers, with his hand wrapped tightly around himself.

“And I must admit it brings me no small amount of pleasure that it was my sworn sword who was named champion, you should have seen Ellyn Farman’s face, she was all but green with envy.” You smile, it is a joyous, deviously delightful smile, and he feels the urge to go back to the tourney field and defeat another seven men.

“My victories are yours.” His voice pitches up at the end when you slide your hand down as you get up, your head turned towards Ghost, fully unaware as you continue talking.

“And of course your moniker, how exciting, truly Ser Jon you are making quite a name for us.” He grabs your wrist preventing it from sliding any further, and you turn back towards him with confusion in your eyes, then you glance down then rip your hand away as if he had burned you. “I am so, so, sorry, I did not mean—”

“It is alright, I know you had no intention, and neither do I.” He reassures you. He never wants you to feel unsafe with him, never wants you to doubt his loyalty is not contingent on the possibility of carnal pleasure.

You hold your hand to your chest, taking him in with those ever-inquisitive eyes. “I do understand why the other girls speak so highly of you, I always have, but I understand this reason now.”

“What reason?”

You tuck a lock of hair behind your ear and glance back at Ghost. “You are handsome, Ser Jon, surely you must know that.”

“Robb is handsome, Theon is handsome, I am—”

“Tarnishing one’s maidenhood worthy?” You supply, that teasing tone in your voice making him glad his tunic still remains over his lap.

“I would not.”

“I know, you are honorable, and I admire that, greatly.” You have dropped the teasing tone and give him a genuine smile. “Now, I suggest you redress, lest someone find us here and think you not so honorable.” You turn back around, humming a song to yourself.

Jon feels special, you make him feel special. More than the crowds, the king, and it is a feeling he sees himself becoming quite addicted to.

He no longer feels special, not as he looks on as his father kneels before Joffrey, Sansa in tears pleading for mercy. They were bastards, the three of them born of incest, had you not told him as much in his nightmares? Why had he waited, why had he not gone to his father the moment he suspected his dream were truth? Now the King was dead, and Joffrey had taken his place.

“Lord Stark, you have claimed the late king declared you as his regent and leveled great insults against my son.” Queen Cersei says, her chin held high, a cruel light in her eyes.

The steps of the Great Sept of Baelor are pristine, the domes of glass and gold looming behind them, the sun shining down through the fluffy white clouds. He stares at his father’s feet to keep the tears back, his throat tight as Sansa’s sobs tear at his heart.

You are dressed in Lannister red, the bright ruby, not your darker crimson, your gown lavish, and intricately embroidered, your hair up in a southern style, a near perfect duplicate of the Dowager Queen. Your hand has an iron grip on his wrist, fingertips outstretched to his palm, hidden behind your skirts.

“Please, I beg of you, spare my father, send him to the Night’s Watch for his crimes.” Sansa cries, clutching at the collar of her gown, tears streaming down her face. Theon stands behind her, still part of the crowd, his eyes never leaving her form, his lips etched into a deep frown.

“I am nothing if not merciful.” Joffrey says, spreading his hands wide, a smile on his face.

Jon’s stomach churns and your grip on him tightens.

“Do not act rashly.” You whisper, leaning into him ever so slightly, keeping him grounded.

Sansa sobs her gratitude, her sobs turning to screams when a kingsguard grabs her, pulling her back as Ser Ilyn Payne steps up Ice in his hands.

Jon can see Theon struggle against a few men, his curses muffled by a rag they shove in his mouth.

“Close your eyes, you should not have to see this.” You tell him. He ignores you, ripping his arm from your grip, but you move in front of him your hands on his chest, your strength is nothing compared to his, but the tears in your eyes stop him for a moment. “Please, Jon, he will kill you if you interfere.”

A whistling sound fills the air, then Lord Payne falls to the ground, an arrow sticking out his back. Another flies towards Joffrey and misses, clattering to the steps beside him. Chaos breaks out, people scream, arrows fly, the steps of the sept are tainted with blood.

His father gets to his feet, grabbing Ice, Theon rushing to him, a flash of Sansa’s red hair then Jon can no longer see them, the crowd closes in, and he hears a scream. It is you, he knows your scream, heard it time and time again in his nightmares. Jon turns on his heel, you should be right beside him, you are always right beside him, but now the space you always occupy is empty.

“Y/N!” He yells, scanning the crowd, hand on his pommel as the crowd surges against him.

“Jon!” Your voice comes from somewhere on his right, and he pushes through the crowd, catching sight of your gown. It is enough, and he presses on, a wolf stalking its prey, even as bodies crash into him, the sounds, and smells overwhelming, he follows you, elbowing and shoving others to get by, gaining ground until he is able to see you fully.

Some man has you, one he has never seen before, hooded, and cloaked, his arm around yours, a knife to your side as he drags you along.

You do not call out when you see him, smart girl, and he quickly overtakes the man, driving his sword through his back, the man freezing and sputtering, before collapsing as Jon pulls his blade out. This is the first life his blade has taken, and it is a righteous deed.

“Jon, oh gods, oh gods.” You sob, throwing your arms around his neck, your body trembling.

He wraps his arms around you, crushing you to his chest. “Seven Hells, y/n, are you hurt?”

You shake your head, jasmine perfume drowning out the scent of the city, of the crowd. “No, no, are you?”

“I am unharmed.” He assures you, releasing you only so he can pull back and examine you.

You are unharmed, roughed up, dirtied and scared, but there is no sign of injury. More screams, more people push past, and you look at him, tear rimmed eyes, large and fearful. “I want to go home.”

He is strong, stronger than Robb, than his father, and you weigh nothing compared to the barrels Lord Santagar makes him run with day after day, so he throws you over his shoulder.

You yelp at the sudden switch in gravity, clinging to him as he pushes through the crowd, his knuckles will be bruised and bloodied, but he cares not, he must get you to safety.

Jon does not put you down until you are safely inside the Red Keep, your father is there, in the throne room, as well as your grandsire, a surprise Jon is unsure whether is welcomed or not. Both men were not due to arrive from Casterly Rock for another fortnight.

