#when she sucked in a drag of her cigarette after he left. and this bastard has the audacity to stand behind the door and smile

[theinfinitedivides]

i go from being rendered incoherent at the sheer amount of everything contained in the first ten minutes of ep 8 ('let me go. let me go, you bastard—' 'Kwang Il-ah!' 78 dead 634 injured two fingers lost to gunfire Oscars offered up on a silver platter. local gay mourns the lack of braincells to fully flesh this f*cked up relationship out in a 25k+ fic as it deserves) to losing my sh*t at the thirty minute mark over whatever the f*ck Yoon just tried in order to get Eon Nyeon Yi to help him with his plan to break everyone out of jail (*brushes hair back* 'do you know what i feel like whenever i speak to you?' 'what?' *gives her a slow once-over. aborted finish to the attempted pick up line dies gasping like a fish in the back of his throat when she lights her cigarette* 'ani. never mind.') these people are making me look unhinged fr fr

[courtingchaos]

Hiding

FBoy!Eddie Munson x Fem Reader

Uh oh, Eddie found your hiding place.

Warnings: Language

A/N: It’s been a while, I know. I went through a lot of ways these two would run back into each other and I liked it not being a huge thing. Just Eddie being pushy and you trying to keep a brave face.

Late summer morning blows in off the lake, a cool breeze that mingles with the bright sun climbing a cloudless sky. Another night spent at Rick’s helping Lisa and another week spent ignoring most of your life. The floating pier you’re dangling your feet off of bobs under you with the small wakes that hit the shore. The house that you desperately needed to get out of stands darkened behind you, even though you can still here Lisa giving Rick every level of hell.

He’s been a bastard, a motherfucker, a shitheel and a fucking bastard again in about 20 minutes after another little blonde was found creeping out of his basement. You’d actually been the one to see her while you put your small bag of groceries away and she had tried to pad out past you through the back door. Honestly you probably would have let her go with just a searing stare but as luck would have it, Lisa had been outback, smoking. So to say sleep had been light was an understatement while Rick was sent through the wringer and Lisa threw anything she could get her hands on.

At least you could catch a hint of fall on the back of the breeze where it rustled the leaves in the bright yellow ginkgo trees lining the walk down to the pier. You’d lit your cigarette and promptly forgotten it, tucked between your fingers that clutched the edge of the wet wood. There’s a few almost waves that slap against the platform under you when an early morning boater glides by, drowning out the crunch of steps behind you. The ripples in the water have your three hours of sleep beat and the hypnotic shimmer around your bare calves has you almost laying back to take a nap.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding.”

The last voice you’d expect at 7 am, the gravel in it betraying his own lack of sleep. You know you visibly tense but you’re not turning around to look at him, two months of avoided texts should have been a big enough signal for him. There’s maybe a quarter of your cigarette left that you end up sucking down, something to do while you continue to pretend he isn’t there.

“Gonna ignore me in person too?” Eddie steps onto the pier and it springs up.

“What are you doing here?”

“One of the guys called me, said Romeo and Juliette were at it again.” He takes a few more steps out and you still don’t turn around. “Asked me to come out and talk some sense into Rick.”

“You’re gonna have to pry Lisa off his neck.”

“Yeah, she’s taking a lap.”

That makes you turn to look back up at the house and you realize the shouting has stopped, Lisa’s Audi gone from the drive.

“Shit.” You stub out the ember on your smoke and finally drag your legs out of the water, snatching your slides when you stand up. Finally you lay eyes on him and he looks different. Old Slipknot shirt a size too big, jeans that he probably owned in high school by the amount of holes in them and terminally ill reeboks that saw better days a decade ago.

“What?”

You try to ignore him and walk away but he’s too quick for you on this thin strip of wooden slats.

“No, you don’t get away easy like that.” He grabs your arm to get you to stop and you chance falling into the water when you yank it out of his grip.

“Don’t put your fucking hands on me.”

“Why have you been ignoring me?”

“Because I don’t care.” The look you give him is dirty, your best practiced Mean Girl. You have no armor on this morning, no sharp liner or outfit that shows off your only assets. Even with your hair pulled up and grungy house clothes on you still slide into that persona like an old sweater. “Do you, Eddie?” You cock your head at him and point one of your long talons at him, one that desperately needed a fill. “You with your groupies and your two sets of friends. Why are you bothering me when you’ve got Dani and her Gucci purse? What happened to Kim?” You click your tongue at him and turn to keep walking away. “Go bother one of them.”

He doesn’t follow you until you’re well on your way up the embankment, far enough behind that he can’t hear you mumbling to yourself about him blowing up your phone. Inside is quiet except for the movement of Rick from his room. He’d sheepishly come out into the kitchen when he’d heard you come in, a hopeful look on his face that fell when he realized it wasn’t Lisa crawling back.

“Can I use your car.” You don’t ask, just stare at him until he scoffs and tells you no.

“You ran Lisa off, how am I getting home?”

“Uber for all I fucking care.” Rick runs a hand down his face, stubble scratching under his palm.

“You’re such a gentleman.”

“I never claimed to be one.” He grabs his keys off the counter and eyes you before heading back into his room and slamming the door.

Your shit is everywhere in the guest room and you sigh at yourself. Three days this time around and it looks like you’ve lived here for three years, shoes kicked under the bed and duffel bag left open and empty on the chest at the foot of the bed. There’s a short knock on the doorframe and you think maybe Rick is done being a dick but the scuffed white sneaker that comes into view tells you otherwise.

“Get out.”

“Do you need a ride?”

“Not from you, get the fuck out.” You keep picking up your work shirts and throwing them violently into your bag. Maybe he’d finally get the message.

“How’s your hand doing?” He apparently doesn’t and also avoids whatever fight you’re trying to start.

“It’s fine, get out.”

“Lisa told me you broke your fingers.” He moves into the room fully and stands at the foot of the bed looking too soft. His hair isn’t tied back this morning and it fluffs out around his head, obviously unwashed and freshly bed headed.

“Well she’s terrible at keeping secrets.” You have a handful of socks you try to drop but that hand with the still healing fingers cramps up at the most inopportune time and Eddie gets to watch you grimace and slowly unclench your fist. “Didn’t know you were keeping tabs on me.”

“Had to somehow since you still don’t know how to answer a text.”

“No I can text, I just don’t reply to you.” Still avoiding his gaze but you’ve run out of clothes to pick up so you stare at the hardwood floor and sigh. “Seriously just go. I got a ride.”

“You paid for an Uber.”

“Same thing! Why are you stalking me Munson, huh?!” You yell and round on him finally. It would seem Rick’s was the place to have it out this morning. Eddie remains unfazed when you get in his face, voice rising and fingers jabbing into his chest. “When I don’t answer ten calls and a hundred texts it means I don’t want anything to do with you! I want you gone!” You shoo him towards the door, a gesture he also ignores. “You treat me like I’m some random asshole and then expect me to drop everything because what, you’ve got feelings all of a sudden?” Your laugh cuts through the quiet in the room and you catch the flinch of his shoulders. “I don’t fuck around with nobodies who push! I had my fun and now we’re done!” Mean Girl says this to him, full force voice and a final shove with your finger to make your point clear.

Mean Girl means all of this and she’s great at being cover for you. She keeps everyone on knifes edge and keeps everyone in check and keeps everyone’s dirty little secrets. She gets to eye Eddie like a butchers case and take her pick of prime cuts. She cuts and she cuts and she stays quiet and she gets the privilege of front row seats to heartbreak and fistfights and you? You get to pretend you’re her all the time.

You’d like Eddie to stay and you’d like a ride from him. He could drive through somewhere and get you a coffee for the ride home. Maybe he’d even help you pack up your laundry and even help you start a load at your place. He could look around your apartment and glean some personality off of your things and maybe he could let you have a redo of two months ago. He could clean off your rings and your knuckles; he could get you patched up and comfortable and not get thrown out. You wouldn’t close up this time.

But this isn’t that, it isn’t anything. He’s a fling, was a fling, with a full roster already and you refuse to warm a bench for him.

“Fine.” He shrugs coolly and leaves the room in two steps, hands still tucked up into his underarms. “See you, Red.”

He doesn’t slam the door behind him this time.

It takes your driver forever to find the house, giving you enough time to finally get ahold of Lisa. She’s already basically forgotten what she was screaming about, especially since Rick turned her Amex back on an hour ago.

“So he just called to tell you that?”

“No, I called him to ask if he was going to say sorry and he said he turned it back on.”

“So it’s kind of like an apology, but not really.”

“Babe, you wouldn’t get it. We’ve never put a label on us…”

You stop listening to her try to reason her way out of it this time. Your phone buzzes and you pull it away from your ear to stare at the notification that your Uber finally arrived. You cut her off to tell you’re leaving and she blows kisses over the Bluetooth in her car. You grab your things and pound on Rick’s door before you leave and when you get onto the front porch there’s no car. A double check of your phone shows that yes they were here but the only cars in the drive are Rick’s Jeep and Eddie’s Challenger.

“Where’s my ride, Eddie?”

A jerk of his head before he opens his door and climbs in, car already idling, waiting on you.

“I’m not getting in your car.”

“I’m not gonna fuck you in it again.” He presses a button and you hear the passenger door unlock. “I’m taking you home.”

God you want to fight him and not just verbally. The ache of your fingers reminds you that you shouldn’t but the fire remains lit all the same.

“Why are you being like this?”

“Because I want to make sure you get home safe.”

He doesn’t yell or spit it at you. He says it sincerely and you feel very soft and stupid for a moment. The low car looks almost inviting in the morning light, Eddie in overly worn clothes and sleep still settled in the faint lines around his eyes. He nods again at the passenger seat and closes his door while he waits for you to decide.

It’s not long, not with your options what they are and you slide in with your bag silently.

Eddie was expecting a little more fight from you and seeing you still and silent and unarmed gives him a swooping feeling in the pit of his stomach. He punches in your address and starts the 30 minute drive and he wonders who’ll break the silence first.

“I’m sorry about last time.” You say quietly, eyes glued to the handles of your bag. He reaches out and takes it, drops it in the backseat in the hopes that you’ll look at him.

“I really was only trying to help.”

“I know.”

“It was nice, what you did for Dani-“

You snort and cross your arms over your chest, head shaking at nothing in particular. “Always about fucking Dani.”

“It was about Dani!” It’s amazing how fast the switch is, from soft words to the yelling between you two.

“What do you want from me?” The firmness behind your question gives Eddie a clue to not fuck around right now. He lets the first thing in his head out of his mouth and flinches at your look of scorn.

“I want to be friends.”

“Friends?”

“Is that so unbelievable?”

“Yes.” A matter of fact nod of your head. “One hundred percent. You have yet to show that you even enjoy being around me so this?” You circle an open palm at him, “This is why I’m confused why you’re playing knight suddenly.”

He’s not really sure either but it makes sense. That first night was harmless fun but then he’d stare at your contact info, racking his brains for something to text you for. A pickup or a party, anything that didn’t make him feel like a teenager again, too afraid to ask out the cool girl. But now those ideas are moot as you’re sitting in his car without any of your façade, willingly letting him take you home.

“I just…” He won’t say it because it wouldn’t be true. He doesn’t think it would be true.

You’ve become a thing he looks forward to during his nights playing dealer, a welcomed distraction that no longer felt like just a distraction. Eddie cares what you think about him, from his clothes to the girls to his fucking car, but he’s spent so long avoiding those thoughts it feels foreign in his head.

“Can we start over?”

“This conversation or-“

“I could use some more friends.”

That makes you chuckle, a puff of air blown through your nose. “I thought you said you had enough?”

“Well I miscounted.”

The tension bleeds away with the faint music, the new silence warm again in its place. There’s a smile playing at the corner of your lips and he’s suddenly determined to make it grow.

“Since we’re friends now…”

“Mm.” A fraction of growth while you play with your phone.

“I was thinking we could hang out sometime. Just us.” Stopped at the red light he looks over at you just as that smile drops before it could ever form.

“Eddie…”

“Christ, what? I can’t ask you to hang out?”

You give him a heavy look and he almost misses the light turning green.

“You’re still just trying to fuck.”

“Maybe I’m trying to ask you out!” His hand slaps the steering wheel out of frustration and he passes the car in front of him, speeding unnecessarily.

“You’re asking me out.”

“Not now!” He sounds like a whining child, even to his own ears. He can’t look back over at you, refuses to see whatever derision or disgust you’re gracing him with. He drives in silence and the ruined mood he created yet again while you sink further into your seat. He’s turning into your complex before he’s ready to let you out, a lot of dumb emotions still sitting like lead in his gut. His phone burns against his leg with all the unread messages from the morning and not for the first time does he wonder why he’s even trying to do this.

The door unlocks and his attention snaps over to you before you can open the door.

“I’m serious.” He blurts out and drops a hand on your knee that you immediately stare at. “About the date.”

You freeze under his touch, such a change in your normal response to him and he feels a twinge of trepidation. You stay wound up around yourself but there’s a softening of your shoulders and you don’t push his hand away so he takes it as a small victory.

“One stipulation.”

“What?”

“You need to delete their numbers.”

He doesn’t need to ask who’s. He stares past you at something outside, eyes unfocused while he chews on his lip. “I mean that’s-“

“If you want to take me on a date, a real date, then you’re going to treat me like I’m not a random hook up.”

The car idling is loud in the silence that follows and Eddie thinks it’s a little pathetic that he can’t find words, let alone lie to you right now. Normally his silver tongue gets him out of situations like this with nothing more than a whisper and a practiced grin.

“Of course baby, I’ll delete them.”

But he doesn’t know for sure if he will. You give him such a tired look and he doesn’t want to be the reason you look so defeated but he knows himself, the kind of shit he pulls.

“I uh, I don’t want to make a promise I might not keep.” Honesty wrapped around a shitty reality.

You huff softly and reach in the back to grab your duffle, carefully swinging it to rest on your lap before you exit his car.

“Seriously? A few numbers?” You ask and he can hear what you’re really trying to say, ‘Aren’t we a little old for this?’

“I don’t want to lie to you.”

“Doesn’t get you a date just because you don’t want to.” The door opens and the bright morning light spills into the tinted interior. You climb out of his car and lean back in for your keys and he has a distinct memory of playing pool with you. “I hope you grow up some day Eddie.”

You don’t slam the door like he expected, like the last time you were in his car. You don’t walk away with a switch in your step and you don’t look back at him with a cheeky wave. Eddie watches you climb the wooden steps slowly, tiredly, to the top landing and he watches you unlock your door and disappear from view.

[kpop-dungeon-dark]

The Gamble Of Prides. (Mafia!Baekhyun x You)

•TRIGGER WARNING•

Warning(s): Non-Con, public humiliation, exhibitionism, cum play, knife play, gun play, fear play. Both of you are legal in this. Read at own risk.

It took Y/n a moment to realise what had just happened, eyes widening slowly as she looked up from Mafioso Byun's final cards and at his smug face. "N- No… No way…" Her friend facepalmed in great stress and fear of all the men surrounding them in Byun's bar. That did not just happen. "How is that possible?" Smashing the cigarette in her hand against the table, Y/n stood up. "There is no way you won this time! I am not just good-- I am GREAT at this! How could you win?! Not when I-..." Y/n trailed off from her own words, not willing to admit that she was cheating. Since the beginning.

The older man shrugged. "Well… maybe you're not that good, Miss. I mean…" Him and his men chuckled at the 4 foreign kids visiting their country for vacation. "You lost 4 games in a row along allllll that you had" taking a drag of his cigar, the man smirked devilishly. "Confidence is good but overconfidence will drown you in the sea of reality, in the wise words of Norain."

The girl was clenching her fists, every fiber of her body loathing him. Y/n hated just how fucking smug he was.

"You bastard!"

Byun chuckled. "Adorable. So you remember all that you put on the table, right?" The female gulped, the recent memories of how she bet her body at last when she had nothing left to gamble with. A laugh left the man when she backed away and tried to run, which resulted in Byun's right hand that was sharper than an eagle, Sehun, to grip her arm before throwing her whole body back and in the Boss' feet. "Tsk. I honestly thought you were an honourable young lady. But the way you tried to run away from your own words?"

"P- Please! We will pay you back, sir!" One of Y/n's friends sobbed, causing the girl to glare at her.

"Shut up! Don't fucking plead a cheating bastard like hi- OW FUCK!" Y/n was cut off when Byun gripped her hair before her brain could decipher it and pulled her face closer to his.

"Calling me a cheater when you were trying to use pathetic little rigged ways while playing in MY casino?" Silence followed for a couple moments, the man's lip chain dangling furiously from how fast he'd moved. "You are more foolish than you seemed, baby doll."  Before the girl could shoot anything back, one of her friends shakily stood up, realising this was no game and the man was pure trouble.

"S- Sir… m- may we leave?" Gasping, Y/n turned to look at him along with their other friends. "We had nothing to do with the game nor do any of us gamble. You can sort your thing with her but we really had nothing to do with the game. Please let us go."

Byun sat up a bit straighter, a firm hold on Y/n's hair still. "That's fair." Nodding at his men, the man spoke. "Leave." He couldn't help but chuckle when that boy gathered the rest of his friends before all of them left without sparing a shocked Y/n another glance. "You really are that irritating to everyone, huh?" The girl was fuming at this point, hating how smug and entertained he looked.

“Fuck you!

A snort left the Mafioso when the small girl dared to spit on his face. Byun fucking Baekhyun's face. "I am afraid you don't realize the intensity of the situation, love." Before he motioned his men to stop in their positions, halting them for beating her up for the disrespectful gesture. Before Y/n could realise what had happened, she gasped under her breath when the man suddenly pressed a sharp knife to her throat, the blade threatening to slice against her soft skin.

"You bet all that you had and then took a loan. When they told you that you couldn't take any more loan you bet your body without thinking of the consequences…" Clicking his tongue, he dragged the knife along the length of her neck before grazing it against her collarbone, making the girl jump when he sliced through one of the strings that held her dress against her breast. "Tsk. Did you even know what that means?" The girl hated how she was made to kneel in front of him as he sat in his seat, feet on either side as one held the knife and other held his cigar.

"I- I will pay y- you back!" The men laughed at her slightly wavering tone.

"Oh, is that so?" Baekhyun raised an eyebrow before nodding. "Of course you will. Of course. That is the only way. However…" Taking the other string that was on her other shoulder over the blade, the man toyed with it. "I shall give you a choice." Taking another drag, he puffed it in her face, causing her to cough. "You can either be good and even redeem yourself on the way for your naive actions or…" Inching their faces closer, Baekhyun spoke just above a whisper. "You die and all your body parts get sold."

Y/n's blood started to run cold as she realised just how fucked she was. Even her friends had abandoned her and now she was in this casino with some man she had clearly underestimated as some local gangster. His blood slightly brushed against her skin, still not cutting open the other string. "So… what's it going to be, huh? Me cutting this little dress off your body or me sliding this blade across your throat?"

"I… I d- don't want to d- die, p- please" her eyes finally wetted with tears, bringing the man great satisfaction as he nodded slowly, taking another drag as he finally cut the string open, the tight dress Y/n was wearing falling down to her waist in an instant, causing her to gasp before protective arms tried to hide her chest but Byun's foot beat them to it, pressing both of them down in her laps by one of his feet.

"No, love. You cannot decide what happens to you any longer. You lost all of those rights when you lost your body to me. Now you're my puppet." Byun fed off the fear in her eyes and across her face. "Now, let's begin the fun, shall we?" The girl shook under him as she realised that she didn't have a choice anymore.

"Stand up." The man ordered. "Stand up and take those clothes and heels off." Before the girl could protest, Sehun spoke up from behind, firmly pushing at her back with his knee.

"Didn't you hear what the boss just said, whore?!"

"Hey now, Sehun-ah… don't treat the pretty girl like that…" Byun looked up at Sehun with upset eyes, words painfully sweet like he wasn't just threatening to murder her in cold blood. "She's too weak to be treated so rough… Dolls like her are delicate and fragile… aren't they?" He looked down at the humiliated girl with teasing eyes, snorting at how she flushed in embarrassment before removing his foot from her arms.

"Get up." His tone was rough again as he leaned back in his seat, tossing the knife on the table before picking his glass of whiskey up, taking a sip. "We don't have all day and the clock's running!" He spoke aloud when the girl tried to plead, not even looking her way but in a far distance, waiting for his orders to be obeyed.

Y/n shivered under the gazes of all the men in the room as she slowly stripped from her dress and heels, cheeks red in embarrassment.

"Come here…" Byun ordered. "Kneel." And as the girl kneeled, the male grabbed his knife again, placing one of his feet under her pussy before clicking his tongue at the bra that she didn't take off, swiftly cutting it open, making it fall against her laps. "Don't." The man warned as the girl went to cover her now exposed chest with her arms, watching her carefully. "Come here."

Y/n's eyes were letting out continuous silent tears as she got closer to the man, feeling her nipples harden from the air as her face burned the hottest it could. She could only bite her lip and stare at the ground in embarrassment. "Get on your knees and undo my belt." Her eyes widened as she looked up at the man that looked almost bored. "What? Did I mumble?" His lips grazed against one of her breasts now, making her instantly mumble a small 'no' before she did as she was told, her fingertips trembling as she followed his instructions until she could see his erect cock bulging against the dark blue boxers he wore.

"Come closer now, rub your face on it, doll. Feel your Master up~" Baekhyun encouraged, fistibg her hair in one of his hands whilst the other one that was in possession of the blade grazed against the side of her neck dangerously close. Y/n bit back a sob as the man guided her face closer to his clothed member, forcing her to rub her face against and all over it, moaning lowly at just how good her warm breaths felt.

"Take it out…" The girl did as she was commanded, her hot tears falling on Baekhyun's skin one by one, only adding to the pleasure. "Come on… take it in your mouth. That's it…" Y/n was in disbelief of her situation but knew there was no way out. Opening her mouth, she took his thick head in her mouth, cringing at the taste as she slowly licked and sucked at it, literally shaking as Baekhyun leaned over, pulling her face down his cock by the hair he was holding, finally cutting the last piece of clothing she had on which was her underwear, exposing the girl to everyone in the room and increasing the tension even more. All of his henchmen were sweaty and their throats were dry. But nobody could do anything no matter how much they desired.

Because she was his toy.

"Keep going…" The Boss whispered, sliding her mouth further on his cock and grunting when she gagged around him, bringing her face up before slamming it down, causing the girl to choke again but he held it tight this time, his cock twitching from how she struggled to breathe but couldn't. "Good girl. Now that is some good behaviour." The man grinned, releasing her just enough to let her breathe before pulling it off completely.

"Lick it off." Baekhyun's voice was cold again as he guided her to his cheek which had her spit on it, tightening his hold on her head even more. Y/n was full on sobbing now after failing to suppress it felt her scalp burnt from where he was holding her, shakily placing her hands on his knees before licking her own spit off, sweat trickling down her back. "Are you sorry?" She felt a gun press against her pussy now, the blade long gone as he calmly stared down at her.

"Y- Yes! Yes! I am!" The girl rushedly spoke, feeling the cold metal of the gun slip in between her folds, rubbing back and forth."P- Please, si- sir!"

"Good." Baekhyun was satisfied from how the girl was trembling in fear, standing up before pulling her up on her feet before pushing her on the table where they had played, placing his gun on her stomach before grabbing her thighs and forcefully pushing into her, moaning when she screamed in pain while crying even harder now. "This will get you thinking, tsk. Who do you even think you are? Brats like you deserve nothing but to be treated like this…" Baekhyun loved how he stretched her walls long and deep, expanding them forcefully before he gave her another powerful thrust.

"So fucking overconfident… And what are you now? A fucking slut that's not even in control of her own body." Grabbing the gun, the man started to give her faster thrusts now, moaning loudly as sweat dripped down his forehead, hips snapping mercilessly whilst he pressed the gun to one of her breasts, rubbing the tip against her nipple. "I wonder what will happen if I shoot it… will it pop off? Deflate?"

Y/n's eyes widened as she hysterically cried, her heart thumping as she slid up and down the table, shaking her head furiously whilst her hands rested lifelessly at her sides, her whole body covered in sweat. "P- PLEASE! PLEASE! N- NO! NO! DON'T S- SHOOT ME, S- SIR! PLEASE!" She could only beg helplessly as the man got off to her fear, glaring down at her as he fucked her intensely, going balls deep as he twitched again, feeling himself closer to his orgasm.

"But you've been so fucking disrespectful today. Do you even know who I am, you little slut? How dare you?" Before he pushed the gun in her mouth, forcing her to taste herself as the fear of him suddenly deciding to pull the trigger invaded her senses.

"I- I… s- showwy-" was she could pathetically let out through the gun as he grazed it against the soft end of her throat, ramming into her harder and harder before he was emptying his load into her, pulling out and seeing his cum gush out of her along the blood of her purity, forming a pink mixture. Gathering some of the white liquid off his cock, the man rubbed it against her lips before kissing her as he tucked his cock back in followed by the gun and his blade, pulling her off the table by her hair, spitting in her face before slapping her for all the former disrespect, throwing her in his feet.

Baekhyun smirked, getting even more satisfied as he realised that he was her first time. The trip she was on was in the celebration of her 18th birthday after all. Whilst the mafia was turning 30 this year. "Maybe I won't send you to one of my brothels after all."

.

[fandom-puff]

hi i have a request! imagine for tommy he picked you up at the bar so he doesn’t know you very well but you guys ~do the nasty~ and later he overhears from your one friend telling lizzie that you faked your orgasm and he hunts you down determined to make you cum for real

HI! thanks so much for this request- I adored writing it!

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: SMUTSMUTSMUTSMUT also swearing bc... peaky blinders?

It was the grand opening of the Shelbys’ new bar, and naturally, almost all of Small Heath was crammed into the main room. The whiskey and gin (from Shelby Company Limited, of course) was flowing, and the Swing Band was playing loudly, much to the joy of the inebriated men and women dancing. You hummed to yourself, touching up your lipstick before calling for another round for you and your girlfriends, Ada and Lizzie. “You want another drink, Linda? Maybe just stout?” you asked, getting your coin purse out. 

“Don’t bother yourself. I won’t succumb to that temptation. Just tonic water for me,” you rolled your eyes and soon received your drinks. “So you won’t touch gin, but you’ll happily play in the snow, eh?” Ada smirked, winking at you as she sipped her drink. You spluttered into your own. 

