#and the fucking fact my uncle makes stain glass windows. of all fucking things.

[boldlyvoid]

would've could've should've hits me harder than any song that's ever been written and its not the girlhood line. its "the gods honest truth is that the pain was heaven"...

[sleepy-achilles]

I do not kneel

Wanted to name this Michaels do not kneel but...its mainly the fod partners in this...so...

Also kinda ended up being religious trauma. Because the Michaels lot are religious I mean..they are living proof it exists. (Which is all ironic to me because I am atheist. But I mean, if people believe there's a god who cares? Let them live and believe what they want. Even Leon lol)

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

Leon Michaels was a very complicated fucking man. He had a religious family, despite the fact his uncle and father were demons. But then again, maybe that's why it's so easy for them to be religious. They know there's truth behind the idea.

But Leon would rather fight God than kneel to him or any man.

Leon Michaels did not kneel.

And he makes sure a smug Punk knows that.

"I do not kneel for any man. Not even God. Not even Satan. They kneel to me." Leon growls. "Your husband must be a very unsatisfied man" punk retorts. Leon knows what he's doing. He's been trying to get into Leon's head that him and drew have something. Leon's not a child. He's not stupid. "With a cock like this?" Leon smirks as he gropes his crotch. "He never leaves unsatisfied" Leon winks before walking off.

-

Leon kneels to no man.

And yet he stands in the corner of the ring, watching as Hunter places the crown on Drews head. Drew looks at Leon and smiles slightly. Leon bites his lower lip. Drew looks so happy. And yet.

There's that distant look in his eyes. Because too drew, he's not truly worthy of this crown when Leon, the skeleton King is walking around.

Leon steps forward. "Congratulations" Leon nods, avoiding both Drew and Hunters gazes. "Your highness." Drew gasps as Leon kneels down. It sends a flight feeling through Leon's body as his knee hits the mat. He needs to go. Run.

Instead of running, he bows his head in respect. "Long live the king" Leon grits out.

---many years ago---

Leon ignores the way his skin burns and hisses at him as he stands in the aisle. He stares at the stain glass window.

The only thing keeping him alive right now is the angel dna pumping through him.

It's the only place he can be free from ministry. From his father and uncle.

"Why?" Leon whispers moving closer.

"Why me? Why must i feel so...so sinful when my family live carefree? Why must I suffer so much guilt and pain for being born different?" Leon asks, his eyes casting up at the face in the window. "Why....w-why.." his voice cracks as he finds himself falling to his knees. "Why do I love him? Why isn't he a girl?"

He whimpers as he lowers his forehead to the red carpet. His back burns as its exposed to the church.

A pained sob leaves the young boy.

The 16 year old boy who has experienced so much suffered, so much pain, so much death. And yet...their god wouldn't even grant him a break.

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

Taker stands tall over Shawn.

Shawns face is full of defiance.

"You Shawn Michaels shall bow in the presence of the Undertaker. Even if that means I must show you the truth." The mam growls. Shawn examines the gothic man. Shawn can't help but cock his eyebrow and smirk.

It's the 90s and another man is asking him to kneel at his feet?

"I kneel for no man." Shawn spits before shoving past him.

----

Takers hands shake. His eyes water as the fans cheer and scream. "Shawn." He chokes. His eyes widen as he turns to see Shawn stood there, belt loose in his grip. Shawns head is down. His thining hair falling to cover his face. The belt slips from his hand and shawn kneels down infront of the man, lowering his head to rest on his knee. "Forgive me, Undertaker." Shawn forces out. Taker stares at him in shock. "All men shall bow in the presence of the undertaker." Shawn whispers. Taker grimaces. The old stupid shit Paul and vince had him doing was following him decades later?

He shakes his head and holds his hand out.

"Not my husband. Its my job to kneel to him"

---many years later---

Shawns knees dig into the uncomfortable wooden floor as he cups his hands and prays. He prays louder at the sound of shouting in the small house. "Please god. Please take me away from here. Let me have that life I want and need. Please. I can't.. I can't live like this" Shawn begs as tears pour down his face as the footsteps get louder. "Please. Please don't let him hurt me. Me or my new born child." Shawn prays. His head snaps up as the door swings open. John begins to cry from the bed at the sound of the door slamming against the wall. Shawns eyes widen at the tall, shadow that glares at him.

Shawn doesn't hesitate to stand between him and his baby.

Because at 16, this isn't shawns first battle. But he won't allow it to be John's.

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

John crosses his arms. Not impressed at all. "Please. I don't even kneel to God never mind man" Randy scoffs. "It can be a sign of respect." John states. "I don't kneel to no man." Randy mutters before walking away.

----

John shakes his head. What a grueling match. He turns to shake Randy's hand and his eyes widen in shock. Randy's words echoing in his head as Randy drops to his knees. "I thought you didn't kneel to no man" John whispers. "Your too special for that shit. Besides. You deserve all my respect." Randy mutters keeping his head low.

John smiles softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "All is forgiven. Cmon." John whispers moving his hand to cup Randy's head. "Lets go."

----many years ago-

Randy watches as the parents cry and pray for their son back. His heart sinks. Because they are told God cares about them. That he loves them. And yet...here randy is, at his best friend's funeral, at 16. They had a life to live. A life to explore.

Randy slowly walks up to the casket. Falling to his knees as it all settles. "Why? Why did he take you from me. Why won't he give you back? Why doesn't he love us" Randy growls quietly his hand clenching against his thigh as his eyes burn into the carpet. He tilts his head back to the ceiling. "Why don't you care about us! Why did you take him!"

"Why not me!"

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

Cassie frowns. "Please. Everyone should kneel to me!" Rhea smirks tilting the crown on her head. "Would you kneel to me? Or..I don't know, one of the boys?" Cassie asks. "I bow to nobody baby. Soz" Rhea chuckles moving away from her lover. Cassie shakes her head.

----

Cassie smiles as Hunter places the crown on her head. "Thank you" she whispers. She then turns to find Rhea. Fighting Rhea for the crown was tough but it was amazing. And she wanted to-

Rhea kneels. "My queen." Rhea bows her head. Cassie smirks. "Thought you knelt to nobody baby?" Cassie teases. Rhea rolls her eyes. "I was so on a power rush. Don't be mean" Rhea huffs tilting her head back. Cassie holds out her hand. "Kiss the queen" Rhea takes her hand and kisses it. "Your highness. The crown adds to your beauty" Rhea smiles.

----many years ago---

16 year old rhea stands outside the church.

"Why won't you go inside?" Her sister asks. "I won't go in there and pray to a man who doesn't care about me. I'll never kneel to someone" Rhea scoffs. "Never?" Her sister asks. "Not never. A real special somebody. I'll kneel for them. Show my respect. My love. But I will never do it more than once." "So it'll have to be the one?" "The one I'll marry. The one I'll protect forever." Rhea nods. Her sister smiles. "Alright. See ya" she calls as she walks into the church.

Rhea turns her back to the building and crosses her arms. "Yeah. I'll get myself a real godess. A woman that will deserve and earn me kneeling at her feet, worshiping her. Not you." Rhea mutters before walking away from the building.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------Notes

I fuckin love Leon's religious trauma.

Also thanks to the person who commented about Shawn being a angel but not knowing it. I'm obsessed with it.

Taker being the only one who knows until Leon comes along, born with both demonic and angelic dna.

[itsapeterthing]

Who Am I? || Peter Parker

pairing: peter parker x avenger!reader

summary: spider-man’s identity is exposed to the world after the death of mysterio. the issue? spider-man has a known relationship with your superhero alias, sorceress, but peter is in a relationship with y/n y/l/n. your identity remains a secret as you are forced to decide to either reveal your identity to the world or to allow your boyfriend to have his reputation tarnished further.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: angst angst angst

masterlist || request || taglist

You stood, shocked, in your bedroom with the television still playing in front of you. For a moment you were unable to move as you watched a photo of your boyfriend, Peter Parker’s face flash across the screen with footage of Spider-man playing alongside it. You always knew the day would come where both you and Peter’s identities would be exposed to the world, but you thought you would be the one to decide when and that you would have so much more time.

Your hands began to shake as you paced your room, picking up your cellphone and dialing your boyfriend’s number. Your identity hadn’t been exposed yet, but you knew there was only a matter of time until there was a decision to be made.

You and Peter had an ongoing relationship that everyone in your shared school knew about. However, it was a known fact across the world that Spider-Man was in a relationship with your superhero alias, Sorceress.

In this moment you were kicking yourself for never realizing that this situation could happen. If they weren’t already, you knew soon enough that people would begin connecting the dots. Peter Parker had you- Y/n Y/l/n- whereas Spider-Man had Sorceress- a woman with an unknown identity. You would either have to come forward and reveal your identity or remain in hiding, allowing the world to believe that you had never known of Peter’s super human abilities and that he had been seeing an Avenger behind your back.

You cursed to yourself as your call went to voicemail, about to call again until you heard banging against the glass of your bedroom window. You rushed across the room, pushing open the window for Peter as he climbed in before you slammed it shut once more.

“What the-” You began.

“Fuck.” Peter cut you off. “Shit. Shit. Shit! What am I going to do, Y/n?”

He began pacing your room, pulling the mask off of his face before tossing it aggressively across your room.

Just then, the phone in your hand began blowing up, buzzing and dinging from texts and direct messages in between phone calls from your family. You knew everyone had started to hear the news.

Silencing your phone and threw it on the bed.

“I- I don’t know, Pete.” You said confused and frustrated. “God, I could just kick that guy’s ass right now. What are we going to do?”

Looking at your boyfriend, you noticed as his eyelids grew red, water brimming on the edge and spilling over them as he tugged at his messy hair. His chest contracted and relaxed rapidly as his breathing quickened and you could hear soft huffs and puffs spilling from his mouth.

Meeting him where he stood in your bedroom, you cupped his face in your hands, pushing your own thoughts aside.

“Peter, look at me.” You told him, searching to meet his eyes. “You need to breathe, baby. We’re going to figure this out, okay? I know this looks bad, but not everyone can believe this, right? You’re Spider-Man. You’ve helped save the world. You’ve never given anyone a reason to believe shit like this because you’re a good person, Pete. They’re gonna have to believe you.”

Watching the tears fall from his eyes and stream down his cheeks, he shook his head, moving his hands out of his hair to instead wrap his arms around you, pulling you tightly against him. Shoving his face into the crook of your neck, you could hear his muffled voice.

“I don’t know what to do.” He sobbed into your skin, his fingers digging into the cloth of your shirt. “It feels like everything goes wrong. F-first Mr. Stark and now this. The world is literally against me, Y/n. I- I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Listening to your boyfriend's soft cries, you rubbed your hand in circles against his back, soothing him.

You swore you could feel your heart shattering in your chest, watching your favorite boy fall apart right in front of you. Although you both had been through a lot- Peter was going through your worst nightmare and had been hit repeatedly back to back to back. You wish you could turn back time and make it right for him just so you could see a smile grace his face once again.

“I’m not going anywhere, Peter.” You whispered. “We’re going to figure this out together-”

Just then, you heard your name announced from the television, your yearbook photo displayed on the screen alongside Peter’s, below it a photo of Spider-Man with his hand rested against Sorceress’ lower back, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Shit.” You cursed to yourself in so low a voice you hoped Peter wouldn’t notice, but he did.

“What? What’s wrong?” He asked pushing himself out of your embrace.