“And here comes the White Wolf with my daughter slung over his shoulder like a Dothraki warlord.” Tyrion sighs.

Now on your feet but still clinging to Jon, you face your father. “He saved me, it is what he swore to do, I will not stand here and allow you to insult him.” Your words are weak, stained with tears, and you are still trembling, but they are earnest.

“Yes, yes, good job, Ser Jon.” Tyrion says, patting Jon’s hand.

“Thank you, My Lord.” He says, stunned and unsure. Where is his family, have they escaped? Been killed?

“Where is Sansa? Is she alright?” You ask, searching the room for her.

“The bitch has escaped, along with her traitor of a father, and that Greyjoy scum.” Joffrey’s voice rings out, as he sits down on the throne, the queen standing beside him, Lord Tywin going to flank her.

He is alone, alone in enemy territory, but at least his family have been able to escape. He sends a prayer to the old gods for their safety, then one for his own.

You smooth down your hair and craft your expression into one of disbelieving outrage. “My King, I am sorry. I never thought sweet Sansa would betray you.”

“She is a Stark, it is what they do, Ned Stark betrayed my father, and now his daughter betrays me.” Joffrey turns his eyes onto Jon, they are not like yours, no life lives within them, only death, sickly green and glowing with malice. “And what about your Stark, dear cousin, will he betray you?”

Jon shakes his head; he has seen you play this game with Joffrey enough times that he believes he knows what role he must play. “No, My King, I am a bastard, and sworn to Lady y/n, I hold my oath to her higher than that of my so-called blood.” It pains him to speak the words, to play this game, but he will have no chance of seeing his family, of seeing Arya, again if he’s dead.

TL: @mostclevermiss, @solacestyles, @2valentines, @sharknutz

[lambtotheslaughterr]

Rogue Wave

A Rafe Cameron Oneshot

[THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN THEMES OF NON-CON/DUB-CON, MENTAL-EMOTIONAL-PHYSICAL ABUSE, ETC. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. 18+. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

WC: 3.5k

Dividers provided by @firefly-graphics

OONA'S MASTERLIST

request for anon

requests are currently CLOSED

Summary: OBX S3 Ep 1-2 reimagined. Reader is the unwilling participant in Rafe's great plan to get Carlos Singh what he demands most...

            You hit the door once more in frustration.

            You knew the guard was still there on the other side but he would only listen to his boss, not you. Sighing annoyingly, you finally turned to face the rest of the room. It was extravagant to say the least. Nothing like where you came from. Being a Pogue your whole life you never knew what it meant to have an ‘extra’ bedroom, let alone multiples of them. Guessing by what little of the villa you had seen before you had been shoved into the room, the villa likely had six or more bedrooms.

            “Rich pricks.” You mumbled.

            As you meandered towards the windows, intending to hopefully find an escape route, you paused when a note on the nearby wardrobe caught your eye.

            Pick your size. The note read.

            You eyed the identical silk red dresses.

            “Yeah, no, thanks.” You mumbled to no one.

            Slamming the wardrobe doors closed, you approached a dresser on the furthest side of the room. The clothes you were wearing were still damp from crashing into the bay. Opening the drawers, you were relieved to find plenty of women’s clothing, but how they ended up there remained a concern to you. You didn’t know who Carlos Singh was, or what he wanted with you or your friends, but you didn’t plan on staying to find out.

            Quickly changing into fresh, dry clothes, you found a pair sneakers in another closet before returning to the windows. Your mission to escape out of the window was halted by what you saw on the other side.

            Guards. Lots of them. And they all carried weapons. You had nothing on you to defend yourself. Besides, you knew better than to think you even stood a chance. At this point, you’d need a miracle to get out there. You only hoped your friends managed to escape & stay far away from the clutches of the mysterious Singh.

            After hours of lying on the only bed in the room in boredom, you finally heard a commotion on the other side of the door. You launched yourself off the bed & grabbed a nearby metallic candlestick. It weighed heavy in your hand so you knew you may have a shot as long as you didn’t screw up. Whoever was coming for you wouldn’t be prepared for you to fight back & you had to use that element of surprise to your advantage.

            Pressing yourself to the wall just behind the door, you raised the candlestick & braced yourself to attack whoever entered the room. There was raised voices just on the other side & you were unable to focus on what they were heated about, too focused on needing to do what had to be done next. But just as the door opened, another body got shoved into the room & before you could even strike anyone on the back of their head, the door slammed shut, followed by the resounding locking mechanism.

            “You gotta be fucking shitting me.” The other person before you breathed out when they spotted you.

            “What the hell are you doing here?!” You asked exasperatedly, but did not lower your weapon. In fact, you raised it higher, taking a defensive position.

            “You really think you’re gonna hurt me with that?” The man—Kook King, himself—questioned amusingly as he took in the state of you.

            “I’ll give it a shot.” You quipped back, not backing down.

            Rafe rolled his eyes before shaking his head then he turned his back on you, waving his hand in dismissal, “Give it all you got, Pogue.”

            Gritting your teeth, you took a step forward, wanting nothing more than to hurt the bastard who caused you & your friends hell for years, but you came to realize he was in the same position as you. Locked in the room under the demand of one Carlos Singh.

            “What are you doing here?” You asked for a second time, your chest heaving as you reluctantly lowered the candlestick.

            Rafe peered out of the windows, observing the guards like you had only hours prior, “Had a business deal.”

            That made you stifle a laugh, “Your business deals usually end with you locked up in their bedrooms?”

            He sneered at you then. His reaction only fueled your mockery, “Guess you didn’t inherit all of Ward’s charms.”

            Rafe smirked haughtily at that but said nothing in response.

            Accepting that he was not a threat—for now—you returned the candlestick to its original place but didn’t stray far from it, determined to keep the entire room between you & Rafe Cameron.

            “What are you doing here?” Rafe questioned again, his eyes momentarily flicking to yours before casting them back out the window.

            “Beats me.” You crossed your arms over your chest, never letting your eyes stray from your long-time foe, “Figured you’d know the answer better to that than me.”

            Rafe chuckled darkly at that, “Guess we’re both in the dark then.”