“Come on, ladies,” you said, sensing the tension growing between sisters-in-law. “Let’s dance before the band starts playing that American rubbish,” 

Together, you joined in with the dancing, giggling and cheering each other on. “C’mon Lizzie! Spin me around! I wanna be twirled,” you squealed, and the taller woman happily complied. You were new to the company, and she wanted to make you feel welcome before the boys scared you off. Soon you left the dancefloor, leaving the girls, to get another drink. You arrived at the bar, giggling and breathless, and ordered your favourite drink.

 “Miss YLN,” a low voice rumbled next to you as the bartender poured your drink. “I don’t believe we’ve properly met. Been keeping the books, eh? My brother John says you’ve very neat handwriting, and hardly cross any number out,” You nodded as your eyes met Thomas Shelby’s.

 “Oh… yes, Mr Shelby,” you murmured. “I try to make them neat so you lot don’t get muddled up,” you said. He nodded. The bartender put your drink in front of you and you reached for your purse. Tommy stopped you and gestured to the bartender that your drink ought to be on the house. 

He soon took you into the side room, kicking Finn and Isiah out. “My secretary, Lizzie, recommended you to me,” he said as you perched opposite him. He lit a cigarette, rubbing it along his lip before taking a drag. “And I’ve been trying to figure you out. Couldn’t find anything,”

“I didn’t grow up ‘round here. When my mum died I took her maiden name. Most of her lot were killed. The Somme, I think,”

“And your dad?” he asked, watching you as you drank.

 “The bastard died in France too, as far as I know. But I left home after Mum died. That was before the war,” 

An hour later, you were still talking, although the pair of you had drained a bottle of whiskey. You were giggly and warm when drunk, but Tommy only closed in more. This didn’t bother you in the slightest. You leaned forward and smirked. “So, Mr Shelby, do I meet your approval, eh?”You were so close to him, and your pupils were dilated with what could only be described as a mixture of inebriation and desire. 

“Yes. Yes, you do. C’mere,” he grunted, dragging you into his lap. He pressed his lips to yours in a bruising kiss, his hand already running up your thigh. You groaned and wriggled, sucking his lip into your mouth, grinding your heat onto his tenting trousers. He growled, unbuckling his belt and shoving his trousers down, and tearing your knickers down. He stood up, bending you over the table, before rutting into you animalistically. You whimpered, crying out, pushing back into him. His thrusts soon became sloppy, and you reached to stroke your pulsing clit- but he grabbed your hand as soon as he saw you moving, pinning you down and shouting out his release. It was a good job the band had started playing a popular song, otherwise, the whole of Birmingham would have heard you. 

You panted, expecting him to carry on thrusting to bring you over the edge. Instead, you heard the sound of a belt buckle and the door slamming shut.

 The experience sobered you up slightly and you straightened your dress, fixing your lipstick and hair before slipping out of the side room. You bumped into Lizzie and told her you were going home, as you were working in the morning. She nodded and took in your dishevelled (despite your best efforts) appearance. “Get some rest,” she said knowingly, giving you a wink.

 The next day, you arrived at work despite your headache. You lit a lamp, as it was still a little dark out, and started on the books, flicking through the notes scribbled by various members of the Shelby clan. You worked in peace for ten minutes before Lizzie and Pol came into the room, chatting. 

“There she is. How’s your head?” Lizzie grinned, sliding you some aspirin. You smiled gratefully and took the tablets.

 “Holy shit,” Pol commented, staring at the bruise on your throat. You blushed deeply and tugged your collar closed. You hated wearing this blouse buttoned all the way up, but needs must. 

“Wild night, eh?” Lizzie asked, getting her own paperwork sorted as Pol went to fix tea. 

“Not really,” You sighed, looking down. You wanted to ground to swallow you whole. 

“Oh, piss off. You came out of that side room five minutes after Tommy, looking like you’d been dragged through a hedge backwards, and you show up to work with a dirty great love bite on your throat,” she grinned. “I’m not judging you, by the way. If anything I’m impressed. He’s been a right prick lately,” 

“And he was a right prick last night,” you hissed. “Moody bastard, and a lousy fuck as well. Didn’t even finish me off, I had to fake it in the end,” you glared down at your paperwork. Lizzie chuckled and rubbed your shoulder gently. Polly came back into the room with the cups and teapot, pouring for you all.

 “So who’s the man? Boyfriend we haven’t heard of?” She asked, smirking. 

“It was Tommy, Pol,” Lizzie explained. You kept your eyes down. “Apparently he’s a lousy fuck. Our poor YN was treated worse than the back alley whores by the sounds of it,” 

Prolly frowned and set your tea in front of you. “Wouldn’t think a lousy fuck would leave that mark,” she said slyly. “Use a cold spoon and some powder when you get home,” she advised. 

“And then tonight, go dancing and get a man who’ll treat you right, eh?” Said Lizzie. “You deserve better than someone rutting against you like a dog,”

The two women had cheered you up significantly and you smiled weakly until Arthur’s loud voice cut across your conversation.

 “Rutting like a dog? Was that what you and Tommy were up to last night?” He grinned, having overheard,  and you flushed angrily. 

“Hey, no need to be embarrassed, YN, you are a pretty little thing-” he said, his smile dropping when he saw that his banter wasn’t making you laugh like normal.

 “No. I’m not embarrassed. If anything, I’d be embarrassed for your brother. Who would’ve thought Thomas Shelby didn’t know his way around a woman, let alone how to properly please her!” You turned around. “Pol, I’m going home. My head is banging and I need to concentrate on these books. Arthur’s done all the adding up wrong. Dock my pay if need be,” You took the heavy leather-bound book and tucked it under your arm, before storming out of the betting shop, right past Tommy without even noticing. 

The peace of your home was what you needed. You brewed yourself a pot of tea with the nice teabags you had picked up from the market, and settled yourself at your rickety old desk, going through the books and copying them up neatly, and more importantly, precisely. You even hummed to yourself, soon letting the stress of the previous night slowly fade away. 

That was until there was a sharp knock on your door. You sighed, getting up. There was another knock. “Alright! I’m coming. Rent’s not due for another week, though!” You called, going to take the door off the latch. 

There in the doorway, in all his glory, was your boss. His cap was drawn over his face and he blew out a breath of smoke. “YN. Can I come in?”

 You wanted nothing more than to slam the door in his face and lock it, put the chain on and drown him out with your rusty gramophone.  But-

“Fine. But put that cigarette out before you step over my threshold. The last tenant was a bad smoker and I’ve only just got the smell out of the cushions,” when the door shut, you turned around, crossing your arms. “What do you want, Mr Shelby?” 

“Mr Shelby, is it now?” He asked, smirking. “That’s no way to greet a guest, is it. Are you going to offer me a drink?”

 “No, I’m not. You don’t take me as one for cold tea with no milk,” you quipped. “What do you want?”

 He arched his brow, looking you up and down as if you were a fresh cut from the butcher. You stood a little straighter, determined not to look small. “What I want, YN, is to know what your little fuss was about earlier on,” he said lowly. 

You scoffed. “Oh please. You know exactly what it was about, and even if you didn’t, I’m sure the boys would’ve informed you,” you said coldly. “If you must know, I was pissed. Still am. Because I let you… have me. And I’m pissed because you treated me like a common whore, and I’m pissed because everyone knows and will think less of me,” you said, flushing, brow furrowed. 

“And what’s all this about being a lousy fuck, eh?” He asked, face like stone. 

“Oh you heard that part well enough, didn’t you?” You suppressed an annoyed laugh. “It’s true. You are a lousy fuck. D’you bend all your women over and hump them like a dog in heat or am I just special?” 

“YN…,” he said, voice low, standing up and walking to you.

 “You know, I’ve had better shags when I was a teenager. At least the lads I used to go out with had the decency to finish me off once their balls were empty!” You ranted, unaware of him stalking closer and closer, like a panther on the prowl. 

He pushed you against the wall, arms braced either side of your head. You gulped. Had you pushed him too far? You looked up at him through your lashes, and couldn’t help but lick your lips, your breath already becoming shallow. “Finish you off, eh? Is that what you want?” He asked lowly, leaning to growl in your ear, sending a shiver that crawled all over your skin and made your eyelashes flutter. 

You bit your lip and nodded. “Y-yes…” you whispered.

 “Yes, what?” 

“Yes please, Mr Shelby,”

 That was all he needed. He gripped your hips and pulled them tight against his, kissing you ferociously, his hands gripping, squeezing, stroking every inch of you he could reach. You moaned against his mouth and scrabbled at his heavy coat and jacket, pushing them to the floor. You began fumbling with his belt when he grabbed your wrists, holding the, above your head.

 “Ah Ah Ah,” he said roughly. “I intend to make up for last night. And believe me, YN, I’m feeling particularly generous tonight,” He hoisted you up by the thighs and held you against him, carrying you to your bedroom and kicking the door shut. He deposited you onto the bed, before looking down at you. “Dress. Off.” He demanded, and you all too eagerly complied, much to his satisfaction, casting it aside, quickly followed by your slip, leaving you in your knickers and bra. He chuckled darkly at your eagerness, and when you went to undo your garter and stockings, he halted your hands, shaking his head. You nodded obediently and watched as he kneeled down in front of you. You pressed your knees together, but he tutted and caressed your legs, from ankle to thigh. 

“Don’t be shy, YN,” he murmured.

 “No one’s ever…” you whispered, shifting your thighs together. He cocked his brow up and smirked. 

“No one’s ever what, pet?” He asked, pushing your thighs apart and making quick work of your stockings. “Tasted you? Not even all those boys who knew how to please you, eh?” 

You nodded and bit your lip, gasping at the new sensation of his hot breath skittering across your core as he pressed filthy, open-mouthed kisses against your heat. He nipped the inside of your thighs to get you to spread them further and inhale your musk, shuddering at the scent of your arousal.

 “You won’t even remember your own fucking name once I’m through with you, love,” he promised, stroking his finger lazily up the seam of your underwear, pressing it against your clit. You clenched your fists into the sheets, thighs already trembling. This did not go unnoticed, and Tommy chuckled darkly at your desperation. “So responsive,” he murmured, dragging your underwear down torturously slowly, before burying his face between your legs. You whimpered as you felt his tongue running up your slit, gathering your arousal before he swallowed with a groan, gripping your thighs tightly and holding them apart. He traced your sopping folds with the very point of his tongue, his nose occasionally bumping your swollen clit, but giving it nowhere near enough attention for your liking. 

“Tommy please!” You whimpered after at least ten minutes of him scrubbing the flat of his tongue against your heat, nipping at your thighs, and even pushing his tongue into you. He pulled away and looked up at you with raised eyebrows, your slick glistening obscenely on his chin.

 “Please, what, YN? Use your words,” he demanded.

 “Please, touch me!” You cried, shifting your hips, trying to get some friction to your needy clit.  

“Touch you where YN? I can’t help you if you don’t tell me,” he said smirking cockily, pinning your hips down to still you.

 “On my… my… here!” You whimpered, reaching a hand down to flick at your throbbing nub. “Please, Tommy, please!” 

He growled and knocked your hand away, instantly attaching his lips to it, sucking like a man starved and flicking his tongue under the hood. You cried out and tipped your head back, gripping whatever handful of hair you could, swearing like a sailor. “Oi. Watch. Eyes on me.” He commanded, although slightly muffled by your writhing hips. You whined softly but nodded, focusing on watching the gorgeous man devouring you. Your eyes fluttered when you felt a familiar tension building up in the pit of your belly, your clit beginning to throb against his tongue. Your breath came in sharp gasps, and you bucked your hips up, desperate to tip over the edge, so close already-

Then… nothing.

 You groaned, glaring down at the man before you, who still held all the power despite being on his knees. You whined trying to grab him back. “What the fuck? Please, I was so close!” You said, intending to sound angry, but actually sounding needy and desperate. He grinned. 

“I know,” Bastard. He repeated this routine several times, bringing you right up to the edge, but dragging you away at the last moment, until you were practically sobbing with need. When he had taken his fill of your nectar, he worshipped your breasts, sucking and nipping and kissing and lathing his tongue over your nipples until you were writhing, arching your back, convinced you would cum from this stimulation alone. 

“Please, Tommy!” You whined, fingers tangled in his cropped hair as he sucked a dark mark on your breast. “Please, Tommy, you’ve proved your point, please!” You sounded pathetic, begging like a whore, but to be quite frank, you could give a bigger fuck if you tried. “Just… please, Tommy, I need you. Need to feel you,” you whispered, stroking his jaw as he resurfaced, his piercing eyes trained on yours. “Need you to fill me up, claim me… I’m yours, Tom. Don’t you want to feel me cumming all over your cock?” 

Your words were meant to rile Tommy up, but they made you shift and whimper and buck despite yourself. “Good girl,” he whispered. “I’m very impressed with you. I’m going to fuck you, YN, and I’m going to do it properly,” You nodded eagerly and watched with glazed eyes as he discarded his waistcoat, shirt and trousers. You licked your lips as he dropped his underwear, groaning at the sight of his long, thick cock bouncing free, already leaking.

 All for you. 

You whimpered as Tommy crawled up the mattress towards you, already spreading your legs for him. “Please,” you whispered, reaching for him. He nodded, slowly pushing himself into you, bracing his elbows either side of your head. You cried out at the stretch of him, arching your back to press into his warm chest. Already, you were digging your nails into his back, and he grunted at the feeling of your walls clenching onto him for dear life.

 “Fucking hell,” he groaned into your neck, drawing back almost completely, before driving back into you with slow, measured movements, his forehead pressed to yours as he fucked you slowly, yet each thrust was ended with a sharp snap of his hips. You whined out, throbbing around him, trying to meet his thrusts with faster, needier ones of your own.

 “More, Tommy, more!” you cried out, scrabbling your nails down his back, clinging to his shoulder blades. You raised your legs to wrap them around his waist, angling your hips up more, eyes rolling at the deeper penetration gained by the new angle. “Please, faster,” you begged, writhing eagerly beneath him. “Please?” you whimpered, practically sobbing with need. 

Tommy grunted and nodded, holding you tight to him as he fucked you harder, faster, more relentlessly, growling into your ear, before suckling dark marks down your throat and to your collarbone. Moaning, he pistoned his hips into you, each thrust bumping delicious pressure onto your aching clit. It was too much. 

You moaned wantonly, arching your back and biting his shoulder. “Fuck Tommy, I’m gonna cum,” you whined, clinging to him, not wanting him to pull away before your release again.

 “Good girl,” he groaned. “Cum around my cock, love, that’s what you want. That’s what I want,” he grunted, his thrusts sloppy and harsh. With his permission, you yelped out, crying his name as you came, seeing white spots, even when you clenched your eyes shut. Feeling you clench around him like a vice, he shouted his release, spurting into you, filling you with his hot cum. 

Panting, he pulled out, and for a moment you worried he would buckle up his belt and leave you like a whore again, but the mattress dipped beside you as he lay down. He drew you into his side, holding you close. 

“You alright?” he murmured, kissing the top of your head. “You okay, love?” you nodded, resting your head on his chest, breathing deeply. 

“I-I… more than alright,” you murmured, causing him to chuckle. He lit a cigarette and grinned, rubbing your side as you drew the covers around you both.

 “So, still think I’m a lousy fuck, eh?” he smirked. You grinned and looked up, reaching to kiss him.

 “Not sure,” you said cheekily. “That might have been a fluke. You’ll have to repeat that display a few more times so I know you didn’t just get lucky,”

 “Oh, I got lucky all right,” he smirked. “Sleep. We’ll take the day off work tomorrow, and I’ll show you that wasn’t a fluke, eh?”

[nanoland]

new chapter (hellblazer fic)

(earlier parts are here; whole thing is here)

 The Cave, part 10 

John Constantine + The First of the Fallen, gen fic (for now), no warnings 

0  

‘In the desert,’ John thought, unsure quite why, ‘I saw a creature.’

Nicotine withdrawal was becoming a problem.

So was exhaustion.

His feet told him he’d been walking over uneven rock for around six hours – which couldn’t be right, surely? – while his brain had that sludgy feeling that usually resulted from forty-eight hours without sleep – and that was definitely wrong because he’d been dead recently enough that the blood was still drying on his trenchcoat, and dead was basically the same as being asleep.

To make matters worse, he was overdue to take his antidepressants, hidden in one of his trench’s seven secret pockets. Hated swallowing them dry, was the thing, and he didn’t have a cup of tea or glass of water to hand.

And then there was this arsehole to contend with.

“I’m following the example set by blessed Saint Anthony,” he told John insistently, clutching his shoulders. “You know, of course, that he went into the desert.”

“Did he, now?”

“Indeed! To purify himself. To get closer to God the Almighty, praise His name.”

Leaning against the cave wall, the First of the Fallen rolled his eyes.

‘Naked, bestial, squatting upon the ground’, John thought, the rest of the poem coming to him in drips and drabs.

He rubbed grit from his left eye. “Saint Anthony. Desert. Demons. Right, I remember. Legenda Aurea. Jacobus de Varagine. Wise old Ant took up the life of a holy hermit – settled down a million miles from civilisation and survived off grass and rainwater.”

“Oh, yes, of course. Foregoing nutrition and bodily hygiene is an entirely necessary step in reconnecting with the Creator,” the First of the Fallen mused. “John, I’ll be honest; this person bores me. Would you mind terribly if I killed him?”

“Shut up. Where was I? Yeah, Anthony was attacked by demons and he ran to hide in a cave. They followed him in and beat the shit out of him. His friends dragged him out and patched him up, whereupon the infuriating shit announced that he’d be going back in to let the demons beat the shit out of him some more.”

The First of the Fallen chortled and clapped. “Splendid! Another essential element of piety; masochism.”

“Will you shut it? Anyway, then God finally pulled his finger out and made the demons flee. Anthony asked where the fuck he’d been earlier and God said, basically, that he’d wanted to wait and see if Anthony would chicken out or not. Which… yeah, that’s about what I’ve come to expect.”  

How did the rest go? Right: ‘I saw a creature, naked and bestial, who, squatting upon the ground, held his heart in his hands. And ate of it.’

The artist prodded the would-be saint’s shoulder, making him yelp. “In God’s name! Who are you? What are you?”

She said something that the First of the Fallen translated as, “Why do you smell so awful?”

At that, the saint scowled. “I am punishing my sinful flesh by shunning earthly pleasures and indulgences. If God wishes me dirty, then I shall be dirty.”

The First of the Fallen translated that, then translated her reply as, “‘You are utterly mad. Please remain at a distance.’ I must say, John, I agree. Of all my Father’s sycophants, none ever annoyed me half so much as the ascetics.”

John shrugged. “Eh. More palatable than a lot of holy rollers, if you ask me. I’ll take a brainsick, grubby lad like this over a fashy grifter running a megachurch any day. What’s your name, kid?”

“Edmund.”

“And these demons who were bothering you… are they still here? Can you point ‘em out to me?”

“No. They disappeared when I laid eyes on you. That’s why I assumed you were angels.”

“Yes, well, much as I’d like to take credit for that, Eddie, and contrary to popular opinion, demons don’t actually turn tail at the sight of me. More often these days, they point and laugh. And I’m not really getting a whiff of anything infernal, save for His Nibs over there. I think you might have hallucinated ‘em, mate. Understandable. Stuck down here with no food, water, or company, hell, my brain would start to make its own entertainment too.”

The First of the Fallen stretched. “For my part, I certainly wouldn’t ask a single one of my minions to waste their time tormenting an inconsequential little wretch like you.”

“Jesus, you – would you back off?” John shouted, overprotective and aware of it, feeling his face contort into a snarl.

Stupid. The bastard was only doing it to rile him up. He knew that. He’d known it for decades.

Only perhaps not, because the temperature dropped and the air grew thin. Many-limbed shadows danced along the cave walls as John’s nemesis seemed to grow a metre. The stink of butchered meat swelled in his nostrils.

Then it was over. Scowling, the First of the Fallen tossed his hair back like a sulky diva and stalked away, grumbling, “Fine. Enjoy your fascinating new friends.”

The artist watched him leave, eyebrows high, then shook her head, said something derisive-sounding, and opened up the goatskin pouch she wore at her waist. From it, she withdrew a handful of nuts and berries. These were presented to the saint and to John with a two-word sentence; evidently an instruction.

Eyes narrowed, the saint whispered to John, “Has this female been sent to… to test me?”

“Eat your nuts and don’t be a twat, there’s a good lad,” John muttered.  

He left them to get better acquainted and wandered after the First.

Upon finding him pacing with his arms tight across his chest a little way down the tunnel, he said, “‘Is it good, friend?’”

The First of the Fallen snorted. “‘It is bitter – bitter.’”

“‘But I like it,’” John continued, smirking. “‘Because it is bitter.’”

“‘And because it is my heart,’” they finished together.

John leaned against the cave wall. “Gimme a ciggie.”

“Bloody addict,” he muttered, snapping his fingers. They appeared in his left hand and he chucked them John’s way.

John lit up, conscious of hungry yellow eyes watching him, and sucked in a gorgeous lungful before exhaling with a borderline-indecent sigh. (Pretended not to notice how the First’s throat bobbed.)

“So how many memories do we think this cave has?”

“Hundreds. Thousands. I can smell them everywhere. Those two just happen to be among the most visible, probably because they were stupid enough to become deeply emotionally attached to this ghastly place.”

“It’s one of them locations what acts like ghost flypaper, then? Hmm. And my dicking about with magic got it all discombobulated and upset.”

“Most likely.”

“It’s probably not that inclined to let me out, then. Which would explain why we’ve been walking for ages and haven’t reached daylight.”

“Indeed.”

“But you could leave. If you wanted to. Highly doubt some grumpy old hole in the ground has the power to imprison you.”

“I could, yes.”

“Haven’t, though. Why’s that?”

“Constantine, the day I feel compelled to explain my actions to you is the day I willingly surrender my crown to Nergal and settle comfortably into the grave.”

John laughed, walked up to him, took the cigarette from his lips, and offered it. “The day you need to is the day I settle in right alongside you.”

Nose wrinkling, he took it and gave it an experimental suck. Then he made a face, smoke spilling from his lips, before handing it back. “Revolting.”

“Eh. Acquired taste.” 

[sammy-gvf]

We get along (for the most part)

Chapter 2 

OC X Lee Bodecker

———————————-

Warnings- a little angst and cursing. 

Plot- The local rebel badass girl and Lee Bodecker have had run ins, lets see how it goes, shall we?

Word count : 2,705

MINORS DNI! THIS STORY WILL EVENTUALLY GET 18+. PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS. I DO NOT FEEL LIKE GETTING IN TROUBLE FOR YOU BEING STUPID. THANKS. 

 CHAPTER ONE IS PINNED ON MY PROFILE!

Sunday morning.

Slowly, I woke from my slumber hoping that I slept through church. Unfortunately, the sound of footsteps coming towards my door tells me differently. Knocking at the door, I hear a quiet voice come through the crack of my door.

“Maggy, are you up? Mamas goin have a fit if you aint up for church.” 

That's my brother John, he is always there to wake me up on sundays. He enjoys going to church. I’m not really into it, i usually try to go back to sleep but my parents barely ever let me sleep through church, small town equals gossip. No matter what you do, someone is always talking about you. Sat the wrong way? Gossiped about. Sneezed during church? Gossiped about. Literally anything you do is talked about among the town residents. I was the talk of the town when I was in high school, everyone knew I was sneakin around with Arvin. No one  liked it obviously, bein called every name in the book. I didn't care clearly, it didn't bother me or Arvin. 

I groan and slowly get out of bed, stretching and looking out of my window. It's a beautiful sunny day in Knockemstiff, I never thought I would ever describe this run down town like that, it's quite beautiful here though. Open fields for miles, I could see why no one would want to leave. I mean in old age, you could just do anything with your land and live off it. 

Getting up, I feel my feet hit the cold wood floor of my room. Everyday, I hope I don't get a splinter from the floor so I wear slippers throughout the house. I head to the bathroom to look at myself in the mirror. My hair is disheveled and almost out of the bun that I had it in the night before, my eyebrows are out of place and the bags underneath my eyes are prominent. I sigh and splash some cold water on my warm face. I grab my toothbrush and go for it, spitting out the toothpaste and flashing my teeth in the mirror to make sure I didn't miss a spot. 

I heard my parents and brother moving around pretty quickly so I looked at the clock near my bed. It's 9:30 am, church starts in about 20 minutes and it takes 10 to get there. Quickly, I put my hair in a low bun, slapped on some powder and a plain lip color, a rose color to compliment my fair skin. Hopping around, I grab a plain flowy blue dress that goes up to about the middle of my thigh and a pair of white keds, quick and simple. 

I step out of my room and grab my clutch so I have something to hold while in church, I usually can't keep my hands still. I shut the door behind me and head out to the living room to see everyone quickly eating some toast off their plates in the kitchen, I hop over and steal a piece of toast and bacon off Johns plate and then we are out the door. 

Hopping in my dads truck, the ride there is quiet. We don't talk much in my family, only at dinner once and a while and sometimes when my father drinks. Which is only when he is done work on Fridays. I make sure I'm out of the house on fridays, he never stops talking when he is drinking. My parents and I have never been that close really, kind of an unspoken family thing. Mother stays quiet and does her motherly duties as us women are expected to do once we pop out a few puppies. I refuse to be like that. 

The ride to church is scenic,open fields for miles and so many animals to look at. I enjoy the breeze coming through my hair but I just wish it was from me driving my car out somewhere I have never been. Like maybe California, it's probably beautiful. I have never been to a beach, as a matter of fact I've never been out of Knockemstiff before. I envy everyone who leaves this place and never comes back. As soon as I can get out of here, I will. I swear on everything I love. 

The car stops and I get out, my feet hitting the dirt road below me. My keds are gonna need a cleaning after this. Stepping around the car, I separate from my family and hop around the back of the church to smoke a quick cig before I go through the church doors to act like I'm holy for 2 hours. 

Stepping to the left side of the church, I put my clutch on a bush and grabbed a cigarette from the pack stuffed in my bag. Quickly I light it and suck on it as quickly as I possibly can to just get a moment to myself. Looking out into the distance, I always forget that the cemetery is this close to the church. Graves for as far as the eyes can see. That distracted me to the point where I forgot how quick I was smoking and ended up inhaling too much smoke at one time, leading me to cough quite loud. I throw the cigarette on the floor below my foot and crush it quickly. 

I hear an oh so familiar voice in the distance as I finish my coughing fit. 