As hard as you tried to hush him and keep him in your arms, he backed away, turning his attention towards the television.

“This just in! Sources confirm that Peter Parker, better known as Spider-Man, has had a long-term girlfriend, Y/n Y/l/n, pictured here since before the Blip! Now, for those of you out there that don’t know, Spider-Man has also been in a relationship with fellow Avenger Sorceress for the past seven months! If you’re keeping up- that’s two women! We’ve been unable to reach Miss. Y/l/n so far for any comments at this time, but fellow classmates have been eager to share their sides of the story.”

“This whole thing is just so crazy.” You watched Betty say on screen. “I thought Peter was so nice, but journalist to journalist- Y/n was way above his league. That’s what’s so shocking! I can’t believe he’d cheat on her like that. I guess being an Avenger really does go to your head.”

“Do you know what this means?” Peter asked suddenly, turning towards you.

Feeling your heart thump in your chest, you furrowed your eyebrows at your boyfriend. “What are you talking about, Peter?”

Pointing at the television he raised his voice.

“Y/n, they don’t think that you’re Sorceress.” He explained to you. “They think that I’ve been seeing the both of you behind your back. You... you can still get out of this. You don’t have to go down with me.”

Staring at your boyfriend’s face, the severity of the situation written all over it, your eyes grew wide.

You understood what Peter meant. You had been given an out by some lucky chance. You could lie and say that you weren’t Sorceress and that you had never known a thing about Peter being Spider-Man. You could lie and pretend that you didn’t know who your boyfriend really was.

You could lie and allow Peter to have his reputation tarnished even further by making him out to be a two-faced cheater.

Shaking your head, you wrapped your arms around yourself.

“Peter, I can’t do that.” You told him. “You’re innocent! If I lie and say that I didn’t know anything- that I’m not Sorceress and that you’ve been cheating on me behind my back- then you look guilty. You can try to prove you’re innocent for the whole thing with Mysterio right now because you’ve never given anyone a reason to believe otherwise, but if I let you take the fall for me, Peter, and make you look like a liar and a cheater then that will give them all the more reason not to trust you. It’ll be impossible to change their mind.”

Listening to the words you were saying in disbelief, he pushed his fingers into his hair, tugging hard on the strands and shaking his head.

“Y/n!” He shouted your name. “You don’t think they’ll bring you down with me? If you tell everyone who you are, they’ll think you knew about it the whole time. They’ll think that you knew what I was doing with Mysterio and that you’re just as guilty as me. I can’t ask you to reveal your identity for me just for everyone to turn on you too!”

Flinching from the volume of his voice, a part of you knew that he was right.

You had always wanted to keep your identity a secret to allow you to live a normal life outside of avenging, but seeing Peter’s situation just gave you all the more reason to protect yourself by living a double life.

At the end of the day though, you loved Peter.

You and your boyfriend had chosen each other every day regardless of the hectic lives you both led- sometimes even risking your lives for each other in the process. 

Your lives weren’t easy by any means, but you always had each other and promised yourselves that you always would.

“So what?” You asked. “What am I supposed to do, Pete? You think they’re going to stop at you? You don’t think they’re gonna start wondering who’s behind my mask? And God, what kind of life would it be if I kept mine a secret now? I can’t live normally anymore- not when I’m apparently the ex-girlfriend of the Avenger who they think murdered someone. Besides... what? We’d have to see each other in secret from now on so nobody finds out who I am? It’s not worth it, Peter-”

Throwing his hands in the air, he shouted.

“It’s worth if you’re safe, Y/n!” He raised his voice at you once again, before taking a deep breath. “What don’t you get?”

Taken back by his outburst, you both stood there staring at each other in silence.

When you finally reached your hand out for him, you winced as he shied away from your touch.

“I- I’ve lost to many people.” Peter said, his voice nearly a whisper. “I can’t lose you too.”

The way his voice cracked, made your breath catch in your throat as you stared at the broken boy in front of you.

Peter had undeniably lost so much- his parents, his uncle, his mentor- there was no doubt about that and it broke your heart knowing that he worried about losing you too.

Gazing at his tear-stained face- you swore to yourself that he never would. You would do whatever it took to make sure that Peter Parker was never alone.

“I know, Pete. I’m sorry.” You said, slowly stepping towards him. “You’re not going to lose me. I mean, Pete, we went to space and turned to dust for five years and still found our way back to each other. We’re going to figure this out together, Peter. We’re gonna clear your name, okay? I’m not going anywhere. I promise you.”

When the palm of your hand met his rosy cheek this time, he didn’t flinch away, instead nudging his head into your touch.

“I can’t ask you to do this.” He said softly, meeting your eyes.

“I wouldn’t ask you to either, Pete, but you would do it anyway, wouldn’t you?” You asked, brushing your thumb against his cheek.

“Yeah.”

Not being able to help the light chuckle that slipped from your lips, you threw Peter a soft smile.

“I know.” You whispered. “So just... let me do this, Peter.”

Just as Peter opened his mouth to speak, the sound of his phone interrupted him as it began ringing in his pocket. Stepping back from your touch, he pulled the device out from his suit and brought it to his ear.

“What? May, slow down.” He said sniffling. “I’m at Y/n’s.”

Watching as he furrowed his eyebrows, you crossed your arms.

“What?” He asked. “’Check outside her window’?”

Rushing across the room, you pressed yourself against your window, looking down at the street below you. On the sidewalk stood at least a dozen reporters, clamoring outside the door of your building. Eyes growing wide you stepped back, throwing the curtain over the glass.

“Shit.” You muttered to yourself, wringing your hands and turning to look at your boyfriend.

“May, I know.” He said. “I just- let me call you back.”

With that he hung up the phone, slipping it back into his pocket and strode across the room to meet you in your spot. Resting his hands on your arms, he squeezed tightly.

“We don’t have a lot of time.” Peter said meeting your eyes. “I know I can’t tell you what to do, but I want it to be your decision, Y/n. Make sure whatever it is that it’s... that it’s what you want because t-there’s no going back.”

Nodding your head along with his words, your focus shifted from your boyfriend to the dresser in the corner of your bedroom where you kept your suit.

This was it.

You had to make your decision.

You wished more than anything that you had more time, but you knew that you had had enough allotted to you already. You had been given more than any other member of your team and standing there now, you were thankful for every second of it.

No matter what your decision was, your life would change for good from this moment on.

Your heart racing in your chest, you memorized the feeling of your boyfriend's touch and the way his eyes glistened from the tears in his eyes, his cheeks stained red. You remembered the way he smiled when he first saw you again after the Blip and the way he held you so tightly after returning from his trip.

Taking one last, shaky breath you looked up at Peter and nodded.

“I’m ready.”

[dearest-kibble]

I like your take on yandere Zuko a lot! I wanted to ask what would he do if his darling tried to escape from him?

 this is actually a part of something that is uhh,,, 9,000 words atm (and still going) so if ya’ll want the full thing, just let me know and up it’ll go.I’m so sorry this took so long, it should not have (it actually has a second part but it features me being a degenerate on main,,, so it’s going in a different spot,,, do not read it if you don’t want degeneracy)

Zuko leaves you with a candle for the night. It’s the one night you’ve been left alone in four, maybe five years. He claims it’s something about how he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands to himself tonight. It wasn't like he hadn’t touched you before. (But he hadn’t blushed like he did earlier that night when he lit your candle.) You watch the candle flicker from across the room. You haven’t gotten too close to it. It swirls with little flickers of pink and blue against a healthy orange and is probably hot enough to burn if you get too close. You’ve been sitting since he closed your door, and your forehead hasn’t stopped tingling from where he kissed you. You hate him. You love him. But you don’t want to be here, in this room alone with fire. You’d rather be anywhere but near his fire. You’d rather be anywhere than with him. But who doesn’t want to be with the man who protects them. Who loves them. Your grip on your wrist is tight and you hadn’t even noticed that your nails had begun to dig into your palm. In your hand a warm piece of metal sits. You’ve been turning it over since Zuko told you he had a present for you. You’d been getting the same present for years and you’d accepted. The gold hairpin with red tassels taunts you from your palm.

“Tomorrow.” A suspiciously raspy voice, coated in a regal gold echoing in your two, unmarred ears. And you sat. And sat and sat. And your nails began to draw blood. And the hairpin’s tassels, though red, were stained. It clatters to the ground, leaving your palm and mind for one second before you realize that you can feel silk on your foot. Your hands dart to the arms of your chair. Move move move. And your arms sit on top of wood that was carved a decade ago. It’s awkward and uncomfortable and cold. It’s nothing familiar. But maybe that's a good thing. You’d almost forgotten what anything but Zuko feels like. Something inside you misses the heat he emits, whispers that he warms your heart. Something a little larger than yourself screams that he’s burned you. And before you continue to think your feet push yourself out of the chair, the silk tassel falling off of your foot as the hairpin slips your mind. He’s burned you, he'll do it again. Your mind argues with your body before your hands make the decision to stop gripping the red fabric that Zuko insisted you dressed in. Burgundy silk shifts as you begin to walk past the flame that flickers in purples and greens, flecks of red shifting behind a screen of glass. You pick it up, the warmth through the glass so uncomfortably familiar that you can’t help but grip it a little tighter. The candle burns a little brighter. You suck in a breath. You shakily exhale. Holding the candle makes so much more of the room visible, it’s made of metal, almost prison like. You didn’t want to be here. You remember the boiling rock story, sneak out through a blind spot and make for a war balloon. The window wasn’t hard to find with your light source, your reflection on the glass isn’t correct, something is missing. Your topknot. You can fix that (No you can’t) when you’re on a war balloon. You open your window, letting the breeze blow in. The gossamer curtains flutter at the contact as you lift a leg to put through the open window. You feel even colder exposed to the night air. The moon is new tonight, favoring invisibility for the night. Your foot touches soft grass as you straddle the open window and ungratefully almost drop your candle. Your breathing darkens for a bit before softening and looking frantically at your surroundings. The flame in your hands gets a little warmer as you slowly start to slide along the grass of what you recognize to be the gardens.

Your foot hits something small and fuzzy and your breath hitches as you hear an agitated “Quack” Your gaze shifts down as you lock eyes with the beady black eyes of a baby turtleduck. It’s mother wakes immediately, gives you one look and bites your ankle with ferocity. Once again you almost drop your guide. You bite your tongue to keep from crying out in pain. You don’t move, and you taste blood in your mouth before the mother turtleduck slowly releases it’s bill from your heel. And the candle grows a little warmer as you move away from the pond. You’d been this way before once. Through the gate, over a small bridge and up stairs that you hadn’t been allowed to climb on your own. They’re exhausting now, and you would shiver if it weren't for the flame in your hands, yellow and purple with an edge of turquoise.

You stand on a flattened platform that used to have airships tethered to its ground. Now it has what you hear Zuko call dirigibles docked at the ledge. You’re after one of the smaller balloons. The ones that are white and no longer have an insignia that was branded into the retinas of all who saw it.

--

Zuko looks down at you, sitting in the basket of a war balloon, he frowns as he hoists himself over the railing. You stand as he gets in and smile. An instinct that had been burned into you is telling you to touch his shoulder. So you make you way over to his side. His gaze doesn't even meet yours. A heart you forgot could beat starts to pound as you look at him.

“Are you-”

“Yeah.” It's gruff, a little crackly as he speaks. “We need to leave.”