            Time dragged on & eventually you found yourself sitting on the farthest edge of the bed. Rafe sat in a chair in the corner of the room, his eyes constantly on the guards outside. After hours of silence & him observing the strength of the security outside, you finally felt forced to comment.

            “They’re not gonna go away just because you keep staring at them.”

            Rafe grunted at that, “Got anything better in mind?”

            You shrugged, “No. Just sayin’, not like you’d stand a chance.”

            “Says the chick who was ready to fight her way out of here with only her handy-dandy candlestick.”

            You hated that he was right. Rolling your eyes, you turned away from him, eyeing the door to the hallway. It was getting dark out & still, no one had come to retrieve either one of you. What the hell did this guy want?

            After another hour of silence, you found yourself dozing off, exhausted from that morning’s events & your subsequent alert system being shot. But just as you felt yourself just on the edge of sleep, the door to the room unlocked. You shot out of bed, reaching for the candlestick a second time. Rafe mirrored you, though he only armed himself with two fists raised slightly at his sides.

            But before either of you could even think about getting the upper hand, a guard appeared with two more behind him, as he entered the room with a metal tray of what appeared to be food.

            “Dinner.” He said flatly, his eyes not missing either of yours defensive stances.

            He placed the tray on the bed before smirking knowingly to himself, then he backed out of the room, “Good night.”

            With that, he closed the door & relocked it.

            “So much for putting up a fight, Pogue.” Rafe commented.

            “I didn’t see you swinging.” You bit back, loosening your hold on the candlestick.

            Rafe shook his head unimpressively before peering at the food on the tray, “At least they brought us good shit.”

            It was an assorted tray consisting of lobster legs, BLT sandwiches, & a large bowl of what looked to be a pot roast soup. Rafe pulled the chair he had been sitting on to the foot of the bed & began having at the food. You only stared on. When he felt you staring, he returned the look, “Don’t think I’m gonna save you some if you don’t get any now.”

            “Could be laced.” You shared.

            Rafe grunted haughtily at that, “Singh ain’t that kind of guy.”

            “No?” You questioned, narrowing your eyes at Rafe, “What kind of guy is he then?”

            Rafe sucked the meat out of a crab leg before dropping the shell, peering up at you, “The kind of guy to look you in the eyes as he puts a bullet in your head.”

            The thought made you swallow nervously.

            “So eat.” Rafe demanded, “We’ll need our energy if we’re gonna get out of here.”

            That made your brows furrow, “You got a plan?”

            “Not yet.” Rafe chewed, “But I will by morning.”

            Biting your rebuttal, your hate for him an instinct at this point, you steeled yourself to sit back on the bed & reach for one of the sandwiches. Picking off the tomatoes, you brought the grub to your mouth. The two of you ate in silence for some time before you spoke your thoughts out loud.

            “I’m surprised you’re willing to even share food with a Pogue, despite the circumstances.”

            Rafe smirked at that but nodded, “I’m not all bad. You may be a Pogue but you’re still just a girl. I’m not that big of an asshole.”

            “Tell that Sarah.” You glared at him.

            Rafe stopped chewing then, his lips pursed as he licked his teeth. His eyes flashed to yours then, “That was a one-time thing.”

            “You mean three.”

            He leaned back in his chair, narrowing his eyes at you, “What do you want me to say? I’m sorry? Fine, I’m sorry.”

            “I’m not the one you should be apologizing to & even if I was an apology like that wouldn’t mean shit.”

            “Good thing it’s not for you.” Rafe bit back.

            Sneering at him, you looked away, not wanting to entertain a conversation with him any longer. But apparently, you had opened a can of worms because Rafe wasn’t quite done.

            “Ya know, we may have had our differences in the past but—”

            “Differences?” You laughed half-heartedly, “Is that what you call it?”

            Rafe glowered, but continued, “But you & I, we’ve never had any problems, not directly anyway.”

            “You fuck with my friends you fuck with me. So yeah, we’ve had plenty of problems.”

            He chuckled darkly at that, wiping his hands on one of the provided cloth napkins, “You Pogue’s are an interesting breed, always conjoined at the hip, can’t think for yourselves. Like a fucking hive of bees.”

            “At least we have each other’s backs.” You rebutted, “You can’t say that about anyone in your life.”

            “I don’t need anyone to have my back.” Rafe returned, his voice full of pride.

            “See how far in life that gets you.”

            “No further than you.” Rafe smirked, “After all, we’re both locked up in here, aren’t we?”

            The sandwich you were eating began to taste bitter. You dropped the remains of it onto the tray. Moving backwards on the bed, you rested against the headboard, your eyes never leaving Rafe’s.

            “You still haven’t told me why you’re trapped here to begin with.”

            Rafe sucked his teeth at that, “That’s for me to know.”

            “You expect me to help you get out of here with nothing in return?”

            “What you get in return is a way out of here. That’s enough for you.”

            Though you didn’t know Rafe on a personal level, you knew well-enough that he wasn’t going to break, let alone bend, for you.

            “Better be a good plan.” You commented, resting your head against the headboard. Exhaustion was coming for you yet again.

            “It will be.” Rafe eyed you, “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

            It was the middle of the night when you woke with a start. Your eyes peered blearily around the darkened bedroom, suddenly remembering where you were, though you didn’t remember dozing off. But what alarmed you more than remembering where you were was the reason you woke to begin with.

            There was a hand on your hip & someone’s breath at the nape of your neck as their hand reached around for the button on your shorts.

            Grasping the hand, you prepared to yeet yourself off the bed, but another arm shot out & caught you, forcing your back against their chest.

            “Where do you think you’re going?” The voice belonged to Rafe Cameron, & you were reminded about how he had been locked in that bedroom with you earlier.

            “The fuck are you doing?” You asked panicked. One arm of his was wrapped around your middle, securing you against him as his other returned to the front of your shorts.

            “What’s it look like? It’s the middle of the night, I’m bored, horny, & can’t sleep. This’ll help.”

            “Fuck off, Rafe!” You wrestled against him but your strength was no match for his.

            “Calm down, will ya?” Rafe reprimanded, “It’ll be over before you know it.”