“ Ms. Lane, what a pleasure to see you on this fine sunday.” He says, walking towards me with his fingers hooked around the belt loops of his pants.

Same uniform everyday, never fails.

“Say, what are you doin here behind the church all by your lonesome? “ Lee says as he stands next to me, I can smell the tobacco and mint on him the same as I did last night. I look over at Lee with an exhausted look on my face from the coughing fit I just had.

Lee looks down at the ground and a grin forms on his face, sneaky bastard never misses a beat. 

“Ms.Lane-” Lee begins to say and I stop him

“Please, for the love of christ call me Maggy. I am not 16 anymore, Lee.” You say as you start to walk past him. He grabs your arm and stops you. 

“Maggy Lane, just know I know about your little reputation.” Lee says as he still has you by the arm, kind of digging his nails into your soft skin as you try to pull away a bit.

“As a matter of fact, I was there when you began your little shenanigans. Be careful of how you talk to your sheriff, little lady.” You look at him in disgust as he tries to intimidate you. 

“ Also, I told you those cigarettes was bad news, you're lucky I don't stop on over and talk to your pop about your little habit.” Lee says with a smirk on his face. You finally wiggle out of his grip, your arm dropping to your side with crescent shaped marks on your arm. You rub the spots where Lee's fingers were just digging into your upper arm.

Looking up at him, he tips his hat at you and starts to walk away. You spit on the ground near his feet and he turns around on his feet, quick. 

“ I hope you know you're a prick, Bodecker.” You spit out at him. 

Immediately, you are backed up against the wood boards of the church, both of Lee's arms on either side of your head. Your heart is racing and your breath is hitching. You're frozen. 

“Listen to me, you little bitch.” Lee inches closer to your face, your noses almost touching. You turn your head to the side hoping that he won't really notice but he grabs your face and holds it so you are looking him directly in the eyes.

“Your little mouth will get you in trouble, especially with me.” Your breath hitches as he gets closer. Your heart could explode. You were terrified. 

“ Lee, church is starting. We better get in there before we miss anything” A voice in the distance yells. 

 Instantly, Lee lets you go and strides back to the unknown voice. 

You stand there with a shocked look on your face, as if you had just seen the devil up close. You were frozen in your current position but as soon as people started going in the building you sank to your feet and sat there for a minute breathing heavily. You fixed yourself up and stood outside the door of the old church, taking a deep breath before going in and finding your seat next to your family. 

 Church dragged on and on, I felt like I was going to fall asleep. A screaming preacher, so many people in such a small space. Half way through, I got up to go to the bathroom and caught Lee staring at me and he gave me a small smirk. Creep.

Stepping into the bathroom, I look at my face in the mirror. It's still slightly red from where Lee had his disgusting hand around my chin. I pushed on the spot and it felt like it was going to bruise. 

“ Fuck” I whispered to myself as I turned my head side to side to look at the red around my lips and on my chin. This is for sure going to bruise. 

I splash some water on my face to refresh myself and then I step out of the bathroom to bump into something in front of me. 

“Shit, I am so sorry” You say as you back up into the oak door and look at the person in front of you. 

“ Oh, no worries hun.” the woman in front of you says. 

You look at her quickly as you step aside, sticking out your hand and you say “I don't think I have met you before, I’m Maggy Lane.” 

She sticks out her hand and shakes yours firmly, she is a very pretty woman with short brown curly hair. 

Thin and very well put together, can't be more than 25 years old. 

“ It’s very nice to meet you sweetheart, I’m Ruth Har- I mean Bodecker.” She says smiling as she pulls her hand back from the handshake and puts it back on her clutch bag. 

“You the sheriff's wife?” you say as you cock your head to the side questioningly. 

“Yes, I am.” she smiles, “ We've been married now for about a year, a very fine man he is.” She says as she steps aside to talk to you for a minute before she steps into the bathroom.

You were shocked, Lee actually was married? He was such an asshole, you didn't think anyone would want him. As you had said the previous night, you would tell his wife if he had called you another pet name but she looks so sweet. He doesn't deserve her. You had just said that assumin he even had a woman at home. 

“ Thats nice, say you ain't from around here, are ya?” You say in a little southern drawl, she aint from these parts. You can tell by the way she says certain words. 

“ No darlin, i'm from Tennessee.” she smiled “Met Lee out there while I was workin in a bar.” she blushed a bit.

“ Huh, well look at that.” you say as you cross your arms and lean against the doorframe of the bathroom. “ Lee does get out of town then.”

She chuckles and you look at the time, church is going to be over soon.

“ Well, it was very nice meeting you, Mrs.Bodecker.” You say as you turn your back and start walking towards the stairs to go back to the chapel area. 

“ You too, darlin.” She says waving at you. 

“ See you around” You say as you head back up the stairs. 

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

Chapter 2 already? I’m crankin shit out lol 

Hope yous like it so far! Dont forget to leave opinons/replys and as always dont forget to like/reblog!

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[thesleepy1]

You C-Could’ve Just Told Me Y-You Didn’t Want Me

A/N: I stumbled upon the MorMor fandom again and thought, “What the hell, why not? Most of this is either depressing, sad or kinky. Right up my ally.” Unbeta’d as always. 

 Pairings: Jim x Sebastian 

 Summary: Moriarty really did it. He killed himself and Holmes. But did the great consulting criminal think of the outcome? Did he think of what would become of his tiger?  

 Word count: 2,591

 Warnings: Please do not read this if any of the warnings trigger you, I’m touching on many heavy subjects and there will be a sad ending. Please be aware of what you can handle. There is no shame in reading the same coffee shop AU over and over again. Please proceed with caution. Major character death, death, suicidal thoughts, suicde, attempted suicde, violence, language, depressing thoughts, mourning, grief, poor coping mechanisms, blood, alcohol consummation, 

 Moriarty really did it. Jim’s really gone. No warning. No notice. No caution. No nothing. Just a single message plastered on the building in front of his window.   

 “Behave tiger.” 

 Sebastian learned on the news that night after not having heard from his boss, the man he thought of as a friend and more. The newscaster focused on Holmes’ leap from the building, but all Sebastian cared about was the body being dragged off the scene. That same empty gaze he had grown to adore, the same slicked back hair he wanted to run his fingers through, the same sickly pale face he wanted to feel under his fingertips. 

 Gone.

 Just like that. 

 He had never told Jim about the beating in his chest, the butterflies in his stomach, the constant searching for him in a crowd. But the man must have known. He read Sebastian like a favorite book. Had memorized every line, every page, every chapter, everything. Jim had known and yet he was still gone. 

 The arguably new fridge in his kitchen had not seen the sight of alcohol since it was installed. Sebastian had swore off of the thing since his parent’s passing. He had seen what it did to people. But tonight was an expectation. And so was the next day. And the next week. And the week after that. And the months that followed. 

 The only reason he left his small flat was to get more. Nothing else mattered anymore. Time passed as it always did when someone died. Sebastian had no right to be mad at the human concept of time, but he had to have someone to blame. Something that made sense. Because if time was allowed to move on as if nothing happened then time was a bastard.

 Jim wasn’t just some concept a man with too much time on his hands created. Jim was more then every human life was worth and more. Jim was also a Westwood wearing bitch. 

 The man just won’t let Sebastian die. Appearing in front of him at his worst moments.

 One morning or afternoon, he wasn’t sure, he was awoken by the sound of polished shoes on his tiled kitchen. His first thought was Jim, just like every other thought he’s had for the past year. Time wasn’t even really a thing. But alas, when he opened his exhausted eyes, because his bed was just a place marker, he was greeted by the sight of an old woman in a suit. 

 “Good day,” she spoke in an central London accent, too polite for a shirtless man in his pants. 

 “The prostitute lives a floor down.” 

 She seemed to be taken aback by his comment, visibly flinching. Her lips pressed together a moment before she spoke, “I’m here for you on behalf of Mr. Myrcroft Holmes.”

 “Tell him to go fuck himself.” 

 “That can be arranged, but for the time being he wants you to meet him at his estate. He sent me here to make sure you were alive,” the woman said sternly, regaining her composure. Jim wouldn’t have even faltered at his comments.

 “Tell him I’m dead.” Or will be if he could find the tenner he kept hidden in his couch cushions. He was due for another bottle. “I’ll even give you a blood sample. Just give me a knife.” 

 The woman seemed unimpressed, taking in the state of the flat. Things were askew, he knew. That was the point of grieving wasn’t it? Being self destructive to the point of insanity? Give him time, grieving takes time, everyone suffers differently. He could no longer count how many times he’s been to Bart’s, just sitting on the ledge. The fact that jumping, falling, seemed like a simple matter to see Jim again should frighten him but...it doesn’t. He’s just biding his time until he’s had enough. Unsure what’s holding him back, waiting. 

 That was a lie and a half. He had jumped, twice. First time a moving truck broke his fall. The movers had called an ambulance and he was rushed to the hospital. That was eight days after Jim shot himself through the skull.

 The second was last night, morning? Some twenty hours ago that was foiled by a short woman who wore her hair in a low ponytail. She had given him some sort of speech but he just tuned out her voice and threw away the slip of paper with her number on it. He didn’t need pity. 

 “That won’t be necessary. I can inform my employer of your beating heart and he will arrive here himself,” she turned on her heel and headed for the door, her hand lingering on the handle before turning back to him. “What made him worth suffering for?” 

 The door clinked shut. 

 More than the bastard realized.

 “Calling me a bastard and a bitch? On the same day? I’m honored, Sebby,” came Moriarty’s voice from the arm of the couch. “Really, just wonderful what you’ve done to the place.” 

 “What are you doing here?” Sebastian groaned to the figment of his imagination which was also a shit eating bitch. 

 “Picking flowers, what do you think I’m doing?” 

 Sebastian couldn’t help but grin at the comment. He knew Jim wasn’t actually here but if he could fool himself for an hour or so. The calmest hours he granted himself once a week.

 “C-could you hold my hand?” Sebastian begged in a whisper, not looking up at the gaze of his one sided lover. 

 “This again?” He could hear Moriarty rolling his eyes. “I guess, but only for a moment.” The ghost held out his hand, far enough to make Sebastian work for it. He always did, forcing himself to move, to crawl, fight tooth and nail with his useless body to get up and hold Moriarty’s non-existent hand. 

 Moriarty’s hand was cold. That was how he imagined it if he had ever gotten the chance to hold it. Moriarty’s hand was soft because he never had to do any dirty work. Nails filed down and clean, pristine. The real Jim would never, but Sebastian let himself have this. 

 “You’re crying again. I thought this was supposed to be my moment.” Moriarty lifted his face to meet his, wiping the tears with an invisible force. “Can you not make this about yourself for one moment? It's starting to get on my nerves and Daddy wants the spotlight so SUCK IT UP.” 

 Sebastian clenched Moriarty’s hand, nodding and willing himself not to cry. It never worked. “Why did you have to leave?” it came out as an uncontrollable sob.

 “Things were too boring. I needed a change of pace. What’s better than being a ghost?” Moriarty licked his tears clean but more poured down.

 “I-I could h-have-”

 “You could have done NOTHING to change my mind. Even your subconsciousness knows that, Sebby.”

 Seconds, minutes, hours, days, who knows passed as Sebastian cried into the arms of a dead man. He curled into Moriarty’s side, a trembling ball of compressed pain. The alcohol was wearing off at this point and he longed for another hit. Something stronger perhaps. 

 Just anything to make him forget for a while, because while he permitted himself to cry with Moriarty, feeling nothing at all felt better. Just empty, mindlessness. Unconsciousness. Anything but this. 

 “Why...why won’t you-you let me die?”

 “Because you know I would be furious if you died. Rage wouldn’t even cut it if you met me in hell.” Moriarty brushed back his overgrown hair, messing with his beard just because he could. 

 “I want your rage instead of this. Please,” he begged, rubbing his head against Moriarty’s chest. “I-I had a gun stashed here. I knew exactly where it was and how many bullets were in it. Jim...he...the real Jim took the bullets out.” He picked at the loose strings on the couch, unable to face his mind. “He-” he croaked, “He took them and put them in his own gun. I-I checked and everything….” Pressing the heel of his palms to his hand Sebasatian continued in between gasps. “I want them back. I want my bullets back. I want him back. I want him. I want him alive and here. I want to hold him and let him hold me. I want him. I want Jim. I don’t care if-if he never wanted me. If he-” It pained him to keep talking, to admit this in his worst moment. “If he did this just to get away from me...I just want him back.” 

 “You’re being awfully selfish today. What if I really did this to get away from you? And now you want me to come back? Sebby, please. Be realistic. If all of this is because you’re useless, and it can very well be, then I don’t want you.”

 “So that’s it? You won’t even let me off myself?” Sebastian mumbled into his sleeve, his eyes stung from crying and he was too dehydrated to continue.

 “Behave tiger.”

 He didn’t clean himself off or made himself look presentable like he did with Jim. He just smoked as he tried to find himself a cab to the other Holmes’ estate. Apparently that wasn’t needed due to the fact a black car pulled right up next to him, the front window lowering to reveal a driver that motioned for him to get in. 

 Sebastian did so, flicking off the cigarette before entering. The driver didn’t speak, not that he would reply, but the man looked like he wanted to. A new guy who was still learning the ropes. 

 “D-” 

 “Talking out of turn will get you fired, or killed,” Sebastian repeated the phrase Jim had told him the first day he worked for the man. Back then he didn’t know what he was getting himself into when he wanted a quick, high paying job. 

 “Rude,” the driver murmured before pulling into a driveway. He stopped the vehicle and gestured for Sebastian to exit with a roll of his eyes. Sebastian wondered then what the other Holmes would do if he blooded up the driver. Getting himself killed had crossed his mind numerous times, bar fights and ally robberies, but he was too skilled to allow himself to be disarmed. But the Holmes were of a different story altogether. They could have him killed in an instant if they felt like.

 “Well are you going to leave or what?” 

 Holmes would probably do nothing, not for a driver this chatty. He left the vehicle with Moriarty on his tail, “You’re useless, you know that? I tell you to do one thing and you do another. Well you come to hell, don’t talk to me. Don’t even look at me.” 

 Sebastian resisted crying in the home of Jim’s worst enemy’s brother. It wasn’t worth it, he told himself. Whether he believed himself? He didn’t feel the tell tale wetness on his cheeks so that was something. 

 “Good day,” the elder brother greeted him, not a hair out of place despite the fact that his brother was dead. 

 “What do you want.” 

 “Getting straight to business I see. Very well then,” Mycroft thumped his cane on his hardwood floors of his parlor. “I have an assignment for you, think of it as a favor if you will.”

 “Fuck off,” he turned on his heel to leave only to freeze in place. Sherlock Holmes stood in the doorway, as alive as the day he was born. Not a wound or sign or anything that said he was dead or had been. Just standing there.

 Sherlock Holmes is alive.

 Jim Moriarty is dead.

 It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. 

 “Sebastian Moran, Jim Moriarty’s right hand man and one sided lover from the state of your appearance. How is crying over a man who will never love you going?”

 Sherlock Holmes is alive.

 Jim Moriarty is dead.

 The other Holmes rolled his eyes, “I’m trying to get him to work with us Sherlock, not plan our murders.” 

 “I can’t say the same for him though,” Sherlock smirked, like he was getting a rise out of seeing Sebastian like this. A caged, striving tiger pacing.  

 Sherlock Holmes is alive.

 Jim Moriarty is dead.

 “Sherlock.”

 “Mycroft.”

 Sherlock Holmes is alive.

 Jim Moriarty is dead.

 “If you want to kill me just do it. I won’t fight back,” Sebastian stated, meaning every word. He just wanted the release of death. If anything his dying might please Jim Moriarty. Having someone watch the life or what was left of it, drain from his eyes. He could only hope. “Just kill me.” 

 “On the contrary. We want you alive.” 

 “I’m useless alive or dead,” he repeated what his mind told him.

 “I can assure you, you’re m-” 

 The gunshots shattered the parlor windows. Glass burst from their constricting frames, a shower of shards raining down. More gunshots followed, a dozen barrels at the least. Sherlock and Mycroft ducked for cover because they wanted to live. Sebastian stayed where he was because he would rather not. 

 A shot pierced his side immediately, then another and another. His legs could no longer support him so he fell forward, the side of his face pressed up against the rough carpet. He was staining it red, a stark color against the shades of brown and white. 

 Rope ladders dropped the sky, bodies lowering from out of view helicopters. They entered in pairs, shooting up the parlor room and everything in it. Over the sound of gunshots nothing could be heard then it stopped like a conductor silencing an orchestra with practice.

 A suited man entered the ruined parlor, his arms spread wide in dramatic flare. “Daddy’s back, Sherlock!” 

 “Jim Moriarty,” Sherlock exclaimed, smiling from his cover behind a bookshelf. “Glad you could make it.” 

 “I missed you, Sherly.”

 Sebastian could only smile from the floor. 

 Sherlock Holmes is alive.

 Jim Moriarty is alive.

 And all it took was for him to be bleeding out on the floor from gun wounds. Dying. Unable to feel his arms or legs. That was all it took for Jim Moriarty to come back.

 His grin pained his face from disuse, but he couldn’t stop it. Joy didn’t cover what he was feeling. The love of his life, forever one sided; the man he yearned to stay by, to hold, to drink and live alongside was fucking alive.

 Sherlock Holmes is alive.

 Jim Moriarty is alive.

 Jim Moriarty is alive.

 Jim Moriarty is alive.

 Jim Moriarty is alive.

 “Y-you’re alive,” he gasped from the floor, his blood cooling but his smirk never faltering. He wanted so badly to drag himself to Jim Moriarty but he couldn’t feel the warmth in his limbs. The man was right there, breathing, standing tall, and looking so jubilant. Sebastian really was useless. 

 “Tiger?” Jim Moriarty’s act flickered when he heard the sound of Sebastian. He turned to face the fallen sniper and every set of eyes in the room followed. 

 “Y-you’re here,” Sebastian choked on a laugh, his eyelids heavy. “You c-could’ve just told me y-you didn’t want me.”  

 “SEBASTIAN?!” 

 His eyelids closed shut. What remained of the feelings in his limbs dispersed. His labored breaths evening out until he disappeared altogether. His hearing was the last to go but even that shut down. He was dead. That was all it took. 

 Sherlock Holmes is alive.

 Jim Moriarty is alive.

 Sebastian Moran is dead.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

I really really love that your one chapter fic became a two chapters fic and that maybe it could turn into a three chapters one. I also love you are taking prompts. So one, what about Benny and Beth being themselves while Benny prepares to face Borgov and he actually wins this time? Ofc just an idea...

Copenhagen Revisited

Pairing: Beth Harmon/Benny Watts Rating: M Word Count: 3165

Summary: Two years after Beth beat Borgov, it's Benny's turn to face him. They make Cleo's West Berlin apartment their headquarters as Beth prepares Benny for the match.

Benny travels like Van Helsing—staring out the window of the plane with an expression of feverish determination. The fact that he’s compared Borgov to Dracula more than once may be what’s leading Beth to her own character association. Mostly, she’s just watching him and wishing he’d taken the aisle seat. He’s blocking the view.

“I can practically feel him breathing down my neck,” he complains, shifting in his seat and drawing his jacket closed protectively across his chest.

Beth rolls her eyes and sips their Coke through her straw.

“He’s never even beaten you that badly,” she remarks, passing the drink to Benny, who sucks absently at his own straw.

“But he could.”

She scoffs.

“How? You’re better than you were the last time you played him.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because,” she says firmly, “you’ve played me a couple hundred times since then. Borgov’s not as tough to beat as I am. I proved that in Moscow two years ago.”

“Oh, did you? I hadn’t heard.”

Narrowing her eyes at him for his snark, she takes the Coke back and sets it on her lowered tray.

“You weren’t this nervous in New York.”

“We weren’t flying towards him in New York.” Benny tugs his jacket again. “And I’m not nervous.”

“Right. Well,” Beth reminds him, “you’ll have time to acclimate. That’s why we’re going early. And it’s not like Borgov’s going to be nearby. I don’t think being a celebrated chess player is enough to balance out his nationality in the eyes of West Berlin. Not exactly warm feelings towards Russians.”

“Is this a good idea?”

She looks at him carefully. He doesn’t usually ask her questions unless they’re rhetorical, teasing, or both.

“Yes,” she says decisively. “It was a good idea for Cleo to offer her apartment and it’s a good idea to go early. When we fly to Copenhagen in three weeks, you’ll be ready to give Borgov the same treatment you gave Najdorf.”

“You know journalists still ask me about that game?” Benny says, finally swiveling his face away from the window to meet her eye. “I was eight. I don’t even remember it. All I ever say about it is something I remember saying before. It’s just me quoting me quoting me—” He makes a rolling gesturing with his hand. “—all the way back to something I can only assume is the truth.”

Beth makes a dismissive noise.

“They print what they want anyway.”

“It’s lousy.”

“What is?”

“Feeling like a pawn. Can never move backward,” he mumbles.

“I’ve never chaperoned you to a tournament before,” she observes. “I didn’t realize the anticipation would make you so dramatic.”

“I’m not—”

“You are. Maybe you’re not irreversibly out of touch with your eight-year-old self.”

He stares sulkily out the window.

“I get airsick,” he finally admits in a low voice.

“That’s what’s wrong?” Beth laughs. “No wonder you drive to all the domestic opens.” Taking pity, she passes him the Coke again. “Here, the carbonation will help.”

Benny drinks, then rests his head back against the seat with a sigh, closing his eyes.

“Vampire bastard,” he groans.

Beth holds the bottle for a minute, then places her cold hand against his forehead.

“It’s his slicked-back hair, isn’t it?” she guesses.

“Could be.”

—

Cleo isn’t at her Berlin apartment. She’s not in Berlin. She was planning to be, when she volunteered her place as Benny’s training ground, so Beth and Benny are doubly stupefied to hear that she left three days earlier for a job in Milan. Cleo’s neighbour tells them this—another model, Beth would guess, based on her arty haircut and the smudge of hazy blue eyeshadow around glazed eyes. She’s higher than they were when they flew over the Atlantic, but thankfully functional enough to press Cleo’s key into Benny’s hand. Her stoned, accented English stomps the ear like a heavy tread, then grinds the words like a cigarette beneath a boot heel. She also invites them to a party at her apartment later. They don’t make it; jetlag strikes and they collapse on Cleo’s bed, dragging the scrappy, colourful assortment of decorative shawls serving as blankets over themselves and falling asleep.

Unlike when Benny trained Beth in his underground apartment in New York, they can’t count on ’round the clock silence here. It’s a loud building, boisterous and bohemian, and the parties of Cleo’s neighbour seem to occur nightly. Beth confronts a startlingly hungover teenage girl tottering up the stairs one morning as she’s going down. She jumps. The girl is a reflection. The girl is a ghost. The girl is possibly swearing at Beth for staring, judging by the scowl accompanying the words that come grating from her dry throat.

Fortunately, nightly parties also mean that the place is quiet most of the day as people sleep off whatever they drank, smoked, injected, or otherwise ingested the previous evening. Quiet is good. Quiet is perfect. She and Benny take slugs of strong German coffee (Benny is especially pleased, though he only hums softly to show it) and play match after match until noon at the small table under Cleo’s kitchen window. With the window propped open, they listen to the rush of traffic below. Beth breathes deeply and watches Benny chew his lip as he contemplates his moves. Their focus is the endgame—Borgov’s specialty.

When she promises they won’t get up to anything like the neighbours next door, Beth’s able to coax Benny out some evenings. They take in the culture; she does it for the memory of Alma and suspects that Benny does it for her.

She scrunches her eyebrows together in confusion as they prepare to depart on a Friday and he’s not wearing his hat.

“You’re not forgetting your head,” she says carefully, “but it’s almost as serious.”

“I don’t want it getting in the way.”

Beth stares at him, waiting for clarification.

“Come on, kid. I’m taking you dancing.”

An hour later, in his arms, she says, “As your trainer, it should’ve been me forcing you to take a break.”

“Ah, it might not be your tournament, but you’re just as intense. You love to study.”

“Maybe I would’ve studied less if I knew that you knew how to dance.”

“Yeah, I’m sensational. Just don’t look at my feet.”

They laugh their way through it and, though she can’t actually hear them laughing over the volume of the band at the hole in the wall Benny dragged her into, she’ll recall the way his eyes squinted and his teeth showed and fill in the laughter after the fact. Their hands clasp and release and their fingers misalign in a haphazard grip and she laughs. She sways against him, clutching his half-unbuttoned black shirt, and feels his shudder. They hurry back to Cleo’s apartment and have sweaty, desperate sex against the wall just inside the door. Beth rakes her fingers through Benny’s uncovered hair, gasping. When they’re done, they receive a muffled cheer from the neighbouring apartment. She drops her forehead to his shoulder with a smile.

The time flies and, at Benny’s behest, their play becomes more disciplined. They only replicate Russian matches to reenforce the coldblooded style he’ll meet when he sits down across from Borgov. They begin to use a clock; up to this point, their exchanges were untimed, to allow for contemplation and debate following each move, if necessary. They even—finally—get fed up with the neighbours. Benny walks out of the apartment for fresh air and comes back with a bloody nose and reddened knuckles that are beginning to swell because, apparently, some hazy partygoer staggered into him in the hallway and they got into it for no good reason. Thank god he didn’t pull his knife. Beth’s witnessed enough nasty little fistfights behind Mrs. Deardorff’s back at the orphanage to assess that Benny’s nose isn’t broken, though the skin under his left eye very quickly begins to purple. Great. He’ll face Borgov looking like a pugilist. She prepares him a nice bundle of ice and accidentally drops it onto his hand to communicate her contempt for his stupidity. Reckless asshole.

“You could’ve at least told me you were really going out to pick a fight.”

“What would you have done?” Benny wonders, shifting the ice from his knuckles to his face with a wince. “Taken a couple swings yourself?”

Beth puffs up, straightening her spine.

“Of course.”

“Nah, honey, your nose is too pretty to chance it.”

She can’t decide: it’s either the endearment she doesn’t know what to do with or the implication that she’d be witless enough to stand there and take a jab to the center of her face that makes Beth rise and kick the leg of the chair Benny’s sitting right on the edge of. He looks mad enough when his backside hits the floor, but he sighs and glances up at her.

“You want a game?”

She smiles.

“I’ll play black.”