“Okay,” And you don’t press any further. He’ll tell you when he wants and you’ll listen. You don’t have a choice. You place your palm on his back and you can feel his breath deepen.

“Fire bending comes from the breath, right?” You’d heard it once. On a day you wish was easy to forget.

“That’s what Uncle always said.” If he’d let you go, you might not be here today. But you might not be anywhere if he let you go.

“Then breathe Zuko,” You let your palm linger until Zuko turns maybe an hour after you’ve been in the sky.

“Your topknot has fallen out, let me redo it for you.” He gives you a smile. You’re glad to see it. It’s always better when he’s happy.

“Thank you.” You kneel down in the basket. You hear one more puff of flame before he bends down and runs his fingers through your hair. The almost moan you let out might’ve been intentional, and Zuko’s hands rush with a slight heat. They still in your hair for only a second before continuing to comb through.

“You sound nice like that.” It’s painfully obvious he’s trying to make it sound like an offhand comment as he gathers your hair to bring on top of your head. You give no response as he wraps a silk around your hair. His hands stay for a little longer and he drags his nails along your scalp. Another, less intentional moan falls from your lips and Zuko’s grip tightens before he immediately pulls away, and turns back to the furnace keeping the war balloon afloat.

“Thank you for putting my hair up.” you’re sure your cheeks flush a little as you look at Zuko. (You had to pinch them)

“I’ll make you a hairpin once we land.”

“Please?” It may have been a learned response from the other times he’s tried to gift you pins to put into your hair, but this one felt a little different. Zuko rubs a thumb over your cheekbone before leaning in to breathe,

“Of course my love.” His cheeks are red and his thumb contains the same heat that his hand had earlier. He pulls you taut against his chest and doesn’t let go until you feel the balloon start to sink.

--

You knew you’d have to get rid of your guiding flame. The one you're sure that Zuko left to ensure your safety. Ensure your incineration. The question is, how? Are you to smash it against the stone of the platform? Wouldn’t that catch the baskets on fire, or worse wouldn’t that burn you? Was that what Zuko wanted to do? Did he want to burn you? He wanted to keep you safe, that's what he always said, but he’d burned you before. He said it was an accident. But it didn’t change the fact you were burned. Fire benders will always burn when they can. Why should Zuko be any different. He loves you. If he loved you he wouldn’t have burned you. But he gives you food, he does your hair, he gives you clothes. He protects you. He yells and he burns. He ended the war.

You’re screaming before you even hear the glass break, swirls of green and yellow and blue flare to swarm your vision with color that makes you want to vomit. The smell of smoke invades your nostrils and you feel tears fall down your cheeks. Breath escapes you as you try to remember all the times you’ve been told to “Breathe.” the only voice you can conjure is a soft crackle that whispers into your ear - you hear a cacophony of sounds, somehow they only add to your distress, none of them are telling you to just “breathe” and they only scream and yell and you can’t see anything but fire- and your wrist burns and the small of your back is being held - he’s burned through your silk again. And you’re screaming all over again and you hear the words but they aren’t soft and in your ear, he’s angry. They’re loud and you can’t fucking think other than you wish he’d stop stop stop the fire. He’s carrying you down the stairs and you know exactly what room you’re going to and you know that you’re finally going to see why he was a part of this family. He’s going to burn and burn and burn and you can’t fucking breathe. He’s yelling — screaming at guards who aren’t at fault but you can’t hear anything they say, only that he’s mad and it’s your fault. He sits you down in the room, you don’t think he knows you're crying and you probably deserve whatever he’s going to do, you shouldn’t run, you shouldn’t run. He burns a chair first.

“I can’t believe that you’d try to run away!” He sounds angry, he's screaming and it’s at you and you can’t stop it. Old scrolls next.

“From me,” he spits fire from his mouth, smoke curling from his lips. “I love you! Don’t you know that? I. Love. You.” He’s looking at you and there’s a flame burning in his hand and he has nothing in his hand but fire and he’s going to burn you like his family burned him. “You’re mine.” Red-blue fire dances on his fingers as a banner starts to ignite. An angry red scar is all you can see amidst the flames.

“Please, Zuko,” Smoke billows from his mouth and tears continue to drop as you struggle to think of anything but fire. “I-I,”

“You what?” His lips curl into a sneer and you don’t know what the fuck you can do to stay alive.

“I, l-” you choke on a sob. You can’t stop crying. And suddenly a darkness that had settled into his eyes clears. He drops to his knees and extinguishes all flames. The smell of smoke is still in the air.

“I made you cry.” You can barely hear his voice. You can barely hear anything. “I made you cry.” And he sounds angry again. And you cry some more.

“I’m sorry.” He walks a little closer to you, kneels. “I’m sorry.” And you take a gasp of breath and another tear falls. “I never meant to hurt you.” He’s bowing and you can’t help but feel that you should be bowing to him.

“I’m s-sorry.” You choke it out of your throat and taste blood.

“I scared you,” His hair is touching the floor as his head tilts to look up at you. “You shouldn’t be sorry.”

“N-” you bit your lip. “No, I shouldn’t have taken your kindness and thrown it.” And he stretches out his hand.

“No, you shouldn’t have to forgive me,”

“I’ll always forgive you.” The truth tastes bitter on your tongue. “Please,” another tear forces its way out. “Please, I’ll do anything if you forgive me.” Anything so that he’ll never be angry again. Smoke clings to your mind as you nod profusely.

“I forgive you.” He looks deep into your eyes and liquid gold drips down his face. “We’ll move our ceremony to the day after tomorrow? I want it to be the happiest day of our life.” He tries to crack one of his smiles. You really love his smile.

“Y-yeah.” You nod, still crying. “I’d like that Zuko.” And you lean forward a little, positioning yourself a little closer. “Can you carry me to our room, p-please?”

“Of course.” His head gives a curt nod before he stands up slowly. A miserable laugh escapes you, as more water drains from your body. He gently reaches out his arms for you to fall into before he arranges your body to carry.

“Thank you Zuko.” And you close your eyes softly as he kisses your temple.

“I love you,” You’re too tired to think. Too tired to even catch the tightening of his fingers as he carries you. The narrowing of his eyes as you forget those words that he needs to hear from your voice. Sobs from your lips come a little more quietly as you burrow your head into his chest which rises and falls with practiced breath. The rhythm of his heartbeat — though irregular — is comforting and slowly, you start to feel yourself calm down. You pass through a gate, and then another.

“Open this door.” It’s the voice you hear when he makes you sit in on meetings, before he adds in a much more familiar tone, “Please?”

“Of course Fire Lord.” The guard sounds urgent. Who wouldn’t after hearing him yell and burn and burn and burn.

“Are you alright?” He’s still holding you, but you can feel his body sink into your shared mattress. You just press your face further into his chest. He’s heating up. “I’ll put on a pot of tea.” He begins to set you down on the bed, fluffing a pillow under your head. “Tea is best when you drink it with another. Or, so Uncle always says.” He’s trying to make you laugh, with his impression of Iroh. “Oh! He told me a tea joke recently, it was about a man named Jin who uhh. Sang?” You snort a little at that. “There was another one, about uhh.” He trails off, snapping a little spark to life under his kettle.

“You can’t remember it?” The pillow which held your head was soft, maybe made of turtleduck feathers.

“No, but believe me - I've chaid.” He lets out a small chuckle himself and you can’t help but to return it, even on impulse. The room sits, steeped in the smell of jasmine tea and woodfire. Though comfortable, something about the silence makes you uneasy.

“A turtleduck bit me tonight.” Your hands feel empty without Zuko there. “I think I kicked a baby.”

“I always used to apologize to the turtleducks when I was a kid.” You can hear his smile. “Especially if Azula threw something at them.” The ceiling has very little to smile about, but your lips curl into an unfamiliar shape, one that didn’t feel forced. You heave a sigh.

“Yeah.” You don’t want to smile.

“Yeah,” You hear the pouring of water and the clink of porcelain. A few seconds and Zuko is sitting beside you on the mattress and handing you an intricately carved cup. He waits for you to sit up before grinning at you and taking a small sip. You hold the cup, it’s much too hot to hold and you place it down on the sheets.

“Is it too hot?” His eyebrow lifts in worry. “I can cool it off for you, er uh, probably.”

“No - thank you, I think I should just go to sleep.” Before you even finish your sentence Zuko is opening his mouth. He meets your gaze for a few seconds before closing it.

“You’ve had a stressful night.” Zuko flinches slightly before taking your hand in his and picking up your cup. He places it on a bedside table before kissing your forehead. “You should sleep.” He takes a deeper drink from his cup before placing it next to yours and running a hand through your hair. Breath catches in your throat before thinning slightly. The hand running through your hair drags over your body to find your stomach, briefly lingering on your collarbone before pushing on your stomach in an attempt to make you lie down. You ignore how warm his hand has gotten and how you’re sure your sleep clothes are ruined from the unintentional burning Zuko has caused. Slowly, gently you close your eyes and ignore the lingering smell of smoke.

“Day after tomorrow,” Zuko whispers incredulously before moving off the bed, grabbing something and lying down next to you. He’s ever so gentle when he pulls you into his side. “I really love you. Please, never leave me.” 

[hournites]

Hournite Week Day 1: Light vs Dark - Hoax

Summary: When a distraught Beth visits the Farmlands one late night, Rick offers his support.

(read on ao3)

~.~

At the end of the day, Rick prefers to sit alone. There’s a chair in the living room, the room he used to play and sit with his parents in on the couch. The room he’d opened gifts on birthdays, watched television with his mother and sat by the window, looking out at the field for his father to come home. Matt has claimed that couch now. Rick doesn’t care to use it except when he’s forced to clean. It’s stained with beer and food that’s fallen through the cushions. His uncle brings women there, rarely ever the same woman twice. Rick knows it’s dirty and defiled and as beat up as the rest of the furniture Matt touches.

Rick prefers his father’s old recliner, shoved in the back dark corner where he can get the best bandwidth for the internet connection. Behind his uncle, it’s almost like Matt forgets Rick’s there. He studied those chemistry textbooks there, half-assed homework there, and fell asleep on rare occasions too. Outside of locking himself in his upstairs bedroom, it’s the closest to being invisible Rick gets. The closest to peacefulness he knows.

It’s on a Saturday night like that the doorbell rings, interrupting the tense quiet they’ve carved to share space.

Matt lifts his head from his phone, half-slouched on the couch, disgruntled when it rings twice more. “The hell?”

Rick stares ahead at the front door from the hall, startled by the foreign noise. “Um.”

Nobody uses the doorbell. They don’t even get visitors. The mailman drops parcels and bills off at the mailbox half a mile down the dirt walkway.

He looks at Matt.

“Ignore it.”

Rick stands. “It’s probably some real estate agent or something.” He’d notice a lot of the property nearby has gone up for sale. If he said they weren’t interested in buying, then they’d know not to come again.

“Exactly. So, leave it be.”

But the doorbell rings again just as he turns to walk away. Rick makes a move to the door.

“I said ignore it.”

He rolls his eyes. Well, now Rick was definitely going to do it. He glares at his uncle over his shoulder, twisting his wrist to unlock the door. “You can’t just tell me to—”

The door swings open and his eyes flit forward to address the figure at the arch. “Beth?”

Dressed in a dark purple cardigan and light-wash jeans, she’s clenching the rubber bars of her bike, fingers scrunched up like she wants to scratch it off with her nails. Like she’s moments from ripping it off entirely. She’s holding herself too stiff, head raised and chin jutted out. Rigid like she can’t move, twitching like she wants to fight. The irises of her big brown eyes skip from left to right, pleading.