            Despite his cool & nonchalant attitude, you were terrified. You knew Rafe Cameron was capable of bad, terrible, literally deadly things. His violent tendencies were predictable, able to see them from a mile away. But this? You knew you shouldn’t have been surprised but you were. Rafe Cameron was a rogue fucking wave.

            A strained whimper parted your lips as he forced you to roll onto your belly, his chest never disconnecting from your back.

            “Rafe, stop, I’m so fucking serious!” You winced when the rough fabric of your denim shorts got yanked down to your knees, your underwear along with them.

            Before you could verbalize your refusal for a third time, Rafe clapped a hand over your mouth, effectively silencing you. Panicked tears burst forth then. With your face shoved into a pillow & your cries muffled, all you could do was feel & listen as Rafe removed his own pants before prodding himself against you.

            An abrupt & burning intrusion knocked the wind of you, your mouth torn open despite Rafe’s hand covering you there. Rafe grunted shamelessly behind you as he sought out his carnal needs. Your hands gripped the sheets tight, the bones in your fingers straining against themselves as you willed the pain Rafe caused away. But the pain never dissipated.

            Rafe continued to thrust himself inside you, your walls dry & unwelcoming to his assault. He eventually removed his hand from your mouth, bracing himself on either side of your arms as he fucked himself into you. You shook beneath him, hot tears staining the pillowcase as you were forced to lie there & literally take it. All your fight left you as Rafe took the remaining energy you had left.

            He continued for some time, not being quick at all like he said it would be. At some point during it, he readjusted your head so your face was exposed & he brushed your hair out of your face to kiss your jawline & neck. Every single kiss of his left a wake of goosebumps & only made you feel more nauseous, like you were getting seasick from a rocky boat.

            Finally, you gasped quietly when you felt Rafe stiffen behind you, followed by a low, guttural groan of his emanating from deep within his heartless chest. He rolled off you immediately, breathing heavily to himself. You kept your face turned away but very languidly reached down to pull back up your underwear & shorts. Sniffling quietly to yourself, you stood from the bed & wobbled into the en suite bathroom.

            You kept your eyes on the ceiling as you peeled your bottoms back down & pissed into the toilet. Your vagina ached & burned at the sensation. You bit your lip, keeping yourself from wincing out loud. Once you finished using the bathroom, you cleaned yourself up with a wet hand towel & washed your hands. You didn’t bother looking yourself in the mirror, not ready to see the full extent of what Rafe had done.

            Back in the bedroom, you were angry to see that Rafe had passed out. His pants were still undone around his hips, his pubic bone exposed. Hot tears returned as you eyed him murderously. Steeling yourself, you reached for the candlestick nearby. Gripping it tightly in your hand, you pictured yourself bashing Rafe’s face in until he was unrecognizable. But as the gruesome thoughts ran rampant throughout your mind, Rafe peeled his eyes open, staring up at you.

            “Do it.” He challenged, “I dare you.”

            Your chin shook as you raised the candlestick, preparing to bring it down. Rafe closed his eyes again, that god-awful Kook smirk of his crossing his features, “But if you do, you’ll never get out of here. And Singh won’t have any reason to keep you alive, so your body will just be fed to the sharks alongside mine.”

            Desperate to ignore his taunts, you willed yourself to follow through & fucking kill him, but as much as you hated him & wished him dead, you weren’t a killer. Dropping the candlestick onto the floor, you collapsed to your knees, staring aimlessly at the bedframe.

            “That’s what I thought.” Rafe commented, his voice low & arrogant, “Now, get some sleep, you’ll need your energy in the morning.”

            Reluctantly, your body complied to his advice. You lowered yourself the rest of the way to the ground. It didn’t matter how uncomfortable & unwelcoming the hardwood was, it was far better than sleeping on the bed that Rafe just raped you on.

            Shoving those thoughts to the darkest depths of your memory, you allowed yourself to close your eyes, hoping & praying that when you woke in the morning, the last 24 hours would all have just been an awful nightmare & you’d wake up back on Poguelandia with your friends.

            The sounds of ocean waves lulled you awake. You moaned in your sleep, frowning as you slowly came to. You peeled your eyes open, taking in your surroundings.

            Shooting forward, you whipped your head around. Unlike the villa bedroom you had fallen asleep in, you found yourself on a bench on the deck of a small yacht. You stood up, wincing slightly as a shot of pain emanated from your core.

            Last night’s memories flooded you & you felt like you were going to be sick. Racing to the nearest railing of the yacht, you leaned as far over as you could before throwing up bread, bacon, & lettuce. You wiped your mouth, frowning as you stared at the waves beating against the sides of the boat.

            “Thank fuck this isn’t one of my own or else you’d be cleaning that up with a toothbrush.” A voice sounded above you.

            You spun around, using your hand to shield your eyes from the blaringly bright sun as you found the source of the voice. Rafe Cameron smirked down at you, a pair of shades on his face.

            “What the fuck did you do?!” You yelled up at him.

            “What’s it look like?” He gestured to your surroundings. “I saved us.”

            You knew well enough that you were on a boat, but only in that moment did you realize that you were in the middle of nowhere in the ocean. No land mass or other boats in sight. You didn’t feel very saved.

            “This is when you say, ‘thank you, Rafe’.”

            “Fuck you, Rafe.” You spit, holding your stomach when you felt like you would vomit again.

            He sighed, shaking his head as if you were a misbehaving child, “Ungrateful Pogue as always.”

            “Ungrateful?!” You screeched. Wanting nothing more than to throw him overboard, you stomped in search of the stairs that would lead you to him before finally finding them. As you marched up the stairs, preparing yourself to do what you couldn’t do the night before, you froze the second you reached the landing.

            Rafe was sitting in the captain’s seat, & he had a handgun trained on you.

            You stared at the gun, biting your lip in anger then flashed your glare to Rafe’s shielded eyes.

            He raised his brows knowingly, “Problem?”

            “Lots.” You bit back.

            “Mmm.” Rafe nodded, “Well, those’ll have to wait.”

            “For what? What the fuck else could you possibly need me for?”

            Rafe sighed happily at that, a million dollar grin appearing on his face, “That’s what you’re gonna tell me.”

            “What are you talking about?”