The night before they fly to Copenhagen, she sees it’ll take more than fresh air, yet another chess match, or a bop on the nose to calm him. He’s pacing, pointing, and lecturing—each habit sufficiently annoying on its own, but in conjunction? He’ll drive them both crazy if she lets him carry on.

“Come on, kid,” she says, and makes him sit on the edge of the bed instead of the chair.

Beth’s efficient at undoing buttons, even from behind, and has her back-buttoning blouse stripped off before Benny’s redirected his thoughts from the game they left set up on the board in the other room to what’s happening in front of him. When she starts unzipping her skirt, he catches her hands and takes over. She sits on his lap and rubs him through his jeans until he rolls her onto her back. Breathless and fumbling at his belt, Beth tells herself Cleo had to know they wouldn’t just be using her apartment to play chess. If there’s one language Cleo speaks more fluently than the others, it’s sex. Feeling absolved, Beth hooks her legs up around Benny’s hips.

—

“Well, well, well, look who’s still famous,” he mutters to her after jerking open the door of the venue to the sudden flutter of flashbulbs.

“I’m sorry,” Beth offers with a smirk. “I wore sunglasses and everything. I was trying to be inconspicuous.”

Benny grins back because that was never going to happen. She hasn’t exactly kept her head down for the last two years, steadily working her way through American Masters, felling them. It’s kind of a hobby. Still, she’s chosen an active chess career in the States over the spectacle of European tournaments, so for the international press, Beth’s appearance today is quite an occasion. But it doesn’t trouble Benny. He’s never struggled with monopolizing the spotlight.

“I’ll answer five questions before my first match,” he announces, arm around Beth’s waist. “Who’s first?”

“Mr. Watts, what’s it like to be back in Copenhagen?”

“Great. It’s been a while. The flight was quick with no turbulence, exactly how I like it.”

“Your eye—have you been in a fight?”

“Chess is a rough sport.”

“How are you feeling going into your first match?”

“Prepared.”

“Do you plan to meet Borgov in the final on Saturday?”

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

“What is your relationship with Miss Harmon?”

Benny glances sideways at her. Above her sunglasses, Beth raises an eyebrow. Some people might be thrown by the abrupt switch in subject matter, but the moment of hesitation as he parts his lips to answer is mischievous.

“Waiting for her to make an honest man outta me. That’s five, boys,” he points out, lifting a hand that does double duty as an acknowledgement and a brushing aside motion; it parts the small crowd and he guides Beth through.

“Well now they definitely won’t print anything about you.”

“Sure they will. My name right alongside yours: ‘Watts and Harmon.’ Maybe ‘Harmon and Watts’—sounds a little better. Anyway, they’ve got enough to suggest that we’ve been working together and that’s the edge that’ll get to Borgov.”

“If he picks up a paper between tomorrow and Saturday,” Beth clarifies.

“He will. Or somebody’ll do it for him. One of his KGB babysitters, probably. They seem like they’d be gossips. But Borgov’ll hear about it and the mention of your name will put the fear of god into him.”

“Oh, it will, will it?”

“No question.” He halts and looks at her seriously. “You mind if we find someplace quiet to sit down for a minute?”

She checks her watch, the cracked glass face long ago replaced.

“Yeah, you’ve got a few minutes, but wouldn’t you prefer to go in and, how did you put it? Breathe down the neck of your competitors?”

“Cute, but I’m a little worried I’d be sick down the neck of my competitors.” He squeezes his eyes shut momentarily. “Ugh, that plane ride.”

“But there wasn’t any turbulence!”

“Beth, please. Don’t even say the word.”

He plays two games that day, with enough turnaround time in between that they go for a walk and she takes a few non-press photographs of him in front of attractive backdrops. Behaving like real tourists seems to distract him. Benny even allows Beth to charm him into surrendering the end of his sandwich so she can use the bread to feed the little birds in a park they walk through.

The following day, the schedule tightens up. Lesser players are vanquished and Benny is presented with more people to beat, each one smug from their recent win until Benny shuffles things around on the board with exchanges so swiftly conceived and executed that it might be sleight of hand, one complex magic trick until—ta da!—he’s hemmed their king. He’s fucking brilliant, Beth thinks as she observes him, occasionally shaking her head in amazement. Her pulses races each time he sits down across from someone with a look on his face like, I hope you’ve made peace with your god. They screened too many movies of a biblical bent at Methuen. Prayer and faith certainly never lifted her high, but watching Benny does.

The next day is the second to last and Benny plays once, in the morning, with adjournments and the deciding of third and fourth place of the tournament in the afternoon. Winning his game isn’t anything special to him; he was always looking ahead, intending to square off against Borgov. In Benny’s style, Beth considers, it’d be a gunslinger draw at high noon. In Borgov’s (via Benny’s perception of him), Van Helsing advancing on a crypt with a garland of garlic bulbs and a raised crucifix.

She sits patiently with him in their hotel room. Unlike the night before they departed from Germany, he isn’t stressed. He’s calm. Beth asks if he’d rather stretch his legs, go find some of his friends that played at this tournament (and lost) and talk to them, work the room in a way that simultaneously captivates her and makes her roll her eyes. No. He prefers to stay with her. They sprawl on the bed and play out a couple of his slickest games, then the last twenty moves of the ‘68 Moscow final: Borgov v. Harmon.

“Let’s go to sleep,” he says softly, when she’s dozing with her head on her arm. He’s been staring at the board in silence for a long time.

“Are you sure?” Beth yawns before continuing, “I could order up some coffee?”

Benny’s already gathering the pieces and folding the board.

“You can’t do any more for me than you’ve done, and I can’t learn any more tonight than I have.”

“You’re prepared,” she agrees. That might not be quite what he meant, but she figures even Benny Watts needs a little reassurance.

“For most things he could do.”

Beth pulls her pajamas out from under the pillow on her side of the bed.

“You know how he plays. It’s clean. You just have to keep your eyes open. Borgov isn’t the sort of player to pull something creative out of nowhere.”

“You say that, but once, I had an opponent threaten to kick me in the crotch.”

“Mm, well, that’s not Borgov. Like I said, no creativity.” She watches for a minute as Benny strips his shirt off and flings it onto the chair. “By the way, it wasn’t a threat, it was posed as a question—rhetorical, even philosophical—and only because that opponent felt she wasn’t being taken seriously.”

Benny smiles and walks around the end of the bed. He cradles the back of her head and gives her a slow kiss.

“Will you kick Borgov in the crotch for me if I lose?”

“Now you want me to fight your battles for you? Where was this attitude in Berlin?” She grabs Benny’s butt as he walks back to trade his jeans for pajamas. He turns to look at her inquiringly. “I won’t have to.”

He spends all the next morning proving her right, not succumbing to how Borgov’s pieces shoulder their way across the board. They knock Benny’s aside some, but he hangs in and they adjourn in the afternoon for an after-dinner resumption. Though the reprieve is nearly three hours, they don’t go back to their room. There’s no international call to wait for—every bit of encouragement from their friends was given before they left New York. Benny has a drink with dinner and when that doesn’t loosen him up enough, Beth gets a little fresh under the table as she’s adjusting the napkin in his lap, just until she’s sure he’s in a new mindset.

At seven o’clock, the jacket, the hat, and the man are back in position opposite Borgov. Benny makes the move he sealed earlier, then leans forward by his shoulders. In that gesture, Beth knows Benny’s got him. He confirms it sixteen moves later and Borgov concedes the match in a gracious bow of his head. Benny dawdled a little, not dropping the guillotine blade the way she did with her swift Ohio victory over him, but he’s a different player. An admirer of historic matches, a showman with quick fingers and no better place to be than in front of a chessboard. That’s what she’s always guessed his mentality to be. Where she loves to win, he loves to play.

He rises from the table to a roomful of applause. His eyes find hers and she whistles with her fingers in her mouth, the way he taught her one night in his apartment. The sound is shrill enough over the rest of the noise that the photographer beside her turns to glare and tell her to shut the hell up. He begins to apologize when he recognizes her, but Beth shakes her head impatiently and points past him.

“Don’t look at me,” she says. “Look at him.”

[doginshoe]

What You’d Do To Me Tonight

summary: Lucy had been in a blooming high school romance, but now that the love has wilted between her and her husband, she searches for a solace. However, she finds it in an already broken man that manages to set her alight in more ways then one. When her secrets spill, she finds her world begins to crumble from beneath her feet as the two men in her life torture her already broken heart. 

tw: blood, some mention of abuse

thank you to @bmarvels for always editing through these! You are amazing and ily

tag who I think wanted more?: @shadyhydrathesnekqueen @lovelyluce @trollka21 @sobatsu @millennial-star-gazer @celestialspiritqueen @loveandlucky @yogicturtle @mautrino @sereniii @celestialtitania @otaku-daydreamer-4673 @theweiszguy @samanthaa-leanne @sleepy-space-dragon @sevenlaila @albinoclifford @darkwingpegasus21 @i-live-off-pina-coladas @mushi9 

Chapter 7. 7800 wordish. I worked tirelessly to try and make this perfect so I hope everyone likes it. For @lovelyluce because she deserves this update. 

Happy 1 year anniversary for wydtmt loves <3

-

11:57pm.

Natsu was tired. He had barely slept, only nodding off on the couch for an hour the night prior until he had so graciously woken up after he had tumbled to the floor. He had sworn something very colourful and loud as he cradled his head and readjusted himself on the sofa. It wasn’t the worst way he had woken up, but it had certainly left him in a sour mood that wasn’t helped by how worn out he felt.

It was his own fault for not sleeping, he had spent the majority of the evening lighting up cigarette after cigarette and pouring glasses of scotch on the rocks. Natsu didn’t usually smoke inside the house unless he was lazy and had cracked a window open, his own personal rule alongside not smoking in front of kids, the elderly or pregnant women. Yet, he made an exception that he had paid for in the morning when he had to leave all his windows open to let the house air out from the smell that had become trapped inside.

He just hadn’t wanted to go out on his porch, or anywhere really, and he had to tap into bad habits that he didn’t think he would have been going back to anytime soon. Though, Natsu had to admit that he was still awesome at getting so fucked that everything melted away.

It had been a long day to say the least and yet, he couldn’t seem to find it in him to close his eyes as he stared up at his cracked ceiling. He’d resigned himself back to his small couch, sinking into the old cushions as his feet hung off the arm rest. His stomach felt twisted and no matter how he moved, he couldn’t get comfortable, but there was no way that he was going to sleep in his own bed - the sheets still smelled like her after all.

He blamed that on how much perfume she always wore - his nose twitching as he grimaced at the thought of it. Her neck was always saturated in a spray of something sweet and floral, combined with a fruity lip gloss and a strawberry shampoo that lingered in her blonde hair. It had soaked into his pillow and the left side of his bed that had become a reserved spot for her.

It shouldn’t have been. It was just meant to be casual sex, but he had fucked that rule up. He wasn’t meant to have become so attached. He wasn’t attached. It wasn’t anything more than a long term hookup. He knew that and yet -

Natsu sat up, scrubbing at his eyes as he sighed. He wasn’t meant to be thinking about her, he scolded himself.

There was a kink in his neck and he rolled his shoulders to ease the build of tension caught in his back. He had worked a double shift at the bar. Not that he was meant to be in today, but he needed the distraction as he swapped hours with Elfman. At least to stop him from reaching for his cigarettes again and again. Though Gray had sent him home before close with a pat on his back, dark brooding eyes filled with a hint of concern as he offered him the only advice that he probably knew in a situation like this.

“You need to rest.”

The underlying words rang out in Natsu’s head as his friend kept his hand on him for a moment longer.

“Forget about her.”

Natsu reached for the pack on the coffee table, fingers flicking open the cardboard box to find it empty. It was just his luck that he had run out, the need to suck on nicotine causing his eyebrow to twitch as the stress continued to build. He threw it, the cigarette packet not going far as it settled on the floor. His hands tangled through his pink hair, making it stick up in all directions, until finally he dropped his shoulders.

He let out a groan. “Fuck this.”  

He stood, grabbing onto a water bottle as he settled to sleep in his own bed - even if he had to ditch the sheets for the night. Natsu didn’t really care either way since he usually slept on top of the blankets, or only used the thin sheet. It crossed his mind to hit up the twenty four hour service station for a new pack, but he needed to get some rest. Not to mention that he was supposed to be quitting, but he had made that promise before.

Natsu was just about to turn off the lamp, fingers cradling the switch, when he heard it.

The tap at the door was soft, hitting once before pausing and then a slightly louder rap on the wood. He left the lamp on, the only light managing to give enough visibility in his small living area as he let out another sigh, beginning to walk towards the door and called out to whoever was on the other side.

“Who is it?”

Natsu took a quick chug of his water before leaving the rest on the kitchen bench. There was an annoying irk in his stomach that told him it was probably Gray, the bastard swinging by after work to do some one on one comforting bullshit that involved drinking. He was already coming up with an excuse. Natsu wasn’t bothered and he didn’t need ‘alcohol therapy.’ Not when he had already given himself a good dose the night before. The thought of it already leaving an off taste in his mouth, or maybe that was the withdrawal from his smokes. He shrugged it off, nearly halfway to the door when he heard it.

There was a soft whimper followed by sniffles and a shaky exhale, “N-Natsu..” He froze, tensing as he recognised the weak voice through the door that he would’ve missed if it weren’t for his sensitive hearing. Not that his mind was letting him forget just who it belonged to, or how it sounded when it was breaking. “It’s me... It… I-It’s Lucy.”

She was here.

He opened his mouth to speak, but he swallowed his tongue instead as his legs felt like jelly and he leaned back to catch himself on the couch. It felt as though he had been knocked back, chest light as the air seemed to leave him all at once. His stomach was twisting itself in knots, binding itself together and sinking to the floor as a wave of nerves washed over him. If he thought before that he could go without a drag tonight, then Natsu was dead wrong now.

He wanted to puke. No, that was an understatement - what he wanted to do was rip his front door off its hinges so he could see her and scream or cry, maybe both? Natsu wasn’t really sure anymore. He felt suffocated like there wasn’t enough room in the house, which was ridiculous considering the little furniture he kept around. There wasn’t enough space for him to think and his knuckles were turning white as he gripped onto the couch.

“...N-Natsu?”

There it was again, her raspy voice calling him and Natsu brought a hand to his face, fist rubbing at his eyes as he tried to pull himself together to begin getting a reply out. It sounded like she was struggling to breathe, her whispers through the door even straining his ears and it hurt. His heart felt like it was breaking as it thumped against his ribs and there was the urge to forget what he had learned the last time he saw her - to let her in.

“Please… C-Could you… open the door.” Lucy wobbled slightly. Her breathing was heavy, barely keeping herself standing. The exhaustion was beginning to wash over her now that she was here and she was struggling to form words and her shoulders slumped. She felt cold, the beginnings of aches and pains spreading across her body as she shivered, but she continued to try her best to speak - to reach him. It was the only thing her brain was telling her to do.

Safety.

Natsu swallowed, taking in a breath before he readjusted himself. “Lucy I-” He hated how strained he sounded, just barely holding it together. Natsu couldn’t stand it. He cleared his throat as he started again, pulling himself up but not letting go of the couch. “I… I can’t do that.” He took a deep breath. “Lucy, you shouldn’t be here.”

She winced, bottom lip wobbling as she struggled to keep it together. “I… I have nowhere else to go.” She gasped for breath, taking a long pause that shouldn't have been there, before Lucy was reaching out to him again. “P-Please.”

He bit back a groan, feeling his emotions at war in his mind. There was too much weight on his shoulders and he didn’t feel like doing this right now. Natsu was exhausted and as much as the pathetic side of him soared at the thought that she had showed up here to… Well he didn’t know, but if he knew Lucy at all then he was sure that there was an apology waiting at the tip of her tongue as soon as he opened that door.

She was too soft for her own good. Natsu sneered, even if she had been a homewrecking bitch.

Natsu cleared his throat. “You can go home, Lucy. Come on, it’s late and we aren’t gonna do this tonight. Not any night.” His dark eyes found the floor, his chest burning as he tightened his hand into a fist. “Not... Not ever.”

“Natsu,” She was pleading with him, “I- I can’t. Please!” The blonde stumbled forward, biting back the feeling of dread wrapping around her heart and pooling in her gut. “I… I know how I-” Lucy sucked in a breath. “I n-need you now.”

“Please.” He turned to the door as he pulled himself away from the couch, the thought that she was so close making his head feel fuzzy as he pushed past her words that he knew he couldn’t dwell on. “Ya know that we can’t do this. I-” Natsu bit his lip, cursing underneath his breath as he walked to the door. She was right behind such a flimsy piece of wood, which he knew because he had broken the damn thing too many times to count. It just wasn’t fair that if he opened it then he would be face to face with her again, the tears probably fucking with his heart just like they had the first time. Natsu couldn’t do that.

He pressed his forehead against the wood. It was cool on his skin and he allowed himself to take in a much needed breath before he spoke again, his voice low. “I’m going to sleep, Lucy. Please… Just leave.”

“But there’s…” She hiccuped, more tears gathering in her eyes as he continued to turn her away. There was no way she could go anywhere else. He was the last place that she could turn to. “T-There’s nowhere else that I-”

“Lucy, I’m begging you.”

He couldn’t do this.

“N-Natsu, please... listen to me!”

She was desperate.

Natsu sighed. “You don’t have to say anything to me, Lucy. You don’t have to tell me you’re sorry.” He paused. “I get it. There’s nothing left for us to talk about, okay?”

His chest felt empty as he admitted it outloud, voice hollow of all emotion. It hurt. It hurt knowing that this was happening all over again. Natsu didn’t want to believe it. He had let himself slip again, to trust and now look where he got himself. He was too tired to waste any more energy on something that just wasn’t for him. He wasn’t meant for love.

Lucy wrapped her arms tighter around herself. His words were like a knife driven in her chest, but she knew she deserved it. She deserved a lot of things. Lucy didn’t even know why she was here, why she had come to someone that didn’t deserve this. Yet, her feet stayed planted in place and the tears stung at her eyes as she swallowed down a strained cry.

“I know that. I-I do.” She whimpered. “I… I never meant for this to happen.” Lucy sucked in another breath, cooling the rawness of her throat. “But I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t need to be.”

“Lucy,” he warned, fists tightening by his side.

“You… You said I could tell you anything. So p-please.” Her heart poured everything into her words, voice cracking as she looked at the wood, wishing that she was looking into his eyes instead. “Let me.”

Natsu steeled himself. Her jab was low and he knew it. Though, he couldn’t help the sinking in his gut or how he felt his throat constrict. He was never good with emotions and he hated the feelings that were washing over him now. It was difficult to understand, even harder for him to feel - the betrayal of a spark that was quickly dampened by the overwhelming rains of mistrust. As much as part of him wanted to hope and to give second chances. Especially for her. Lucy had been the touch of calmness to the raging inferno inside him. He hadn’t felt that kind of way in a long time and yet… He knew the answer he had to give her.

“No.”

The word felt thick on his tongue, barely pushing it past as his eyes became wet, but he meant it. He did. Even though his heart was breaking, the weight crushing onto his chest as he stilled - becoming frozen in place against the door.

“I... “ Lucy struggled to breathe, the world stopping around her. It was a simple answer, yet it caused an immeasurable amount of panic that washed over her. Her nails bit down into the flesh of her arms and her lips curled downwards as the tears started. The same pain of when he had walked away from her was filling her up, coiling around each part of her body as she threatened to fall to the ground.

As soon as the first sob left her lips, she could no longer stop.

He had to close his eyes when he heard the sharp intake of breath, the muffled cry that seemed to be torn from her throat before she coughed. Yet, it was strained and guttural before she choked, her tears finally spilling over and Natsu used everything he had to tear himself away from the door.

He barely took two steps before he turned back, pulling in his bottom lip. He didn’t know what the hell he was doing. This was the right choice, he felt it in his gut, but why did it send a shooting pain through him? Why couldn’t he walk away? He threw his hands into the air, before they pulled tightly at his pink locks and the sound of her breathing becoming erratic on the other side of the door was only pushing him to do something stupid.

He knew that he hurt her, but she would get over it. Natsu knew she would. She would go home, curl up into her husband's side and be happy whilst he kept himself here. Alone. That was just how it was, even though the thought had his blood boiling and made it hard for him to breathe. This was what he had to do.

Ending it here was good for the both of them.

“I really… I-I,” She sobbed, taking in short shuddering breaths that shook her shoulders. “I can’t go back. I w-won’t, please.” Lucy’s voice was getting louder as she continued to speak, words a rambling mess. “You do-don’t… un… understand. He… Natsu. I can’t go back to him. There’s nothing left! Please.”

He grit his teeth, grinding them together. The image of her face, when he had walked out on her, was at the forefront of his mind. Though, it never really left. The way she had looked, it made him restless and Natsu had been doing everything he could to stop feeling the guilt that was eating at him, the care, the need to be there for her. He wasn’t meant to care. This was entirely bullshit. Lucy was…

“I… I’m so sorry. I-I had no…” She sobbed, “Where else to go. And-”

Her tears grated on his will. Listening to her strained sobs was torture and he begged himself to move. He didn’t understand what she was talking about. This didn’t make any sense. She shouldn’t even be here.

Lucy was right - he didn’t understand.

He didn’t get why she would see someone else. Someone like him when she had a nice house, a good job, someone to come home to every night. Why did she waste her time? And why was she so upset? He was the one meant to be hurt. He was the one she had lied to. Lucy had waltz into his shitty fucking life and turned it on its head, spruced up his entire routine by just existing cause god, he wanted to see her smile more. It was a constant pull and then she had taken everything right from under him and left him grasping at short straws trying to find an answer.

She knew what she was doing and so she didn’t have the right to be hurt. To come here and ask for him, because he knew that he would open that door. No matter how hard he tried, lied through his fucking teeth and took a stand. He was going to open it and it was just a matter of time because Natsu was stupid. He had too much hope that wouldn’t kick the bucket no matter how much he put on a front.

“I… I don’t know what to do.” Lucy hiccuped, her face turned down as she shook her head. “You’re the only person that… t-that I know.” She could hardly breathe, her cries spilling before she could stop them. Her nails were piercing her skin and she could only continue falling apart.

Natsu couldn’t take it anymore. He had enough. She had no right to do this to him.

With one stride he was back at the door, swinging it open as he gripped the handle so tightly that it felt like it would come off. His shoulders were shaking and he ignored how his fingers were trembling as he inhaled sharply, eyebrows drawing in as he finally stood in front of her with all the pain he was feeling written across his face.

“Lucy! I told you-”

He felt his heart stop. His eyes blown wide, mouth falling open as the words died in his throat and his fierce hold on the doorknob dropped. Everything that he was going to say to her left, his thoughts halting as he stared down at her, bloodshot brown eyes full of fresh tears as she was sobbing in front of him.

Though it wasn’t her tears that had hit him like a punch in the gut. There was blood, dripping from her hairline and down the side of her face - some of it dried into mats in her blonde locks. Her shirt, the same one he had last seen her in, was ripped, her small arms desperately clinging to her chest in an attempt to cover the skin that it exposed as she hugged herself. Yet, that wasn’t what had him struggling to comprehend as the shock kept him rooted in place, fear beginning to well up in his chest as he took her in. It was the angry scarlet marks that littered her pale skin, deep purple bruises already beginning to form in the shape of fingers around her arms, wrist and neck. That was what attracted his attention the most - the red raw skin of her throat, the small scratches and drops of blood that was splattered across her chest, then the hands that were burned into the skin with violet prints.

He could barely choke out her name before she was collapsing into him.

Natsu stepped forward immediately, catching her and bringing her into his chest. She was shaking, her whimpers muffled in his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her. He felt empty, barely able to form a sentence as he continued to stare at where she had once been, now only looking into the dark street. Her car wasn’t even here.

“Lu… cy?” His heart kicked into gear as he swallowed. “Lucy?”

She only shook her head, words muffled into his chest as her fingers now found his shirt and she held onto him desperately whilst he moved his body so that he could hold her up - to keep her stable against him.

Lucy sobbed, “Please… P-Please let me in. I-I can’t. I don’t have anywhere else, N… Natsu. I’m so… s-s-sorry.”

It was like ice had been dropped down his back, his hands instinctively tightening around her smaller form as he looked down at the top of her head. “Lucy, what… what happened?”

The blonde only continued to shake, holding onto him for dear life. Her knees were weak, unable to support herself as all her weight leaned on him. Safety. She was safe, the one thought continuing to run through her mind as she revelled in the warmth of his body and sunk into the arms wrapped around her.

“I-I. Just how? Lucy, are you…” He was frantic, tripping over his own thoughts. Every emotion had left him, the shock taking over to replace his senses as he struggled to form a coherent sentence. His eyes came away from her form, an urge to reassess his surroundings kicking in as he looked for a threat, but he saw none. Only the same street that he had become familiar with after years of living here. It put him on edge and he pulled Lucy closer as the need to bring her inside heightened.

Natsu shuffled himself down to lift her up, cradling her close to himself as he took care to adjust her in his arms. He tried his hardest not to lose his balance, but his anxiety was through the roof, hands coming to pry her fingers from his shirt as he settled her on the couch.

She wrapped her hands back around her waist.

He pulled his hands through his hair, eyes flicking from Lucy to around the room. “God, where is my fucking phone.” He had to call the police, or an ambulance. Hell, his blood was beginning to boil as his mind began registering that someone had hurt her. That they had hurt Lucy. He gnashed his teeth together, fear and anger beginning to raise an array of emotions within him as he searched the coffee table with shaking hands.

Natsu nearly flipped it over when it wasn’t there.

“For fuck sakes,” He tried to calm himself down, but his stress was beginning to peak. Pulling a hand up, he rubbed the creases forming on his forehead before he turned to Lucy and crouched down in front of her. “Luce, you need to tell me what happened. We have the call the police if the person who-”

“No… Please don’t.” She shook her head, not meeting his gaze. “I just.” her voice was barely above a whisper, strained and weak as she reached for his hand, holding him close to her. “I just want to stay here… for n-now. I-If that's okay.”

The refusal was on the tip of his tongue, mouth open until she brought her eyes up to his. She looked broken. Not cracked, or torn. Just broken, as if someone had split her seamlessly in two. Lucy was exhausted, and he knew that bringing the authorities would only bring an added stress to her. Natsu had his fair share of run ins to know that it wasn’t easy.

Yet, he felt inadequate as he knelt in front of her. There had to be something that he could do for her, especially since he wasn’t there to fucking help her when he should’ve been.