“Can I stay here with you?”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Please —” she begs, voice cracking. “Can I stay over with you?”  

“Tell them to fuck off!”      

Rick glances back awkwardly over his shoulder, wary of his uncle, not sure what to say.

“Rick, please—”

Rick steps outside and shuts the front door behind him.

“Why are you here? Are you okay?”

Beth drops the handles and her bicycle falls to the porch with a clatter.

His eyes widen when she lurches forward, catapulting across the creaking wood. Rick grunts softly at the force of her hug. He stumbles back with her, wrapping her arms tight as they stand in the doorway.

Her body shudders and whatever storm she had been withholding inside releases with a bursting sob. Beth sniffles into his shirt, the angle of her round glasses pressed into his ribs. Rick looks down, at a loss.

“Hey,” he rasps out, taking a firm grasp at her shaking shoulder. “Beth. Okay. Shh. Jesus, don’t cry.” Matt’s going to hear this. He’s going to hear and come and see and make this a mess. The thought makes his blood run cold. Rick peels her off. It hurts and is jarring and she seizes at the rip of comfort he just tore away that he knows she needs, but hair stands up on his arms, hyper-cognizant. It’s not that he thinks Matt will—Rick doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what he’d do and that’s been why he’s avoided letting the girls show up here.

“This can’t happen right now.” The last thing Rick wants is for Matt to find out about the hourglass or the JSA. The girls are his tether to that and he can’t risk Matt taking advantage or robbing anything he has no right to. Again.

Beth recoils. He’s quick to pull her back in, panicked. It’s not that he doesn’t care.  “I didn’t say that right. We just can’t do this here.”

“What do you mean?”

He leads her off the porch by the hand to around the side of the house. Rick can tell she’s biting down her lip to stop from asking another question, but it becomes clear where they’re going when they reach his parked car and she relaxes. He hops onto the hood and makes room for her. Beth looks reluctant, but joins him there, still brushing close, wanting him near.

“You don’t want me to stay?”

“It’s not that,” he promises. “I just don’t know how he’s going to react.”

Her wet eyelashes get stuck against the wall of her thick lenses. “Your uncle Matt?”

“I’ve told you. He’s not a good person.” His tone edges on sharp. “There’s a reason why I don’t want—” He pinches the bridge of his nose, fighting down his belligerence. Rick takes a breath. This isn’t going to help her. “He doesn’t treat women right.” He pauses, wanting to say more, but can’t bring himself to say the words.

She stares at him. “You think he’s a racist.”

“Well.” That too.

Beth slides off the car.

“Beth. Wait.”

She rubs at her eyes with the sleeve of her cardigan, turning back in the direction they came.

“I’ll go home.”

“Tell me what’s wrong first.” He follows her along the muddy grass. “You wanted to stay overnight.”

“You don’t want me here!” She shakes her head and squeezes her eyes shut. “This was stupid of me. I shouldn’t have come. I should’ve asked first.”

“Beth, that’s not true. I do. I always want to see you. It’s just...” His implication is obvious, but it came out worse than he’d meant it to. The point is, she could’ve gone to anyone else. She could’ve gone to see Courtney.

She should’ve called Pat. They trust Pat. He’s safe and is a good problem solver as annoying as his methods are.

She came here instead. And yeah, he does wish she could’ve texted or called, but the fact she’s now thinking it was wrong seems strange.

Rick knew something wasn’t right the moment he saw her in front of his doorstep, but now he’s very worried as he hears her curse herself and blinking back more tears. Beth has always been so confident in herself, regardless of how others perceived her. He had never heard Beth call herself dumb or pathetic or stupid. He didn’t believe she had ever seen herself that way either. Why would she?

According to their high school, she might be a loser, but there had never been a day she wasn’t unapologetically proud to be herself. There’s nothing wrong with being outspoken or bold or self-assured, trusting or smart and self-sufficient. She’s all of the above and maybe that had intimidated or even annoyed Rick sitting across from her to overhear, but it didn’t make it less true.

Doesn’t Beth know that?

She looks at him again. “I thought we were—”

“We are.”

She lets out another long breath and swallows.

“We are. It’s not that I don’t… My uncle is a real asshole. That’s it.” He grabs her hand. “Okay?”

“Okay.” She lifts a helpless shoulder, glancing back at the mustang. She lingers on it like she wants to go in.

“What?” Rick asks.

“Do you wanna leave Blue Valley with me?”

She doesn’t mean a road trip. The question throws him. Not because it’s terrifying to hear that from her. Though it fucking is. It throws him because he’s had the same thought pass through his mind at night a thousand times. A thousand times a week. Everything could be better, away. Without the memories or the roads or the trees and the people who’ve made this town an awful place. But their perspectives on Blue Valley had always been Rick and Beth’s stark difference. What happened to her unwavering devotion to caring about the town and everyone in it? It’s what Rick liked so much. The light from within her pushed her bravery, eradicating her limits.

“Beth,” he speaks carefully. “Why are you running away?”

Beth turns her face towards the farms, letting go of his hand. “I love my parents so much.”

Rick’s face softens. “I know.”

“No. They’ve been my inspiration my whole life. How can—I can’t fathom how…it’s all...”

“What are you talking about?”

Beth tugs her fingers into the sleeves of her cardigan crossed over her chest, refusing to meet his gaze, miserable. She takes so long to answer, but Rick can see the fight in her mind in the way she sticks her jaw. Whatever it is she’s torturing herself with it, Rick can feel it just by standing nearby. “Beth?”

“It’s the ISA, Rick. I didn’t want to believe it but it’s been them all along. My—” She chokes on her words.

Dread sinks to his gut. “Which one?”

“Both.” The blankness that shadows over her face, Rick has seen it before. The ghost of Yolanda’s detachedness after she was betrayed. The shattering shake in Henry’s voice moments before he was gone. “Chuck found out a while ago but I kept pushing it back and pushing it back because it wasn’t true? It wasn’t true and I couldn’t accept that until...They’re close with Richard Swift.”

He touches her arm, lets his hand slide down the expensive sweater to reach for her hand when she cries again.

“Can’t we just go?” When she asks Rick again, he understands. The slimmer of hope she’s threaded through her request. What it’s costing him not to say yes.  

“Come inside,” he whispers instead, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. It's a dead weight like a stone in his hand. It shouldn’t be like this. Beth shouldn’t be like this. She’s not okay. “You can stay.”

She shoots a nervous glance at the house. “I don’t want to if it’s a problem.”

“I’ll make sure it’s not a problem,” he cuts in, sharp.

Beth mutters something, but Rick doesn’t catch it. He jogs back to the front porch and bends over to pick up her bike and lock it in the shed.

He returns, awkwardly holding her school bag, leaning against the wall.

“Stay here,” Rick says, “I’ll come to get you.”

He goes back inside and stands in front of Matt.

“My friend is staying over.”

“You have friends?” Matt scrolls on his phone with a snort. When he realizes Rick isn’t joking, he glances up. “No.”

“I’m not asking.”

“I babysit enough after you—”

“Is that what you call it?” Rick snarks.

Matt’s eyes flash at him. They say Don’t test me.

Rick steps away. He won’t. The plan isn’t to piss him off. He wants Beth to survive the night here. “She’ll stay in my room and I’ll sleep on the floor or something. It’s just for today.”

To Rick’s horror, Matt leers. “She’ll stay in your room?”

“Don’t.” Rick makes it clear. “Don’t. Don’t talk to her. She’s upset enough. She doesn’t need you in her business.”

“Whatever.”

“I’m serious,” Rick says. The flippant way Matt goes back to his phone has him unnerved. If it wasn’t for the fact he has the hourglass tucked away in his room, he’d walk right out and drive Beth to Pat’s instead. It’s not worth it.

But Rick can take Matt on now. If that’s something he ever needs to do.

“What’s her name?”

Rick doesn’t even want to tell him. He turns around and brings Beth in.

She wipes at her face and sucks in her hurt, attempting and failing to gather her emotions. “Sorry, Mr. Harris. I’m—”

“—No.” Rick pushes her past the living room before she could even finish her sentence. “Nope.”

“Is that any way to speak to your father? ” Matt yells after him.

Rick rolls his eyes hard and shuts the door to his room pointedly.

Beth sits gingerly onto his unmade bed. “You could’ve at least let me introduce myself. I’m in his house.”

“This is not his house.”

“Oh.” Beth picks at his linty sheet. “Right.”

He waits as long as he can before he can’t help himself. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” she mutters. Beth reaches into her bag for Chuck and hands him over. “It’s all there.” Next, she pulls out a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt. “Sorry. Can I change?”

“Uh. Sure.” Rick moves. “Tell me when I can come back in.”

Rick leans against the wall, waiting, wondering what he should do. Chuck is in his hands, half-lit. The last time he learned the truth through green hue, his life had changed for good. Was this what it felt like for her?

The projection skittered across the off-white peeling walls.

James Chapel. The American Dream. Hired by Jordan Mahkent, January 2006. James Chapel, MBA Keynote Speaker - Geopolitical Realignment in the Pursuit of an American Dream. Funded by Richard Swift. The Theoretical Abnormalities of Frontal-Cortex Reconfiguration published by Blue Valley Medical Centre Press. Authored by Henry King Jr, Bridget Chapel et al. 2000. Scholarship funding provided by Swift Inc.

It is followed by grainy photographs of a tall slender woman in a blue and red polymer jumpsuit with the youthfulness of Beth’s face. The pixels dissolve away and return with one that resembles her father. There’s more evidence, hard core pictures. Records of Henry Jr’s faked autopsy. Medical records on Joey Zarick. Notes on the political numbers in William Zarick’s campaign.

“I’m sure this comes as a great shock.”

“How didn’t you know?” It feels ridiculous to hiss accusations at a piece of tech no matter how special. He does it anyway. The damage, it’s done. He has half the mind to smash Chuck against the floor. He doesn’t hate Chuck, he knows how important he is to Beth. It’s just the gratification Rick craves to break something that hurt her.

“A glitch in my system. The Gambler had scrambled their affiliation well. It’s not until I’ve reloaded my servers and Beth brought me into Dr. Chapel’s work office that she uncovered any peculiarities.”

“This is going to break her.”

“Bruise,” Chuck corrects. “Not break.”

Rick shuts it off when his door cracks open.

She stepped out looking as cozy as one could with red-rimmed eyes.

Rick tilts his head up from his crouched position in the hall, passing Chuck back to her. She hugs the goggles close.

“Where are you sleeping?” she asks. “I won’t let you on the floor.”

“I have a chair.”

“Where?”

“The living room?”

She considers it, peering down the stairs. “Isn’t that where your uncle passes out?”

“I can bring it up here.”

“We shared a bed at Pat’s cabin.”

“That was before…” Besides, Barbara was there checking in like every two hours.

“Rick,” Beth whispers. “I just want you near.”

~.~

She is near, nestled in his arms. The sheer closeness makes his heart jump, the solid feel of her body beside his. Beth trusts him, confides in him. Looks up at him when he hears her.

“I don’t believe they’d ever hurt me,” she says at last. Rick bites his tongue. Physically? No. Indirectly? He’s seen the way she’s vied for their attention. Idolized herself after their values. The dependency they’ve fastened to leech onto their ideals of transparency and complete openness from her side when they don’t return the favour. Some of their FaceTime calls at lunch had been flat-out weird. Rick assumed it was his irritability flaring out whenever they bothered to check in on her. What if it was surveillance?