            “I’m talking about the diary.”

            You swallowed at that. Of course you knew about the diary, you & your friends were after it, after all, but how did Rafe know about it?”

            “That’s why Singh had you. And me.” Rafe revealed, “He was convinced I knew where it was since we know each other, but he doesn’t know the intricacies of the Kook-Pogue feud, poor guy. So, he made me a deal. I get the information out of you, & he gives me half the cut. Here we are.”

            You eyed him warily, “So, last night? That was all, what, a ploy?”

            “Mhmm.” He smirked, “Once you passed out I spoke with Singh & he loaned me this yacht. Now, you’re gonna take me to the diary. Or I’m going to tell him where to find all your friends’ families & he’ll pick them off one by one until you get me what I want.”

            “You fucking asshole…” You breathed in disbelief.

            He only shrugged, “So, where do we go first?”

            “I’ll never help you.”

            “No?” Rafe, with his gun still aimed at you, pulled out a cell phone & raised it, “Should I give him a call then? Tell him which Pogue’s family he can target first?”

            “No, don’t!” You stepped forward, “Don’t, Rafe.”

            “Well then?” Rafe lowered his shades just enough to eye you directly, “Point & shout, Pogue, your friends’ families are depending on you.”

this is 10/10 requests from my 500 followers celebration request opening!

ALL REQUESTS HAVE BEEN FULFILLED

big thank you to the anon who requested this & i thank you again for your patience as i get over being sick.

as always, please share your thoughts w me via comments, reblogs w reviews, or dropping an ask.

thank you for reading!

oona<3

Read this post on why doing more than liking a tumblr writers work is essential to our content creation.

[my love language is words of affirmation, it would make my day if you could comment your thoughts, reblog with tags, or drop an ask that shows your support. thank you for reading tumblr writers, we appreciate you]

taglist: @jsrafesgirl @bunnycvnts @ditzyzombiesblog @wearemadeofstardust0

to be added to a taglist read rule 11 here. requests will be dismissed otherwise.

[brummiereader]

PREVIOUS PART

Killing Me Softly (PART SIX/ DARK!TOMMY)

Summary: It's been two months since your escape from Tommy's clutches. How long will you be able to stay hidden until your husband hunts you down?

Warnings: Language, angst, psychological mind games, controlling behaviour, toxic marriage, Dark!Tommy ( this is a dark fic, please read the warnings before continuing)

Writers note: Just to note, £250 in 1920s England is the equivalent to £9,183 in today's money, the price Tommy paid for your diamond encrusted bracelet . The song Tommy sings to Y/N is called "Run Rabbit Run" by Flanagan and Allen that was released in 1939, a song Tommy would have known.

Two months later...

Storming into the factory building, every worker turned around in a hurry to avoid the fury on their bosses face. They had learnt over the past two months that one wrong look could end with them getting shot, a lesson they learnt quickly when one of Tommy's many workers approached him to ask about a delivery due that day. Tommy's response, the end of his gun pointed to the young man's head. The workers only saving grace was when Arthur and John stepped in before he ended up six feet under with a bullet hole through his skull. The reason for his anger, you. For the past two months Tommy had torn Birmingham apart looking for you, every one of his henchmen as well as himself had been out searching for you night and day. Countless hours had been spent checking potential leads and yet, he still hadn't found you. The king of Birmingham, the notorious boss of the Peaky Blinders couldn't find his wife, the embarrassment only angered him more. Fury was consuming him, your brazen act of disloyalty and disobedience at the forefront of his mind every second of the day. Unable to sleep or eat, the only thing that kept him going was tobacco, whisky and the awaited pleasure he would feel unleashing his punishment on you, a punishment you would not escape for a second time. Slamming the door to his office shut, Tommy sat down in his leather chair, his fingers running through his hair as he looked down at the various notes left on his table. Sitting back he flicked through each one of the potential sightings, all of them quickly deemed useless as he tossed them into a nearby bin. Gazing down at his wedding ring, Tommy turned the gold band around his finger, clenching his jaw as he pushed down any anxiety that dared to make an appearance. A small inconvenience until he had found you, he thought to himself as he brushed his hand down his face. But was it? You had begun to stir up anxieties in him that he had pushed away for years since his return from war. The fear of having no control over what could happen started to slowly creep up on him again, the same fear he felt digging tunnels in France as the weight of the earth threatened to fall down on him. Swallowing back the memories, Tommy clenched his fist as his mind forced him to remember his time in France, and the only thing that kept him going, his childhood love. At first, it was a comforting memory he'd conjure up as the sound of gunfire echoed through No Man's Land behind him, but in his desperate attempt to block out reality it had become an unhealthy fixation. A once innocent young love became an obsession, an obsession he refused to let go of. Overtime the sound of gunfire and bombs exploding no longer scared him, instead it was replaced with the fear of never seeing you again, a fear that started to feel all too familiar. Straightening his posture out Tommy poured himself a glass of whisky in an attempt to rid himself of the uncomfortable feeling pressing against his chest.

" Why did she leave?" John's wife Esme asked her husband as she watched her brother-in-law through the glass window of his office, his head in his hands, his knee rapidly bouncing up and down as the stress coursed through his body. He was loosing control, and it was becoming evident to all those around him.

" The worry of her mother being sick. She's in a fragile place Esme. She couldn't handle it and left. Tom says she always does that, runs away from her problems when things get too difficult" he replied as Polly looked on, raising an eyebrow at Johns explanation.

" He looks like he's going to murder someone" Arthur said as he walked into the factory looking at Tommy now pacing back and forth in his office with another glass of whisky in his hand.

" He nearly did" Polly said, referring to the factory worker who almost got shot in the head for having the audacity to talk to him.

" He's still not found her then?" Arthur asked, leaning against a wall as he pulled out a silver flask of whisky. Clearly the soothing lull of the amber liquid was not too early for him either.

" Does it look like it?" John replied as he rolled the toothpick in his mouth between his lips.

" Fuck...we've looked everywhere, how far could she have got?" Arthur replied, taking a swig of liquor.

" Pretty far, when your scared" Polly spoke up, as she looked down at the newspaper in front of her.