“Please, Natsu.” She asked after his silence.

“Okay,” he breathed. “Okay.” He tightened his grip on her hand before he stood up. “I’ll be right back. Let me just…”

He didn’t finish his sentence as he walked off. There were a thousand thoughts rushing through Natsu as he took a moment, trying to take in as much air as he could. His hands were shaking, body humming with energy - the need to do something as he started pulling open cupboard doors, clattering utensils together and taking out a bowl to fill it with hot water.

He jogged to the bathroom, eyes flicking around every which way as he bounced around the walls to rummage through the bottom draw and hoping he had something left in his first aid box and that he hadn’t used up all the shit inside it, but he wasn’t making it easy for himself.

Natsu was a mess, his unsteady hands trying to quickly gather up the sprawled out contents. He wasn’t sure what he was meant to do in this situation. He was still trying to absorb it all, that Lucy was sitting in his living room looking like she had been hit by a fucking car, or something. Natsu hadn’t expected her to show up covered in blood, he hadn’t expected her to show up at all. They were meant to be finished and so why the fuck did she turn up here. Didn’t she have a husband to -

He didn’t get to finish that thought before he dropped the container onto the tiles.

“Fuck,” he hissed, bending down to pick up the contents once again before he stood. “Fucking hell.” Natsu put the first aid box down, turning on the tap and splashing cold water onto his face. He spat into the sink, grabbing a hand towel to roughly dry the water off before he was looking directly at himself in the mirror.

God, he needed a cigarette.

He bit the inside of his cheek. Natsu had to get a hold of himself. This was too much. He was too much. Whatever was going through his mind right now he had to switch it off, his lungs heaving in deep breaths as he tried to keep himself calm. He tried to focus, pushing down the shock that had seemed to paralyse his senses as he concentrated and among the disarray there was one thought that managed to throw itself apart from the others.

Keep her safe.

As he locked eyes with himself he nodded, pulling himself back from gripping onto the cabinet as he smoothed out his breathing. Now wasn’t the time to freak out. Lucy needed him, she had even asked him herself. He had to let everything go, making sure she was okay was his first priority.

Natsu pulled a hand through his hair again before he came back out, throwing a clean towel over his shoulder as he grabbed the bowl of hot water with the small medicine box under his arm and walked back to Lucy.

She hadn’t moved from where she was in the few minutes he left her, not even an inch. Her shoulders were still shaking, but her tears had lessened - only small cries leaving her lips as she pulled her lower lip between her teeth and kept her arms wrapped around herself. Lucy flicked her eyes up as he pushed everything off the coffee table, setting down the contents in his hands that he thought he would need as he kneeled in front of her again.

Natsu’s face was grim as he eased his gaze over her injuries again, mouth set into a hard line as he soaked the towel and wrung it of any excess water. “Let me know if this is too hot for ya,” He spoke - his voice carrying a heavy weight in his almost silent house. Yet, Lucy didn’t answer him and he only paused for a second, eyes flicking up to her own for any sign for him to stop, before he began wiping up the blood.

He softly grabbed onto one of her hands first, easing it away from her body like handling fragile glass. There was only a moment of hesitance from her, but soon she let him slip his fingers into her own as he pulled it closer to himself. His skin ghosted over her own, hesitant to linger anywhere too long as he cleaned her fingers tips and up her arm. His dark eyes kept flicking up to the cuts and the bruises, but he knew he had to ease her into it - he could leave them a little while longer.

A thick tension settled in the room. Neither of them spoke as he kept at his task, working in the minimal glow from his lamp as the shadows made the wounds look angrier against her pale skin, more violent, and Natsu had to stop his lips from twitching downwards as he moved to her face.

Lucy flinched away and he stopped, hand outstretched to her. He tried to find her gaze, but she hung her head and refused to meet his dark eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “You can… You can keep going.”

Natsu nodded even though she couldn’t see him. He kept his jaw tight, carefully moving as he watched her closer. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, his only thoughts right now surrounding taking care of her. Though, every new cut or bruise he revealed made it harder for him to keep his touch gentle.

He moved her blonde hair behind her ear. It was still matted with blood, but he would have to soak the tresses later. His main concern was the wound on her head, the worry gnawing on his insides as every possible fear popped up in his mind. Natsu got up on his knees, coming closer to her as he inspected the gash.

“Does this hurt?” Natsu whispered while he traced his fingers across the skin near the cut and Lucy grabbed onto his upper arm, stilling him immediately as her eyes flickered up to his own. Their faces were close, only a few breaths away from each other, but the distance felt like miles as he locked his gaze with her own.

“Y-yes.”

She pulled her lip between her teeth and Natsu tried to soften his expression. “Just breathe, okay?”

Lucy nodded meekly and he pulled back, dunking the wet cloth and rinsing it before he moved back.

“Hold onto me alright. Squeeze as hard ya want,” He soothed, smile quirking up as he added. “I’m sure I can take it.”

He waited a moment, watching as the blonde readjusted her grip on his bicep and pulled her eyes shut. Taking her deep breaths as a sign to go ahead, he carefully pressed the cloth first to her lower jaw - dabbing up the blood as he slowly cleaned her face. With each brush against her skin she winced, fingers tightening on their hold on him but she never once told him to stop. The only sign that she was in pain being the pinch in her brow or the small hiss that left through clenched teeth.

Natsu monitored her breathing, watching as her shoulders rose and fell with each intake of air. She was still shaking, but Lucy seemed to be concentrated on keeping her breath steady, each one deliberate as she held it for three seconds before repeating. As he climbed high with his ministrations, the uneasy feeling in his gut only twisted further. It was deep, stretching into her hairline and it looked like it would leave a tender scar. She must’ve hit the ground, or been hit -

“What’s your favourite colour?” He asked, cutting off the troubles that were beginning to swirl in his head.

Her brown eyes opened with a start, meeting him immediately as he pulled the cloth down to rinse it again. The silence carried between them, the lull returning as Lucy remained quiet. Though, Natsu waited until she was ready, keeping his hand busy as he squeezed the cloth underneath the now lukewarm water.

“It’s-” She started, but pulled her eyes down as she cleared her throat. “It’s blue.”

The sound of water dripping into the tub filled the room as he nodded, bringing the cloth up to her face once more. This time now hovering over the cut directly. “Try not to pull away,” He said gently and Lucy tightened her grip on his arm as he pushed the fabric against the wound.

She scrunched up her face, brows pulling in as her lips twisted into a grimace. “I-It’s okay…”

“Good,” Natsu breathed, though he didn’t miss a beat as he asked her another question. “So, what’s your favourite animal?”

Her expression eased as the sting subsided, though was soon replaced by pursed lips as she gave him a look. “I-I can’t choose that,” She almost whined. “I... like all of them.”

He raised a brow at her. “All of them? Really, Lucy?” His tone was teasing as he added, “I don’t think I believe that.”

“W-well…” She trailed off and Natsu thought she wouldn’t answer him before her soft voice reached his ears again. “Except for baboons,” Lucy murmured, flicking her gaze away from him and Natsu couldn’t help the twitch of his lips.

“Baboons?”

She nodded. “They make me… U-uncomfortable.” Her voice was barely audible as colour flushed her face. “With t-they’re butts.” The bloom on her cheeks was faint, but Lucy still couldn’t fight off the burn of the blush as she refused to look at Natsu.

He bit his lip, suppressing the smile that was trying to force itself on his face. “O-oh. That’s…” Though, he couldn’t finish his sentence as the chuckle bubbled up, nearly escaping before he clamped his lips shut as he pushed his lips down into a forced frown. Except he was betrayed by the shake of his shoulders, his eyes watering as he desperately tried to fight it off.

“Don’t laug- Ouch!” Her hand moved to his own where it had jolted against her cut and Natsu quickly swallowed down the chuckle. Any trace of humour leaving the air as the reality of the situation refused to be ignored.

His features returned to their prior places, though it was softer this time - jaw no longer locked as he looked up at Lucy.

“Sorry.” Natsu’s voice was gentle as he moved the cloth away from the cut. There were still traces of blood, but it was better than before, it’s length now visible and he swiped the skin around it once more before putting the cloth back in the bowl.

Lucy brought her eyes up, holding his gaze. The corners of her mouth had twitched up and it helped ease the broken picture in front of him of dried tears and marked skin. “Don’t worry about it.”

He had to tear his eyes away from her, busying his hands to stop himself from staring. Natsu flicked through the first aid kit, getting scissors in hand as he rolled out the gauze.

“I think you’re being harsh on those monkeys,” He spoke aimlessly as he cut off a square from the white meshed fabric. “They didn’t ask to be like that. Just like how you’re Lucy. You can’t help who ya are and there’s no changing it..” Natsu squinted as he held it up to her face, seeming to imagine the patch over the cut before he settled it down. Though, she said nothing as he continued to rumage, pulling out a bottle of alcohol that he quickly poured onto the gauze.

His knees cracked as he finally stood from his position on the ground and moved closer to her. His breathing was steady as he carefully pressed it down, pulling away as he grabbed a few bandaids, which he used to help hold down the patch. Natsu smiled at his handy work before looking back at Lucy.

“It’s just how it is.”

Her brown eyes stared up at him, chin titled only slightly as his words seemed to be mulled over. He didn’t look away.

“You’re…” She cleared her throat, “I think y-you’re too nice.”

Natsu blinked, mouth falling open as she broke away from him. Her head turned downwards and she went back to clinging onto what was left of her shirt. Her words sounded like they meant more, holding more weight that settled on his shoulders and returning the frown on his lips. He bent down as he picked up his cloth, carefulling trailing his hands on her shoulder before he grabbed the matted pieces of her long hair where the cut was.

He hummed, trying his best to clean through the blood that had dried there. “I wouldn’t say that.” The thought of how he was pushing her away earlier flickered through his mind and he stopped, a feeling he couldn’t describe clawing at his insides as he looked down at the woman seated on his couch. “I nearly left… I -”

“You are helping me when you shouldn’t be,” Lucy spoke, her voice void of any emotion. “I shouldn’t even… be here. Yet,” She paused, taking a deep breath and Natsu couldn't tear his eyes away as she gripped onto her shirt tighter and tighter. “Yet, here I am.”

He dropped his hands. “Why wouldn’t I help you?” His tone was angrier than he would have liked it to be. “You’re covered in blood- Lucy, you’ve been hurt!”

“I’ve hurt you!”

“That doesn’t matter.” He threw down the cloth, teeth bared. “Why would any of it matter!”

She sucked in a sharp breath. Lucy was crying again, voice weak as she spoke again, “Because.... I-I… I never wanted to drag you into this.” Her shoulders were shaking and she continued to try and pull her shirt closed. “It just… it wasn’t meant to turn out this way.”

“What? Turn out what way? What do you mean, Luce?”

Lucy shook her head, bowing in front of him as she clammed up.

“You have to tell me what’s going on, Lucy!” His emotions were getting the better of him and he had to take in a deep breath, dark eyes watching her as she dug her nails into the flesh of her exposed stomach. “Just -”

He dragged a hand through his hair as he walked away from her. Not wasting anytime as he returned with one of his jumpers and a blanket. He laid the thick comforter onto the couch before he tried to hand the jacket to Lucy, though her tears were not stopping as she struggled to breathe.

“Hey, Hey!” Natsu settled himself next to her, grabbing onto her hands as he tried to get her to look at him. “Lucy, please. Luce!”

“I-I’m… s-sorry.” She stopped, pulling her brown eyes up to his and he moved to capture her face, warm hands cradling her cheeks as her bottom lip wobbled. Lucy was barely keeping it together in front of him and he tried his best to wipe away the tears that were still falling.

“It’s s’okay. Breathe,” He soothed, voice soft as he kept her steady. “Just breathe.”

She hiccuped, “But -”

Natsu interrupted her, shaking his head slightly. “Don’t. Just calm down, Lucy.” He pulled away when she nodded, only to push the jacket towards her. “Put this on ya. You’ll feel better.” He held it out for her and Lucy followed what he told her as she put her arm through, letting Natsu drop it as she shrugged on the red fluffy jumper. As soon as it was around her, he moved to zip it up before encircling her in his arms.

The blonde let herself drop into his chest and he pulled her closer, only shuffling slightly as he reached for the blanket and pulled it over her. She sniffled and Natsu massaged his fingers through her hair while she breathed deeply, shaky exhales that fanned across his neck and sent shivers down his spine.

“It’s okay,” He whispered, repeating it to her again and again as he held her flush against him. He peered down at her, tucking her head underneath his as they sat there in silence. “You’re gonna be okay.”

Though, Lucy weakly shook her head. “It’s… n-not okay.”

“Luc -”

He tried to speak, but she was pulling away, bringing her teary eyes up to his gaze as she tugged on the bottom of his shirt. “I am sorry, Natsu. I-I really never wanted any of this…”

Her voice was soft, but the tone told him that she was serious and his lips pulled down into a frown, eyes turning dark as he stared right back at Lucy - the dim light stretching the shadows further on her broken expression.

He took a breath. “What… What happened, Lucy?”

Her head dropped, shoulders slumping as she tried to force a watery smile. “Well...  That’s the thing. I’m not really sure.” A choked laugh bubbled up. “I’ve never been able to guess what happened… w-where, or how, it all went wrong. What I did to fuck it all up...”

Natsu stayed quiet as she seemed to collect herself, not even moving as he watched her every move and how her fingers curled into tightened fists.

“You remember, don’t you? When we first met?” Her eyes were glassy, looking far away as she spoke like Lucy was reliving everything right before him. “We were already halfway to the bed when you asked me if I knew this was just a hookup.”

He grimaced, listening to her talk as he tried to picture the faint memory. They were both drunk and he had a habit of being blunt when under the influence.

“Yeah… I remember.”

She looked up, eyes glistening in the warm light. “I had told you then, that it was okay. A hookup was all I was looking for - and that was true.” She breathed in deeply, waiting a few seconds before she let out a shaky exhale. “It was meant to be my one mistake… A-a night where I could finally let go.”

The break in her voice started a new wave of tears to appear in her eyes and Lucy bit her lip as she swallowed, trying her best to keep calm but she knew that Natsu could feel the tremble of her hands.

“But I never told… j-just what it was that I was running from that night.”

Natsu didn’t realise he was holding his breath, hands tightening on the blanket by her side as he felt the twist of anticipation in his gut. This was his answer. He knew it, but he couldn’t help the dread that was lingering behind his need to know. The feeling that he wouldn’t like the next words that came out from her lips.

“I only came here tonight because I… I had nowhere else to go.” Lucy was no longer trying to smile, her features twisted into one of grief as she tried to keep going. “I-I know it was wrong and that I shouldn’t of ever tried to pretend that he-”

She sobbed, her words getting cut short as she tried to take in more air. “If I… If I go home then I d-don’t know what he’ll do to me…” The tears were falling down her cheeks, the fat droplets maring her face as she whispered in a voice so choked up that Natsu had to strain himself to hear her. “He hurts me.”

Natsu didn’t know what to do when she fell into his chest again, sobs wracking her body as her shoulders shook so hard it sent reverberations through him. He felt cold, almost like when he had first opened the door and saw her bloody and bruised, but it wasn’t quite the same.

The icy grip squeezed his heart, so tightly that he felt like he was going to freeze up and he was. Natsu could barely move a muscle as Lucy cried into him, his hand only moving to rest on her back as he tried his best to understand what she meant. Though, he felt like he already knew the answer. It became entirely clear as every moment fell into place and screamed at him to face that truth that he refused to acknowledge. That he didn’t want to believe.

His mind could only repeat the words again and again in his head and he felt his throat constrict. It couldn’t be true. He didn’t want it to be. Lucy didn’t -

He hurts me.

Him.

Her Husband.

The man that was the reason Lucy had bruises in places that didn’t look normal and why she stumbled to come up with a reason and why she closed up when she couldn’t give him one that was good enough. The man that Natsu had seen in the photos in her house and left her with as he stormed out without giving her a chance to even talk to him. The man that had beaten her so badly that she had shown at his door covered in blood with hand prints wrapped around her throat and -

He tried to breathe, but there wasn’t enough air to fill his lungs and he wrapped his arms tighter around the blonde who’s breathing had finally settled. Natsu didn’t know how long he must’ve been sitting there but it seemed Lucy had fallen asleep nestled into his side. Her head was leaning against his shoulder and he allowed the silence to wash over them as he tried to get his bearings. The tension in the room had faded and turned to a chill that clung to Natsu’s skin.

The world, he felt, had crumbled around him. His dark eyes drawing down to the crown of Lucy’s head and her sleeping face, tear tracks dried as she held onto him so tightly like he was her only lifeline in this moment, which he wanted to laugh at. Him? Natsu couldn’t have chosen someone worse for the job.

He barely had his own shit together rather than helping someone through their own. He was messy, unpredictable, and struggling to work through everything that had slowly piled onto him over the years.

Lucy, Natsu thought, has terrible taste. Yet, his gaze softened as he continued to stare at her, bringing one of his hands up to push the long blonde hair from her face as he sighed.

But he… He pressed his lips into a tight line. The thoughts were spinning around in his head and he couldn’t have imagined this would be the end to his night, holding onto the girl who was the second person to break his heart and leave him feeling more vulnerable and pathetic than ever before.

He breathed in, but he would do it. He would do it for her.

[hyperpsychomaniac]

Who Says You Can't Go Home - Chapter 4

Darkwing Duck (90s series) fanfiction

Sequel to my recent fanfic The Other Side of Me

Summary: Down on his luck, the Negaverse Launchpad crashes at Launchpad’s parents looking for help. Launchpad, who has avoided visiting his family since he started working with Darkwing, returns in a panic to ensure his double isn’t causing trouble. And then it gets awkward.

Chapter 1

***

“Are we there yet? I thought you said this was supposed to be fun?”

Launchpad shook his head and grinned. “Nearly there, kiddo.” The whining should have been bugging him. But he was surprised she’d actually come. This one was much more of a troublemaker than his Gosalyn had been. Not that she hadn’t upset her adoptive father on more than one occasion, but that had always been innocently. She’d been such an odd child.

“Are you listening to me?”

“No.”

“Launchpad doesn’t ignore me.”

“I’m not your Launchpad.” The Negaverse Launchpad took one last drag on his cigarette, then stomped it out under his boot and carefully kicked dirt over it. “Look, we’re here.”

They’d come upon a derelict little shack. Behind it ran an old creek bed, all but dry in the arid weather.

Gosalyn frowned. “I’m still not impressed.”

“Man, you’re a tough little nut, aren’t you?” Launchpad booted open the rusty door, and the whole hovel rattled and shook. A single, not-quite-upright support column propped up a support beam that ran across the centre of the roof. The column visibly swayed, dust rained down from the rotting ceiling and the old kerosene lamp he’d hung up bounced around, but the shack stood firm. One day he was going to send the whole thing crashing down, and that was exactly the reason Launchpad kept booting the door in so hard. Inside was littered with fuel cans, butane canisters, a couple lengths of PVC pipe, crates of bottles and cans, some old course rope, and, of course, potatoes.

Gosalyn raised an eyebrow. “Where’s the gun? This is just a pile of trash.”

Launchpad winced. The terrible thing was she was right. He really missed his rocket launcher. He scooped up the PVC pipe and tossed it to her. “Well, you’re going to learn how to make a gun from a pile of trash. Grab the other half. I’ll get the potatoes.”

Gosalyn looked at him like he’d grown another head. But he definitely had her hooked. She grabbed the other length of pipe, and carried them both outside.

Launchpad gulped at the lump in his throat. Oh man. He was getting attached way too fast. Hanging out with Gosalyn had roused that faint feeling of guilt down inside. He’d have liked to have thought he’d gotten between his Gosalyn and Negaduck once or twice, that he’d protected her. But the truth was, despite all his faults, Negaduck would never dream of physically hurting his daughter. He had other ways of keeping her in line. Launchpad had never stood between them; he’d never had the guts. He’d just been the guy who was usually around when Negaduck got so fed up with his daughter he felt like hurting someone. At least now his Gosalyn was being looked after way better then he’d ever been capable of in Negaduck’s house. She was better off without him.

Launchpad huffed and hefted up the crate of potatoes. “Bastard.” He booted one of the butane canisters and sent it spinning out the door.

“Hey!”

“Pick it up. We need it.”

Outside, Gosalyn was trying to assemble the bits of PVC pipe, her tongue stuck out in concentration.

“Here.” Launchpad set up the pipe to form the canon, resting it on its makeshift tripod so it pointed out and over the dry creek bed. Across the other side he’d previously set up crates, bottles and cans. And, most importantly, nothing that he’d get in trouble for hurling a potato clean through.

Gosalyn was picking up on the general idea. She rifled through the crate of potatoes, picked a good sized one, and rolled it down the tube. Then she scowled. “How’s a bit of plastic supposed to fire a potato?”

Launchpad picked up the tin of butane and spun it around so Gosalyn could see the ‘caution: flammable’ warning on its side. “We’re going to set this. On fire.”

“You’ve really got a theme, don’t you?”

Launchpad filled the tube with gas, and sat himself behind the pipe to line her up and make sure the recoil didn’t send the whole thing spinning off. That had been pretty funny the first time he’d fired it, and Gosalyn probably would get a kick out of the whole contraption knocking him on his ass. But he wasn’t going to risk it with the child of the superhero who probably still didn’t trust him around. Satisfied everything was set up as safe as a potato gun could be, her lit her up.

The potato shot out of the tube with a pop, sailed through the air and splattered some hundred yards across the other side of the creek.

Gosalyn’s jaw dropped. “Keen gear.”

Launchpad loaded and fired off a half dozen more. Truth was the thing was impossible to aim, and he rarely had to go out to set up new targets. Still, he somehow managed to send a potato splintering through an old crate he’d set up. He broke down laughing, which really confused Gosalyn. He’d spent far too long scratching a likeness of Negaduck into that crate, but you couldn’t actually see it from this distance.

“Okay, you weirdo. If you’re going to sit there and giggle, I think that means its my turn.”

“Alright, alright. Let me get you set up. This things got a fair bit of kick. Wait…” The sound of an engine cut into the desert air. It sounded like a motorbike. Launchpad’s eyes narrowed and his fists tensed at his sides.

“Is that a motorbike? What, what is it?”

“Probably that damn kid.” Launchpad drew in a breath, and fought down the part of himself that still wanted to deal with any annoyance with as much force as possible. He’d kept it at bay last time, even if Mrs McQuack hadn’t been entirely happy when he’d told her what happened. “I caught him riding on the McQuack’s property a few weeks ago. When I told him to clear off, he back-chatted me. So I fired a potato in his general direction. I think he got the message.”

Now, he was going to have to find some other way to deal with the situation. Mrs McQuack had told him off, despite the fact he’d made it clear he hadn’t actually fired the potato straight at the brat. She hadn’t made him do anything dumb like go apologise, but she’d told him not to fire projectiles at or near people again. Especially kids. “At least, I thought he got the message.” Launchpad shielded his eyes as he searched for the machine. It was familiar, but now he wasn’t sure it was that same kid’s bike.

“Fill her up. Check. Aim. Light her up!”

Launchpad didn’t realise what Gosalyn was doing until the PVC pipe let out a decidedly louder than normal pop. The slam of an impact and splintering wood followed a split second later.

Launchpad spun around. “Shit!”

The PVC pipe bounced and rattled along the ground then rolled to rest. Gosalyn slumped against the side of the shack where she’d been thrown, one of the brittle boards cracked and splintered behind her head.

“No, no, no…” Launchpad skidded to his knees beside her and gently shook her shoulders. “Kiddo?”

The motorbike rattled up behind him and the engine shuddered off. Even a bratty kid would help. And if he didn’t, he could donate his bike to getting Gosalyn back to the house as quick as possible.

“Oh. Wow. Nice job. She’s been here, what, three hours? I can’t believe I used to let you babysit. In fact, I can’t believe you’re still alive.”

Launchpad’s chest tightened; he couldn’t breathe. His vision grew fuzzy around the edges. All he could focus on was his trembling hands and how they engulfed Gosalyn’s tiny shoulders. Gosalyn. Launchpad finally managed to suck in a gasp of air, and the oxygen cleared his head. He couldn’t let him hurt this Gosalyn. Launchpad gathered every ounce of his strength and turned to face the voice from his past.

“You ran away from me too, didn’t you?” Negaduck. He was right. There. His yellow and black motorcycle behind him, and Launchpad wondered how he’d ever mistaken its sound for a dirt bike. “So much for loyalty.”

“What are you doing here?” Launchpad’s voice grated and caught in his throat.

“I tailed that idiot Darkwing Duck. Figured I could have a little fun out here.” Negaduck’s beak split into a wide grin. “But this is a surprise. Where’ve you been, buddy?”

“I was never your buddy. You have to leave. Now.” His voice sounded weak, pathetic. Even to his own ears.

Negaduck laughed. “Oh, someone definitely ran away, didn’t they?” The cackle cut off just as quickly, then Negaduck was right on top of him, grabbing him by the collar, pressing his beak against his. “You don’t tell me what to do!”

Launchpad stumbled back under the unexpected weight and his heart-rate rocketed. He shoved Negaduck off and threw up his guard. “Don’t touch me!”

Negaduck raised his hands and took a step back, chuckling. “Someone’s developed a backbone.”

“You can’t. Be here. You’re whole deal is Saint Canard, and Darkwing Duck, and… you can’t mess with the McQuacks. They’re good people. They don’t live in a place like Saint Canard. They can’t deal with all this superhero and villain stuff.”

“The McQuacks, huh?” Negaduck stroked his beak, completely ignoring the fact Launchpad was squared up like he wanted to fight. “Oh, you idiot, what have you been doing? Playing happy little families? This isn’t your world, you know.”

“Never stopped you from trying to take it over.”

Negaduck flung his arms wide. “That’s because I’m ambitious. But now, there’s an idea. Messing with a cute innocent country family whilst Darkwing Duck tries to protect them? Could be fun.”

“Negaduck, don’t.”

“Come on, Launchpad. You know it will be. I know I usually left you in charge of the home front. But, seeing as you’re here, why don’t we both have a little fun?”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Negaduck waggled his eyebrows. “I’ll let you fly my aeroplane.”

The faintest hint of a thrill rose in Launchpad’s chest. He was actually letting him… And then, slowly, he lowered his fists. “I… I can’t believe I let you take that away from me. I’ve got plenty of aeroplanes I can fly now. And the people who own them don’t tease me with them, and make me feel like I have to earn every last little shred of respect!”

