#thank you so much what a fucking beautiful day. i'm so fuckin grateful. i love your art so much adn you are SO fucking funny

[sturnioloszn]

JEALOUS - C.S

summary; while your boyfriend is streaming, one specific girl keeps gifting, and you begin to feel jealous of all the attention she's receiving, so chris comes to show you some attention too...

warnings; smut, unprotected sex (wrap the willy), tit sucking, dirty talk, teasing, praising, leaving hickeys, spanking, i think that's it..?

a/n; i have more ideas for fics, but please feel free to leave suggestions/recommendations on what fics u want to see and ill provide like a fairy godmother (unless it's some crazy shit like a shit kink, get out).

★ ° . *　　°　.　°☆ 　. * ● ¸. 　　　★ 　° :. ★　 * •

It was currently 1am, and my boyfriend and I were cuddled up in his bed watching our favourite series. I loved nights where I was able to just lay in bed with Chris and relax, especially with the chaotic lives we both live.

However, this didn't last long.

"Yo, wanna stream late night fort duos?" Matt questions, walking into the room. Chris looks down at my face, which is currently resting on his chest.

"Would you mind if I streamed with Matt for a few hours, baby?" He asks. There's a look of hope in his eyes, and who am I to deny him having fun with his brother.

"Of course not, you don't have to ask me," I reply, giving a small smile. I love cuddling with Chris, but I don't mind letting him play fortnite with his brother. He'll probably hop off in a few hours and come back to bed anyway.

As he slowly stands up from his bed, he gives me a small thanks before moving to his desk. I watched him attentively as he placed his headphones on his fluffy hair and turned on his monitor, which illuminated a soft blue light onto his face.

I could watch him all day and night. He was the most beautiful man I've ever seen. The way his hair was slightly damp, from coming out the shower not long ago, and the way his facial hair looks without a few days of shaving. God, he was perfect.

"Hellooo people," he says, adjusting his mic. I didn't even realise that he had started the stream already.

I grabbed my phone from the nightstand so I could distract myself from all the screaming and shouting that was bound to happen.

~

It had been roughly an hour and a half since the stream first started, and Chris and Matt were still playing reload, and I was still scrolling on tiktok.

"HOLY SHIT, AVA WITH THE 100 BOMB!" Chris yells, making me turn my head to look at him. I loved how grateful Chris always is, whether people gift 1 or 100, Chris was always so thankful. I really did get lucky with him.

A few moments later Chris shrieks, "No fuckin' way, another 50 subs from Ava,". I turn to look at him again and he has the widest grin on his mouth.

"Everyone spam 'w Ava' in the chat," He says, focusing back in on his game.

I honestly don't know how some people are able to gift so much. I've seen the price of subs, and they are priceyyy. Yet, some people gift hundreds and hundreds.

"AVA WITH ANOTHER 50, HOLY SHIT, YOU'RE THE GOAT AVA," He yells again, shuffling in his chair.

What the fuck? This girl dropped a bag on subs in 5 minutes.

This continues for another half an hour, and to be honest, I'm getting sick of it. Don't get me wrong, I love that they're getting subs but it's the same fucking girl. Can she give it a rest? She's been spamming them with subs, and Chris is not letting it go unnoticed to anyone.

I look over to Chris, and he's smiling wider than ever. He must realise I'm staring at him, so he turns to look at me back.

As soon as we make eye contact, I shuffle on the bed and turn my back to him. From the corner of my eye, I can see his smile fade, and he turns back to his game.

I don't know why I'm feeling like this. I'm not upset about the subs. Is it jealousy? Am I feeling jealous of all the attention Chris is giving this random girl? I guess I am. It's hard not to when he left cuddling you to praise some random girl on the internet.

"Matt, I'm lowkey getting tired. After this round, I'm gonna hop off," Chris says, and through my peripheral vision, I can see him look at me.

He's lying. He's not tired at all, it's only 3am. He can sense something is wrong with me, and that's why he's hopping off the game.

But, as he said, he finished up the round and ended stream.

"Babe, what's wrong?" He asks, standing up from the chair and making his way over to me on the bed. I pretend not to hear him and shuffle slightly further away from him. He notices my actions and repeats his question.

"Why are you in a mood? Is it cause I streamed with Matt?" He continues to ask questions, but I continue to ignore him. I don't know why I'm doing this. Maybe I just want him to pay attention to me, too.

He realises the game I'm playing and decides to change the rules.

He leans down and begins to place soft kisses on my neck. I'm fighting to not close my eyes and keep looking at my screen, but the feeling is consuming me, and I let my eyes flutter close.

"Why are you ignoring me, baby? What can I do to hear your pretty voice, hm?" He says between kisses. Fuck, he knew exactly what he was doing.

He then grabs my phone out of my hand and throws it somewhere on the bed. He forcefully turns me to lay on my back and places himself between my legs, bringing his face up to mine.

"Are you gonna tell me what's wrong, or do you want to keep playing the silent game?" He challenges. I'm looking into his dark and tired eyes, enough to get lost in them.

"It's not fair," I mutter under my breath, but loud enough for him to hear.

"What's not fair, my love?" He asks, rewarding me with another kiss on my neck for answering him.

"All the attention you were showing that stupid girl," I say. My panties are already soaked by the few simple kisses that he had given me. If he continues like this, I'll have to wring out my thong.

A smirk subtly grows on his lips, and he dips his head back down to my neck for another reward. "Are you jealous, baby?" He whispers against my skin.

Fuck. He was driving me insane.

"Yeah, so what?" I ask, challenging him back. I then feel his lips attach to my neck. I gasp softly when he begins to lightly suck on my sweet spot.

"I'm so sorry baby, let me show you the attention you deserve," he says, moving back up to my face. His soft lips crash into mine, and his hands explore my body. My body feels like it's on fire, and I'm craving him more than ever.

"Chris, please," I beg. I'm begging him for something more, I need more.

"I know, baby," he coos. He then brings his hands to the hem of my shirt and lifts it over my head when he sees my nod of approval. He instantly wraps his warm mouth around my nipple and I shudder at the new sensation. He lifts his hand to my other nipple and begins to roll it between his fingertips.

By now, soft moans are escaping my mouth from the stimulation, but I'm still hungry for more. I buck my hips at him to indicate what I really want. He notices my desperate actions and separates himself from my chest.

He hooks his fingers over the band of my sweatpants and yanks them down, revealing my soaked thong.

"Fuck, look at you," He rasps, admiring the patch of wetness that seeped through my underwear. I whine at his comment, I need him so bad. He then peels his own clothes off, leaving himself in just his boxers.

As he pulls his last item of clothing off, his swollen cock sprung out. I sigh at the sight in front of me. I'll never get over this view.

"Be a good girl and get on your hands and knees," he says stroking his cock a few times and rubbing his pre-cum all over his head.

I swiftly move into the position he ordered, and I feel his hand on my lowerback, pushing me into a deeper arch. At this point, my ass is completely in the air, and I'm ready for him to use me.

I feel him pull my thong to the side, letting the cold air in the room hit my warm and wet pussy. With no hesitation, he slides his cock into me with ease, filling me up. We both moan at the contact.

He instantly starts ramming into me, showing no mercy whatsoever. My arms give out immediately, and my face is smushed into a pillow.

"Isn't this what you wanted? My attention," He grunts out from behind me, placing a firm slap on my right ass cheek. I let out a strangled moan, allowing myself to grip the bedsheets.

"Answer you attention whore," he repeats, placing another slap on my ass.

"Y-yes, fuck!" I yelp. He continues to ruthlessly fuck my pussy and I feel the heat in my lower stomach build. I was coming close to finishing. Between the dirty talk, the spanks, and of course the fucking, I wasn't going to last long at all.

"C-chris m'gonna...f-finish," I stutter out. My knuckles are turning white from how intensely I'm gripping the sheets.

"Yeah? Come on my cock like the good girl you are," he groans, placing another spank on my cheek. I bet that by now, my ass is glowing red.

His words push me over the edge, and I violently shake beneath him, allowing a flow of curse words to leave my mouth as he helps me ride out my high and bring himself to his own.

"Fuck. Your such a jealous whore and look how I have you, you think I'm fuckin' other girls like this? Hm?" He asks, pounding into me even harder. I'm starting to become oversensitive, but I know he's about to come any second.

I feel his hands grip my hips hard enough to leave bruises and his warm cum coats my insides. His movements begin to slow, and I let out a satisfied sigh. I feel him pull his limp cock out of my full pussy and he moves to lay beside me.

I crumble next to him and place my head on his chest. Our sweaty bodies are still for a moment as we attempt to catch our breath after the best cardio session ever.

"Jealousy cured?" He smiles, looking down at me.

"Definitely. I'm sorry for being a bitch earlier," I apoligise, giving a sincere smile. Before he can reply, his phone buzzes.

"Who the fuck is texting at almost 4am?" He questions, as he unlocks his phone. He opens his texts and sees a message from Matt:

'Tired my ass, u guys are disgusting'

He pans his phone over to me, and we both die from laughter. The rest of the night is spent cuddling and watching tv together, just the way I love it.

★ ° . *　　°　.　°☆ 　. * ● ¸. 　　　★ 　° :. ★　 * ��

a/n; this is long as shitttt. anywhoo, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed another one of my 4am creations. love youu <33.

[emmythespacecowgirl]

I just found your content and I love it! Wondering if you could please do a pacific ship for me? I am female, she/her pronouns, interested in men.