"Heads up" Arthur said as he nodded to Tommy's office door, warning everyone of his younger brother's approaching presence.

"Arthur, John, we're leaving " Tommy said as he put his coat on, his eyes darting to his Aunt who was staring him down

"You gonna tell us where we going?" John asked as he hopped off one of the receptionists desks placing his peaked cap firmly on his head.

" Just had a phone call. She was seen down by the old Jewellery Quarters over a month ago" Tommy replied as he turned his head to his Aunt. "Problem?" he asked, annoyance in his voice as he cocked an eyebrow at his Aunt's insistent glare.

" Oh no Tommy, you go find your wife...that's if she wants to be found" Polly replied, turning away as Tommy cleared his throat in irritation at her remark. Had Polly finally figured everything out?

"Y/N there's a letter here for you, your Landlady said as she bounced her baby up and down on her hip.

"Thank you Mrs Riley " you replied as you smiled at the baby boy reaching out for you.

"Is it still ok for you to babysit tonight?" she asked as she wiped the dribble off her son's chin with the end of her apron.

" Of course, I don't mind at all. Plus, how could I say no to this little man" you replied as you took him from her, blowing small raspberries to his neck as he giggled in response.

" Ahh thank you. First time me and Mr Riley have gone out since this little one came along. You should really come one day, lots of single men will be there, they will be jumping at the chance to dance with you. We need to find you a husband!" she chuckled smiling to you, unaware that you were already married.

"Why would I need a man when I've got this little bundle to keep me company" you replied looking down at the baby in your arms, a small uneasiness washing over you at the thought of Tommy. " Oh god, it's that time already. I'm going to be late" you said looking down at your watch as you passed the baby back to his mother. Saying goodbye you walked out onto the farm you had been stopping at for the past two months. Having sold the bracelet Tommy had gifted you before your wedding, you had plenty of money to afford a more expensive place to stay, but you needed to keep low. You knew Tommy would be out searching for you, and with that in mind you responded to an advertisement in the local paper for a small lodgings at Riley Farm, the perfect place for anyone wanting to go unnoticed. A small bedsit attached to the side of the farm house in a little village you had never heard of, so inconspicuous that it was not even marked on a map. With everyone knowing the last name Shelby and Tommy knowing you might use your maiden name in replacement, you started using your mothers maiden name from the day you left Arrow House. Word spread fast about Tommy Shelby's anger. Even in the small village you was now living in a you heard talk of how the gang leader of the Peaky Blinder was tearing the city apart. No one knew exactly why the infamous Tommy Shelby's fury had rained down on the smog covered city, but there were rumours of his wife having run off with another man, a rumour you only imagined infuriated him even more. You knew your husband would never cease in his search for you and that you would eventually have to leave and find somewhere else to stay, but for now you enjoyed the peace and quiet the small village gave you, a peace you had forgotten existed. You had started working as a teaching assistant at the village school, a school that accommodated many orphaned children from the war, funded by rich benefactors. You enjoyed your job, the children's laughs and joyful spirits were a pleasant distraction to the memories you held inside of the previous months. But there were still times when Tommy would invade your thoughts and you would suddenly find yourself longing for him once again. Longing for his strong arms wrapped around you, his hands cupping your cheeks as he look down into your eyes, his voice telling you he loved you. Had he still a hold on you, even after everything that had happened ?

"Stop here Arthur" Tommy said as his older brother pulled up in front of a shop in Birmingham's city center.

" What the fuck we doing here, thought she was seen in a jewellery shop?" Arthur replied as he looked out his window at the small building. Giving no response Tommy opened the door as he reached into his pocket to light a cigarette. Looking up, Tommy squinted his eyes at the sign attached to the old stone brick wall, "Johnson & son Pawnbrokers". Breathing out a cloud of smoke he entered the small business, shutting the door behind him.

" Well I guess we bloody follow him then" Arthur said rolling his eyes as John shook his head laughing.

As the three brothers entered the shop, the owner immediately scurried back behind his till, instantly recognising each gang member, the shine from the blade on the front of their caps a stark reminder of their brutality if he dared to anger them.

" Please, I don't want trouble" he said as he put his trembling hands up in defence.

"What makes you think we're here to cause trouble?" Tommy asked as John and Arthur looked around at the various objects for sale.

" A young woman was seen coming in here a few months ago" Tommy said reaching into his suit jacket, pulling out an old picture of you that had clearly seen better days.

" We get lots of people coming in to sell things Mr Shelby" he replied nervously as he looked down at the picture. " I don't remember her, she could have come in when my son was working or maybe my wife, I'm not very good at remembering faces. I'll, I'll go get my wif.." he said only to be interrupted when Tommy pulled a gun to his head, tired of the conversation. The shop keepers eyes quickly darted to the back door next to him as he contemplated fleeing.

"I wouldn't do that if I was you" Tommy said as he clicked the safety off. " I have very little patience these days Mr Johnson".

" Tom, I think you might want to see this" Arthur said as he looked down into a glass cabinet. Narrowing his eyes Tommy lowered his gun, a small smirk playing on his lips as he looked at the trembling man in front of him. Walking over, Tommy's eyes widened at the small bracelet he had offered you before your wedding sitting in a glass cabinet on a red velvet stand. His stomach suddenly felt sick, his hands sweaty.

" Care to explain why the fuck you have my wife's bracelet in your possession?! " Tommy shouted as he marched back over to the shop owner, the gun now pressed firmly against the old man's temple.

" She...she must have come in and sold it, please don't shoot me" he said mumbling as he scrunched his eyes shut, the barrel of the gun cold against his skin.

" No? " Tommy grinned darkly as he twisted the end of the gun further into his flesh.

" P..please Mr Shelby"

" I wouldn't say anything more if I was you, he's two seconds away from pulling that trigger" John said as Arthur watched on.

" Yeh, and I can't be bothered to pull him off another innocent soul for a second time. Got elbowed in the bloody stomach last time " Arthur added as the two brothers looked at eachother smirking, enjoying the torment they were inflicting.

" Right give us the keys to open this thing " Arthur said slapping his hands together, pulling Tommy out of his trance. Dropping the gun from the shop keepers head Tommy scoffed as he watched him fumble to find his keys.