“Been behaving yourself, have you? Got them fooled? Please. What do you think they’ll think about this?” He pointed a finger at Gosalyn. “Or this?” And jabbed his thumb back into his own chest. “As soon as they see who you really are they won’t be so forgiving.”

“Darkwing’s here.”

“Yeah, and you just knocked out his daughter. Listen up, Launchpad. I’m giving you a choice. As soon as your little surrogate family realises I’m here, they’re going to start asking questions. They’re going to think you called me, or at least that taking you in was what brought this tragedy down upon them…”

“You leave them alone.”

“Maybe I will. I’d rather cause my havoc at night anyway, so I’ll give you until sunset. Then, you’re going to come back to this sad little shack and you’re going to tell me you’re ready to help me take down Darkwing Duck. In return, I’ll let these good, kind people get away with simply the scare of me slaughtering a superhero in their back garden. Or, you oppose me, or tell Darkwing I’m here, and if that happens…” Negaduck cackled. “I’ll burn this whole place to the ground, along with any soul unfortunate enough to get in my way!”

Launchpad’s fists shook at his sides. Grab him now. Tie him up. Beat him to a pulp. He’s half your size! All those thoughts bounced around in his head. But he didn’t move. “Negaduck, please don’t.”

Negaduck threw a leg over his motorcycle and started her up. “Think about it, old pal. It really would be fun causing chaos with you again.” Then he gunned the engine, skidded around so the bike threw up a wave of dirt, and tore away.

As soon as the motorcycle disappeared over the nearest rise, Launchpad’s knees buckled. His back slammed into the old shack besides Gosalyn and he put his face in his hands. “Aw, kid. What am I supposed to do?” He fished the packet of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket, and fumbled to push out a single one so he could grab hold of it. The simple task was almost impossible.

Gosalyn shot to her feet. “I knew I needed to keep an eye on you!”

“Shit!” The packet jumped from Launchpad’s hands and cigarettes scattered everywhere. “Damn it, kid. I thought you’d really hurt yourself.”

Gosalyn put her hands on her hips. “Don’t play games with me. I saw you talking to Negaduck! You’re still working for him, aren’t you?”

Launchpad’s heart plummeted. “No! I didn’t even know he was here, I swear.”

“A likely… story…” Gosalyn blinked a couple of times, then sat down heavily.

“Aw, man, you’re not okay, are you?” Launchpad reached out for her.

Gosalyn swiped a hand in front of her face. “Back off, buster.”

He could’ve scooped her up and there would be nothing she could do about it, but Launchpad paused in his advance. “You hit you’re head. I just want to check you’re okay.” He reached out for her again, slowly, and she lowered her hand. He felt her head. There was no blood, but he thought he could feel a decent sized bump.

Gosalyn tolerated it for a second, then slapped at his hand. “Ow, stop.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Two.” She frowned up at him. “Your hands are shaking.”

Launchpad swallowed hard. “I’m not working for Negaduck. Please believe me. He was just… there. He said if I didn’t help him he’d hurt the McQuacks. What am I supposed to do?” Suddenly, nothing seemed as important as this kid believing him. He didn’t know what else to say to convince her.

“I must’ve really hit my head… okay. He must’ve followed us from Saint Canard. Maybe we should tell Dad.”

“No! We can’t. If I tell Darkwing, Negaduck’s going to hurt the McQuacks. I have to deal with this myself. And if the McQuacks find out…” If he lost their trust, he didn’t know he could take it. No wonder this world’s Launchpad had been so angry with him when he arrived. It didn’t matter that he’d changed. He’d dragged trouble right along with him. Launchpad hung his head. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

Gosalyn leaned over and swiped her knuckles into his arm. It was a terrible punch, and he was sure she could’ve done better had she not been semi out of it. “Come on. Where would you be if you hadn’t crashed in their front yard?”

Not causing trouble for innocent families for sure. Launchpad stood to his feet and held out a hand. “Can you get up?”

Gosalyn pushed herself to shaky feet and grabbed onto his arm.

“Right, I’d better carry you.”

“You are not carrying me like a baby.”

“I’m not letting you walk.”

“Hang on. Crouch down.”

Launchpad did as she instructed. Gosalyn managed to make a little jump, and hook her arms around his neck. Launchpad hefted her up in a piggy back, making sure he had his arms under her in case she passed out again and lost her grip. He started heading back to the house. “You’re not going to tell your Dad about Negaduck, right?”

“Okay fine. But you have to do something for me first.”

Despite his apprehension, Launchpad rolled his eyes. This kid was something else. “I’m not letting you play with the potato gun again. But, go on, anything else. What do you want?”

“I know Negaduck’s not a nice guy. But you’re terrified of him. What did he do to you? Launchpad told me about him making you burn your planes, but, you know, what else?”

Launchpad’s guts tightened. “Aw, man, kid. You don’t pull any punches do you?”

“If someone scared my Launchpad that bad… well, that’s why I was so mad at you.”

“Okay, okay…” There was plenty to choose from. Some he certainly wouldn’t share with a kid. But neither did Launchpad want to downplay her question by choosing something like Negaduck getting way too competitive about playing punchies, which had never really bothered him at all. And then he thought about his own Gosalyn. “It wasn’t just me he was a jerk to…”

***

“Come on, Negaduck. Are you sure you’re not going a bit overboard?”

“Stop whining,” Negaduck grumbled as he balanced on Launchpad’s shoulders so he could tie his minion’s wrists to the branch above. The dying tree in Negaduck’s backyard couldn’t take his weight, so they’d just settled for stringing him up to it with his feet still on the ground. “You’re the idiot who let her keep talking about getting a pink pinata for her birthday. Honestly, I leave you two alone for five minutes…”

“You beat a pinata with a stick! I thought you wanted her to find something violent to enjoy? Sounds like violence to me.”

“She wants a pink pony pinata because its supposed to have candy inside. Urgh. I don’t want any daughter of mine getting candy for her birthday. By this age, I expect her to ask me for a butterfly knife or something.” Negaduck finished his knot, then leapt back to the ground. “If she wants to hit something with a stick the only thing she should enjoy getting out of it is blood and teeth.” He scooped up the rolled up bit of cardboard that had come with the pinata Gosalyn thought she was getting, and thumped Launchpad heavily on the chest with it.

Launchpad grinned. “Heh. Yeah. That’s always fun. I’m glad she won’t be knocking anything out with that flimsy piece of trash though. But we’ve got to start her somewhere, right?”

“Oh, yeah of course.” Negaduck dug amongst the smashed paper mache they’d already destroyed in the corner of the yard, and came up with a handful of colourful candy, and a pink ribbon. “Now, hold still.”

“I don’t want that thing in my hair… wha…”

Negaduck rammed the candy, wrappers and all, into Launchpad’s beak, then trussed it up with the pink ribbon. “That’s much better.” He grinned, patted Launchpad on his bulging check, then screamed: “Gosalyn! Get your butt out here. It’s pinata time!”

Gosalyn stumbled out of the house in her pink party dress, blindfolded. She grinned madly as she swayed across the yard like a drunk man. “Dad! Can I at least see the pinata first?”

“What? And break the pinata rules?” Negaduck winked at Launchpad. Then he hurled the rolled up piece of cardboard over the Muddlefoot’s fence. “Won’t be needing this!” He reached into the pile of paper mache and pulled out an aluminium baseball bat.

Launchpad shuffled back. “Nefadufck…” he mumbled around the plastic mixed with sickly sweet goop in his mouth.

“Stay where you are, Launchpad!” Negaduck barked.

Launchpad jerked to a halt at the order.

“What?” said Gosalyn. “What’s he doing?”

“Being pushy. You know how he likes smashing thing. But you’re the party girl; so you get to go first.” Negaduck shoved the bat into Gosalyn’s hands and adjusted her grip. He pointed her to face Launchpad.

Gosalyn tapped the bat on Launchpad’s hip.

“Higher, sweetheart. If you want it to spill, you need to hit it right in the guts.” Negaduck leaned forward, hand on his daughter’s shoulder, a wicked grin splitting his beak.

Gosalyn adjusted her grip. All the practice Launchpad had with her in the back yard was paying off; her swing was perfect. The bat slammed up under his ribs. Launchpad dropped. The flimsy bough broke under his weight and snapped in half on impact across his back. Launchpad doubled over as bile leapt up his throat and mixed with the gunk in his mouth. He spluttered and gagged and couldn’t get air, and then the flimsy pink ribbon popped and the whole mess spilled out on the browning lawn.

Gosalyn ripped her blindfold off. No way she could’ve been fooled that impact had been with paper mache. The bat clattered to the ground at her side.

“Gosalyn… I’m… kay…” Launchpad said, then sagged back down with a wheeze.

Gosalyn’s eyes filled with tears. “Launchpad, I’m sorry.” She bolted back into the house.

Negaduck cackled. “Happy birthday, sweetheart!”

Launchpad spat, then pushed himself to his knees, a hand still to his belly.

Negaduck grabbed him by the collar. “Next time, I expect you to talk her out of this kind of garbage before I have to get involved. I can find someone much bigger than a little girl to take a swing at you.” He hauled him to his feet and flung him towards the house. “Now go ask her if she wants cake!”

***

He’d carried Gosalyn almost all the way back to the house now. Launchpad gulped and adjusted his grip underneath her. Between Darkwing Duck and the McQuacks, he really didn’t know how this would pan out.

“You can put me down now.”

Launchpad let her slip off his back. She grabbed him around the waist and hugged him tight.

“Hey… what?”

“I’m sorry, Launchpad. I knew Negaduck was a jerkface, but… I won’t tell my Dad. And I’ll help you take care of Negaduck.”

“Heh.” Launchpad prised her off him. “Let’s just make sure you’re okay first.”

***

Drake had paced the porch for the last half hour. His only consolation, despite Birdie’s assurances that the Negaverse Launchpad was harmless, was that it was highly unlikely he had kidnapped his daughter. Gosalyn would have taken off with him simply because she knew her father wouldn’t like it.

Finally, he saw her coming down the front path, Launchpad’s double trailing almost right behind her. Drake cleared the front steps and rushed to meet his daughter. “Gosalyn, don’t go running off like that!”

He knew something was wrong when Gosalyn looked up at him, not ready for an argument, but with relief. And then she slumped into his arms. Drake clamped her tight to her chest. His gaze snapped up to the Negaverse Launchpad, and the only thing that stopped him from slamming a fist into his face was supporting his daughter. “What did you do?” he hissed.

“Dad, it’s okay,” said Gosalyn, though she still clung to him. “It’s not his fault. I was being stupid and I fell over.”

Launchpad shuffled a boot through the dirt. “She hit her head. I’m sorry. I thought I was watching her.” The subdued moment was just so… Launchpad, that it gave Drake pause. His buddy’s double actually felt bad about this. So he should, but still.

Leaning on the porch railing beside his wife, Ripcord went rigid. “Wait, she hit her head?” He paled several shades. “I’ll… doctor…” He bolted back inside so quickly the door slammed into the wall and the front windows rattled.

Birdie winced. “Rip! It’s okay, she’s conscious…” She hung her head in resignation. “Great. We’re going to have the entirety of the town’s medical staff here in ten minutes. I thought we were past this.”

Drake scooped Gosalyn up, despite her half-hearted protestations, threw a glare at Launchpad’s double, and followed Birdie inside. His heart still thudded in his chest, but it was steadily slowing. He wasn’t sure how mad he was supposed to be at the Negaverse Launchpad. I mean, he’d be mad at Launchpad if he’d let something like this happen, but he wouldn’t hold it against him. He wasn’t surprised Gosalyn had gone and down something dumb. It wasn’t the first time.

“Yes, send them now!” Ripcord growled into the phone.

Birdie, put a hand on his arm. “Ripcord, calm down. Here…” She took the phone off him. “Yes, she’s conscious. But if you could send one of the doctors over that’d be great.” She hung up, then turned back to her husband and grasped his hands. “Are you alright?”

“Better safe than sorry,” Ripcord grumbled.

Launchpad pushed past them, not making eye contact with anyone, and went into the kitchen.

Drake took Gosalyn into the living room, put her down onto the sofa and rearranged the cushions around her.

“Dad, I’m fine.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure you are. Although, its not the first time you’ve given yourself a concussion.” He squeezed her shoulder. “That head of yours is nearly as hard as Launchpad’s. You’ll be fine.”

“My son does not have a hard head,” said Ripcord. “And neither does your daughter! You don’t know what happened to her; it could be serious. How can you be so blase about your own child…”

Drake saw red. He whirled and stabbed a finger into Ripcord’s chest. “I think I know whether my daughter needs medical attention or not, thank you very much!”

Although Drake had intended to give him a good prod in the chest, he found himself pointing just above the man’s belly button. Ripcord glared down at him, and then his shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to help.”

Drake lowered his hand. “I… yeah, I know. Thanks for, you know, being so on the ball and calling the doctor. Sorry, I overreacted.”

Ripcord smiled tightly. “Hey, its fine, I get it. I have kids too, remember?” He turned to Birdie. “How long ago did we call?”

“Speaking of kids,” said Birdie. “I heard one of our planes come back over. Launchpad might be back in the hanger. You should go talk to him. He’ll be in a better mood after taking a plane out.”

“Yeah, but…”

Birdie patted his arm.“Not your kid. We’ll handle it. You know you’ll just get underfoot.”

“Probably,” Ripcord huffed. He glanced one last time at Gosalyn, then headed out the front door.

Launchpad came back from the kitchen with a glass of water and took it to Gosalyn. Drake snatched it off him, then handed it over to her.

“Dad, really?”

“I don’t know what you two were up to,” he said, voice low. “But you are not going out together unsupervised again!”

***

Chapter 5

[mellifluoushood]

okay since you said someone (I forget the tag, my apologies!) bought you edibles, I’m assuming you have some sort of experience with them, so would you ever be willing to write about getting high/doing edibles with Calum or better yet Cashton? I love your writing so much! xx

ah yes, @calumscalm bought me edibles because she is a doll and i love nadya

i have experience smoking, but i don’t have any experience with edibles, that’s why nadya decided to order some for me lol. but, i have several fics about getting stoned with calum, but i don’t have any with both calum and ashton. so, here you go my dear! i hope smoking with the both of them will do! if not, send in another request about edibles specifically and i’ll write it after i’ve tried them!

here are the calum fics i was talking about: (thin white lies) and today, i saw the whole world, and it was right in front of me (this contains smut!)

A/N: also, warning, this got a lot smuttier than i intended, but hey uh, here we are. there’s no sex but there’s sexual imagery. 

“Why are we listening to Kid Cudi?” Ashton asks, his nimble fingers taking the joint from his mate’s grasp. Calum rolls his eyes, resting his head on the back of the sofa, looking at the dark, curly haired man with absolute annoyance.

“Because why not?” He scoffs, letting his eyes flutter shut as he listens to the remix she had gotten him hooked on. 

“There’s two types of music you listen to when you’re stoned,” Ashton comments, wrapping his lips around the roach and inhaling. He feels the smooth smoke coat his mouth and throat, dissipating into his bloodstream before he inhales again, bringing the smoke into his lungs. He sits, holding in the breath before exhaling slowly, feeling the warmth of the buzz weaving into his brain and his eyelids. He repeats his motions, each time experimenting with the way he exhales: the first was through his nose, then letting it drift out his mouth and inhaling the smoke through his nose before letting it out again, then through circular rings. She watches with curiosity, surprised that he was able to French inhale.

“You guys and me,” he finishes his thoughts from minutes before. Calum rolls his eyes again,

“You’re telling me smooth rap with a strong beat that hits your chest is not the music to listen to when you’re stoned?” Calum asks. She stands up from the couch, stretching slightly. Ashton uses his free hand to tap his friend’s ass. She whips her head around, narrowing her eyes at him before smiling,

“Cheeky bastard,” her accent is thick and wraps around the words like Ashton’s lips continue to wrap around the joint. She pushes the coffee table in front of the sofa to the side so she can lay on the plush carpet of Calum’s living room. It’s soft to the touch, caressing the skin of her midsection that her crop top and gym shorts didn’t cover. Her eyes are hazy, looking up at the two men on the sofa in front of her. Ashton’s thighs are covered in gym shorts whilst Calum sports grey sweatpants. Both opt to remain shirtless, the heat of the summer seeping through each crack and crevice of Calum’s house.

“You enjoy it,” Ashton muses, taking one last, long toke before passing the woman on the floor the joint. She sits up, aware of their gazes as she takes the first hit off this specific joint. This one was Calum’s, both Ashton and her’s had already made it around the small group. She tilts her head back, basking in the feeling of warmth that hits the back of her head, heating her cheeks and fading her inhibitions. They watch her throat as it bobs around the breath of smoke, bringing it into her lungs. She opens her mouth, not necessarily exhaling, but letting the smoke escape through her parted lips.

“Eh,” the pitch of her voices raises and Ashton can’t help a deep chuckle that escapes his chest. She lays back again, taking another hit off the spliff in between her fingers. Her chest expands and she knows that they’re shamelessly staring at the movement of her breasts.

“Dogs,” she mutters with a small smile on her face. This catches their attention and their eyes land on her’s. Each set of eyes is ringed with red, glazing over as each and every molecule of THC makes a home in their blood cells. She almost laughs at how stereotypically stoned they look, but laughing takes too much effort, and she’s too stoned to give a shit. She sticks the joint in between her lips before mumbling around it, “If I were to take off my shirt and just lay here in my bralette, would you care?”

The men share a look, as if to say to the other, since when would we ever care and shrug their shoulders in response. Her head lulls to the side, looking at them head on, “Good enough for me.” The joint sits on her lips as she fumbles with the bottom of her shirt, pulling the material over her chest and over her shoulders. She’s careful to not bump the lit end and spill ash over herself. She lifts her back and shoulders to rid herself of the shirt and she lays back down, only clad in small shorts and a PINK bralette.

“Why are you lying on the floor?” Calum asks and she rolls her eyes,

“Why aren’t you lying on the floor?” She challenges. Calum shrugs, again, as if it’s the only response he’s capable to giving to other people’s questions. He slides off the couch, joining her and laying on her right side. He admires the soft tickle of the carpet against his sweat licked skin. He turns his head to Ashton,

“Now, you’re the odd one out, again,” he jokes, referencing Ashton’s music comment from earlier. It’s Ashton turn to roll his eyes, before getting up from the couch and occupying her left side. The three of them lay on the floor, height differences between the men and the woman quite humourous. They lay shirtless, skin damp with perspiration as their heads float away. She takes another hit, inhaling into her lungs nearly straight away with another breath. She holds it again for a few seconds before blowing it out. 

“Post Malone?” Ashton nearly groans, his voice a near whine when the music switches.

“Oh my god, mate,” Calum groans in return, “shut up and stop fucking complaining.” Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Ashton mimicking Calum’s mouth movements with a scowl. She just chuckles to herself, inhaling again. The room starts to tilt a little, so she takes another hit and passes it to Calum. Calum grabs it with his right hand, clasping onto her thigh with his left in gratitude. His skin his hot but his rings are ice cold, the platinum freezing marks into her skin, causing the flesh of her thighs to erupt in goosebumps. The heat of her high carries towards her centre as she acknowledges the height of Calum’s hand on her leg. His fingers tickle her inner thigh, barely pressing into the skin. She swallows, closing her eyes and tilting her head back, trying to forget the heat of his touch. She exhales, focusing on the sensations that run through her system.

For a while, the only thing she could smell was the weed, but as Ashton and Calum lay close to her, she can smell their cologne sticking to their skin. Ashton’s cologne is bright, refreshing, contrasting to the heavy smell of the weed. Calum’s cologne seems to mix just right, the smell of cigarettes lingering on his fingers adding to the heaviness and woodsiness of his fragrance. She had laid on the ground, hoping to cool down, but the men’s bodies are almost touching her’s, heating radiating off them like they were on fire. She can feel sweat starting to lick the crevice of her breasts and behind her knees at the sudden increase in body heat. The carpet starts to warm up the longer they lay there, but all of a sudden, she’s too tired to move. 

Her mind begins to float, listening to some ‘Rockstar’ remix that Calum had put on the queue after her remix of Kid Cudi’s ‘Day ‘N Nite’. The beat of the song thumps through her chest, off rhythm with the beat of her own heart. Her heart is racing, both with the high and the proximity of the two men. She swallows, letting her eyes flutter open at their silence. She turns to look at Calum, to see if he was still puffing on his joint, which he was. He looks down at her, his brown eyes hazy, pupils blown. She smiles up at him and he doesn’t hesitate to respond. He brings the joint to his lips again, the bracelet around his wrist moving and twinkling in the dim light. The chain matches the longer one that dangles around his neck, laying on top of his tattoos. Her eyes cast down to the black ink etched into his skin, admiring the way the black contrasts, yet blends with his brown skin. The sun had tinted it even darker, the melanin casting his complexion the true brown it was when it was tanned by the sun, almost like the Australian sun he had grown up with. 

He notices her zoning out and takes the second to tap her inner thigh, she jumps slightly, the sudden pressure dragging her out of her thoughts. She doesn’t bother to apologise, knowing that Calum had seen her admiring him on multiple occasions, and him returning the favour on more than one occasion as well. He hands her the joint, hearing Ashton huff next to her,

“Greedy prick,” Calum mutters as she just laughs, shaking her head and inhaling again. Her gaze turns to Ashton next, who’s already gazing at her. His green eyes are electric, sharply contrasted against the red staining the whites of his eyes. The dark dye of his hair only adds to the contrast, the green and hazel flecks popping. His complexion doesn’t have the same brown undertone to Calum, but he’s tan just the same. Hairs tickle his broad chest, his arms thick as they cross over his chest, in a relaxed manner. He gives her an earth shattering smile, the scruff forming on his cheeks and jaw only emphasising the whiteness of his teeth. 

“No, you just suck at sharing,” Ashton comments, eyes never leaving the woman next to him. If both men were to say they hadn’t at least admired her shape at least once that night, they would’ve been caught in a dead lie. They couldn’t help but notice the curve of her breasts, covered with a lacey patterned bralette. The shade of the fabric went nicely with her skin tone. The black gym shorts she had on left little to the imagination, the curvature and girth of her hips stretching the material. A matching lace print could be seen peeking out the top of her shorts. Her legs looked heavenly, moisturised with lotion and absolutely shining luxuriously under the light. Her hair was splayed out beneath her head, leaving her shoulders and collarbones fully exposed. She hadn’t bothered to take out her hoops before laying down. The light bounces off the reflective metal. Her eyes are the most fucked out of the three of them even though her tolerance was better. When Ashton had gone to pick her up from her apartment, her eyes were already burning with red, glassy to soothe the irritation.

“You done?” She asks, taking one last hit of the joint and passing it to Ashton.

“Hm, not yet.” She feels Calum’s hand trail even further up her thigh and she has to resist coughing out her last toke. She manages to swallow down the cough, keeping the smoke in her lungs and exhaling when she was ready. Ashton’s eyes notice Calum’s hand. He places his own hand on her left thigh and she lets out a shaky breath. Their proximity allows to hear the exhalation over the music still playing from the speaker. 

“Definitely, not yet,” Calum murmurs turning on his side. Ashton repeats his motions, reaching above his head and stubbing out the joint that wasn’t nearly finished, but something had caught his attention instead.

And she didn’t mind one fucking bit.

taglist: @gigglyirwin​  @loveroflrh​​ @ammwritings​​ @calumscalm​​ @dukehoods​ @toofadedtofight​ @babylon-corgis @talkfastromance4 @thesubtweeter

[nais-nook]

Sawyer - Pt 3

(Hey there! You may be liking/reblogging something without links to new pieces I may have written for this character, just letting you know in case you’re interested in reading more!)

Imagine writing a Sawyer part but he doesn’t show up. That’s so like Sawyer lmao. I promise he shall return. Sawyer belongs to @yandere-flower​

~***~

Part 1,  Part 2

Summary:  You get rescued, though the person who landed you in this predicament is nowhere to be found.

Pairing: Male x Female Reader.

Words: 2402.

Warnings: Kidnapping, Swearing, Violence (and Blood).

Your fingers were numb, and yet you still felt the burn in your wrist and the thousands upon thousands of pin pricks running up and down your arms. The strained muscles in your back and legs let you know you had been in this position for longer than anyone should, and despite your body begging for release, the restraints that held you wouldn’t budge. You couldn’t see anything, not with the damp strip of whatever it was wrapped tightly around your eyes. 

In the darkness you could make out vague whispers - one distinctly nasally, alongside a much gruffer and scratchier voice. Whether the stale stench of cigarettes and alcohol was coming from them or not, you didn’t know. There was a scuff of boots. What you could only assume was broken glass was scraped aside along the floor, then the scrap of material was ripped off your face.

You winced, eyes watering as they adjusted to the harsh light spilling in from the ajar door. Your years of training did not help as bile began to rise in your throat, burning and bitter. The beat of your heart grew so intense it was all you could do to not focus on it.

The man crouching in front of you was tan, with greying hair and wrinkles to match.

“Where’s the white-haired Japanese prick?” 

You were taken aback, expecting him to be the one that sounded like he smoked a pack a day. He was the nasally sounding one, speaking as if he had a stuffy nose.

“I - what?”

He moved in extremely close. You tried not to gag. “What, you don’t speak English, sweetheart?”

Sawyer. They were definitely talking about Sawyer. Why were you being asked about Sawyer?

“I- I’m sorry, I-”

Before you could utter another word, something metal was pressed against your temple. You were suddenly very conscious of every slight movement you made, of the air being sucked out of the room. Cold dread ran rampant in your veins.

Calm, calm, panicking won’t help you.

It was much easier thought than done.

“Where. Is. The tattooed dude. With the piercings. You know who we’re talking about.”

“Sawyer.” The lanky one standing in the doorway spoke. “Cauley.”

“Who’s that?”

Lies, lies, all lies. The smell of the room suffocated you. Rust and damp and foul. Your legs trembled, against your will.

“Listen girly,” the thing at your temple pressed harder, “don’t act stupid. We know you patched him up after he had a scrap in that alleyway.”

The man at the door sighed, picking at the glass of its shattered window. “We just need to know where he is. We’ll leave you alone after that, alright?”

Even if they were telling the truth, and they would let you go after you told them, you had nothing to tell them. Sawyer had made good on his promise to never see you again, so the fact that these people even knew you were barely associated would have been baffling. If you weren't so terrified, that was.