I'm really strong-willed and opinionated, and not too afraid to tell people. I am very caring and can be emotional at times, especially when it comes to the people I care about. But otherwise I'm blunt and have really dry humor. I can be really stubborn and a lot of times awkward around new people as I'm a bit more on the introverted side. I tend to either not care at all or care too much when it comes to people.

I enjoy writing, hiking, gardening, and in general being out in nature. I'm a very homestead minded person and enjoy learning how to do things for myself, like how to crochet or grow a vegetable or raise chickens. That is, when I have time for it. Otherwise, I work as a nurse, and I enjoy the aspect of helping others when they need it the most.

I am 5'3" tall, curvy to chubby body with an hourglass figure. I've got pale skin with light freckles all over the place. Long, straight dark brown hair and dark brown/green eyes. Full lips, fuller face, just a more romantic body type in general. I tend to dress in baggier clothes as I am a bit insecure about my weight and especially my arms. I am working on losing weight but it's definitely a long process.

My personality type is INFJ. My biggest pet peeves are people who don't pull their weight when it comes to helping others and also chewing food really loud. My love language is physical touch, with a healthy sprinkling of words of affirmation. I am an August Virgo (don't know my other two signs, but that's my main one). I am also a proud Slytherin.

Thank you so much!!

Hi dear! Sorry for your wait! I’ve been extremely busy living life the past couple months 😊

I ship you with: John Basilone from The Pacific

Ship theme song: Marry Me, Archie by Alvvays

I could easily see you two meeting at a training hospital for nurses in California while John is training up recruits

He seems you and is immediately stunned by your beauty

He thinks your curves are so fuckin hot

He makes a pass at you and you don’t really seem to care at first

Until the second time when he formally asks you out

And then you take it seriously (even if you were pretending not to be a bundle of nerves)

Your personality types definitely seem compatible

I would imagine that John is either ENTJ or ESTJ

So that balances out your introverted tendencies and your feeling function

As he gets to know you better, he falls fast for your strong-willed personality and your opinionated takes

That being said, he also loves your soft and tender side as well

It inspires him to be more gentle in dealing with personal matters

He loves to kiss your sweet soft lips

He could do it all day long if you let him

He hates when people bullshit and waste time with flowery words

Which is why he loves your bluntness and dry humor

He knows you tend to be introverted and that dealing with people initially can be tough for you

So he apologizes profusely when you first meet him big Italian family

(Im Italian too and I would also apologize lmao)

He’s really good for you because he knows how to show you how to not give a fuck what other people think about you

You can teach him how to truly appreciate nature and all it’s natural beauty

He’s always wanted to try to grow a windowsill pot of oregano

Just like his Nonna did

You are able to show him how

And he is forever grateful

He really admires your pioneering personality

Like you, this man is very much a slytherin

Try to convince me otherwise

(You won’t ;) )

[triflesandparsnips]

Update 2: Cursed once again with A TERRIBLE DISCOVERY.

When last we checked in, the grated Venetian Nabulsi soap needed to dry in the sun for ten days and the Oil of Lavender needed to soak in the shade for twelve. So obviously, ahahahaha, fourteen days later, I returned to the adventure. LET'S CHECK IN WITH OUR VARIOUS BUDDIES.

The Oil of Lavender

So I actually have rather a lot to say about this whole Oil of Lavender experiment, and also maybe the nature of amateur research in general, and since

it turns out that the Oil was definitely not ready yet;

its use can actually be put off a bit for reasons that will become soon apparent; and

this reblog thread is already too fucking long--

I will be moving this whole discussion to a new post.

Figure 1. Also I want to talk about the book I found the recipe in because it's great, look at this, here's a recipe "For the Frenzie" that requires beet juice squirted up your nose, how fuckin fantastic is that.

So, uh, if you were waiting on that update, maybe... maybe keep track of my #funky little alchemist with funky little interests tag, where I will discuss my Terrible Decisions about Oil of Lavender at a later time.

Anyway, this brings us to--

The scraped soap

Look at this beautiful pile.

Figure 2. God's own pencil shavings.

After drying, lightly covered, in the sun for fourteen days, the scraped soap is indeed pretty dry, even though I definitely forgot to stir 'em up. The smell is light and, I would say, kind of... milky? It's definitely soap, but it was like it was subtly spelling out the word "~gentle~" in my brain every time I gave it a sniff.

Time to Make Up a Recipe

As I may have mentioned before, there are a lot of recipes for wash-balls (............still funny), and their ingredients range from "regular spice cabinet stuff" to "what the fuck is 'Benjamin'".

But! Because I'm still at the "let's fuck around and find out" stage of experimentation, and do not want to spend Lots of Money on something I will subsequently Fuck Up Tremendously, I went through a three-step process to determine my version 1.0 recipe.

Step 1. What do I already have in supply?

I went through the recipes I'd collected so far for this project (about twelve -- not a lot, to be honest, but good enough for now) and made a list of: the ingredients I had around already; what books mentioned them; and if I was very lucky, the amounts of each ingredient those recipes listed.

Figure 3. C'mon, William Salmon, what am I supposed to do with "some" Rose-water, how long is "a while," why are you like this.

Step 2. Take away the outliers.

From that I subtracted the ingredients that only showed up in one recipe, on the grounds that maybe they were oddballs or actually specific to a particular effect the maker was trying to achieve. So farewell, marjoram and rose-flowers, we hardly knew ye.

I also got rid of at least one ingredient because-- well, it showed up in more than one recipe, and it's something I had around, but... it seemed kinda random. Surely cornstarch ("Starch-corn") couldn't be that important.

...Reader, put a pin in that.

Step 3. Normalize (or straight up guess) at amounts.

Because I went with ingredients that appear in multiple recipes, I ended up with a lot of different possible amounts for each ingredient. But using the goal of lavender soap as my guide, I ended up with the following:

Version 1.0 7 oz. dried soap 1 oz. whole cloves, ground fresh 1 handful dried French lavender flowers, ground fresh rosewater, q.s.

Oh! Hey, shit, welcome to some cool apothecary info: If you see "q.s." in a recipe, it means "as much as is sufficient." Thank you, Moyse Charas, you fuckin hero, for reaching 345 years into the future to hand me half a clue. I love you.

Time to Guess at a Process

Want another apothecary fact? If you see "s.a." or "ex Arte" in a recipe, it means "According to Art."

Or. Hear me out. It sometimes. Sometimes. Means "now do the thing that you were definitely taught by an expert irl because you definitely won't be given any hints here. Nerd."

...I am willing to accept that maybe this is also just an "oh, everyone knows how to fold in the cheese" kind of thing when a "s.a." shows up. But only because I can't definitively prove that sometimes these writers were just assholes.

All this to say: you are about to see me get. Very, very wrecked.

Figure 4. Cloves and lavender in the mortar.

Figures 5 and 6. Grindy grindy. As a note, cloves require crunching with the pestle before you can really get a good grind on.

Figures 7 and 8. Dampen the dried soap with rosewater... oh god. That... that might be too much rosewater.

Hannah Woolley (1670) was the only writer to mention using your hands at any point while making these balls, but, uh, surely she wouldn't lead me astray. Surely.

Figure 9. Maybe adding the powdered lavender and cloves will help soak up the excess!

Figure 10. JESUS CHRIST MY HAND HAS BEEN EATEN BY A GREEN THING.

Hannah Woolley, come outside, I just wanna talk.

Leaving aside my new life as a swamp gremlin, it should be noted that this and subsequent photographs makes it appear as if the mix is, perhaps, a very light green color.

Let me just say: No. I can, at my kindest, call it maybe a heathered green. But it would also not be inaccurate to call it a very, uh, herbal green.

So by this point in the proceedings, the very green mixture was both declining to get particularly dry and was also sticking like fuck to my hands.

It was then, like a gift from my already-overburdened memory banks, that I remembered: cornstarch.

Figure 11. Okay, not cornstarch. Sorry. It's arrowroot powder again. IT'S WHAT I HAD NEARBY.

I... may have dumped in the arrowroot at least twice more. No photos, no proof, you'll never catch me, coppers.

With the arrowroot worked in, though, I finally got enough oomph to start forming balls with the stuff. And, as if my grandmother rose from the grave to try and once again teach me how to make her special Easter cookies, I started rolling the soap in my palms to form the balls... and I suddenly remembered that trick where you flour your hands when you work with dough. To keep it from sticking to your skin.

I was a bit late off the mark, but I did manage to at least partially flour my hands with the arrowroot, and that helped considerably with actually making the fucking balls. The large volume of cornstarch mentioned, but not explained, in any of my collected recipes was now justified.

(EX ARTE, EAT YOUR HEART OUT.)

Leaving us with:

Figure 12. A goddamn lavender wash-ball.

And now we wait (some more)

I ended up making five-and-a-mini little wash-balls, which are technically too small overall, but whatever, this is still Experimentation Time. They are now, per various process notes in various recipes, drying again in a shaded location. For how long? Dunno. We're gonna find out.

The outside, as you can see, is rough as hell (though, when I was rinsing the mix off my hands afterward, there was a pleasant abrasive quality to it), but some of the recipes suggest that maybe you're supposed to smooth it out a little after it finishes drying with some rosewater. BUT. I am also considering whether this might be a use for: THE OIL OF LAVENDER. (Aw yiss, full circle.) It's an exciting prospect.