" So is it hers?" John asked as Tommy picked it up, turning it over to see both your initials and the date of your wedding engraved on the back. Brushing his hand down his face Tommy nodded as he enclosed the bracelet in his hand, placing it in his pocket.

" Did she erh..." Tommy said as he started to clear his throat, his mouth suddenly going dry "...did she leave any details, address, number?" He asked as he turned back to the shop keeper.

" I'll check right now for you me Shelby" the owner said hurrying back to his counter as he looked through various pieces of paper, desperately trying to find something as Tommy waited next to him, lighting another cigarette

" What do you think?" John laughed placing a straw hat with an array of different flowers stitched into the side of it on top of his peaked cap.

" Very pretty John boy, you should get it" Arthur said winking to his brother. "Ain't he pretty Tommy?" Arthur laughed trying to get his brother to lighten up.

" Beautiful" Tommy replied flatly as he looked back over to the shop owner, his fingers taping on the counter, his patience disappearing.

"Ah here! I found something. One diamond encrusted bracelet sold in the exchange of, One Hundred and Ten pound King George Sterling to one Miss Y/mothers maiden/N, 12A Ferris Court Birmingham" he said handing the small piece of paper to Tommy, breathing a sigh of relief.

"She's still in Birmingham?" John questioned confused as to how they hadn't found you since they had already checked that part of town. Scrunching the paper in his hands, anger started to build up in him. Was someone helping you?

" Y/mothers maiden/N" Tommy scoffed. " One Hundred and Ten pounds ey? I brought that bracelet for Two Hundred and Fifty" Tommy said, squinting his eyes at the shopkeeper who swallowed harshly as he leaned over the counter to open his till. " One Hundred and Ten pounds, and I'll be keeping the bracelet" Tommy said pulling the same sum of money out, a smirk on his lips as the owner rubbed the sweat of his forehead as Tommy emptied his till." Lads " Tommy said as he walked to the door, his brothers quickly following behind him. " Pleasure doing business with you Mr Johnson" he added, walking out the door as Arthur took the hat of John's head replacing it with slap to the back of his skull instead.

After a long day of working at the school, you and the teacher you were assisting made your way to the village square. You and Mr Brown or as you called him Robert, had grown close to one another over the past weeks. He had become a good a friend, but only a friend. He would never ask questions about your personal life, quickly realising you were reluctant to talk about it whenever the topic arose, he respected your privacy and decided to leave the subject alone. Every day after school had ended he would walk with you to your lodgings, he was a caring man whose friendship you deeply cherished, one you was afraid of Tommy learning about. If your husband knew you was talking to another man let alone him accompany you home, you would certainly both pay the price for his anger, the thought alone scared you into never delving into your past.

" Think the kids really enjoyed your imaginative way of learning the alphabet today. Still don't know how you managed to find an object for each word of the alphabet" he laughed as he walked beside you along the country lane.

" I don't either" you giggled as you both approached the village square, the sun shining down on the quiet neighborhood.

" Thinking about having them do a large drawing for our benefactors visit tomorrow, we are so grateful for their donations. They keep our school going and Mr Sh.." he stopped as you came to a halt, your hand grabbing holding of his arm.

"Y/N are you ok? " he said looking at the fearful expression on your face, your eyes fixed on the back of a smartly dressed man with a peaked cap sitting on a bricked wall.

" He found me...I, I need to go" you panicked, tears welling in your eyes as you started walking backwards letting go of Roberts arm.

"Wait, Y/N" he stopped you, your eyes widening at the man turning around as Robert turned his head to look at what had you so frightened.

" Oh..." You exhaled as tears ran down your face to see that the man in front of you wasn't your husband. Feeling your knees go weak, you stumbled to a nearby bench as Robert held you up.

"You're married aren't you?" He questioned as he looked down at your trembling hands, the indent of where your wedding ring once was only now coming to his attention.

"Yes" you said nodding your head as you blinked away the tears.

" And you're hiding from him?" he asked as you mouthed a silent yes in response whilst you looked desperately into your friends eyes.

" You don't understand, if he finds me.."

" He's not going to find Y/N, nobody knows about this village, they can't even pronounce it let alone find it. You're safe here, I promise" he said, as he placed a comforting hand over yours. " Come on, let's get you back before Mrs Riley starts worrying" he said smiling to you as he reached his hand out for yours. Smiling back you stood up wiping the tears away with the back of your hand as a wave of dread washed over you at Roberts words. Tommy would never stop until he found you, it was only matter of time until he would finally hunt you down.

"FUCKKK!" Tommy shouted at the top of his voice as he repeatedly punched his fist into the wall. " She's playing with me Arthur, she's fucking playing with me!" Tommy yelled as he frantically reached into his pocket for a smoke, anger coursing through his body as he tried to light the cigarette in his mouth. You had deceived him, the address you gave was the address to an abandoned flat on the north side of Birmingham's city center, Tommy was furious.

" Tom, maybe she just wants some space, she'll come back eventually" John said as he stood by the door, his hands in his pockets.

" What the fuck was that, space?!" Tommy said storming over to his brother, Arthur putting himself between them before a fight broke out.

" We'll find her Tom" Arthur reassured his brother as he took out his lighter, igniting the cigarette resting between Tommy's lips.

" She fucking needs me, she's weak without me" Tommy said as he exhaled a cloud of smoke, the nicotine calming his nerves as his brothers looked nervously to eachother at Tommy's strange choice of words.

" Come on brother let's get out here" Arthur said wrapping his arm around his shoulder as he walked with him to the door, John sheepishly following behind. Tommy may be John's brother but even he knew he was not immune to the deadly gang leaders retribution, a retribution he wanted to stay clear of.

Sitting by the classroom window the following day, you looked down at the stack of papers In front of you that needed to be marked as Robert walked into the classroom carrying a pile of books in his arms.

" They'll be arriving soon" Robert said as he placed the books down onto his desk, a film a sweat covering his skin from his frantic state.

" Who?" You replied looking up from the papers you were grading as you took a sip of tea, a playful smile on your lips as you looked at Roberts nervousness.