“I don’t know,” you answered, voice shaking despite your honesty.

“Try again.” 

It was a blade pressed against you, and the bastard holding it had drawn blood. Searing pain ripped across your skin. You almost retched. You hoped and prayed at the very least the blade was clean.

Your words tumbled out, each one more frantic than the last. “I swear, I don’t. I patched him up and he left. He could be halfway across the world by now for all I know.”

“See the thing is, we have a score to settle.”

“I don’t know. I don’t understand.”

The blade travelled from your temple to your neck, its tip dragging along your skin. You leaned back as far as you could. From the glimpse you caught, the blade wasn’t rusted, but you knew that meant jack shit on whether it was actually clean.

“Someone very important died because of Sawyer.” The older man mumbled.

“W-what? Who?”

He pressed the knife right up against your carotid artery. Tears blurred your vision. “Ah, see, you’re not privy to that information.” 

“I’m telling you I have no idea where he is.”

 The one fiddling with the broken glass looked straight at you. “He didn’t say anything, hm? Didn’t send anything?”

He had sent you something. Flowers. But the address on that was probably fake, assuming Sawyer had some working brain cells left in that head of his. 

A hand wrapped around your throat and you flew into a blind panic.

“Flowers. He sent me flowers, but I threw away the card, I don’t know where it is.”

The gangly man nodded; eyes fixed on a point you couldn’t discern. “So, he did survive after you were done with him. Interesting.”

They… thought he had died? They thought he had died. You just told them he was alive and well.

Shit, shit, shit -

“So -”

A loud thump echoed throughout the room, its source right outside the door. You didn’t want another stranger walking into the room, not when you were so close to passing out. The room tilted.

The gangly one at the door slipped what looked to be a gun from his belt (a terrible place to keep a gun, really). It did nothing to stop the person outside from barrelling in and completely knocking him out in a matter of seconds. The man who was previously holding a knife to your neck seemingly manifested a gun out of nowhere and pointed it at… Thomas?

It was Thomas. 

You flinched, expecting a gunshot to tear right through Thomas’ chest. Instead the bullet that pierced the air came from the hallway and landed squarely in your captive’s shoulder. His cry was shrill in your ears, but even that couldn’t distract you from the sight that was Ambrose, her hair tied back and face ghastly as she stalked in. She landed a stomp on the man's head. He fell silent.

“Hey.” It was Thomas, fiddling with the restraints around your wrists. “You okay?”

“No,” you choked. From the corner of your eye you witnessed Ambrose drag the taller of the two unconscious men through the door and shattered glass. You could have broken down into tears right then and there. From fear and relief.

Thomas stopped for a moment, and he pressed his forehead against yours. You felt a little more at ease when he whispered, “You don’t have to be.”

Your wrists were rubbed raw and your joints cracked when you were helped up. You nearly toppled over at the sudden chorus of gunfire and yelling from below.

“Sorry about your ankles hun, but you’re going to have to run.” Ambrose frowned, head tilting towards the direction of the hallway.

“Run?” 

Thomas stroked your hair back, face shrouded with sympathy. “I’d carry you, but that would just make both of us a bigger target.”

“Don’t fret, Tommy and I’ll be right next to you.” 

Ambrose swivelled her foot right as someone tried to barge through the door, flipping them effortlessly into a pile of crumpled beer cans. With a swift kick of her steel toed boots the man went still. Immediately she reached for you, fingers wrapping around your upper arm and steered you down the hall. You didn’t miss how she completely avoided your damaged wrists.

It was darker. Much darker than the room you were tied in moments ago, and you had to hold onto Ambrose with your aching fingers to steady yourself. Ambrose approached the end of the hallway, the dim glow revealing a set of stairs. The fighting was deafening here. Gunshots and shouts reverberated through the narrow passage as you struggled to keep your breathing steady. Thomas, who had been padding behind, silently advanced in front of you, giving a hand signal you didn’t understand before creeping down the stairs.

“I know.” Ambrose gave your arm a little squeeze. “Just pretend you’re at some sort of intensive surgery. Nothing will happen if you do what we say, okay?”

“Okay…”

The faint light from the stairwell made Ambrose’s face look younger, softer. And then you remembered she wasn’t that much older than you to begin with. What caused her to fall into such a violent line of work, you didn’t know. Maybe if you both got out of this alive you would ask her.

Tentatively, you stepped down the stairs, wincing at the spike of pain that shot up your leg as you placed weight on your ankles. Ambrose’s arm was immediately at your waist, and she supported you as best she could down the uneven steps. As you got closer you could pick out the thump of things being thrown amongst the yelling. Thomas was crouching on the bottom step, face serious.

Ambrose drew you closer still, her voice hushed as she said, “Listen, we’re gonna have to do some running and ducking, okay? Just don’t let go of me.” Thomas threw up another hand sign before disappearing into the fray. “We just gotta wait for a little while.”

A little while is probably what it was, but it felt like the moment stretched on for an eternity. Then, out of nowhere, three shots rang out in the mess, clear as day. Ambrose didn’t say a word, jerking you forward so roughly you nearly tripped over yourself. 

A warehouse - you were in a warehouse, dodging and weaving through gargantuan shipment crates as Ambrose pushed and pulled you through bits of debris and rubbish. You couldn’t take it all in even if you tried. You caught a glimpse of Thomas in the corner, wrestling someone carrying switchblades. Gasps of moon rays filtered through the broken beams in the ceiling.

“Eyes forward (Y/n), you’re going to fall,” Ambrose hissed, pressing you flush against a metal container as someone was thrown right past you both. Whether they were friend or foe you were unsure.

The noise was giving you a headache amongst other things, and if it weren’t for the adrenaline and Amrbose’s insistent tugging you could have fallen asleep right there. Exhausting was seeping into your veins like you were on a drip. It felt like a miracle when Ambrose was able to steer you to a door, before shoving you through it.

“Get into a car, any of the grey ones, hurry.”

The door was flung shut.

Why, why, why - 

Why were they risking everything to come and get you? You did nothing for them. You had nothing to give them. 

Something heavy slammed against the other side of the door. You could barely hear the sound of your soles hitting the pavement over the noise as you scrambled to the cars, climbing into the nearest one. 

“... Riley?”

The door wasn’t even shut properly before the tyres squealed and the car jerked forwards. You clung to everything and anything. Every turn of the car caused you to lurch against the seats and doors.

“Get your belt on!” He veered right. Hard. “Did you not hear me?!”

“I’m trying!”

You finally managed to clip the buckle in just as he swerved right again.

“Riley you’re going to kill me!”

“Shut the fuck up, or I will kill you on purpose!”

A digital ringing resounded in the car. Riley’s hand shot out, grabbing one of the many mobiles strapped to the dashboard. You saw his mouth move in the rear-view mirror but could barely hear the words spoken over the roar of the engine and tyres.

“Oi, (Y/n),” he yelled, giving you a passing glance in the mirror, “hold on to something.”

What?

If you were finding it difficult to keep your insides where they belonged before, you were definitely struggling now. Riley paid no mind to the speed bumps dotted along the road, skidded around corners at a speed you knew was illegal, and even forced the car down narrow alleyways.

“Riley! Why are you driving like a maniac?!”

“I’m trying to get you to the drop off point!”

“Drop off point?!”

You barely managed to process what he said as you were flung right against the window. You caught a flash of the menacing smile plastered onto Riley’s face as he gripped the wheel and gear stick in terrifying confidence.

He yelled over the engine, “Listen, we’re hitting a tunnel soon, and you’re gonna have to jump!”

“What?!”

Your head was spinning.

“As soon as I tell you to go, you fling that door open as far as it goes, and you fucking jump!”

“I’ve never done anything like that before! I’m going to die!”

“Well, if we get caught, we’re both fucking dead!”

This is it, you thought, mind a flurry of too many things with too little time to sort them out. I’m going to actually die, and my family will have no idea where I went or who took me or -

Cars identical to the one you were strapped in tailing behind Riley’s erratic driving. Your car slowed down slightly as it entered a tunnel, plunging you into darkness. Your heart lurched in your throat. 

A hand on your leg pulled you out of your panicked stupor. Riley’s green eyes were lit up by the lights on the dashboard. He stared at you in the mirror, his face deathly calm. The world quietened down immediately.

“You open the door as far as it goes, you jump at an angle away from the car - there’ll be a grassy patch so the landing won’t be as rough - and then you pull all your limbs in and roll. Land on your shoulder if you can. You’ll be fine.”

And then all the sounds came crashing back.

“Someone will pick you up, just hide near the entrance of the tunnel until they arrive! Ready?!”

“No, I’m not,” you whispered, hands shaking like mad as you unbuckle your seatbelt.

“Wait for it.”

Your knuckles blanched as you gripped the handle.

“Now!”

You flung yourself out of the car.

You could have sworn you heard something crack as you landed on your shoulder. Your skin was on fire as you skidded across the grass. You pulled back just as the grey cars sped by, one after another.

And despite being exhausted to the brink of collapsing, you still managed to drag yourself to hide in the shadows on the tunnel.

All that was left to do was wait.

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Blue Eyes Part 20

Summary: After the Garrison is shot up, the youngest Shelby daughter finds a new home in London. She strips herself of her last name and tries to live a peaceful life far away from her brothers’ chaos in Birmingham. But fate leads her right back into it after she runs into Alfie Solomons.

Part 20: Alfie and Ella can finally leave Birmingham but that doesn’t mean their problems are over. 

      It was as if losing her unborn children was the final straw. Ella had put up with so much heartache in her life but fate had taken it too far. The doctors said she wasn’t healing very quickly because she was refusing to help herself.

           “She’s given up.” The doctor shrugged. “This is often the case with mothers who have miscarried.”

           Alfie sat by her bedside as long as she would allow him to. When she was lucid, she was angry. She cried and begged to be put out of her misery. The pain was too much to bear, that’s what she sobbed. Alfie didn’t know whether she meant the physical pain or the emotional hurt. He never asked.

           When she was doped up, she slept or lazily stared up at the ceiling. Sometimes she’d mumble about the horses. Lilac and the foals. Other times she would forget what happened. She would idly chat with the ceiling about how her children would be named after the ocean. That was the first thing they would see. The beautiful ocean. They’d be beautiful. Ocean colored eyes. Beautiful.

           Soon, the nurses began to give Ella heavier doses of morphine to keep her subdued. Her outbursts while coherent were too much to handle when Tommy, Polly, or Alfie wasn’t there. When Alfie found out, he nearly tore the entire hospital apart. Tommy had to hold him back from strangling the nearest doctor on call.

           So Tommy tried to enlist Alfie to help with the end of Luca Changretta. Hopefully, he could direct the man’s anger long enough to end the war and get Alfie and Ella out of Small Heath.

           Because according to Alfie there were two things driving his wife to insanity. Small Heath and the morphine. And he was adamant that the second Luca had a bullet through his head, they’d be gone.