Anyway, I'm gonna check on these fuckers in a few days and see what's up. It'll be an adventure. We can all find out together.

So the stickiness and the green and the cornstarch thing-- those were the "terrible discoveries" you made?

Hm? What?

From the title of the update, trifles. The "terrible discovery," all-caps, that you're cursed with.

...

Look.

This keeps happening.

The last time I made a historically possible self-care extravagance for Stede Bonnet, I thought it would smell like oranges. This time, I hoped it would smell like lavender.

And you know what I got instead, both goddamn times?

MOTHER. FUCKING. COOKIES.

Stede "my fursona is a delicious bakery" Bonnet coulda just been, idk, casually ruining lives with some wafting clouds of absolutely edible 1717 scent profiles as he jauntily bounced along the bounding main and I have to live with that knowledge what the fuck.

And I swear. I swear upon my grandmother's ghost. I did not intend to have this fucking thought.

But between the feel of the doughy soap in my hands. And the warm, spicy, sweet smell still lingering on my skin as I drove home from the studio. I was overwhelmed with the sudden, all-consuming question that left me aching for an answer I can never, ever let myself attain...

Would it taste like cookies if I--

For those who may or may not remember my mostly historically accurate Stede Bonnet lip balm, get ready-- I'm going to start experimenting soon with mostly historically accurate lavender soap.

So... I guess be prepared for me to accidentally explode more shit, hooray.

[partyinthemysterymachine]

your harry >>>>>

FUCKING GRABS LAP DESK AND SCREAMS

UPHEAVES IT THROWS IT INTO THE AIR AND RUNS AROUND TRYING TO INHALE LAPTOP INTO MY FUCKIN FACE AND MY HEART

oh my fucking GOD ohhhHHHoh oohh my god ohhh my gooooddddd oohhhh my gggooddd oohh my g

are you SERIOUS, oh my GOD this si. oh shut. oh sh. shut UP im g. im gonna cry oh my god. oh thank god i’m in bed i can lie down with my HEART. 

it’s so FULL

oh myg od tTHANK YOU sadlkadflhgfgh JESUS CHRIST THAT’S GORGEOUS. oh my gosh THANK YOU FOR THIS!!!! oh fuck hell it’s in color. oh my god htey’re beuatiful oh my god what the fuck they are BEAUTIFUL in your style im. oh my god thank you so fucking M U C H for this, it REALLY brightens up my day my week my month my rest of the year, esp after feeling A Way this past week!!!!

gggGOOOSSSHSHHSHSSHSH IM GONNA PERISH AND CRYYY THANK YOOUUU

clutching my fuckin chest and dying on site and sight. when are you opening up commissions. i have a ferocious and feral need to throw money at you. for art. for. More Serotonin. for this hit is MIGHTY

AAA THANK YOU SO MUCH YOU ABSOLUTE BLESSING YOU ARE A GOOD EGG AND A PEAAACCHHHHHHH

[wonderlandleighleigh]

prompt suggestion: events we haven’t seen in 4.06 between midge finding lenny and him coming to in the morning? 💖

Someone is saying his name. 

"Lenny? Lenny."

A cool hand settles on his neck, checking for a pulse and he squeezes his eyes shut hard before opening them. 

Midge is here, on this random sidewalk. 

He smiles. There are millions of things he could say. That she's pretty. That her hand feels nice. He settles on a baser instinct. 

"Nice tits."

Her reply is sardonic. "Gee, thanks. You think you maybe had a little too much to drink?"

He's maybe had more than whiskey tonight. He maybe took something stronger and then the whiskey happened, and then he decided on a walk and then the sidewalk became his best friend. 

He means to say something witty here. Something cool, you know? Something that will really impress this beautiful woman that he’s totally fucking in love with and will never admit it to anyone. 

He just giggles. 

"Yep. Okay, Mister." 

Suddenly, thin arms are hauling him up, and he's standing. Swaying on his feet but standing. And suddenly he's walking, with Midge’s arm wrapped around him, and suddenly he's stumbling into a cab. 

"Hey, that's Lenny Bruce!" A distant voice says.

"Yes it is. He's had a little accident, but we’re gonna fix him up. Lenny, can you tell me where you're staying?"

He looks at Midge, and he sees two of her. 

"Okay," Midge says gently, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Same destination as before, please." 

He doesn't know how long the cab ride is. The only thing keeping him grounded in reality is that hand on his shoulder. Otherwise he's…

Well. Fucked. 

The cab stops and Midge is hauling him out and helping him stumble into an unfamiliar apartment building. He waves to the doorman, and has to hold onto Midge for dear life in the elevator or else the black hole under his feet will swallow him fucking whole. 

There are keys in locks and then suddenly there's wallpaper, and then a couch. 

"Lenny."

He doesn't feel so good. 

"Lenny, can you drink some water for me?"

He doesn't know where the glass of water came from, but Midge is holding it. Behind her, a tired-looking couple stand in the doorway, looking concerned. 

Midge sighs and turns to them. "Can you please tuck the kids into my bed? He can sleep this off in their room."

"What if he needs a doctor?" The woman asks. "Miriam, he looks ill. Are you certain it's just alcohol?" 

"I'll keep an eye on him," she says. 

There's movement then, and dizziness.

"How the fuck," he slurs out. "Are you so fuckin strong?" 

"I'm a mother," she reminds him. "My day job includes hauling kids around on my hip."

He's unceremoniously shoved onto something soft that bounces under him and he thinks it's a bed. He thinks. His shoes are suddenly gone. His coat, jacket and tie. Breathing suddenly becomes easier when a few shirt buttons are undone. 

"Midge."

The dizziness is here to stay. He feels his whole heart in his throat, and it causes a rush of panic. When she sits next to him, he throws an arm over her lap, and squeezes his eyes shut, burying his face against her thigh. 

"Midge I think I fucked up." 

That cool hand is back, this time stroking his hair. "You're gonna be okay."

"I'm gonna die," he blurts out. "I'm gonna die like this."

"Not on my watch," she promises. "And not tonight."

"I should go," he says, but doesn't move. Can't move. His whole body is thrumming in the most unsettling way. 

"Lenny. Look at me."

It takes him a moment, but he manages to open his eyes, doing his best to focus in on her beautiful face. She looks tired, but her blue eyes look at him so softly he wants to jump out a window. 

"You're safe," she tells him. "And it's going to be okay. We're just gonna ride this out, and in the morning, there'll be coffee, and bagels." 

He tries to respond that that sounds nice. That he's grateful. That she shouldn't have to do this. 

But his vision grays out at the edges, and he knows he can't stay conscious anymore. 

"Oh, Lenny," is the last thing he hears.

[razrbladekiss]

Tyrants | Chapter Four - Peril

WORD COUNT: 5.1k

WARNINGS: Mentions of death, drug use, Tig being Tig. The usual SOA shit. Sorry Donna..

She always saw the beauty in darkness. The lugubrious belle that came alongside the moon and stars and whatever else lurked amidst the murk of nighttime.

Isla was cliche in that sense.

She was cliche in the sense that she adored watching the sun set, swallowed by the mountains and high-rise buildings as the evening fell and Charming was painted black.

And maybe it was mostly melancholic because of the horrors that swathed that small town, but it was still beautiful nonetheless.

She still liked to bask in the scenery, to discern the marvel of her home, from the highest point she could access. And, sometimes, she liked to take somebody along with her so she wasn't completely alone.

"Why'd you still come up here?" Ope asked, pulling himself onto the roof as she sat with her back to the wall--puffing on a cigarette.

"Because it's quiet." She was content, comfortable with her response. "And whenever I'm looking for Jax, or Gem, or my dad--or they're looking for me--this is where we're almost always found. Just people watching, or reminiscing, or having a few minutes to ourselves away from the chaos downstairs."

It wasn't an unknown safe space--Gemma had told her that JT and Clay would climb up there during the earliest days of the club--but it was special.

Jax, Opie, and Isla spent time up there as kids, too. Because they were bastards and were always running from their fathers--and den mother--and the roof of the clubhouse was their go-to.

She never really got out of that habit. She'd spend hours up there if she could, just watching as Charming bustled beneath her. And she liked that it was separate to the garage, but everyone knew where to find her if they needed her.

"It clears your head, being up here." She added. "I have got so much shit going on right now--between work, and my personal life--but coming up here is like a refreshment, I guess."

Opie understood what she meant because he was also seeking comfort in the night. Riding through dusk, spending time alone on his bike as he cruised the streets of his quaint town, relishing in the darkness because it was strangely comforting to him.

He liked to be alone. His thoughts were brutal and they seared his brain left and fucking right, but he liked his own company.

"Wish I thought about comin' up here when I was released from holding." The man chuckled, balancing a cigarette between his lips. "Stahl grilled the fuck outta me."

"She did?"

"Yeah. She really fuckin' did." He added, grunting as smoke blew from his nostrils. "Did she get you? I know she got Gemma."

"Nope, she didn't. I don't know why, though. She interrogated everyone else. Starting to feel a little left out."

Opie chuckled, smiling a bit. "Be glad. It's obvious that she's used to getting what she wants."

"And did you give it to her?"

"Fuck no." Isla smiled. Proud. "She can cross-examine me all she fuckin' wants—I'll never sell the club out."

"They know that, Ope."

"I know." Half confidently, he nodded. "Just—Stahl made me second guess it all, y'know?"

Nobody in Charming--aside from the PD--knew where that despicable bitch came from, and nobody cared to ask.