Beth catches his hesitation and frowns. “I know what you’re thinking. My parents are different. I know they’re…on the wrong side but they’re not like Tigress and Sportsmaster.” She’s defending them. Naturally, and in spite of her grief. He squeezes her arm, unthinking.

“I didn’t think they were.”

She turns and pulls on the sheet, staring up at his ceiling. “You know what’s funny?”

“What?”

“Ever since I found out, my mind always circles back to you.”

“Me?” Rick’s brows crease against his pillow. “Why?”

“I was wrong about you too. I thought you were this unfeeling aggressive person that sat next to me at lunch all those years because you were indifferent.” She glances at him. “That’s not true.”

“It was a little true.”

She ignores that, carrying on. “But I wanted to be wrong about you from the beginning so I fought against my feelings to prove myself right that night. And I was. There’s so much more to you.”

He props his elbow up to study her quietly.

“I thought if there was more to you, there has to be more to my mom and dad. I didn’t think they could just leave me in the dark. That’s why I didn’t say anything for so long.”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

He knows that she knows they’ll be talking to Courtney and Yolanda and Pat soon. That the world as she knew it was gone now. For now, Rick listens, being there for her.

Beth might’ve been left in the dark, but she navigates well in it. Her heart and wisdom are a bright light in themselves. And she’s touched him with it, seared him with her brightness and truth in a way he can’t ignore. Beth lightened him in a way he’s only more drawn to. And if she loses it now, if it dims out of her, Rick swears he’ll find it. He’ll find it and bring it back out if he has to.

[smallblip]

Deep sea baby

Levihan | Rated for mild swearing and mild deed-doing | This is a secret santa gift for @hanji-zoe103  💕

It’s on Ao3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/28429827

Hanji is born of white foam, where the heavens collide with the sea, and Levi loves her with a fierceness that would make the tides jealous. Levi knows little of poetics, but Hanji promises to find him in the next life and the ones after.

And sure as the waves crashing into shore, she does.

 Hanji is the sea. Uncompromising, untamable, painfully beautiful. Levi thinks she’s poetry in motion, the way she dances, barefoot across sandy beaches, the way she walks down towards the place where the sea meets land, unafraid amidst white waters. 

  He sits, like the shores, and watches her. Watches her bend towards the ground, hands dipping beneath foam, searching for shells. She holds them up against the sun to inspect them when she finds them. Treasure, she calls them. 

  When she’s waist deep in salt water she turns back to look at him. 

  “Come on Levi! The water is warm!” 

  ≋

  Hanji is born of white foam, where the heavens collide with the sea.

  And Levi is the most beautiful boy to have walked the earth, so beautiful he puts the gods to shame. And Hanji fears whatever love they have will be short-lived, because he loves her with a fierceness that would make the tides jealous. 

  It’s a long way from heaven, but Hanji comes to see him every day. She sits with him in a clearing in the forest while he works and he’s sceptical at first. Nothing good comes from associating with the old gods. But the hem of her dress is caked in mud, there’s earth under her nails, and she swears exactly like a sailor would. He teaches her to climb trees and she names all the sheep in his flock. 

  “Maybe it would be nice to stay here forever...” she says to him one day, and Levi understands the gravity of what she’s suggesting. The heavens would not allow for it. They would cut her up piece by piece and she would be returned to the sea. 

  But there’s a conviction in Hanji’s eyes, a severity that justifies the cult of mortals at her feet. The same determination that Hanji has when she’s pulling splinters from her fingers, when she picks wildflowers for Levi, when she holds him against her chest and challenges the gods. She balls her fists and curses the greys of the skies, yet she dances in the rain, giggling, pulling Levi to join her. He surprises himself when he relents.

  So Levi tells her she has his heart. 

  Each night he holds her close, and each night she falls into a deep slumber and she dreams of running barefoot through a field of white roses to reach him. She pierces her foot on a thorn and the field is stained red. A field of red roses. Each one blooming and dying at Levi’s feet. 

  ≋

  In a kinder life, they are childhood friends in a sleepy seaside town. Levi has a popsicle in his mouth, the last of it melting on his tongue. Hanji has long finished hers, and her fingers are sticky from the syrup. But it doesn’t matter because Levi is burying her in the sand so she can keep her filth to herself. He contemplates covering her mouth with sand too, but they’re going to turn thirteen soon and he’s tired of pretending that her talking annoys him. 

  “When I’m older I’m going to sail all over the world!” Hanji grins. Levi thinks it’s funny that now she’s just a talking head in the sand.

  But his heart sinks a little. He doesn’t know if his future is on a vessel bound to nowhere. But they’re still young and their plans have little structure and bearing, so for now Levi pretends he’s going to be there with her, sailing across the ocean.

  “Did you know it’s a myth that lobsters mate for life?” Hanji says, absentminded, part of her trying to distract from the heat, and another part of her already thinking about that ice cream they have waiting for them in her freezer. “Sad huh... Who knew you can’t trust everything on TV...” she laughs. 

  “Seahorses mate for life...” Levi says. He tries to stay nonchalant, but he’s a little embarrassed he spends his free time googling facts he thinks Hanji would enjoy.

  And Hanji knows. Of course she does. She has known him her whole life. In this life and the next he is her Levi. Her Levi with an endless capacity for kindness. She smiles. 

  “Seahorses huh...”

  ≋

  They meet on a ship sailing through uncharted waters. Levi joins the Royal Navy when it feels like he’s exhausted all other options. There's a hunger for power that guides their ship to foreign lands.

  It’s the middle of the night when hears shouting. He jolts awake and already the rest of the crew are reaching for their weapons. There’s no time to change out of their night clothes. The ship spirals into a frenzy. He spots the warning of black sails and white crossbones from afar. The ship is gaining on them. It’s clear they have to stand their ground and fight. 

  The pirates board their ship, and there’s a wild clash of knives and swords and the smell of blood in the air mixing with the metallic taste of gold and bronze and silvers. Levi lunges but his sword is halted midair by a cutlass. 

  “Not so fast Officer...” the pirate says. Past the eyepatch and greasy hair he sees her- he feels her. There’s a white rush by his ears calling for him to come home. 

  I found you, she whispers in his ear as she brings him aboard her ship. 

  The sea promises gold and riches beyond imagination, and Levi promises to follow her to the ends of the earth. 

  ≋

  Levi works in his uncle's bakery a small town in the middle of godforsaken nowhere. It's a family business, and they've been getting good reviews from travel blogs online looking for spots off the beaten path. 

  Levi is on a date to the aquarium and Kenny yells a “don't come back tonight if you know what's good for you!” after him. There are still customers in the bakery and everyone is staring at him. The teenagers in the corner snigger. 

  His date doesn't show, but he's not surprised really. The first date had gone by in a way that could be considered painless. But beyond nice pleasantries, there’s nothing much to look forward to. So Levi completely understands. Then again she could’ve at least had the courtesy to drop him a text. In any case, Kenny will be disappointed. He enters the aquarium anyway. Might as well. He had already purchased the tickets, and he hasn’t been since he was a child in elementary school. He watches the sharks swim laps behind the thick glass. He wonders if they feel unfulfilled, living in a tank, watching as people from all around take family trips to visit the aquarium. 

  “That one’s Bean!” Levi switches his attention from a particularly small shark to the person beside him. 

  “What?” He replies.

  “That one!” She points to the shark making its way past them, “she’s Bean. We rescued her from a fishing net.” 

  Levi watches her grin with suspicion. Maybe he should introduce himself. He's not usually one to introduce himself to strangers with wild hair and gleaming eyes behind thick glasses, but there's a first for everything, and before he knows it, he's telling her his name.

  "Date stood you up?" she says, and Levi glares at her. "Oh... Wait... That really happened?" she apologises, and the stranger with the wild hair and gleaming eyes becomes Hanji. There’s something about the lights in the aquarium, the blues and violets that reflect off the auburn in her eyes in a way that’s almost ethereal. 

  The things that conspire after are tricks of the light then, surely. Hanji invites him back to her apartment, and they talk and they polish off a six pack of beers and a few bottles of cheap wine between the two of them. "This is fun! I haven't gotten shipfaced in a while!" Hanji chuckles. 

  “No.” Levi says, he has little tolerance for bad nautical puns. But it only encourages Hanji to tell him more. There's a mix of "where ya fin all my life" and "you're whaley cute", and finally, when she's absolutely smashed, a "nice boat, wanna fuck?" 

  At that, the dams break and Levi laughs. 

  Hanji wakes up the next morning, killer headache, she shoots up and the headache splits her skull open. Too quick. 

  “Ouch...” she says, eyes blinking through sleep and haze. She grabs at the bottle of water by her bedside and shuffles through her drawer for ibuprofen. 

  “You idiot...” 

  Hanji snaps her head up, looking for the owner of the voice and there Levi is, leaning against her door, hands folded across his chest. Hanji’s jaw slackens. 

  “In case you were wondering, no, nothing happened...” 

  “But... but you’re here... in... in my room...” 

  “Tch...” Levi rolls his eyes, “you passed out and I stayed just in case you choked on your own vomit and died in the middle of the night...” 

  Oh...

  “Wait did I?” 

  Levi raises a brow, she’s still not all there. “Still alive aren’t you?” 

  Hanji shrugs. This could be hell for all she knows. “Fast acting pain relief” proving to be the biggest scam of the century. 

  "What a fucking shipwreck of a person..." Levi says and it takes Hanji a minute before she's doubled over in laughter, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. 

  Levi half expects to never see her ever again, but there she is the day after, as promised, finger pressed to the glass, ordering herself a Pain au Chocolat, an Americano, and his number on a piece of napkin. He sighs, but he's writing it down for her anyway.

  "You really followed me home that night huh... Didn't it cross your mind that I could be a serial killer?" She says, examining his handiwork. 

  Levi scoffs, "you invited a complete stranger you picked up at the aquarium into your house, and then proceeded to get very wasted... Didn't it cross your mind that I could have been the serial killer?"

  Hanji laughs, and it startles her when it echoes throughout the bakery, "touché..." she says, "guess I am a shipwreck of a person..." she winks.

  The corners of Levi's lips betray a smile as he watches her take a seat by the window to read. 

  "That's not Petra..." Kenny comments. 

  "Who said I went home with Petra?" Levi answers.

  Kenny's face pulls into a smirk and he lets loose a deep rumble of laughter, “Levi you absolute dog!”

  ≋

  The sea is a passage. To a new life that Hanji can only pray will be fulfilling. She is the princess of a port kingdom- a people favoured by the sun and raised by the sea. 

  Her ships carry her to a distant land of frigid waters and snowfall, where her betrothed is king. When she sets foot on land, she's greeted by faces paler than hers and a mannerism befitting the heartiness of Northern kingdoms. There are skins being made into pelt, fish hanging out to dry, wines made from preserved fruit. Already, Hanji misses the white sandy beaches and the heat of the midday sun, but she's to be queen now, and she remembers this when she walks past the heavy doors into the throne room. She comes bearing gifts of glass beads, fine porcelain, and dried fruit and nuts- a reminder of Summer. 

  She takes her place beside her husband, and she smiles at the people who have come to see her- the princess from the other side of the sea. They are her people now. 

  And that's when she sees him.

  His expression doesn't change even when he kneels in front of her and kisses the back of her hand. He vows to protect her. 