           Tommy didn’t doubt him. So, he used Alfie’s resources while he could and soon enough they came upon the night of the boxing match.

~~~~~~~~~~

           Alfie visited the hospital before the fight began. Tommy’s own plan was in motion and if things went to plan, Luca would be dead before the week was up.

           He walked into the hospital room and took his usual seat by the small bed. Ella was asleep, curled up on her side and facing him. It was always a shot in the dark when he visited her. There was no telling what sort of state of mind she’d be in.

           “Love?” He gently touched her arm to wake her up.

           She stirred, which was a good sign that she hadn’t been taking as much morphine. Usually, when she was doped up, it was hard to wake her once she was asleep.        

           “El, I hafta go soon, I wanted to see you before tomorrow morning.”

           Her husband’s voice woke Ella and she opened her eyes. “Where are you going?” Through all the emotional turmoil and the painkillers, her memory was spotty and slow.

           “The boxing match, Bonnie’s fighting Goliath tonight.” He smiled weakly. “’Fraid we’re gonna have to wipe that poor boy up off the floor once me nephew’s done with him.”

           A dazed smile formed on Ella’s lips. It wasn’t her usual smile; Alfie hadn’t seen that in quite a while. In fact, he couldn’t remember exactly when it was. All she could muster was a blank gaze and a detached smile. “No, he’s a gypsy boy.” She replied quietly. “Gypsy boys never stay down.”

           “What about you?” Alfie adjusted her sheets, pulling them further over her.

           “Me?” She hummed and closed her eyes again. “I’m so lost, Alfie. But that’s okay, some people just get lost. My mother did, long time ago. Much before I could remember. They said she fell into the canal but I know better. She comes in at night.”

           Her husband tried not to let her notice his alarm. She spoke often about the children she lost but that was to be expected. The loss greatly affected her, how could it not? But he’d yet to hear her speak of her mother. “What d’you mean? Like you dream ‘bout her?”

           “Comes in right before I fall asleep.” Her eyes remained closed as she recounted the visions she had while high on morphine. “She tells me to come visit her. To follow her. Says she’ll show me how to see my little ones.”

           Whether Ella knew or not, Alfie immediately picked up on the context. In her altered state, her mind was goading her to end her own life. His stomach tied into knots and he hesitated to leave her alone. But he knew that if he didn’t show at the match, the plan wouldn’t go through.

           “El, please listen to me.” Alfie touched her cheek.

           Her eyes opened but the light behind them had died out. When she looked at him, there was hardly anything there.

           “I know you don’t think there’s much left here for you. But know that I still need you here. If you won’t fight for yourself then consider doing it for me. Because there ain’t anything I wouldn’t do for you. But I need you here with me.”

           Tears welled up in her eyes and Alfie was afraid he’d pushed a nerve. “Why would you ever want me?” Her voice cracked and she shoved the thin cotton sheet away from her. Sitting up with a grunt of pain, she pulled up the hospital gown. “Why would you want this?”

           Alfie had only seen the dressings over her wound. He hadn’t actually seen it after her surgery. Though considerably healed, it was an angry, gruesome reminder of what they’d lost. There was still bruising around the stitches where the skin was pulled taut.

           “I’m broken, Alfie, there’s nothing left of me. Those bastards took it all!” The volume of her voice began to rise. Panic and fear filled her chest.

           There was no reasoning with her once she got into that state of heightened anger and fear. “Alright, alright.” Alfie leaned away to give her space. “M’sorry.” It took all of his power not to fight her. To tell her that even if she’d lost all her limbs, if her face was marred beyond recognition, if she’d gone deaf or blind, he’d still love her. No matter what he would love her.

           In a huff, Ella fixed her gown and tugged the sheets back over herself. She sucked in a breath of pain as she lowered back down against the pillows.

           “What can I get you, love?” Alfie asked quietly.

           “Something for the pain.” She replied and took a deep breath.

           His jaw tightened. “When was your last dose?” He asked.

           “How should I know, Alfie, I’ve been sleeping all day.” She retorted with an agitated frown. “I don’t want to be in pain.”

           He couldn’t fight her. So, he stood up and leaned over to kiss her forehead. “I love you.”

           “I love you too.” She replied. But the words sounded like they were spoken merely out of habit.

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

           “Did you see her earlier?” Tommy came into the locker room and sat down on the bench across from Alfie.

           The man was sitting stiffly, resting his hands on the cane in front of him. He nodded briefly. “Yeah.”

           “And?” His brother-in-law struck up a light for his cigarette.

           “And she’s fucking hooked on whatever they’re giving her.” He responded harshly. “I knew this would happen; I told your aunt.”

           “They’ll start weaning her off once she’s ready to be discharged,” Tommy assured him. “It takes time.”

           “No, I’m taking her to Margate once this is finished.” Alfie disagreed.

           “That’s too dangerous. The withdrawals could make her more ill.”

           “Then what do you fucking suggest, Tommy, aye? She’s withering away in that fucking hospital and I can’t stand seeing her like that anymore!” The man’s shouts reverberated across the room.

           Tommy coolly took a drag of his cigarette. “Bring her to Arrow House. I’ll hire a nurse or two to watch after her. She can be weaned off the morphine there. Maybe she’ll have an easier time outside of the hospital.”

           Alfie gritted his teeth but considered the offer. “Alright.” He muttered. “Alright, yeah, that’ll be fine.”

           “I know it isn’t easy, seeing her like that. But she doesn’t love you any less.”

           He stood up with a heavy sigh. “Yeah, mate, sure.” When he saw her shining blue eyes again, only then would Alfie believe it.

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

           Arthur Shelby was supposed to be dead. Alfie knew much better and decided not to tell Ella of the plan. The last thing they needed was to have her go into another fit when she heard about what Tommy had cooking for the rest of the family. Instead, Alfie stayed with her in the hospital mere hours before she was due to be released to Arrow House.

           Alfie helped her dress, taking careful mind of her injuries. “Easy, there you go.”

           “Will the dogs be coming with us?” Luckily for Alfie, Ella was a bit subdued. She was lucid, but not in too much pain.

           “Yeah, they’re at the flat. We’ll pick them up on our way out. Everything’s all packed.” Alfie was thrilled to be finally leaving Small Heath. They’d leave it all behind, all the hurt and drama that Birmingham seemed to bring them. As much as he wanted it to be a quick change, he was wise enough to know that wouldn’t be the case. Tommy had warned him to be prepared for a long recovery.

           “I miss them,” Ella said quietly.

           “Yeah, love, they miss you too.” He smiled and helped her into a soft cardigan. “Warm enough?” He asked.

           She nodded and sat back down on the hospital cot. “When are we leaving?”

           “Soon as your brother calls me.” Her husband pulled up a chair to sit across from her. Taking her hands in his, he gently kissed her knuckles. “Things are gonna get better, El, I promise.”

           A look of doubt crossed her face but she didn’t argue with him. Instead, she pressed her cheek against his hands and let out a slow exhale.

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

           Anthea and Cyril were ecstatic to have the large space to romp about. They gleefully galloped up and down the pasture fences, barking at the horses and taking in the scent of the crisp country air.

           Alfie wanted to be just as happy as they are but things were not going to plan. Once at Arrow House, Ella retreated into herself. The first few days, it appeared things were looking up. She began to walk around on her own and was finally eating enough to get some weight on her.

           But once she heard plans of slowly diminishing her morphine dose, she raged. She screamed and fought the nurses, her husband, her brother, anyone who tried to calm her down.

           “I’m in fucking pain, Alfie! It’s the only thing that makes me feel better!”

           Alfie had to hold her back as she tried to push past him. He wanted to note that she seemed okay enough to fight like a rabid dog but knew that would only piss her off further. There wasn’t much left to be in pain over. Her stitches had been taken out a week after arriving at Arrow House, the wound healing quite well. The only pain she had was the addiction to the painkillers.

           It all came to a head one night a few weeks into their visit to Warwickshire. Alfie hadn’t been sleeping much at all. If anything, he slept better in Small Heath. The countryside was too quiet for his tastes. Camden Town always had the London sound and Margate at least had the ocean to lull him to sleep. Arrow House was near-silent aside from the faint sound of crickets.

           That night, he awoke to find Ella was gone. She’d been sleeping much better than he had. Either from the small dose of morphine, she was given, the amount shrinking despite her insistence. Or she made herself exhausted after getting worked up about her pain.

           Worried, Alfie got up and started to search through the enormous estate to find her. He didn’t find her on the second floor so he went downstairs. Almost immediately, he found her trying to jimmy the lock of her brother’s office. The nurses had been keeping the morphine in the big room because Tommy held the only key. When they wanted to give her a dose, they had to consult with him. That way there would be no double doses or attempts to keep Ella calm by giving her a little extra.

           Unfortunately, Ella was aware of the location from arguments with her brother. He’d shouted a few times that the morphine was locked up and he wasn’t going to let her anywhere near it.

           And now it appeared she was taking matters into her own hand. Most likely she would’ve gotten in if Alfie hadn’t woken up. Her brothers had been helpful in teaching her how to break her way through even the heaviest of locked doors.

           “Ella.”

           Alfie’s voice made her jump. She dropped the pin in her hand and turned around. “What?”

           “What on Earth are you fucking doing?” He descended the rest of the stairs.

           She bit her tongue and angry tears stung her eyes. “You don’t understand.”

           “Love, I’m trying to understand!” He rubbed his tired eyes. “Really, I am. I understand that you feel like you need it. I know you’re in pain, but it’s only gonna get fucking worse if you don’t kick it now!”

           “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” She replied sharply and bent down to pick up the pin again.

           Alfie went to stand between her and the door. “Under no circumstances am I letting you get away with what you’re doing.” He crossed his arms over his chest firmly. “So, I suggest you go back to bed and I’ll get you a cup of tea.”

           “Or how about you go get shot and then try to handle it without painkillers.” She spat. “Because that’s what you’re doing to me.” She tried to push him aside to get to the doorknob.

           He grabbed her wrists. “Ella, your stitches are out, you’re nearly completely healed. There were no infections or anything. I’ve been shot plenty of times, love, so you can’t tell me I don’t know what it’s like.”

           Furiously, she tugged away from him. “Shut up, just shut up! You have no idea what I’m going through!”

           “Ella, enough!” Alfie suddenly shouted. Weeks of hurt had pushed him over the edge. “We lost our children, I know. I lost them too, everyone lost them! Your family lost a niece and nephew. I lost a son and a daughter. You ain’t the only one who lost them.”

           “I was carrying them.” She was more than happy to kick up a fuss again. The anger fueled her like the morphine did. They were the only two states of being she’d known for what felt like ages. It was so easy to be mean and venomous. Much easier than accepting the loss of what were supposed to be her greatest gifts. “Me! I was the pregnant one, not you, not anyone else. None of you know what it was like to lose them!”

           “So that gives you the right to completely abandon the rest of your family? What’re you gonna do the rest of your life, aye? You gonna stay doped up for the rest of your life? Because allow me to let you in on a little secret, love. Soon it ain’t gonna be enough. You’ll want more ‘n more until it kills you. We’re all doing you a favor by taking you off of it now.”

           Ella shook her head furiously and tried clawing off his hands from around her wrists. “You don’t know anything. You don’t know anything!” She shrieked. “Get off me!”

           Tommy came rushing from upstairs once he heard the commotion. “Alright, break it up.” He pried his sister away from Alfie. “Ella, Ella, stop.” He restrained her once she began to attack him. “Enough!” He yelled and hugged her tight so she couldn’t move. “I’ve had quite enough of your behavior. Both of you!” He eyed Alfie.

           “Me?” He threw his hands up. “I’m doing everything I can for that woman!”

           “Fuck off!” She kicked at her brother. “I hate you; I hate both of you!”

           “Shut it!” Tommy barked. “This isn’t working. Ella, you can’t do this anymore. Either you kick it or I’ll send you somewhere else.”

           “Oh yeah? You gonna send me to an asylum, Thomas?” She spat.

           “He ain’t gonna send you to an asylum, El, just stop being so dramatic.” Alfie began to pace. How in the world did they end up there? Shouting in a posh house because his wife was so hooked on something, she was trying to break down a door to get it.

           “Dramatic? Look me in the eyes and say that again.” She challenged.

           “Fucking hell, woman, what do you want from me?” Alfie shouted. He stopped in the middle of the foyer to glare at her. “Don’t you think it fucking kills me every single day that I didn’t take that fucking bullet? That I couldn’t step out in front of it? That I would die if it meant keeping you and those kids alive? I’d give up my fucking life right now for you but I’m the bad guy because I won’t let you fucking kill yourself with them drugs!”

           Ella’s knees wobbled and she sank to the ground, slipping out of her brother’s arms. Collapsing into a pile on the floor she sobbed.

           Tommy and Alfie shared a concerned look, but the Shelby man stepped back allowing for him to intervene.

           Alfie sighed and scooped up his wife. “C’mere.” He soothed. She cried out and tried to fight against him but was too weak to do anything else. “Stop, stop…just sit with me.” He sat down on the steps with her curled up in his lap. “Just do that. Just sit. Don’t need to do anything else.”

           Exhausted too, Tommy slumped to the floor, rubbing a hand over his weary face.

           The three of them sat there for a good while. The grandfather clock in the foyer keeping time of their silence. Ella hiccupped and sobbed but didn’t move to fight her husband. Her body was twitching with the early signs of withdrawals.

           “Listen to me, can you listen for a moment?” Alfie smoothed her hair back and wiped her cheeks. “Let’s say you and I go to Margate, aye? Like we planned. Maybe the ocean air’ll do you some good.” He thought that her morphine dose had been decreased enough that she’d be able to go cold turkey without getting too sick.

           “You don’t want me anymore.” She whimpered. “I’m so messed up.”

           “Ah, love, don’t say that.” He murmured. “You could scream at me all day and it wouldn’t change a thing. I know you’re in pain. Trust me, I know. But I ain’t giving up on ya.”

           She sniffled. “Okay.”

           There was a triumphant feeling in the air. Tommy nodded at Alfie appreciatively. Perhaps this was the breakthrough they all needed.

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

           At least the ocean was pretty. It gave Ella’s personal hell a better setting. The first few hours after arriving at Margate was uncomfortable. She tried to take the dogs for long walks on the beach but often got tired and weak. Alfie did his best to keep her mind off of the drugs but she got more and more agitated as time went on. All Alfie could do was to try and not engage with her. Try not to take anything personally because he knew she was pushing his buttons to get a rise out of him. Maybe then, he would give in and let her have what she was craving so badly.

           Her symptoms got worse a few days on. She hardly slept as she was in a perpetual state of cold sweat. She constantly applied and stripped off layers of clothing throughout the night and day. Chills racked her body so badly that her teeth were chattering and grinding. The nausea was almost unbearable as she spent most of the day dry heaving in the bathroom. She couldn’t even think of food let alone try to eat. She was nearly skin and bones after her stay at the hospital and those few days didn’t do anything to help.

           Towards the end of the hellish week, she appeared to be getting better. She could stomach some light meals and began taking walks again with Alfie. The light in her eyes had started to return and she was significantly more stable regarding her emotions. But she had been left in a slump. Without the usual high she got from the morphine; she was forced to face reality. She’d lost her twins and there was nothing she could do to get them back. It left her in a depressive state.

           Going on the second week, Alfie turned on the radio in the sunroom. Ella was there curled up in his armchair, staring out over the horizon where the sun had begun to set. Her blue eyes landed on him as he knelt down to fiddle with the dials. After a moment, he found a clear station playing a soft song.

           He walked over to her and held out a hand.

           Ella frowned. “Alfie…”

           “Just one song.” He begged softly.

           Damn if he wasn’t so endearing. She sighed and took his hand, sweeping the knit blanket off her shoulders. He drew her close, letting her cheek rest on his chest. They swayed gently to the music, just enjoying each other’s company for the first time in what felt like years.

           Ella nearly forgot the way he made her heart pound mercilessly in her chest. The warmth he gave her. All at once, she felt so guilty and horrible for the way she acted.

           Alfie heard her crying softly against him. “What is it, love? Talk to me.” He coaxed.

           “I’ve been awful to you. To everyone.” She whimpered.

           “Nah, that weren’t you. That were the drugs talking.” He replied. “I ain’t mad with you. I was hurt but only ‘cause I couldn’t help you.” He kissed her hair and rubbed her back comfortingly. “But that’s in the past now. I just need you to come back to me.”

           That brought on fresh tears that bled into his shirt. Of course, Ella knew she wasn’t the same woman that had married Alfie. She missed the way they were happy together. But she felt she’d lost too much to ever be the same.”

           “Just come back to me, love, please. Can’t bear it anymore.” He pled. “Just come back.”

           Cheeks stained with tears; Ella lifted her head to kiss him for the first time in weeks. He cradled her face tenderly, drawing her back. She clung to him, refusing to part again.

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @giftofdreams @biba3434 @kimmietea @karmezii @enrapturedbythemoon @vampgirl1997

Tag list: @deaflikehawkeye @octaviareina @mylovelykelsifer @doubletriplepowerbomb @ramblingbaby​

Masterpost

Masterlist

[lesbianlovelanguage]

Lost Boys of Starwood Ch 1

Fandom: Stranger Things Paring: Harringrove Chapter 1/10 Rating: T Co-written by myself and the amazing @catharrington​

Summary: West Hollywood California was a lighthouse on the beach for Steve Harrington moving down from nowhere Indiana. But for billy Hargrove it was a cage with golden bars kept locked by his father good and tight. They both found safety inside the darkness and splendor of Starwood, but will they be able to see the only way they can be truly found is through each other?

Read it on ao3 here or in the read below

“Get your fucking hands off of me!” Billy grunted, trying to squirm his way out from between two massive bouncers.

They ignored his shouts and threats, and continued to lead him outside. Once at the door, they threw him on to the street and slammed the door behind him.

“And fuck you too!” He gave one final middle finger at the closed door, and huffed before pulling out his almost empty pack of Lucky Strikes and lighting up a cigarette. This night was turning out to be a bust. The few drinks he was able to pilfer from the bozos around the dance floor weren’t doing much more than giving him a light buzz. When Billy tried like hell to convince an older guy to buy him a shot of Jack, the old geezer got security involved. Billy had just slid his hand up the meat of this guy's inner thigh a little, nothing big. No one is ever down for a good time any more.

Thankfully, the lights of Hollywood Blvd never turned off. He walked slowly, hands stuffed down inside the pockets of his tight denim, sweat from the club slowly drying on his naked chest. Billy left the top buttons open, even out on the street, wouldn’t want anyone to miss the show.

In his short year of exploration of the strip, Billy was proud to say he had been in each club at least once. Usually he was able to get a beer in his belly and a hand on his ass before he got caught and kicked out for being 17. He didn’t look it though, hand to god. He could pass for older, no problem, the earring and cocky smirk only aiding in the ruse. It’s just he didn’t have a fake ID, and, whilst Billy hid his age, he never hid his loose sexual orientation. Some clubs were okay with it and some were not, to say the least. The ones that didn’t care played the music that Billy craved. The angry lyrics, the loud guitar, the volume breaking the metal from the speakers as quick as they can, that’s the music Billy needed in his veins.

Taking slow drags from his cigarette, head down and debating about going home for the night, Billy started hearing some halfway decent music. He turned up his head to the sound of hard drums and a fast guitar start up, followed by an angry voice practically screaming I don’t wanna live to be thirty-four. Billy was definitely intrigued, and so he followed the music to another club. The neon sign naming the bar as “Starwood” and proclaiming the night’s guest to be a band called The Circle Jerks . Between the music and the name, Billy couldn’t find one reason to resist as he steered towards the doors. The chaos of the loud music at a shitty bar seemed exactly the kind of excitement buzz Billy was craving so deeply.

Just as he was poised to go in, Billy faltered in his step as a towering brick wall of a man covered the doorway. His one hand pushed the heavy door open, while the other was almost closed in a fist around a bloodied up man's throat. They walked out farther into the sidewalk, with the bouncer dragging the other man like a doll.

Billy knew an opportunity when he saw one, and even though there was a heavy thrill in seeing this fight and getting a look at the full sleeves of ink up and down the bouncer’s arms, Billy saw an opportunity. Billy used the distraction to dive for the quickly closing door.

Inside Starwood wasn’t much. The hallway was blacked out and the floor was scuffed from use to be just as dark. Multiple layers of faded posters glued to the walls on either side were a buffer to the noise, but not a good one.

Billy let his hands slide alongside the short hallway as his ears lead him around a corner into a thick mass of bodies.

As soon as he entered the main area of the bar, he was overwhelmed in the best way. The music was loud and fast, the bodies were sweaty and constantly in motion, and the booze was pouring freely and creating sticky puddles that merely added to the atmosphere. For the first time in a long while, Billy felt at home. It was easy to slide between the dancing bodies towards the bar in the back. He hung back, read the crowd, and easily snuck over to a particularly crowded spot at the bar.

He tucked himself just behind a thin woman who was already slurring her speech and snatched the neck of a beer bottle right under her nose. She was too busy leaning forward into the space of another girl talking with her hands to notice the thief, and once Billy took enough steps away she would have no reason to suspect a thing. Sometimes people let their guard down too easily at a bar, and while Billy knew about that, thankfully he just wanted to get drunk tonight. He cleaned off the lip of the bottle with the hem of his shirt before gulping it down for dear life.

There was a uniquely shaped stage on the other side of the large room, taking up almost the whole wall but was narrow. The band performing that night had the singer squashed between a massive drum set and a guitarist who held a wide power stance in tight leather pants that fit him like a second skin. The singer didn’t seem to have a care in the world as he bumped and even grinded against his guitarist's ass during a long and heavy solo.

This bar kept getting better and better to Billy. He wondered for a moment if he would have luck with what he attempted in his previous escapade. He had leaned up against a support beam covered in stickers and something sticky, but he didn’t care about that, nothing he hadn’t felt before in other places like this. Sea blue eyes scanned around the dark room hunting like a shark.

Then he saw someone, a lanky boy, fresh as a daisy but rushed and sweating behind the bar. He had long brown hair that just seemed to float above his head like a damn halo, and brown eyes that were just as big. From where Billy was standing all the lights of the stage reflected off those eyes, rainbows of colors, and when the boy slid a glass down the bar top and smiled, it was just as fantastic. Something that pretty shouldn’t be in a place like this, where the floor was basically one big puddle and the paint was peeling. He belonged on the cover of those magazines Susan read. Billy wanted to get his lips on that smile.

Billy chugged the last of the beer and marched over to the bar, waiting for a minute until it seemed that the bartender, with eyes like that damned cartoon deer Bambi, had a second to stop and wipe his hands down with a rag, then Billy took his shot. He caught the boy’s attention with a small gesture, and he had to yell over the noise, but he didn’t really care who heard.

“Hey, fuck me if I’m wrong, but is your name Bambi?”

He heard a couple hoots and cheers from the small gathering around the bar, but all he got from the boy was an eye roll, and he strutted to the other side of the bar to continue working. Bambi it was going to be then, his goal for the night, and oh was it going to be a fun chase.

He didn’t get to keep good on his goal however, because after staring at Bambi, or rather Bambi’s ass, for a minute and debating his next move, Billy felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around, and came face to face with a person who was so clearly a skinhead, and not the nice kind judging by the nazi ring and the white laces in his boots, it made Billy want to roll his eyes.

He’d dealt with assholes like this at other bars, but he really didn’t want to go home with more bruises. It couldn’t be helped though, when the bald bastard leaned in close and spit “You a fucking fairy?” in Billy’s face.

Billy’s jaw flexed. This man was bigger than him,  but Billy wasn’t a push over. Hours under the sun surfing through unforgiving waves, weight lifting, and getting into more fights than he would care to remember has left him with an impressive physique of his own. Billy knew he was cut. And he knew how to win a fight. It wasn’t always about bigger or stronger but sometimes about the tricks.

“Who’s asking, big guy? Looking for a good time?” Billy flicked his eyes back across the bar just for a second to make sure that Bambi’s eyes were fixed on him. Their brown color sparkling with something intense as they connected. “Sorry but I’m taken right now-“

“Can’t fucking go anywhere these days without some faggot trying to suck dick in public. You’re disgusting!”

Billy couldn’t keep his smile under control, practically baring his teeth at this point. “You wanna watch me suck his dick, fella? Promise I’ll make it a show.” Then Billy’s tongue darted out to swipe along his bottom lip rapidity, wagging so suggestively, and it was turning the bald head on this bastard bright red. He hollered loud over all the music and noise of the bar, then lifted two hands gripped like fists in a club, fully ready to swing at Billy’s head of curls.

But then, the skinhead's shout was cut short. His anger boiled over so he was attacking all offense, leaving no room for defense. Billy easily leaned to the side and lifted his arm to push hard at the back of his sweaty, ugly head, successfully sending the thick skull of the man into the bar with a sickening crunch. That must be his nose, Billy had heard that noise many times before.

The skinhead crumbled to the ground, whimpering pathetically as he tried to stop the blood flowing from his face. Another man at the bar was lumbering over to haul the man up, maybe another security guy, maybe the same one from the door, Billy wasn’t watching. He only had eyes for Bambi, turning in place to stare at the bartender.

The sweet brunette bartender had obviously heard and seen what Billy did, and it worked like a charm. He leaned one hand on the bar and another against his hip, fingers coiled tight around the part where his shirt was tucked into tight denim jeans. “Nice show,” he had his head leaned down to look at Billy but his chin cocked up, like he was sizing him up. “Got a name?”

“Billy! The name’s Billy, pretty boy. But you can call me any time.” He had to yell over the music that hadn’t stopped.

“Order a drink, Billy. Whatever you want, it’s on the house.”

“You on the menu?” Bambi clearly hadn’t expected Billy to try and flirt so blatantly again, blinking a couple of times as if to process what he had meant.

“Sorry Billy, not tonight. How ‘bout a beer?” His voice was loud from having to holler over the sounds of the bar, but somehow soft and spoken just into Billy’s ear. It felt almost like a caress.

Billy grinned, at least this time wasn’t an out-right rejection. It could only be a matter of time before he wormed his way into Bambi’s heart, or at least his sinnfully tight jeans.

“Or, what about a Dirty Shirley?” Billy said, licking his bottom lip.

“How about a good ol’ Moscow Mule?” Steve hollered back, a light chuckle in his voice.

“I think I’d much rather a Quick Fuck.” Steve’s eyes glinted mischievously under the harsh lights of the bar.

“I know just the drink for you.” He then proceeded to mix together three different types of alcohol from the bottles lining the back wall. He poured it all into a little shot glass and placed it in front of Billy with a flourish.

“Well, pretty boy, what’s it called?” Billy asked, trying not to seem too eager, but fuck if this wasn’t the most fun he’d had in while.

Steve finally leaned over the bar towards Billy, and whispered in his ear. Soft rose petal lips tickled the blonde hairs curled under the lobe of his ear.

“It’s called Blue Balls,”  Steve pulled away, looking like the cat who got the cream, not realizing that his snark had only cemented Billy’s determination to win him over.

With one quick move, Billy downed the shot easily and stood up.

“You got me, Bambi, I guess I can handle a little blue balls tonight, but next time I’m really hoping for that Quick Fuck,” and with that promise of a return, Billy strode deeper into the club, thinking

You may have won this battle, Bambi, but I’m gonna win the war.

--

So this started as me being thirsty for headcanons, and then catharrington was a genius and brought up the amazing idea of punk!Billy in California, and well... Lost Boys of Starwood was born! I'm so excited to start sharing this story with y'all, so please let me know what you think :)

Also, if you're into punk music, totally check out the music in this fic! It's all LA based bands from the 1980s. Or message me for a playlist I made lol. Also let me know if you’d want me to make a taglist for this series!

[lovestonedquinn]

Guitar and Cigarettes (ft. Jeon Jungkook)

Title: Guitar & Cigarettes (ft. Jungkook)

Genre/Themes: romance, sexy (?), PG-16

Words: 1,802 words

Inspired: Let’s just say I had a really sexy dream. 

Summary/Excerpt: He exhaled the smoke and pressed his lips upon hers. She smiled against his lips, tasting both him and mint cigarettes. His kiss was feather light; a soft peck and it left her wanting more. She leaned closer and chased after his lips. The cigarette fell from her fingers and soon enough, her hands were around his neck and the battle of tongues ensued.

______

Static. How it gave her ears blisters.

Deep, bellowing bass. How it vibrated violently in her ear drums.

Cigarette smoke. How it flowed soothingly into her nostrils.

Him. How he never failed to have her whole being addicted to him to no end.

With eyes fixated upon the man before her eyes, she felt her whole soul being sucked right out of her. It wasn’t the first time she found herself in this state; she lost count of how many times she lost herself in the sight of him and his guitar. She couldn’t get the sight of how glorious he looked with his electric guitar propped against his strong, sturdy frame out of her mind, nor could she fathom how breath-taking he was, as the harsh sounding, messy but passionate tunes flowed from his fingers.

 She could hardly contain herself at how sexy he was with his eyes closed, mouth slightly agape as he lost himself in the ecstasy of his own musical world. She loved watching him when he played his guitar. Her delirious eyes observed how his tattooed fingers slithered fluidly across the strings and all over the chords of his guitar; she recalled the exhilarating familiar touch as those same slender fingers explored every inch of her skin.

 Her vision travelled from his fingers to his lean arms, at the muscles that twitched ever so slightly as he switched chords; she could almost feel them again, just like they would always feel when they wrapped around her body. Her gaze stopped momentarily at the tiger lily tattoo on his inner forearm; she smiled at the memory of how they received matching ‘birth flower’ tattoos together– his was a tiger lily, whilst hers a violet.

 Her eyes continued to his wide shoulders; she blushed at the memory of her moaning his name into his shoulder blades when he took her oh-so-fervently. She moved on to his ears, lingered a little at his sexy jaw-line and finally settled on his lips; she felt a wave of heat run through her being at the memory of him whispering seductively into her ear, how his lips fitted so perfectly on hers, how skilful his tongue, his teeth, his mouth was when—let’s not get there.

 She was infatuated with him.

She was in love with him.

 Him and his guitar.

Him and the minty cigarette smell that clung onto his clothes.

Him, and everything of him.

 “Baby?” His deep voice brought her out of her reverie.

 Her hazel eyes met his dark, smouldering ones. She realized that he had stopped playing and had carefully laid his precious guitar in the guitar stand.

 With a lit cigarette that hung loosely from his lips, he was now looking deeply into her eyes. His eyes held a certain degree of concern; he looked worried.

 “What’s wrong?” he asked, fumes of cigarette smoke escaped the sides of his lips as he held the cigarette between his fingers.

 “Uh, nothing,” she laughed lightly, trying hard to mask her obvious emotions she had for him. She was crazy, literally crazy for her silent fantasies of him, “I was... just a little distracted.”

 A hearty laugh. “Hey, girlfriends are supposed to be listening attentively when their boyfriends play for them, you know?”

 Turning away, she pouted as she sat down on the hardwood floor and leaned against a wall of his small bedroom. She picked up the Pikachu soft toy–his gift to her–and hugged it against her chest while she was at it. “I was listening! I just... got lost in the moment for a bit.”

 He took another drag of smoke as he walked towards her and squatted in front of her, his eyes now levelled with hers. He grabbed the Pikachu from her and threw it across the room, loud 'pika-pikachu’s' resounded as it hit the corner of a table roughly.

 With eyes wide like a deer in headlights, she gasped. “HEY! JEON JUNGKOOK! Don’t abuse my Pikachu like that!” She motioned to stand up to retrieve her beloved soft toy but was stopped by him when he placed his hand on the wall next to her, successfully blocking her way and trapping her with him.

 “Yah, girlfriends are supposed to be paying attention to their real boyfriends, not soft toy replacements,” he said with a chuckle.

 She shot him a glare as a swirl of smoke was exhaled from his lips. Her momentary irritation was short-lived when she felt his fingers run through her auburn tresses, moving locks away from her face and just soothing the wild ones away. It was soothing.

 He was looking into her eyes intensely as he does this, holding her captive in his gaze. He lifted his cigarette to his lips again and inhaled. Moments later, more fumes escaped his lips. Closing her eyes, she opened her mouth to catch the smoke, inhaling him.

 Oh, the taste of him and minty cigarettes was intoxicating.

 Jungkook took another drag of his cigarette as he looked at the little angel in front of him. He can’t help but wonder how a moment so simple like this, of him smoking with her lips just inches away and her so close, could make him feel so relaxed and at peace, yet intoxicating and overbearing at the same time. It was sometimes all so contradicting when it came to her.

 An exhale, more fumes swirled between them. He watched as she opened her hazy eyes and took the stick from him with two fingers. She inhaled, and he admired in silence at her puckered lips, at her beauty.

 It surprised him every time he watched her smoke. He could never understand nor begin to explain how beautiful he thought she was whenever she inhales and exhales that cancerous stick. With heavy eyes, he leaned closer to look deeper into her clear eyes. He was inevitably drawn to her, he yearned for her even when they were this close. He felt like a moth being attracted to a beautiful flame.

 He opened his mouth slightly as she exhaled, capturing the smoke that left her luscious lips. Returning the favour, he inhaled the smoke, as if she was the cigarette. But he knew she was more than just a lone cigarette; she was addictive, like a whole pack.

She was his own brand of addicting cigarettes.

 He was addicted to her.

He was in love with her.

 Her and her strawberry flavoured lipstick.

Her and her beauty when she smoked his mint cigarettes.

Her, and everything of her.

 He exhaled the smoke and pressed his lips upon hers. She smiled against his lips, tasting both him and mint cigarettes. His kiss was feather light; a soft peck and it left her wanting more. She leaned closer and chased after his lips. The cigarette fell from her fingers and soon enough, her hands were around his neck and the battle of tongues ensued.

 The kiss was raw and passionate, as if a fire was suddenly lit inside of them. With moans and lips still glued to one another, they slid slowly to the wooden floor, him hovering above her. Her hands travelled up and down his spine, urging him further, while his own gripped the hem of her shirt and pushed it upwards, revealing her pale, porcelain skin.

 He inhaled her scent as he continued to devour her in their kiss. There was a lingering scent of cigarettes mixed together with her sweet perfume; a perfect combination, just the way he liked it. They stayed that way for a while; hands that explored every contour of each of their bodies, lips that moved, never ceasing from its rhythm. They held on for as long as they could until they had to break away due to the lack of oxygen.

 Ragged breaths echoed in the bedroom as they stared lustfully at each other, clothes disarrayed with her now seated on his laps, her knees resting on floor at the sides of his thighs. When Jungkook finally managed to catch his breath, he told her breathlessly how much he wanted her, how much he loved her, how much she was everything to him, “God, what is it about you that leaves me so breathless every time? What is it about you that makes me want you so god damn much?”

 She sat upright and smiled down at him, “I could direct the same questions right back at you.”

 He looked up at her hazel eyes, the warm orbs that he got so used to waking up to every morning, the same ones that sent a thrill down his spine every time his gaze meets hers. He couldn’t help but smile back at her. Slowly, he leaned forward and enveloped his arms around her, holding her in a tight embrace. He buried his face into her neck while she placed her chin on his shoulder.

 She planted a soft kiss on his neck. “I love you,” she whispered.

 He leaned back and gazed into her eyes, before a smirk spread across his lips, “Of course you do.”

 She smacked him playfully on his arm. “You’re supposed to say ‘I love you too’, you arrogant bastard.”

 “I don’t need to say it. You know it. Besides, I show it all the time anyway.”

 “Show it? Really? How?” she eyed him in feigned anger.

 He smirked. “Like this.”

 In a swift motion, Jungkook slipped his arm around her waist while another crept under her knees, hoisted her up and carried her towards their bed. She shouted in surprise as she was thrown on the bed. Jumping into bed as well, he then crashed his lips on hers, reigniting the flame already lit between them.

 Running his fingers up and down her body and feeling her warm breath on his neck, he was at bliss.

 Cigarettes may be irresistible to Jungkook, but to him, she was more than that, way beyond the exhilaration his guitar brings him, far beyond the cigs and alcohol that he was addicted to.

 She was like the warm sunlight that streamed from his curtains in the morning, she was like the fresh air he breathes; she was those simple things in life that he never got to experience in his lonely life before he met her. She was his saviour, and he knew that he was hers’ too. In every kiss, every touch, every murmur of pleasure that night, they slowly healed each other of their pain, of their broken pasts. It was all too much to bear, how much they needed each other.

 They both knew that they could never live one another, how they complete one another.

 They were like two pieces to one perfect puzzle.

 A perfect combination. Like guitar and cigarettes.

[everyonesawhoregrace]

For the blurb night: something sexy with Tommy!

B A D ( H A B I T S )

Tommy’s POV

I had been gone for far too long. My trip to London seemed to drag on for far too long, and she said, she said if I missed her birthday she wouldn’t want to see me the following morning, and I can’t blame her for that. Because one, she’s my wife, I shouldn’t be missing any of her birthdays, and two, she’s a bitchy pregnant woman. 

I had been walking on eggshells the second I got home half an hour passed midnight. Or should I say, half an hour passed her thirtieth birthday. 

I had everything to make up for absence though, made Curly fetch a cake from Mrs. Parker’s bakery, and Charlie got a bouchet of her favourite flowers. I would have gotten them to write her a bloody card but the bastards didn’t know how to write. 

It was my fault, I decided to get lost in my work which is what led me to miss the eight o’clock train. The evil deed that I committed will not go unnoticed by my Y/N. 

The sun came up, and the chef made her favourite breakfast. I set the table, it was scattered and messy, but I thought that maybe she’d appreciate the effort. 

When I heard her coming down the stairs, I hurried off the chef and housekeepers, not for intimacy, but because I was piss scared that she’d shout out me. I popped a mint leaf in my mouth and chewed on it before burning out my cigarette. 

I noticed her walking down the stairs in nothing but a robe, her hair wet. 

My feet began moving involuntarily, she may be mad at me, and fuckin’ insane, but I still missed my wife. I met her at the foot of the stairs and extended my hand. 

“Y/N,” I sighed, my voice came out as a plea. “Good morning, angel.” 

“Angel?” She scoffs, still taking my hand in hers. “You missed the only day I actually should be celebrated, Tommy.” 

She waddles her way to the kitchen, noticed the food. Her eyes darted back to mine, she held in a grin. 

“Your favourite breakfast?” I suggested, shrugging. 

To my surprise, she giggled, light laughs erupted past her lips and sounded throughout the room. “You prepared this for me?” 

I nodded like an innocent school boy. 

“Sit down, Tommy, I think we should talk.” 

Fuck, I break a sweat and instantly regretted ever being apart of a gang, ever being elected leader of the Labour party. I regretted it all. Is she going to end things with me? Perhaps hand me my papers and say sign ‘em! 

I sat down at the dining room table and stupidly gestured towards the array of mismatched plates and forks and knives. “I also did this for you-” 

“I don’t care.” She replies, snappy. Fuck. I’m doomed. 

Oh you’ve done it now Tommy boy! 

“Tom, you know how many years we’ve spent together...” 

“Ah-”

“Five years.” She answers before I could. “And I’ve gone through a lot with you, we’ve had our fair share of ups and downs.” 

“Wait before you say-”

“I am talking!” She yells, no, she belted. I’ve never heard my wife so angry in my life. Y/N, the woman whose only favourite colour is yellow because she feels like it doesn’t get enough love, ir now fuming. She’s a raging bitch right now, and I will not lie, I am petrified. 

“Y/N-” I lift my hand and put my palms out to her. “W-Wait a second-” 

“No you wait a damn second!” I hear her accent pass her brilliant lips. Oh my, even when she’s a psycho beast, I still wanted to slide my tongue down her neck. 

She approaches me all at once. “You hurt me, you left me here in this massive house by myself on my birthday after you said you’d be here.” Her voice gets darker, more sexual. I was confused, did she want to fuck me, or hate me? I couldn’t tell since she was pregnant, my wife once yelled at me for not putting the toilet seat down for ten minutes, and then fucked me on the toilet after yelling at me. She was crazy!

As she neared me, the sleek black robe he wears comes into my vision. She does look absolutely divine. 

I sat up, pushing my back against the back of the chair. She continued to walk towards me. “You don’t care about me, do you?” She asked, she was so close to me, her scent alone made my cock throb. 

Oh fuck, I want this woman. 

Those big eyes made me remember the last time her pretty lips were wrapped around me, her eyes on mine, as she sucked and licked me. She stood in front of me now, gazing into my eyes as though she was pulling my heartstrings. 

Her eyes grew darker, curious. “Do you care about me?” She asked again, her hand moving to the thin robe that kept her clothed. The thought of her flawless body made my hands go cold, my eyes begged for her to pull the string, leaving her body naked. 

I want to see you.

Instead, she pulled up her robe and sat on top of me. Her knees on both sides of me, she leaned in, her smell was intoxicated. I didn’t know how badly I needed her until now. 

Her hands ran through my hair quickly before she pulled back, her hands touched my face. 

“I want you.” I exhaled, pressing my lips against hers. “Fuck, I care about you so much.” My lips touched her body. Her lips, her chin, her cheek, her neck. I moved down, my lips fell on her shoulders as she touched me, rocking back and forth against my hard cock. I moaned, slipping my hand under her robe. 

I cupped her breasts, squeezing her nipples, not gently, but not too rough either. She cried out and inhaled sharply. “Fuck,” She gasped. “I want you so bad, Tommy.” Her voice was electricity to me.

Her hands let go of my hair and she ducked down to kiss my lips. The kiss was stronger, her tongue pushing into my mouth and her lips forcing mine to open. She groaned into my mouth as I moved my hands down to open her robe completely. I pushed it off of her shoulders to reveal her naked body, and instanyl my hands were feeling every part of her up.

“I love you,” I purred against her ear, “So much. Let me have you...” 

She latched her lips back to mine, I kissed her slowly this time as she nodded. 

The rest, well, the rest was a belated birthday well spent.