What they did know, though, was that she had her heart set on making that town a living fucking hell as she strived to eradicate the Sons of Anarchy by getting to its members.

She'd grilled everyone she could've. She cornered Gemma when she was out running errands, leaving the grocery store with a sour taste in her mouth when Teller told her where to fucking shove it.

Same went for Jax, and Clay, and Chibs, and Tig, and...Well, all of them told her to get fucked, actually.

None of them caved. None of them wanted to sell the club out because there was no reason to.

Well, there was a reason to, but no desire to.

There'd been murders. Three, to be specific. And one of them just happened to be a police officer--which was quite unlucky, but it wasn't awful.

They hated cops.

What they hated more, however, was the idea of getting caught by them. And Clay was. Somehow, anyway.

Piney's old "friend"--Nate Meineke--needed quality, albeit illegal, guns with no traceability to attack the convoy that was transporting one of his friends from point A to point B. And it went as swimmingly as possible...

Until June Stahl was put on the case and found that idiot's phone at the scene after dropping it mid-ambush.

Clay just happened to be the last person he had called. Which then caused the investigation to point toward Charming.

They all knew the Sons were guilty of supplying those weapons. Who else would it have been? They were known for running illegal firearms without batch numbers from a quaint Californian town whose name didn't quite fit its image.

It was blatant, though nobody gave it up.

But Stahl tried her damndest to get answers. And when she didn't, she targeted the member that she saw to be the most vulnerable--after a hit went wrong and he failed to cover his tracks--and Opie just happened to be that guy.

She questioned him for hours. She practically held the man captive in that little cell until he caved. But he didn't--and he wasn't going to, either.

He was loyal. That's one of the reasons why Jax wanted to patch him back in.

"Yeah, I know." Isla got to her feet when she heard Tig yelling for her downstairs. "But you're the strongest guy I know, Ope. I don't think Stahl, of all people, is gonna get to you."

He shrugged her off, flicking the butt of his cigarette to the gravelly ground of the roof.

Opie had changed. Not much, and it wasn't very apparent, but he'd changed. Chino had changed him, she thought.

He was still dedicated to his club, still in love with the reaper and the responsibility that came with the patch--but Opie Winston lacked that flicker of enthusiasm now.

"How does your dad feel about you being back at the table?"

"Said he's proud of me."

He was a man of very, very few words. But the tone that he took--the sheer relief twined into contentment--spoke a greater volume.

Piney would always support his son, feel a sense of gratification from his involvement in the club. And, of course, Ope felt grateful to be back--but it was different now.

He'd served time for his club. Donna consistently argued that they sold him out and that he was fucking stupid for running back into the arms of SAMCRO.

But it was his brotherhood. The Sons of Anarchy were his family--his lifeline. He was nothing if not blessed to be patched back in.

"And I guess that wife of yours isn't too happy about it?"

"How'd you reach that conclusion?"

"Well," she ignored that Tig was waiting for her, standing directly in front of him. "If she was genuinely thrilled about you being back here, she'd have been coming to Gemma's dinners, and spending more time at the clubhouse with us. But she isn't, and I'm starting to realize that she probably hates me now."

His head shook. "She doesn't hate you. It's just...It's just raw. Weird being back, I think."

"She didn't even have to leave. She knows that."

Donna did know that. But there was always something about Gemma. About the way she let things slide so often, how she felt that she had Clay so pussy whipped that he'd be at her every beck and call--but, really, that was redundant. Because Gemma let him get away with fucking murder.

Literally.

"Is she gonna be there tonight?

"Of course. She wouldn't miss Jax's son coming home." He got up, reaching for her hands. "Sorry that she's been so distant with you, Isla. But she's just been stressed out--money worries and the kids and stuff, y'know?"

"Yeah, I know."

Donna wasn't traditionally a worrier. But five years worth of finances, being a single mom, and fretting over her husband potentially not making it out of prison alive, just did that to a woman.

"Anything I can do to help?"

"I don't think so." Grateful for her offering, though recognizing how damn stubborn his wife was, he conceded. "Thanks, though."

"Anytime. And if you change your mind, or need me, you know where I am--"

"Isla!"

"He is getting on my last fucking nerve today." She groaned, flipping Tig off as she looked over the ledge. "I'm coming! Give me a minute!"

"I've given you plenty of minutes! Just get your ass down here!"

"Just go," Ope chuckled, leaning down to peck her cheek. "We can have this talk another time."

Isla turned back to him, frowning. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. Go 'n talk to him--I'll see you tonight."

He was such a nice guy. So considerate, kind.

She loved him a lot.

The flouncy sundress rose to the middle of her thighs as she sauntered through the clubhouse, hearing Trager talking--rather conspicuously, though slightly muffled--to somebody on his cell.

"C'mon, Tiggy. Why'd you yell at me?"

He waved his hand to shut her up, gesturing for the blonde to follow him out of the clubhouse and toward his bike.

"Yeah, cool. K, brother--see 'ya later. Bye." He hung up and slid the phone into the pocket of his cut, swiveling to face Isla with a smile. "You ready?"

"For what?"

"The party?" Tig told her, watching confusion sweep over her face. "I'm taking you over 'cuz you want a drink and don't wanna drive home after? And that you're probably gonna end up heading home with Juice, or something--"

"Juice?"

"It always happens," he shrugged, pointing at the helmet he set out for her at the back of his bike. "We all head out, you get too drunk, you take a liking to Juicy, and you try to ride his dick."

"What?" Isla got herself situated behind him as he got on first, her arms wound around his waist. "That was one time. I've only slept with him once, and I told you it'd never happen again."

"And why is that?"

Her cheeks flushed red, the engine revving sending vibrations through her entire frame.

"Because he was too gentle." Tig's foot collided with the kickstand.

"And the little Catholic girl likes it rough."

She felt the solid gold crucifix burning a hole into her chest.

"Yes. I like it rough." He groaned, leaning into her. She swatted at his chest over his shoulder, laughing heartily. "Just take me to see the baby, dickhead."

The bike sped out of the lot and Isla was loving the thrill of being on two wheels. She'd always liked being stuck to the back of somebody's Harley--but she'd never own one herself.

Isla was like Gemma. She felt stable enough riding with somebody, but riding alone--being in control of the motorcycle--was fucking terrifying.

Jax and Opie had encouraged her to take a ride at one point, but it didn't end very well, and Chibs spent the best part of two hours trying to stitch his daughter back up whilst Gemma castigated the two imbeciles who thought it was even reminiscent of a good idea.

Weaving through traffic gracefully, freely, was appealing to her, however. But she wouldn't be caught dead--alone--on a fucking bike.

Plus, she quite enjoyed being taken places. Escorted by a member of the club. It was safe.

The wind whirred and whipped around them, and she wished she didn't make the effort with her hair tonight. It was ruined, tousled to within an inch of its life, and she dreaded the thought of having to brush the knots out in Jax's bathroom.

Still, commuting via Harley was a hell of a lot quicker and had a few more benefits than commuting via car.

But the looks that they got were piercing. Horrible. Mainly from Hale stationed beside his squad car, watching as Isla and Tig raced down the freeway.

"He likes you." He spoke over the roaring engine when he hit the first stop light all night. "He hates that you've never given him a chance--"

"He's a cop, and I'm the outlaw's daughter. I've been raised to hate his kind."

Tig nodded his approval, setting off once again when the light switched to green and all opposing traffic stood still.

At one strange point in time, David Hale had his sights set on Isla Telford. He was in love with her. Completely besotted.

And she never gave him a second glance because, for one, she wasn't interested. He hated that she was so close to Jax and Opie, but not him, and he wished that she'd push herself away from the bad guys to grow closer to the heroic law-enforcer.

But he was a control freak above everything else, and Isla was just a free-spirit. She was loyal to her friends and family but she didn't want to get tied down, and she didn't want to become friendly with a fucking cop.

The only cop she liked was crooked. And Unser was in a similar spot to her--a little too affiliated with SAMCRO, but not completely doted on. Though, they were both strangely essential fixtures, and Clay would've been lost without them.

"Juice is here." Tig taunted as he helped her off the bike, holding her hand when she stumbled over herself a little. "Try to keep those panties on."

"Can't make any promises, Tiger." Her growl was seductive, though he knew that she was fucking with him.

She'd given up rebuking his claims, instead feeding into them because, with Trager, she couldn't seem to win. He was sleazy, and she loved that back and forth.

What she loved more, though, was that he was comfortable. He was a strange man, and nobody really understood just where he came from, but Isla liked that she could make jokes of any kind around him. He was easy to get along with. Easy to love.

And, man, did she love Alex Trager.

"If you do fuck him, though, would you make a video?"

Isla stepped into Jax's front room, turning on her heels. "Who said that we haven't already got one?"

She chuckled and wandered into the party, leaving Tig with a few convoluted thoughts and even more raunchy questions.

"Fuck. Gemma taught her well." He grumbled under his breath, reaching for the beer in Half-Sack's hand.

He slumped on the couch, motioning for his usual lay to sit in his lap as he watched Juice fawn over his little blonde friend making conversation with some other random woman already.

"Yeah, totally..." she agreed with whatever the girl was saying, but her eyes were glued on Tara. Just floating around the party.

She felt bad that the doctor was alone. Despite all that she thought of her, being out of ones depth in such an intimidating setting wasn't very nice. And Isla was an empath.

"D'ya think anyone 'round here has any nail glue?"