  She calls for him later, and he tells her to call him Levi- he has never been too keen on formalities. Besides, Sir Levi doesn’t suit him quite as much. And she's Hanji, just Hanji. 

  It's Winter when they take a ride through the forest. She's not used to the heavy furs and wools and Levi has to remind her that the sun doesn't shine the same here. But Hanji knows. Her golden skin now mellowing. She hikes her dress above her knees and toes through the snow. The ground caves beneath her feet like powdered sugar, and Hanji thinks maybe there's beauty in her new home. She thinks maybe there's warmth to be found, as Levi catches her before she slips. 

  He shows her the lake, now frozen over, and they slide over thick ice like children. She pulls him down with her when she falls and they laugh. There's something in his eyes that Hanji recognises as fear. She feels it in the beat of her own heart, warning her against falling. But they’ve been treading on thin ice around one another, and falling seems inevitable.

  So Levi presses back against her and kisses her. Hanji feels a warmth coursing through her- the same fire she's promised in the lullabies her mother used to sing her. 

  "We should come in Spring. The lake is beautiful then..." Levi says as they make their way back to the castle. And Hanji promises to show him her home. The crystal waters; gentle waters. She knows it's a promise that may never be fulfilled, but nevertheless, this is a moment in time, and promises offer a glimpse into possibility. 

  Come Spring, they make love by the lake, under the cover of the sea of trees. Everything is beautiful in the Spring. 

  ≋

  In another life, the sea promises protection. 

  There’s only one rule out at sea near the white rocks-

  Beware the Siren’s song.

  Levi lives in a little house by the sea. Everyday he sails out near the white rocks to catch fish. 

  Hanji circles his boat. Her iridescent tail catching the light and reflecting deep purples and green. She sings her best song for him- the beautiful fisherman with the grey eyes. 

  "Don’t swim into the nets," he scolds and Hanji is taken aback. She thinks about her beautiful fisherman when he sails for home. And there's a familiar tugging that she feels in her gut. But the weather has taken a turn for the worse and she doesn’t see him near the white rocks. Not the next day nor the days after. She seeks the council of the waters and the waves carry her to shore. 

  There’s a storm raging. The windows are rattling against their frames. Lightning illuminates the skeletons of his house and there’s a persistent knocking that weaves in and out of the thunder. Levi takes the screaming kettle off the hobs. 

  He opens the door to her. She’s standing in the rain, hands wrapping around herself to shield from the cold. Levi’s gaze skims from the tip of her nose down to her bare chest, down to her long legs. He swallows thickly. She’s leaning against the frame of the door, shifting her weight from one unstable leg to another. Like a fawn learning to walk. He frowns but nevertheless, he leaves the door ajar for her to enter.

  “You’re gonna get the floors all wet...” he mutters. Rainwater he can manage. But seawater makes the floorboards a little sticky, and that annoys him deeply.

  “I told you I’ll come for you.” She says. 

  Levi shoves a towel in her face, “Dry yourself.” He pauses for a moment, taking in the shock on her face. “Please.” 

  Surprisingly, she does as she’s told, and when she’s done, she hands the towel back to him. 

  Levi finds her dry clothes, and she pinches and pulls at them, inspecting after she puts them on. 

  “I’m here to eat your heart lover boy.” 

  He considers her. It’s colder this time of year and the sea is relentless. But her skin is gold like honey, sun-kissed in a way that reminds Levi of summers and homemade jam and the grass beneath his feet. 

  “Levi.” He replies.

  Levi. she says, smile spreading across her face like butter on warm toast. 

  He shares his stew with her and she tells him her name is Hanji when her hands are warming by the fire. She looks at Levi, gaze washing over him like a wave. And there’s familiarity in the way his eyes soften when he looks at her. He looks at her like he's trying to call forth a string of memories tying her to him; him to her. But all he has is an affection for her that ripples through his consciousness. It's accompanied by the sounds of laughter- her laughter- and the pale shimmer of moonlight.  

  So she returns to him the next day, and the day after, and the days after that. 

  Hanji brings him little pieces of treasure. A conch shell, a dead sand dollar, bits of sea glass. Her legs grow stronger each time. She dances around his house. She pulls him flush against her chest and rests her chin atop his head and sways to a tune she’s humming. 

  Beware the Siren’s song, they say. 

  But they’re far from the white rocks and she’s laughing exactly like a lover would. The floorboards are creaking under their toes.

  He looks for her when he’s out at sea, and listens as she tells him stories of the depths, about the men who hurt her, about dying at sea, and about the promise of protection and rebirth.  

  When she wakes again, there's water in her lungs and she learns to breathe. To call the sea her home. 

  But maybe it's not by accident that she falls asleep in his arms one night, cocooned in white sheets that remind her of sea foam. 

  She kisses his nose in the morning and he blinks an eye open to look at her. “I’m gonna eat your heart lover boy...” Hanji teases, hair tickling his skin, the sight of him crossing the boundary between sleep and daybreak takes her breath away. 

  Levi smiles, pulling her closer, "stop moving so much..." he groans. It’s still early, they can still afford a little shut eye. He cradles her in his arms- a promise of protection. “You already have my heart,” comes his reply, in a moment of tenderness, and Hanji doesn't return to the waters. 

  ≋

  In others, the sea forces distance between them. 

  They don't meet in this life.

  But sure as waves reaching towards the shore, they meet in the one after.

  ≋

  They're in their second year of college but nothing really changes. 

  Except when it does, it happens so fast that Levi doesn't have time to breathe. The next time he takes a breath he's lying beside Hanji. They’re both sated and sleepy and Levi stills his breathing, coming down from his high. And Hanji thinks this life is nice. It's effortless in a way that reminds her that they are meant to be.

  The Marine Biologists have gathered for a nights out- a pub crawl to be specific. The entire course is decked in ridiculous outfits. There’s a merman somewhere, and a manatee, there’s even a sea snake (moray eel, Hanji clarifies). And Hanji is dressed as a shark. 

  Levi is there because he gets dragged along to everything that Hanji is a part of and he gets asked one too many times what his outfit is supposed to be. Because he’s in his jeans and a black top and he just looks- normal? 

  “He’s my next meal!” Hanji says and Levi pulls a face, he chokes out a, “shitty four eyes...” and he’s blushing a little more than he should because does she even hear herself?

  Halfway through the night Levi wonders why he’s so tipsy. This is really unlike him. He remembers meeting Hanji’s friend Moblit, whose Aquaman sends Hanji over the edge with laughter. He remembers hearing a round of “oh hey Levi!” (They all know who he is, after all, he’s often hanging around Hanji). Then the beer bong challenge. Oh right. The beer bong challenge... that’s why. Hanji won, at least he remembers that. 

  And he also remembers dancing with Hanji at the back of one of the pubs. “This is a good song...” he murmurs in her ear and she visibly shivers. But everything is spinning and the music is delicious, touching is also delicious, and they do just that. And at some point Levi must have just gone for it, because Hanji’s mouth is hot and inviting and Levi thinks he’s delirious so he surrenders to the feeling. 

  They’re back in Hanji’s room, only because it’s only a flight of stairs up and Levi is unzipping her ridiculous costume that surprising does little to ease his raging hard on. And Hanji, god forbid, isn’t wearing anything underneath. 

  His top comes off once they make it past the main door to her flat. Levi doesn’t even notice the mess in Hanji’s room as they navigate the narrow space and soon they're on the bed, hands moving in what is best described as a frenzy. 

  It feels so good and Levi finally admits to himself that he has been thinking about this for a while. And he’s almost relieved when Hanji kisses him and lets her want slide down his throat. 

  Levi wonders if they can still be considered friends. Last he’s checked friends don’t scream each other’s names the way Hanji is saying his name right now as she bites down on his shoulder. Plus, the whole best friends to lovers trope is just one big cliché. And yet, Levi doesn’t hate it. He has to admit it’s actually really nice. 

  The next morning Hanji finds Levi rummaging through her sink cupboard. 

  “My extra toothbrushes are the drawer.” She gestures towards the bottom drawer with her toe. They brush their teeth and they're sitting on the bed again, it's the only place for two to sit, really. 

  “So... Was it good for you?” Hanji says, a little amused with how the entire situation unfolded.  

 Levi clears his throat, face going red. “Would’ve been better if you weren’t wearing that stupid outfit...” He wants to say he's never felt this way with anyone before, but he doesn't. 

  “But hammerheads are cool!” Hanji protests and she’s pouting. Levi wonders if now’s a good time to kiss that stupid look off her face or if that’s too much.

  “Fucking one isn’t...” Levi mutters. Hanji throws her head back and laughs. 

  “So... What do we do now?” Levi asks. And Hanji shrugs saying a "admit we love each other and carry on with our lives?" like it had been obvious. 

  "Sounds good..." he says, smiling, and he thinks they deserve this effortlessness. 

 ≋

  Hanji comes back to him like ship returning to port. She thinks about meeting him when he's six and building sandcastles on the beach. He had ignored her attempt at conversation and Hanji had been a little annoyed.

  "You don't remember me do you?" She huffed, pout on her face, arms crossed. 

  Levi was confused, that definitely caught his attention, "do we know each other?" he asked. 

  "No," Hanji confessed, "no but... I know I'm supposed to meet you." She said with all the confidence a five year old can muster. Levi bickered with her. How can a five year old be so smug? He was a whole year older and he was by no means as confident. He didn't even know whether to pick sushi or pizza for lunch. 

  And she thinks about the night before she left. 

  "I like you Levi..." she had said. She willed herself not to cry, so there's a moment in which she's just chuckling humourlessly to herself. And Levi's scowls at her. "Inconvenient huh..." she added. She had to cross the ocean the next day on a voyage bound somewhere far away and this makes it that much harder.  

  Fucking inconvenient indeed...

  They don't make promises, but Hanji wishes they had. She wishes they would have at least addressed her little confession, because it's been eight years. Eight years of it gnawing at her brain and now it's just a little awkward. 

  Hanji takes a deep breath as she disembarks at port, her feet a little unsteady on dry land- like a fawn learning to walk again. But she sees him. And the knot in her chest unravels. Eight years. It's been too long. She takes tentative steps towards him, but soon she's running and enveloping him in a sweaty embrace. 

  He's whispering something, muffled because he's pressed into Hanji's clavicle-

  “Did you know seahorses mate for life?” 

  She smiles. Sure as the sun, he’s in her arms again. 

  Seahorses huh...

  ≋

  Hanji knows whatever life they've led, this is her favourite. 

  The one in which her and Levi see the sea for the first time together. 

  The one in which she’s the Commander, and him, her Captain. And between them, a river of words left unsaid threatening to break the banks. 

  One day they must cross the ocean, but today they visit the shores again, without the kids this time. And Levi learns why when he watches her peel at her clothes. Her harness comes off first, then her blouse, then everything else, like a little dance for an audience of one. Levi tries not to stare, but he’s already seen her by candlelight in the dead of the night. And yet she never fails to take his breath away. 

  She makes her way to where the white foams dredge the past up the shores of the present. 

  "Come on Levi! The water is warm!" she says, and he hears it like a call to come home- where the heavens collide with the sea. 

  He takes off his clothes and folds them in a neat pile beside Hanji's mess. He swims out to join her.

  The moonlight caresses her skin and this scene- this moment- is opulent. Levi unties the patch over her eye and lets the waters carry it away. She chuckles. "I'm never going to get that back am I?" she says, holding his hand and guiding him to shallower waters. 