" The benefactors of the school, remember? They've been funding us for over a year, we can't keep this place going without them, everything needs to be in order for when they come" he replied as he sat down in his chair exhausted.

" Come on Robert, no one would pull funding from a school for orphaned children'' you replied trying to reassure him.

" Yes maybe, but these patrons are not exactly, clean money" he responded as he wiped the sweat from his skin whilst you giggled at the thought of criminals funding anything, let alone a school.

" Well they can't be that bad if they have the heart to donate money to our little school. What did you say their name was?" you replied as you put your pen back into your bag.

" It's Sh..oh god it's them" he answered cutting himself off when he saw their car pull up in front of the school.

" Do I have time to use the bathroom?" you asked getting up with a grin on your face as you turned around to see the Bugatti parked just outside.

" Yes yes but hurry, the boss is... well he's, he's intimidating"

"Intimidating" you repeated, rolling your eyes laughing whilst you made your way to the restroom as the sound of the school door opened.

" Remind me why the fuck we have to go to these things Pol?" Tommy asked as he lit a cigarette.

" Because it's what you do when you own a charity Tommy" she replied shutting the school door behind her.

" Well don't drag it on, I've got things to do. Who chose this school? I've never even heard of this fucking village " he added as he looked at his pocket watch, his patience already disappearing.

" Can you at least try to pretend like you want to be here" Polly said as she gave him a stern look, Tommy forcing a sarcastic smile in response.

" Mr Shelby, Miss Grey. It's so nice to see you again" Robert greeted them as he shook each of their hand, a warm smile on his face as he welcomed them into the classroom. Looking around the small room Tommy perched himself on one of the empty desks, exhaling a puff of smoke as Polly and Robert talked to eachother.

" Do tell us Mr Brown, how are the children doing? Do you have everything you need?" Polly asked as Tommy rubbed his cigarette in between his fingers, looking out the window, uninterested by the conversation that was taking place.

" Oh, they are doing great, we have a new teaching assistant that started a few months ago, she should be back any minute, she's been a real help" he replied pulling out the drawing the children had made for them. Rubbing his forehead Tommy looked ahead of him at the small desk beside the blackboard when something suddenly caught his eye. Scrunching his brow he stood up walking over to the small wooden table in the corner, tilting his head as his eyes narrowed in on the black handbag sitting on top of the old wood. This was your bag, he was certain of it. The sound of Polly and Roberts conversation started to muffle in his ears, the thumping of his heart replaced the echo of their voices as he felt the room closing in on him. Feeling the pressure of his shirt pushing against his throat, Tommy loosened the tie around his neck, his anger rising in him at an unstoppable speed, you had been here all this time.

" When did your new assistant start working here ?" Tommy seethed, turning around to face Robert as he wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead.

" Around 6 weeks ago Mr Shelby" he replied, taking a step back as he saw the anger in Tommy's face.

" At this new teaching assistant " Tommy started to say as bitterness and fury built in his voice. " What's her last name?"

" Well it's Y/mother's maiden/N" he replied as Tommy scoffed in reply, shaking his head in disbelief.

" Miss Y/mother's maiden/N...not Mrs Shelby then?" Tommy answered as he looked Robert dead in the eye.

" What's going on Tommy?" Polly interjected as she watched the the tension build in her nephews face.

" Have you been helping her, hm?" Tommy said raising his voice as Polly's eyes darted to your bag on the table, putting her hand to her mouth in shock at the realisation.

" I... I don't " Robert stuttered as his brain tried to catch up to what Tommy was asking. And then it hit him, he was the man you were hiding from, he was your husband.

" Where is she? Answer me!" Tommy shouted as he slammed his fist down onto the desk in front of him.

Leaving the bathroom, you frowned in confusion as you heard the sound of raised voices coming from the classroom you had just left. Drying the back of your hands on the front of your dress you hurried to the room as quickly as you could, only to come to a stop as your eyes widened in terror, a gasp leaving your mouth whilst your hand grasped onto the door frame in fear you would lose your balance. There, standing in the middle of the room was your husband, Roberts hand holding onto a chair as Tommy loomed over him. Straightening his coat out Tommy turned around to the sound of your presence.

" Hello darling" your husband said, his hands casually in his suit trousers as a wicked smile grew on his lips, his eyes roaming over your body. He had found you.

Letting go of the door frame you started to walk backwards, tears welling in you eyes as you looked back at your husband, his eyes darkening, his face taunt with anger as he waited for you to do what he knew you would.

" One, two, three..." Tommy started to count as if this was a game of hide-and-seek, and he was the seeker. Shaking your head tears fell down your cheeks as you prepared yourself to run, the sound of his countdown ringing in your ears. But Tommy never would count to ten. With the smirk growing on his face, Tommy stopped at three, his eyebrow raised as he took one step forward and you took one step back. Spinning around you ran to the front door as quickly as you could, slamming it shut as the sound of your husband's footsteps chasing after you rapidly approached.

" Y/N Shelby!" Tommy shouted as he ran after you, a sinister smile dancing on his lips. This was all a game to him, he was enjoying it." You never was very good at hiding" he shouted as he watched you run around the corner out on to the road.

" Come on sweetheart, don't I get a kiss from my long-lost wife" he said sarcastically as he hunched down pulling his gun out. Now ducked down running along the opposite side of the hedge Tommy watched you through the small holes in the hedgerow as you rapidly walked down the country lane wiping the tears from your eyes.

"Run rabbit, run rabbit, run run run, don't give the farmer his fun, fun, fun " Tommy sang as you abruptly stopped in the middle of the road your eyes darting left and right as panic coursed through your body. Turning around you looked back to the top of the road when you suddenly heard someone pushing their way through the hedge, the cock of a gun echoing along the country lane. With a trembling body your turned back around, tears cascading down your face as your eyes turned to see Tommy standing right behind you, his gun pointed straight at you.

"Lost little bunny?"

NEXT PART

Tag list: @litteltourtius @aesthetic0cherryblossom @swordofawriter @casa-boiardi @muhahaha303 @fmo166 @call-sign-shark @priyajoyy @pet1t3 @ifevilwhyhot @bruher @whereismymindnow