"Gemma might." She smiled, pointing toward the kitchen.

Grateful that she managed to shake that one off, Isla weaved through the small conclave and sat beside Tara, offering a friendly face during a time of such discomfiture.

Her heart was aching, the sheer nervousness was palpable, and she knew that Tara felt the same way too.

But Isla just sucked it up. Because she wanted to talk to her, and had to be the one to initiate it.

"Thanks for coming." Her smile was wide, genuine.

She offered a beer to the brunette, hoping that she'd take it.

"Thanks for asking me here." Tara accepted it, glad that Isla remembered she wasn't particularly a wine girl like herself.

Christ. This is awkward.

"Trust me, you were the first person I asked to come tonight."

"How so?"

"Well," a little bit more comfortably, she faced her completely, "you've literally nursed Abel back to health. You've been there every step of the way. You've been the best surgeon. And, as much as I hate to say it, you helped Wendy so much, Tara. I'm really thankful for all that you've done for this family."

"It's my job." She tried to brush the comments off, but her heart definitely fluttered at the praise.

Isla never changed. She was still the sweetest soul, she thought.

"I know, but you've had it rough with this lot--with Gemma, I mean."

"She isn't anything I can't handle." Confidently, she asserted.

"I know, and I'm glad that you're able to stand your ground." Reluctant, a hand landed against Tara's palm.

She jolted a little bit, but softened into the embrace.

It was comfy, warm. Prosperous, perhaps, because it meant something. Tara not jerking away and leaving once Isla offered a friendly embrace, was promising.

They spoke about the baby for a little while, and shared a few laughs at Tig's expense. It was strange, really. To be talking to her ex-best friend was strange, but she'd missed it.

Donna joined the mix, too, and it was starting to feel like old times. Isla recognized that they'd never slip back into that routine, the dedication to one another that they'd known when they were kids--but it was nice.

The conversation stuttered and it wasn't able to flow as freely as what she might've liked, but it was a start.

To know that she had something resembling an acquaintanceship with two women she admired, was nice.

And Jax introducing his baby to his brand new home, to his extended family that were already so fucking dedicated to him, was just the most wonderful thing ever.

"What about a beer?" Clay joked, holding the bottle close to Abel. Jax laughed, though he shook his hand away. "What? Grandpa can't give him his first beer?"

"No, he can't."

"I'll take it, though. If you're offerin'." Chibs grabbed the Budweiser and twisted the cap with the leather grip of his glove.

He gestured to Isla, tipping it toward her. "Want some?"

"No, you're alright." She went back to her wine, smiling at that little bundle of happiness in Jax's arms, wondering how the hell he'd gotten to be in this position now.

But it was because of Tara. Her commitment, her talent, and sheer want to help that angel through the roughest patch that a baby could have possibly been thrust into.

How Gemma could still loathe that girl--after everything she did--was beyond her completely.

Tara was the unlikeliest hero in Abel's story.

"Why is it that every time I see you, your highlights get more chunky?" Gemma smiled at the comment, turning to see her favorite girl, flaunting the most beautiful smile.

She handed Isla the bottle of whatever wine Chibs could get this evening, unable to quit beaming at the thought of her grandson finally being at home. Where he belonged.

"I told you I'd do them for you, Gem."

"I know," she nodded, playing with a few strands of hair, "I was gonna ask you, but you've been a little distant this week--didn't wanna add to your workload, baby."

"That's super considerate of you. Are you alright?" Isla teased, holding a hand to Gemma's forehead.

She slapped it away with a laugh. "Fuck you. I'm always considerate."

"Sure you are. That's why Wendy is here, right?"

"No," her head shook, "she's here 'cuz this is her house. If I had it my way, she'd be out on her ass faster than what you could even say 'crank whore.'"

Isla wiped at her lips with the back of her hand, tipping her head toward the blonde in the living room.

"I thought you made sure she was gonna be here tonight?" Confused, she quizzed.

She was under the impression that Wendy was starting to grow on her. After she'd tried to kill her, of course.

"I did," Gem confirmed. "But only because I knew it'd be awkward between her and Tara."

Amazed, or maybe fucking horrified, Isla simply glared at her.

It should've been obvious to her--plain as day--that Gemma Teller doing a good thing was simply a bullshit facade, built in order to take away from the fact she wanted to do an inherently bad thing.

But Isla liked to see the good in people, so it wasn't. And that really was one of her mot fatal flaws.

"She thanked me for letting her stay, too."

"And what'd you say to her?" Almost as if she didn't want to know the answer, she asked.

Black nails danced along the rim of her wine glass as she leaned against the counter, watching everybody enjoy themselves as they bitched and moaned.

"That she's lucky to be alive."

"Jesus, Gem," her head shook disparagingly, disappointed perhaps.

But being surprised that the woman made a threatening comment toward Wendy, was just as stupid as being surprised at Tig for fucking another hooker during his free time.

"You've gotta keep her close, ma. She's the mother of your grandson, the woman your son did love at one point."

Ma. The word rolled off her tongue unintentionally most of the time, but she didn't hate it.

Gemma was the mother figure in her life--hell, she was the mother figure in a few of the Sons' lives--and it didn't feel weird using that around her. It was affectionate. She adored it.

"Jax never loved her," matter of fact, she retorted. "They got drunk together. They smoked dope together. They didn't love one another--"

"They got married." Isla reminded her. "They have a kid together. They have a lot of history."

"Just because they have history, doesn't mean they love one another. You've got history with him."

Her chuckle was throaty, almost a full-on splutter. "We have not got that same history--we're friends, Gem, you know that's different."

She supposed the blonde was right.

There was hell of a contrast between friends for life and friends with benefits--and Gemma knew that. She just didn't like that Jax gravitated toward Wendy when he'd always had Isla right there in front of him.

Though, she was more than aware that the pair didn't look at each other that way--she still lauded the thought of the two together.

"I still hate her."

"I know," Isla laughed at Gemma's irritability, sipping on her wine, enjoying the sight of everybody having a damn good time.

"She's checking into rehab, too."

"Really? Where?"

"Some place in Oakland, I think." Gemma added, smiling at Clay when he wandered over to the pair. "But you didn't hear that from me."

"You think she's gonna stick to it?"

"Couldn't tell 'ya." He answered for his wife, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to Isla's cheek. "She's determined though, I'll give her that."

"Yeah?" His nod was optimistic--strange for Clay Morrow. "Well, I'm glad she's working on herself, anyway. She's got potential."

"You hate her."

"I know." She didn't refute the assertion. "But I'm still happy for her."

At least somebody is.

She wasn't lying. Wendy was a good girl, a woman tortured for no good reason. And she felt for her, she really did.

It'd been a shock, finding out that she was pregnant. But it wasn't like they weren't expecting it--what with the rate she and Jax were going at it.

From the start, Isla and Gemma were worried. She was notorious for her crank habit and the girls thought she was going to kill herself before she had the chance to see her son into the world.

And that almost happened, didn't it?

The doctors at St. Thomas were fucking miracle workers--Isla was on pins and needles waiting for a call to say that Wendy and Abel were okay.

But she tried not to dwell on that, now. They were both as healthy and Abel was as happy as he could've been, so Isla was content. She wasn't pleased, but she was comfortable with the way that things were going.

Tara, however.

"No!" She yelled, backing out of the nursery. "No, fuck you, Jax."

Juice stumbled backward when she nudged him out of the way, pulling her purse from the kitchen counter.

Isla and Gemma couldn't not stare.

"Tara, c'mon!" Jax called after her, but it was too late.

The front door had been slammed shut and the party came to a complete standstill. A thickening tension was shrouding the group, and things were only just starting to simmer.

"What was that all about?" The blonde asked Juice, leaning against the island.

She didn't want to prove Tig to be right but, after a few glasses of wine, Juan Carlos Ortiz was starting to pique her interests.

He swallowed thickly, watching Clay leave the room. "He said something about Wendy--wanting to keep whatever it is that he and Tara have going on the down low so it doesn't set her off, or something."

Makes sense.

"He has a point. She's doing really well lately." He continued. "Jax would hate to stunt her progress by shoving his relationship with Tara in her face."

Isla was rattled.

Jax hadn't talked to her in days, and she wasn't aware that so much had changed. She wasn't aware that he had established a relationship with Tara Knowles.

Again.

You know what they're like--like two fucking magnets or something. They always find a way back to one another.

She was too irritated to reside in that same room as Gemma, now. Knowing the conversation she'd initiate the second that Juice left was too fucking much. So she left first, instead.

The living room was almost empty. Just Clay, Bobby, Tig, and Chibs sat around the couches as Donna, the kids, and Ope were preparing to set off.

Everything was annoying her, now. She hadn't made the effort with Donna all night, but she was pissed that she hadn't started to say goodbye to her yet.

Isla was so fucking irritated that she didn't even want to talk to Tig, or her father. So she didn't.

"Where're you going, petal?" Chibs asked, hindering her plan to keep her mouth shut for the rest of the night. He knew that she'd crack a smile at the nickname.

"I was just wandering. Not really sure what to do with myself."

"Come sit down," he gestured to the space between himself and Tig, and wound an arm around her when she met the leather. "I've missed 'ya."

"Tonight? Or just in general."

"In general. It's been a few days, love."

"I know, I'm sorry." Her head rested against his Sgt. At Arms patch, and she sighed. "Work has been so fucking busy and I feel like I haven't gotten a moment to myself this week."