  And Levi knows there's some poetry to the way she's kissing him. She tastes like saltwater and Summer all at once, and Levi thinks that he has never felt this way with anyone else. Will never feel this way about anyone else. Instead he glowers at her-

  “Hanji don’t you dare fucking die... I’ll never forgive you if you do... I swear I’ll-“ 

  Before Levi can continue, Hanji is laughing, sputtering as her head bobs below the surface of the water. 

  “Even if I do, you don’t have to say goodbye. I promise I’ll look for you in the next life... And the ones after...” She says, brushing the pad of her finger against his nose. The heavens and the sea bear witness. And Levi promises to follow her to the ends of the earth. 

  Treasure, he calls her, when the sound of white water crashing provide refuge for words that have little place in this life. Levi knows little of the words lovers say to each other, and even less of poetics, yet here he is with Hanji, sitting on the shores now, and watching salt crystal in her hair. He falls asleep that night to the sound of her breathing. And amidst dreams of roses and white foam,

  Levi is home. 

[floatinginwords]

Saved by the Devil (5/?) - Tommy Shelby

Summary: You try to get a handle on you anxious thoughts and an old face returns to cause trouble

Paring: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (not romantic...yet)

A/n: So this took forever. Had alot of trouble with the action part of the scenes but it came through :)  Hope you all have lovely days

 Thomas face recovers from your question rather quickly, “He is dead. You can check records for yourself.”

  He says it like it’s a fact. But he’s quick and dismissive and doesn’t utter another word. You want to ask more questions, details of it to ease your anxiety. But he clenches his jaw and his grip on the wheel tightens. You worry you may have angered him. Your questions weird and all over the place. He didn’t like not being able to anticipate another person moves. Thomas Shelby didn’t like being caught off guard. You were the same and it seemed that neither of you could figure each other out. You didn’t know whether to believe him or not.

 As if on cue, the engine begins smoking. Thomas stops the car on the side of the road. You continue staring out the window. He gets out without another word. You stay by yourself in the front. A mix of emotions your struggling to contain. Your embarrassed for asking the question, your angry about the nightmare, sad that you get paranoid over something this small. You can hear the men talking, you don’t stretch your ears to listen. You rather the day end here and now but there was still more to go. You see a tall, bald man come around the car and open the engine. He doesn’t take a moment, his hands already messing with the parts. He knew what was wrong immediately. Within a few minutes, hes done, the smoking ceasing. He notices you watching and pulls off his cap and bows his head to you.

 “Ma’am” He says, heading back with the other lads.

 Thomas returns with sandwiches to give. He hands one over to you, you take it gently.

 “we should be there shortly.” He starts the engine, it works smoothly.

 You hold the sandwich delicately in your hand. You can’t eat because of the anxiety pains there. You try to get out of your head, knowing you didn’t want to be distracted when you got to your destination. You try to find solace in his dismissive words. You can check yourself he says. You can go see the body yourself. Find the records. You can do that all later. You take a deep breath.

 “Mr. Shelby, I feel I need to apologize-“

 “No need. You did nothing wrong.”

 “I just feel my questions were-“

 He cuts you off again, “they was nothing wrong. I’m surprised you didn’t ask sooner.”

 “I'm not sure I wanted to know before.”

“And now?”

 “Sometimes a person needs confirmation that what’s in the past, stays there.” You answer.

He hums in response. You keep talking forgetting who you were talking to for a moment.

 “Do your nightmares ever stay with longer that you would like?” you ask. The both of you stare at the road in front of you.

 “All the damm time.” He answers.

 The rest of the ride is spent in silence. The only thing you hear is the tires rolling on the road and the chatter the men were having in the back. This time the silence wasn’t as loud.

  The horse auction was nothing to what you thought. Cars filled the parking lot and it seemed like it was a lot of people from all over came to buy some horses. The men from the back all introduced themselves quickly. The one you met John trying to be cheeky and kiss your hand. The guy with the mustache, who would later introduce himself as Arthur, slaps him behind the head.

“Arthur Shelby ma’am”  He shakes your hand and smiles. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

 You learn the others quite quickly, Curly (the one who fixed the engine) Charlie, the brothers uncle. and Michael their cousin who reminded you more of a boy than a man. You walk next to Arthur and Thomas as you enter the auction. You see people of the rich kind with glasses of champagne leaning over a railing, laughing and talking. You noticed that a lot of people staring at your group. Some of their eyes held fear, others jealousy or disdain.

Thomas finds a spot around the railing that he likes, you all follow in suit. Below its like a pit where you can see all the horses prancing. You can hear numbers being yelled out from beneath you as a man runs around with a horse showing her off to the audience. Around you notice people nodding their heads, putting their money down for the horse they wanted. Across from the railing you see a familiar face.

 May Carleton. You didn’t know her personally no. But you knew who she was. Rich and full of connections. The Carleton family were very well off and respected. You can see her eyes trained over on your side, she doesn’t notice you. In fact, you catch her gawking at Thomas.

 “Tommy that’s the horse.” Curly says pointing at the new horse they were prancing around.

 She was grey and spotted, young and wild. Thomas nods his head putting a bid on the horse. You look at May as she leans over to the man next to her. Her lips move fast but her gaze doesn’t waver from Thomas.

 “You’re about to have another bid.” You mutter to Thomas.

 He looks at you confused before the announcer call out what you just predicted. You direct your gaze to May; the woman trying to get attention from the leader of the Peaky Blinders. Thomas grips the railing and leans forward, not willing to give up the horse.

“I have a bad feeling Tommy.” Curly says.

Thomas ignore him as he and May have a silent battle. You see her fascinated with it. You back away from the bidding and excuse yourself to walk around the building. Honestly you were bored from what’s going on.

  You walk around the people listening in on their conversations pretending to just be passing by. You giggle at the gossip you hear loving how out of context it sounds. And then you see them. They blend in with the crowds  quite nicely. No one would point them out if they didn’t know em. But you did. Sabinis men.

You cover your face with your hands a fake a sneeze as one walks right past you. You count two but you wouldn’t be surprised if there were more hiding somewhere. You try to make your way back to the spot the group was at. But they’re gone.

“Fuck.” You say under your breath. The auction starts to dwindle in numbers the people beginning to go home. You walk around the facility, hoping to run into one of the Shelby brothers and not Sabinis men. You had no weapons on you, a choice you curse yourself for doing.

 ‘Never leave without a weapon” You tell yourself, angry for leaving yourself vulnerable. You hear footsteps behind you. You stop in your tracks, the footsteps continue to come closer. You look around for any objects that could save you. There’s only a small statue of an angel.  It would have to do. You turn around, face to face with the third guy. One you did not see from earlier. One you would have surely recognized. Alastair.

 “(Y/N),” he says pulling out a knife from within his pocket.

 You don’t say anything watching as he moves slowly towards you. You don’t feel angry or betrayed. The two of you were never friends. Never enemies either.

 “Alastair, How are you?” You say sarcastically. You drop your coat to the floor, it would only slow you down.

 He stands a good distance from you. He doesn’t move or walk any further.

 You clench your teeth. “I’m gonna guess that this doesn’t look to good.”

 “Afraid not,” he pauses throwing and catching his knife in the air. You fight the urge to roll your eyes, “I can give you the choice to do this the easy way.”

 You scoff. “I’m not gonna let you drag me to Sabini.”

 “Then I guess I’ll bring him two heads.”

 Alastair lunges at you, cutting the top of your arm. You jump back back and hiss in pain, he lunges again. This time you duck, spinning fast to kick him around the back of his knees. Alastair falls but he doesn’t go down without jerking his body around, swinging his arm fast aiming to slash your stomach. You stupidly grab the knife mid air and hold it. He stares at you wide eyes as blood leaks from your hand but you don’t let release

“Wha-“ you didn’t give him the time to finish.

 You kick him right in the jaw knocking him back. You run toward the angel statue grabbing it by the wings. You feel your hair being pulled back. You decide to knock back hard your skull colliding with another. You both walk away from each feeling a painful pounding in each others head. You watch the blood leak from Alastairs nose. You take the butt of the statue and collide again with his face.  You hear an awful crunch as he fall down to the ground dropping the knife. He groans like an hurt animal. You must have broke his nose.

 You drop the statue on the floor and pick up the knife. Your about to make decision of what to do when you hear gunshots close by. You run toward them leaving Alistair. The gunshots don’t stop until you arrive downstairs in the pit where you were watching the horses prance. You see a body on the floor, the face bloody. You see Thomas, Curly and Charlie holding back Arthur who had blood all over hands and face. Michael watches them. You stay silent watching the scene unfold.

Thomas rushes over the to the bloody body. “He’s still breathing.” He yells, “Don’t get blood on the kid!” You see him yell at Michael demanding he give him the keys to the car.

 “I’ m alright to drive.” Michael says looking as if he hadn’t blinked since the whole ordeal.  He walks out with Curly, Charlie, Arthur and the assassin.

Thomas just stands and waits with his hands in his pickets watching them trail out.

 John walks back in, his face hardened, “I fucking lost em.”

 “So Sabini sent two to get the job done.” Thomas says

 “Three,” You chime in, finally making yourself known, “He sent three after you. He must be really paranoid.”

 The brothers eyes widen as they look at you. Did you look that bad. You had won the fight after all. You look down at your yellow dress seeing the stained all over it. You see cuts littered across your arms some where you hadn’t even felt them. And your hand was definitely the worst of them all, the blood still dripping from it. You can’t imagine the damage done to your face.

“I left him back there.” You say suddenly feeling very faint and tired.

 “John put her in the car.” He says walking past you. You feel Johns hands lead you away, the cheekiness from earlier gone replaced with fear and gentleness.

 “You can let go of the knife.” John tell you. You hadn’t even realized you were still holding it, as you let it drop to the ground.

 He leads you to the passenger seat where Michael . “What happened to her?” You hear him say.

 A gunshot rings from the distance.  Everyone goes quiet. Thomas walks back out casually. His face void of any emotion, he opens the door to the drivers seat.

  “Out.” He says. Michael does so. The tone not something you want to disagree with.

 John stands in by your window, giving Thomas the death stare. “Why did you do that, Tommy?”  

 “We only needed one alive.” He simply replies.

Read pt.6

Tags

@captivatedbycillianmurphy @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

IT’S ALL ABOUT FAMILY HAPPINESS

Nestor Oceteva x Reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Thanks to my lovely beta reader @chibsytelford 💘

Author comments: I hope you all enjoy, this is part of a dream I had last night. Gif credits: @angels-reyes​.

Tag list: @starrynite7114​ @chibsytelford​ @dazzledamazon​ @mara-mpou​ @sammskellington​ @gemini0410​​ @1-800-imagines​ @briana-mishell24​ @forest-rav3n​💥 (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

Every pound is deeper, hitting your back against the wooden door covered by graffitis and signs of all kind. Outside of the bathroom, the rock music is flooding the bar, covering every loud moan you scream out. He's huge and hard, and make a good couple with your tightness. His lips are sucking and biting your throat, making sure he does a mark on it so you can remember him the next morning. Finally, your tongues meet again in a filthy and desperate kiss, without caring about the shortness of breath.

“Oh my fuckin' god!” You cry out against his mouth, with your eyes closed.

“That is what I am to you, uh?” He chuckles, thrusting your body feeling needy for more.