Isla only worked a part-time gig at some shitty salon just on the outskirts of Charming--edging into Stockton--but she hated her job.

She hated driving into the city every morning and evening, wasting a fuck ton of her paycheck on gas when, really, there was no point.

She hated her cunt boss.

Hated her cunt clients.

She hated that nobody really spoke to her because of who her father was. And when they did speak to her, it was almost like they were scared. Of Isla.

Gemma had always promised her that there was a space at the auto shop for her had she needed it, but she couldn't think of anything worse than having to answer to Gemma and Clay every single day.

Well, more than what she already was, anyway.

"Who'd 'a thought that being a hairdresser was so demanding?"

"Me, apparently." She joked, watching Tig get up and leave the room.

It'd turned somber. A little too bleak for her liking, but she guessed that everyone felt a bit awkward after Tara stamped out and Jax sat on his porch. Alone. With a bottle of whiskey.

She hated the hold that woman had over him sometimes. The way he was so fucking devoted to Tara Knowles that she could literally slap him, scream in his face, and ruin his son's homecoming party--and he would still pine for her.

She'd never understand that.

And she didn't understand how such a lively bunch of individuals had mellowed out over the course of two hours, either.

The party had disappeared. Dissipated into nothing and the atmosphere she once lauded was completely dead in the water.

It was fucking grim, and she couldn't wait to head home.

"Can I come with you tonight?"

"Why'd you even ask? Y'know you're welcome to come home with your old man whenever you want." Chibs told her a little bit stern, though it was essentially full of love.

She just smiled up at him, a bit buzzed. But she was having a good-ish time and who was he to chastise her for drinking a little too much tonight?

"Wanna head off now?"

"Yeah--lemme just say 'bye' to Gemma."

"Alright, I'll be out front. Don't forget your purse." He reminded, knowing she was too ditsy for her own good.

Chibs helped her to her feet, letting go of her hand only to part ways for a few moments.

Her mood was perking up, now. The prospect of being able to spend a few hours with her dad after a long fucking day, was just the best.

And she'd really missed him. Missed the time they once had an abundance of. Missed the evenings that they'd spend talking, drinking, watching movies, doing the generic father daughter activities.

They hadn't had that for a while, and it was truly a blessing that it was within reach tonight.

Well. It was within reach for all of five minutes.

"Oh my God--" Gemma's cell slipped from between black nails and bounced across the table. Saturated hues were locked on Isla, and her head shook.

"What?"

"There's--there's been an accident." She managed to muster out. "Or, maybe a drive-by, I don't know, but Donna--"

"Donna?" Piney's attention was snatched at the mention of his daughter-in-law. He stood up. "What about her?"

Isla knew the answer. She knew what Gemma was going to say because it was just the usual now, wasn't it?

Being affiliated with SAMCRO just did that to somebody. Man, woman, child. They didn't fucking care.

"She's--Piney, she's dead."

[penwieldingdreamer]

Dante's Prayer - Chapter 3

The 2nd part of the Ball, hope you guys will like it. Let me know what you think about this. A big thanks to my beta @fortheloveoffanfic for keeping me on track with the characters 😉

Warnings: cursing

Words: 2094

"Mrs. Gray, why don't we retreat to the parlour for a drink and leave the men to talk their business." Helene suggested linking her satin gloved arm with Polly's and led her away from Thomas and her husband, nodding at the two men in parting. 

"Lady McCann, please call me Polly, after all, we'll be family soon once the wedding is done." the Shelby matriarch told her nephews soon-to-be mother in law with a smile, the two women nearly gliding over to the smaller parlour of Castletown House. 

Returning the smile, the duchess nodded her head. "By all means, then I'm Helene. We will be family soon, given that my daughter won't bail on us." A soft sigh left her lips, knowing Saoirse could be difficult. "Your nephew will have his work cut out for him, I reckon." 

"Oh he'll learn how to deal with it. I have a good feeling that once they'll get to know each other they'll find common ground." The words were reassuring, yet both women knew that it would take a while for their children - in Polly's case she felt like her brother's children were just like her own - to warm up to the idea of sharing a life together. 

Arriving at the doors separating the sitting room from the grand ballroom, Helene nodded at the butler, who let them enter. They sat down at the round table, plush armchairs providing comfort as the Birmingham resident looked around the room. Polly thought back to the time when she had to work hard to provide for her family and be there for Ada and Finn during the war, and all she could feel was gratefulness toward Tommy who was able to give them the life they led now. 

"Has Thomas told you what he wants his wedding to be like?" the mother of three inquired, nodding at the butler in thanks for bringing them both refreshments and leaned back into the high-backed armchair. "I gather now that it is his second wedding he might want to change a few things." 

Taking a sip from the champagne, the gypsy lightly shook her head. "So far, he hasn't said anything. He only does this out of duty to the family. I told him it was a good deal, but other than that he's not going to object to anything. All I can ask of you is considering a custom my family on my mother's side has partook in every time during a wedding." Polly wasn't too sure, the duchess would agree to traditions of the travelling folks but the soft smile on her face and the light nod gave her hope. 

"I haven't always been a duchess, Polly." the blonde lady started, holding the Flute glas in her hand and watching the champagne sparkle in the soft glow of the lamps. "My mother originated from Germany, her cousin married the emperor of Austria and she was made Empress of Austria and Hungary. I often visited her when I was still a child and Sisi would visit the travelling folks of Hungary. Not all is as it seems, my daughter has the same spirit in her as Elizabeth did. Headstrong, modern, loyal to a fault, kind and with a childish wonder the war has snuffed out in many people. I do hope that Thomas won't try to do what the war hasn't been able to do. Despite me agreeing to this arrangement without her consent, she is still my little angel and I will grant you your customs just like we have ours, but should your nephew hurt her in any way, he will wish for war to take him again."

Nodding her head, Polly grinned at Helene, knowing they would get along splendidly. Protective of her family, just like herself, the Shelby matriarch knew that there was a good future ahead, bright was still to be questioned, but good at least. 

Just then the decorated glass doors of the light coloured parlour flew open, a disheveled looking Arthur standing there, eyes ablaze and his face red from anger. 

"Did ya know, Pol?" he asked storming over to his aunt, hands already grabbing for her arms. "Did ya know 'bout 'er, hm?" 

Polly had never been someone to be frightened or threatened, especially not by her family, so she wouldn't start now and still Arthur always had a soft spot in her heart. Delivering a hard slap, she pushed the eldest of the brothers away from her, regret shining in her eyes. "What the fuck are ya talkin' about, Arthur?" 

"I'm fuckin' talking about Niamh." he glared, his cheeks already turning a darker shade of red from anger and the hit he received. "She's been here all them years, pregnant with ma son, so 'm askin' again: did ya know 'bout it?" 

Wide eyed, Polly felt the wheels in her head turning, remembering the girl Arthur had left behind to marry Linda, the redheaded beauty in the back of the church. "She was at the wedding, didn't say a thing, just left when it was over. That's all I know." 

Letting out a heavy sigh, Arthur stumbled back into the armchair on the other side of his aunt, closing his eyes to order the thoughts in his head flitting about like butterflies. "What am I gonna do now?" Polly moved over to him, pulling Arthur into a tight hug because she knew it was hard on him. 

Even though she wasn't a fan of Linda, her nephew loved her and she had to live with that. Now he needed to make a decision on what to do with the mother of his first child. "You need to talk to her, that much is clear. And get to know him, too." 

Nodding his head against his aunt's belly, Arthur felt a small portion of the weight lifting of his shoulders. Linda would be furious, she already was with him leaving for Ireland to be part of the wedding preparations. Nothing had been decided yet, but the eldest Shelby had a distinct feeling, that Lady McCann would want the ceremony to take place in their home and he already dreaded the day the whole family would again sit on Tommy's side of the church and Linda coming face to face with his former lover and mother of his first son.

"I thought you'd have ta greet guests." he said, a cigarette perched between his lips as he watched his wife-to-be gazing at the sky. 

"And I thought you would talk about business with my father." she replied, a smirk grazing her features and might he say it looked more like a small smile than a smirk. 

Her body leaned against the banister and Tommy couldn't help but let his eyes roam over it, breathing in the smoke of the cigarette he had missed all evening. "There's not much business to talk about when there's a wedding about to take place." 

Nodding her head, Saoirse turned her face towards his own as he leaned against the stone parapet next to her. "I hope Arthur has calmed down again after his encounter with Niamh when I left." she said after a moment of silence.

"Ach, he's fine. Needs to talk to her, though." Tommy shrugged, his stormy blues void of emotion as he stubbed out the cigarette on the banister. "His wife's goin' to have his hide, but he'll get over it." 

Shaking her head, Saoirse looked away from the gang leader, feeling like the little progress they had made went up in smoke just like the cigarette. "You shouldn't be so indifferent to the feelings of others, one day you might not have anyone left to turn to." 

"Often enough you only have yourself to rely on." he replied before he stood again, running a hand through his short hair and holding the other out to her. "We shouldn't make your guests believe that we hate each other, it's bad for business." 

Snorting, the youngest of three took his hand, feeling the warmth of Tommy's skin through the satin of her glove as he led her inside to the ballroom. "Who said anything about me liking you? I don't really care what my guests think, mother's guests on the other hand, that would be a shame. After all, they came all the way from Austria and London." 

"I see, you're not going to make it easy for me, are you?" he wondered, twirling her around so they could dance to the waltz the orchestra started to play. "What is this marriage going to look like, hm?" 

Putting her left hand on his shoulder, Saoirse mentally thanked her mother for making her take the dance lessons in Vienna or else the future bride of Birmingham's most known gangster would have been an embarrassment. Her right hand delicately laid in his left and she couldn't help but wonder if they could do more than just hold a gun and kill. "I believe you'd like me to play the obedient wife, staying at your house and doing nothing, what with your fortune now. I heard you have a son, so probably be a mother to him, while you go out and do whatever you do." 

"So, ya do know something 'bout me." he smirked, leading her across the grand room, unaware of the other dancers and their families. The pair danced in their own world and voiced their opinion on the upcoming union. "And here I thought ya didn't know anything." 

"My sisters talk, Mister Shelby, although I didn't know which one my husband-to-be was, I still heard their opinions on you loud and clear." 

The smirk on his lips widened at the thought of what Amalie and Louise had told their sister. "An' what pray tell did they tell ya?" 

"Oh, you know, that you're a gangster, cold as ice, a former war hero and would do anything to get money." Saoirse shrugged, trying to rile him up as she saw his blue eyes darken. Tommy knew that he had to keep it cool. It wouldn't do him good to drag her off and…no, he wouldn't yell at her and make a scene, that would break the deal he made with her mother. He'd rather enjoy the rest of his life while it lasted. 

Pulling her tighter into his body, he felt a satisfied grin make its way onto his face at her gasp. "You'd do well to keep those comments to a minimum. That money you so kindly brought up will grant you safety among Birmingham and the rest of England and Scotland. I don't want another of me wife killed because she wouldn't listen and had a mind of her own."

"Well then, you'd better look for another wife because I can be just as stubborn as you, Mister Shelby." 

"I'd rather not. You're more than enough." Wincing at the thought of having to go through that process again, Tommy shook his head. The music had changed and another waltz was played. "Besides, finding a good woman that freely accepts my son is quite rare in these times."

Pursing her lips, Saoirse looked up into his stormy blue eyes. "I couldn't imagine someone not liking your son. Judging by what Louise told me about him, I take it he's a ray of sunshine." 

"Are you really trying to make me hate you right now? But yes, Charlie is in fact a ray of sunshine despite having me as his father." Before the youngest daughter of the Duke could say anything, Tommy had twirled her outward, keeping his eyes on her face as he read the delight written all over it. 

He couldn't help but enjoy these moments, couldn't remember the last time he danced like this with anyone that hadn't been Grace. When Saoirse had returned to his arms, she sent him a grin, a genuine one at that. "I'm not trying to make you hate me, I was stating a fact and to be honest I can't wait to meet your son." 

Nodding his head at her answer, he led her around the ballroom for one final dance. "In two weeks you will meet him, so I do hope you won't change your mind about this arrangement." 

"Don't do anything to make me change it and I'll be there." she answered him, her right hand squeezing his left tighter than before and Tommy couldn't help but grin at her attempt to threaten him. Life would be a lot more interesting once the wedding was over. 

tagging

@fortheloveoffanfic @fics-not-tragedies

[miss-kittys-magical-library]

Dress You Up In My Love (Darren Treacy x Jeanie Turner)

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: angst, smut, language, cross dressing kink

A/N: Darren needs just one night to hide after pulling a hit on Dublin's biggest drug lord. He turns to secondary family where he finds out something surprising about himself and unfinished business from his cousin's wedding. (Takes place in series two between episodes 5 and 6. There ARE spoilers for series two of Love/Hate.)

A frantic knocking sprung Jeanie out of sleep that she didn't remember falling into. She hurriedly pulled on the hotel bathrobe and shouted at the door she was coming. A glance at the clock told her it was 8pm. Still plenty of time for him to come by.

Jeanie opened the door and gasped. “Dazz?! What's going on?”

“Is Gordo here?” The man shifted from foot to foot outside the doorway. He had a motorcycle helmet in his hands and a wild look behind bright green eyes.

“No. He's been up at Trinity in that fucking lab all day. I've not seen him.”

“I need a place t’crash for a few days,” he half-begged, half informed Jeanie as he pushed past into the suite. “Crikey this is posh. If I knew Gordo was gonna grow up t’have this kinda cash, I wouldn't have poked fun at the specs n shite.”

“Darren is there something I can help you with? As we've not seen you in four years?” Jeanie crossed her arms over her chest.

“I.. Did something. Just need a place t’lay low. Figured my cousin was th’last place anyone would look.” There was a shrug in his voice.

“Why not Rosie?”

Darren started to shed his jacket then ran a hand through his shaggy hair, “Best not involve her either. Not exactly talking these days.” He held his jacket out to Jeanie.

“Fuck off with that!” she swatted the jacket away.

“Oi! Just hold it while I take off the rest.”

“Rest of what? Your clothes? Hi Darren. Haven't seen you since the wedding. You've grown up. Sorry about Robbie and your mum. Thank you, Jeanie. How have you been? How's Scotland? Just lovely. Don't see Gordon for days and he's had TWO affairs.”

“Fair point, darlin,” Darren stepped out of his boots and unzipped his sweatshirt. “The Treacy side ain't exactly one t’write home about. Are we, yeah? ‘Cept Mary.”

Jeanie took the leather jacket and pinched her nose. Eyes closed. Something sticky about it made her recoil. Eyes popped open. She held her hand up; it was speckled brownish red.

“Dazz is this blood?!”

“Best you don't know. Can I shower?”

“I don't know, can- JESUS DARREN PUT SOME FUCKING CLOTHES ON” Jeanie covered her eyes.

“I'M IN UNDERWEAR!” he shouted back, laughter in his voice. “Alright, Ginge. Haven't ye ever seen a grown man in his underwear? You just need to get rid of those anyway ye can. Please?”

“Well you certainly aren't 16 anymore.”

“I was 18 when ye’s got married. Don’t ye remember?” his eyebrow arched suggestively.

“I would say I tried to forget, but when I'm stuck alone at night, or in a hotel for days at a time, I don't feel bad. It really was foreshadowing for the rest of our marriage.”

“Gordo’s cousin trying t’shag his new wife th’night he got married? Almost got that tossover. Pride myself on that.”

“I was hammered and you have very hypnotic eyes. Like Kaa in the Jungle Book”

Darren frowned, his brows knit together in confusion. His lower lip turned out as he struggled to comprehend that as compliment or insult.

Jeanie couldn't help but stare now. A proper look. Darren's body hadn’t changed much since she last saw him. Still thin, muscles a bit more defined. Scars littered his chest and stomach as he exhaled deeply. It was labored.

“Are those from a gunshot?” Jeanie looked minorly distressed.

Darren absently ran his fingers over the old wounds. “Aye. Working on one lung and I'm a bit barmy now.” Like it was no big deal.

Jeanie sighed heavily, but stopped to gather up his clothes. “I'll take a walk, and ditch these. Against my better judgment. Clean clothes are in our bags. You're about his size I suppose.” She rummaged around in the closet by the front door for a garment bag.

“You're a fucking beauty!” Darren snatched his cousin’s wife up in his arms. He pecked her cheek awkwardly.

“Towels are in the bathroom,” Jeanie grappled with what just happened. “I'll be back in half an hour. I hope whatever you did is fucking worth it. Dazz.”

“Trust me, love. No ones gonna miss him.”

------

Jeanie sloshed out of the canal bed glad she packed her Wellingtons for the unpredictable Irish weather. Grateful too for the stones she found along the water side. She had put the hotel pub news bulletin out of her mind warning of a gangland hit on a local known drug lord. One that showed up to her wedding on the arm of Darren and Gordon’s aunt.

“I hope Darren shot you right in the fucking face, and you knew it was him.” Jeanie muttered as she watched the clothes sink after she pushed the bag under the surface.

Maybe it was hypocritical she was relieved JohnBoy was dead. Dazz wasn't the only one who tried to fuck her that night, but he was the only one she welcomed. Maybe, Jeanie owed Darren a bit of physical gratitude.

-----

Jeanie shut the door behind herself and popped her boots off in the closet. She changed quickly in the bathroom.

“You hungry or anything? I hope you found clothes that-”

Jeanie stopped in her tracks when she came around the wall that divided the suite foyer from the bedroom. Darren with his back to the full length mirror, was twisted so that he could look at himself. He seemed to be staring at his own ass.

“What are you doing?!” Jeanie was surprised, but amused more than anything.

“Oh! What kinda fookin underwear does Gordo have?” Darren's cheeks were just a hint of pink as he caught Jeanie’s eye. “T’ere’s no place for my cock when I piss, but they feel nice? Like t’ere comfortably snug?” He caressed his ass for emphasis.

“Well, those are mine. Not Gordon’s boxer briefs. So that answers the cock question. And they look snug because you have.” Jeanie's eyes strayed down over the bulge that had grown inside the boy shorts. “Well you must REALLY like them.”

Darren's eyes were wide, but he didn't seem embarrassed. Not really. His gaze followed Jeanie's downwards to his erection. “Yeah looks t’at way, doesn't it. I promise ye, I've never done t’is before.”

“Who cares if you have. Women wear boxers all the time. Back home, when I was in uh, what's it here? 1st through 4th year, all we wore was boxers as regular shorts. If you like them, Dazz, you could try some more?”

Jeanie had sat down on the bed. One knee crossed over the other with her hands clasped together. She bit her lip while her heart drummed loud in her ears. A pleasurable discomfort as she began to throb at the sight of Darren in her panties. The anticipation of him getting into a sexier pair. Letting her feel them. It had been so long.

“I mean, I'm not going anywhere t’ night. I’m not dressing in full drag though,” he insisted.

Jeanie stood and rifled through the suitcase. “I didn't think you wanted to. My regular clothes wouldn't fit you anyways.” She bit her fingernail and debated between a deep purple and cobalt blue. “I'm built like an hourglass and you,” she laid her choices on the white duvet, “are built like a baby giraffe.”

Darren rolled his eyes but joined Jeanie at the bedside. He gravitated towards the purple ones. Mostly lace with a bit of satin, they would look absolutely obscene on him. In the best possible way.

“Ye were wearing these t’at night,” Darren was full of nostalgia.

“I didn't know your side of the family could be sentimental besides Mare,” Jeanie giggled. She couldn't help it. “I definitely married the wrong cousin. Sometimes, I wish I could legally kill him,” there was an uneasy humor in her voice.

“I mean, I would do it for ye.” Darren didn't even hesitate.

“Um..” Jeanie's face matched her hair.

Darren burst into laughter, “Ease up, darlin’. I'm fuckin with ye.”

Jeanie wasn't certain about that but she played along. His smile both unnerved her and turned her on. The way he studied her and then the panties with a curiosity and delight.

“Why don't you put those on, and I put on the bra. Then.. we can make a full set.” There was innuendo in Jeanie's suggestion.

“We can't.”

“We CAN. The right sentiment is whether or not we SHOULD.”

“Should I really put these on?”

“Would you really kill someone you care about?” It was a strange reciprocation.

“If I cared about Gordo, I would not have tried t’fuck his wife the night he got married.”

Jeanie licked her lips, flames curled around her ears and cheeks. “Put them on. Anything I can do to make you more comfortable? Liquor?” She reached inside her shirt and produced a small bag that she swung back and forth, “Cocaine from your jeans?”

Darren reached for it but she was quicker. Stuffing it back in her bra, she swatted his hand away. “How about you.. don't do stimulating narcotics with a PTSD chaser?”

“It keeps me awake so I don't have nightmares. Just go so I can put t’ese on!”

Jeanie planted herself on the bed after taking her shirt off. She leaned back on her elbows, legs crossed. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“Fine! But close your eyes, so we can both be surprised. Wait, why’d ye take your shirt off?”

“Won't this make you more comfortable?” She pushed her chest forward a bit.

Darren’s eyes darted down to Jeanie's tits where they lingered longer than she expected. “Alright, sweetheart.”

Jeanie could listen to him talk for hours. Still she squeezed her eyes shut with a dramatic flare. “Go on then. I can't bloody wait.”

There was some shuffling around as Jeanie sat without peeking. Her heart raced in anticipation as she realized Darren had tossed what he was wearing at her feet.

A few minutes went by, and she lost patience, “Can I look? You've gotta have them on by now.”

“Fine, but don't laugh! I can't seem to get my junk in these.”

Jeanie opened her eyes and her mouth, “Fuck me, Dazz. Those are..” She stood up and made her way over to him from behind as he faced the mirror. Completely unable to stop herself. “You look delicious.” A word no one has ever used to describe either of them.

Jeanie’s hands on Darren's thin hips. They ran back and down over the sheer and lace over his ass. There was a playful squeeze before changing direction and flattening her hands on his. Downwards and into the indentation of his abs. Then she stopped to trace her fingertips over the angry red scars. Jeanie ran her fingers over them as if she wanted to memorize them.

Darren’s stomach convulsed a bit under her touch. “Jaysus,” he muttered under his breath. Eyes shut as Jeanie watched him in the mirror.

“Let me take care of you. Just one night,” she kissed between his shoulder blades. “You certainly deserve it after what you did today.”

“What did I do t’day?” Darren challenged Jeanie with his question. His hands covered hers, but not to push her away. To guide them down further over his erection.

Jeanie playfully squeezed again. The man in front of her let out a sound between a gasp and a moan when she began to rub the satin barely containing his cock. Her open palm gained friction as she worked faster. Where a man might find a woman's clit between her legs under the fabric, Jeanie moved her palm over Darren's balls.

“Eradicated part of Dublin’s largest pest population,” each word punctuated by her hand moving faster. Jerking him off without ever touching more than the underwear.

“I hope..” Darren's breath hitched and grew heavy. “Someone else..” his hips started to twist. “Ro-”

“I don't think we should talk about her right now, do you?” Jeanie cut him off. She finally let herself reach inside of the panties to properly take his cock in her grip.

Her thumb played with the head, slick with precum. Fingers wrapped around the shaft and stroked the length down and back up. She wasn't used to doing it from this angle but found it even sexier. The power she felt surge being the one in control. How wet she was inside her OWN panties.

Darren's head hung back as he lost himself in the ecstasy of what his cousin’s wife was doing. He didn't care that she was married. To a man who neglected her, ignored her.

Nidge. Tommy. His own sister. His cousin. They fucked around all the time. He and Rosie, that almost got her killed and they weren't even shagging. He knew he'd be livid if he caught her cheating. not violent mind you, but pissed. Just like if Siobhan or Trish did it. Or even Gordon. Everyone was a hypocrite.

Yet here was Darren. His cousin’s wife wanking him off while he wore her knickers. And he didn't give a fuck for once. His dick hadn’t been this hard in ages. That day he and Rosie had sex felt so long ago. They didn't do it much if at all since then.

Maybe this wasn't right, but Darren couldn't care anymore. He stood three feet above a malicious drug lord reduced to a cowering pussy and killed him. It was the same feeling as Jeanie's fingers as they twisted and kneaded his cock. Euphoric.

“If we don't take this to the bed. only one of us is gonna get a happy ending.”

Darren turned quickly. Faster than Jeanie could focus on. Their mouths finally crashed together as he gripped a handful of her. He shoved his tongue in her mouth and hands in her the pockets of the jeans she still wore. He dug his fingers into the thick of her ass as they stumbled back towards the bed.

Jeanie's hands labored in an effort to unbutton and unzip her pants around Darren's body as it thrust into her. She didn't want to stop the war their tongues waged as she struggled to tug the denim over her hips, but there was air as her husband’s cousin intervened. They laughed as he yanked them down to the floor and he went with them.

Darren looked up at Jeanie, who now sat on the edge of the bed, as he knelt on the floor by her feet. He helped each ankle as she lifted them out and literally kissed the tops of her feet as she drew them up on the comforter.

“That was romantic,” her voice thick and barely above a whisper. No hint of her usual sarcasm or humor, only some embarrassment. Her cheeks were pink.

“I've wanted t’fuck ye since we met. And I want ye to remember this for a long time.”

Darren stood up and hooked his fingers in the elastic of the underwear of hers that he was wearing. Jeanie covered his hands and leaned forward to kiss his stomach and his scars. Using her tongue this time to trace over them like she had her fingers.

“Leave them on? I'll never forget it if you let me fuck you wearing those.” Her fingers tangled up in the lace. Tips of her nails just brushed his cock through it.

Darren smiled in a way Jeanie wasn't sure he was capable of doing anymore. Right now, in this moment as his eyes changed from darkness to almost emerald, she knew he let himself forget. That's all she wanted. One night for both of them to forget.

“Can't say I've ever had sex like t’is,” excitement in his voice. “I'm right curious t’see how ye manage.”

“You lay down, and I'll play it by ear. This is definitely a new one for me too.”

They switched places. Darren laid down on the bed, head on the pillows. Jeanie unhooked her bra and slipped out of her own panties. She stood naked and exposed in the lamplight. Her heart raced when she realized he couldn't keep his eyes off of her. They traveled over her breasts and stomach and further still as she crawled on the bed beside Darren and straddled him.

“Fuck me,” it was a response. And a suggestion he made simultaneously. His hands spread out over her back and caught up in her long red hair.

Jeanie raised a bit up on her knees to situate herself. She lowered her body so that the outline of Darren's cock beneath the satin and lace was between the folds of her naked sex. Her hands anchored on his chest as she started to ride him.

“Jaysus your so fucking wet already,” Darren breathed and ran his hands up and down Jeanie's body. Over her shoulders and to her ass where they settled on her hips.

“It's you in my bloody knickers,” her voice wavered as she started to rock harder back and forth.

It was like a pleasurable rug burn on her cunt, as Jeanie closed her eyes and twisted her hips just a bit. She rode the length of Darren’s hardened cock completely from bottom to top and kept gaining speed each time. His strong hands buried in her waist helped her pump over and over. Then he angled himself underneath her so that the tip could hit her clit just right as she moved down.

Jeanie rode harder and faster. The satin and her cunt on fire as Darren's cock started its familiar twitch. She clawed at him without caring if someone else saw the marks on his chest. That explosion was building deep in her walls as they throbbed and ached for him to be entirely inside of her.

Instead Darren slid a thumb into her cunt. It replaced his cock as Jeanie started to lose control. Circled and fucked as she fucking him.

She clutched his wrist, “Harder. Rub my clit harder. Like that.”

He obliged all too eagerly. Especially when moments later she cried out unexpectedly. Her body rolled into an orgasm. He never let up with his thumb or his own hips as they bucked up into Jeanie as she came.

“Let me fuck you properly,” Darren begged as her cunt constricted around his hand. His thumb, the knickers and Jeanie's body slicker than before they started.

Then Darren's mobile rang. Darren's mobile was always ringing.

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