“Fuck your ego!” You gasp in laughs, putting your legs tightly around his waist.

“No, fuck you”. He replies with stroke straight to your soul. 

“Shit... Do it again”. You beg keeping his gaze and feeling the heat consuming you.

And he does. His dick beats you deeper, enjoying the dry sound his abdomen makes colliding with yours. Kissing him again, you press your hands on his nape, feeling how the tickles gets installed on your low belly about to reach the ecstasy. You don't care if he cums inside you, always taking your pill as every morning, so you don't say nothing when his moans get louder too. 

Your hips starting to move, dancing over his cock wanting for more, needing it. He already knows you're close, hitting you faster against the door, thinking for a while that you're gonna destroy it.

“Fuck, Nestor... Don't stop”. You claim biting his lower lip, before letting him find your tongue with his.

Your most pure and natural groan is drowned in his mouth, closing hard your eyes and feeling that you're choking because of the pleasure, when he fills you with the hot cum. Some thrusts before, he lets you rest, supporting his forehead against you. Taking his chin with two fingers, you lick his lips by giving him a tiresome kiss.

Putting your feet on the floor to clean all the mess and putting your clothes well on, he holds you the opened door.

“Ladies first”. He says with a triumphant smile, doing a gesture with his left hand, the same one that minutes before was between your legs.

“What a gentleman...” You joke on him, walking towards the bar.

The old bartender, Erny, is smiling at you seeing how the man goes back to his table with his friends, while you take a seat on the stool. Without asking, he serves two shots of tequila. One for you. One for him. Cheering on air, you two drink with the burning liquid ripping your throat. Shaking your head for a second you stretch your right arm to take the helmet his offering you.

“Tell your tío I need to talk' him”. He says then.

“I will”.

“It's good to see you back home, niña”. The older leaves a soft and dearly caress on your chin, leaving a kiss on your cheek.

Zipper up on your chest, to adjust the leather jacket, you wear the helmet on before having a last look of the man who has made your arrival at Santo Padre something better. You didn't ask for his number, he either, but this is a small town and you're sure you're gonna meet again sooner or later.

━━━━━━ ﹅ ━━━━━━

Waking up after all the shots you drunk last night is an odyssey. You feel like shit, and you also look like this. Coughing and trying to clear your throat, you walk out of your room full of cardboard boxes because of the move from Boston, where you were doing your final MIR at the hospital. The smell of coffee is all around the house that, now, you share with your father and your uncle. You could rent a flat or a house, but be with family is always better. Sitting in front of them, the two men open their eyes more. Then, they look at each other.

“You have fun last night, mija?”

“Uh?” You ask serving some coffee in your cup, finding that your father is pointing your throat.

Using your phone to reflect your skin, you see the red and purple bruise in it. Chuckling and licking your upper lip with the toe of your tongue, you shake your head.

“Fuckin' bastard...” You whisper after having a sip of the hot drink, giving you some life. “I fell in love, what can I say?”

Those words impact them, slightly twisting their heads with curiosity. It's the first time in your whole life that you say something like that, and calling their interest on it. Both men leave away his breakfast crossing their arms on the table.

“He was fucking handsome, shit...” You tell them wrinkling the nose, with your cheeks getting red.

“Do you have his phone?” Marcus ask with pursed lips, deciding to have a bite of his toast.

“Nope”. You reply lying against your chair somewhat comfy on it. “But... he is unmistakable and Santo Padre is pretty small. And, shit! I love his braids”.

Bishop splits the coffee staining the table and your shirt.

“Tío, what the fuck?!”

“Did you say... what?” He asks coughing, noticing how your father is between the rage and the shame.

“Braids. I said ‘braids’. Aren't you too young to be deaf or somethin' like, ah?”

Obispo breaks in laughter almost falling from his chair, palming your father's back with no expression on his face. You start to tremble, not sure if you're feeling afraid or what. Licking your lips and putting away the coffee, you want to know what the hell is happening.

“The fucking Nestor!” Your uncle is drowning between long laughs, having to get up wrapping his own abdomen and leaning forward.

“The fuc' is so funny?” You frown starting to feel upset.

“He's Miguel Galindo's head security. My new boss”. Your father's voice is firm and concise, with his black eyes on yours. And now, you want to be swallowed up by the earth. “And we're gonna have dinner with him tonight”.

“With Nes—Nestor?”

“With Miguel!” He yells at you, hitting the table with his fist. “Stop laughing or 'amma gonna punch you in the face, primo!”

“Mierda, estás jodido, Marcus”. (Shit, you're fucked, Marcus). Your uncle can't stop, grabbing his mug to walk towards his room. “Fucking Nestor, what an idol”.

“Papi, I'm so—”.

“I'm gonna shoot him”.

“Dad! What the hell?”

“No, ‘what the hell’ you?!”

“I didn't know who he was! And I'm not going around saying who my father is”.

“I don' wan' you close to him, you hear me, mija?”.

“Why?” You ask raising an eyebrow, supporting your forearms against the edge of the table.

“'Cause he does what he does”.

“You too! And 'am sure the granddad didn't had this talk with my mother”.

Good point. A good one he can't reply. Snorting, the mexican rubs his face with both hands, shaking his head after that. He doesn't say anything else, getting up of his chair to let you have your breakfast alone.

━━━━━━ ﹅ ━━━━━━

Your father opens you the car door, offering you a hand to go out, holding the long white skirt of the satin dress to facilitate your first steps. You're nervous, that's a reality, and Marcus can notice it. With his fingers tangled in yours, you walk towards the front door. The mexican opening it, leaves you some space to come in, being received by his boss.

“Hermano!” He says, hugging your father and palming his back.

“Miguel, she's (Y/N), my daughter”. Marcus, feeling so proud of you, push you sightly into him.

“Nice to meet you, mister Galindo”.

“Call me Miguel”. He says with a gentle smile on his face, narrowing your hand in a salute. “Más hermosa de lo que dijiste”. (More beautiful than you said).

You smile him back, placing the fine gold chain around your neck in a nervous gesture. You have had to do an exhaustive work to cover the bruise on your throat with makeup, and you're praying that it won't fade. With shaky legs you walk on your high-heels being guided by the younger to the living room. The house is huge and luxurious, the kind one that would have a man like Galindo. But when your eyes finds Nestor's, you feel like you don't have any air inside your lungs.

“I need to talk' you, hermano”. Marcus says to Miguel, calling for his attention.

“Sure, let's go”. He replies, putting a hand on your low back. “Sírvele una copa a la señorita”. (Serve a drink to the lady).

“Tequila, if it's okay”. You need it. 

“Didn't you drinking last night enough, mija?” Your father is joking on you, with a serious gesture on his face and a raised eyebrow.

“She's young, Marcus! Let her drink!” Miguel laughs, gesturing to Nestor to serve you. “We will be back soon”.

You stand in the middle of nowhere with your hands behind your back, letting your gaze travel around the living room connected to the kitchen, watching sideaways how Nestor serves the glass, a soft tremble runs through your body. And it gets worse when you feel his fingertips touching your forearm in a ephemeral caress. 

“Thank you”. You mutter taking the drink, unable to look at him, even if he's staring at you. “Last night was sensual... Now is creepy”.

He chuckles shaking his head, putting his hands inside the pockets of the black trousers.

“Your father knows?”

“I'm drinkin' tequila, what 'you think, ah?” You ask then, with your eyes on the horizon through the huge window, and desert behind it. “I'm sorre', I didn' know...”

“It's ok. These things happens”. He says shrugging his shoulders.

“Oh, really? You usually fuck your mates' daughters in the bathroom of a bar?” Raising an eyebrow you turn to him with feigned curiosity.

Nestor place his forefinger under your chin, having a look of your neck. Seems like someone is disappointed, whilst you have another sip enough to burn your throat.

“I have never done it before”.

And you believe him, every word, because of a hunch stuck in your chest. And that fact makes you feel more edgy.

(Meanwhile at Miguel's office)

“¿Bromeas?” (Are you kidding me?). The boss of the Cartel is containing some laughters, supporting his waist against the edge of the desk.

“No bromeo, hermano. Solo quiero saber si estás bien con esto. Si mi hija quiere hacer algo, lo hará de igual manera”. (I'm not kidding, brother. I just want to know if you're okay with this. If my daughter wants to do something, she'll do it anyway). He sighs shaking his chin.

“It's okay. If they want to... have something, I can't refuse”. Miguel shrugs his shoulders cross-armed. “It's all about family happiness”.

“Well, I'm gonna torture him a little. I'm sure my daughter already told him, but he doesn't know that you know”.

“This only gets more interesting”.

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

“I went outside to ask you for your number, but you left so fast”.

“Yea', I had a meeting at the hospital this morning”.

“The hospital? You ok?”

“I work there”.

He draws a surprised gesture on his face nodding some times, and when you're about to continue talking your father comes back wrapping your waist with an arm. Marcus leaves a kiss on your cheek, glaring at Nestor with his eyes. He swallows heavy with his throat going up and down.

“So, where is your wife, Miguel?” The older asks.

“In Santa Madre, with my mother and Cristobal. The house is all ours”. The man replies, making a gesture with his hand to indicate keep walking to outside.

Sitting by your father's side with a leg crossed over the other, the man places a hand on it, marking his territory. Miguel, by the other hand, sitting in front of both serves some whisky for them. 

“So, tell me 'bout you, (Y/N). Why you left Boston?” Galindo asks, adopting the same position as yours, lying against the back of his sofa.

“I finished my MIR and I miss my home, that's all”. With pursed lips you shrug a little. “My boss offered me to continue here, so I couldn't say ‘no’”.

“Amazing. Which speciality?”

“Emergencies”.

“Wow! Brave! It's the most complicated part of a hospital”. He says, sounding very interested.

“Well... More or less, yea'”.

“And you have fun last night, on your way back home?”

You squint at the man, licking your lips with a funny smile drawing in them.

“Pretty much, actually. I went to a bar regented by a good friend of my family. Got some shots, some beers...”

“And she also...” Your father palms your tight, staring at you causing your heart to skip a beat. “Drove my bike, rai', mija?”

“Ye—Yeah... Right, right, dad...”

“She always loved it, so I gave it to her. She likes to... ride. What can I say? It's something hereditary”. Miguel and your father laugh so rhythmic that scare you.

“Are you single, (Y/N)?”

“Why you ask?”

“Just... curiosity. I mean, I'm sure you broke a lot of hearts when you left Boston”. He comments then, with feigned innocence.

“I don' think so, but you can ask my fan club in the geriatric area”. The men laughs loud again, with your father narrowing your knee gently.

“What do you think, brother?” Miguel turns his head to Nestor, next to the glass door with his hands tangled down by his abdomen in a typical security ward position.

“About what, Mikey?” He asks trying to maintain composure.

“Don't you think she's beautiful?”

“No. I mean. Yes. No. I don' know, I didn't look at her”. You could swear he's sweating, getting worse when your father stares at him.

“Don't you think my daughter is beautiful?” Nestor swallows again heavier.

“Ye—Yes, she is... She is”. He answers cleaning his throat with a fist covering his mouth.

“Then, why did you say ‘no’, ah?”

“I didn't wanna be disrespectful, Marcus. It's your daughter”.

“‘Be disrespectful’...” Your father nods one time, having a drink of the whisky in his hand. 

“Oh, sweet Jesus Christ”. You mutter rubbing your right temple.

Miguel and your father start to laugh again, and now you know what it's happening. He already know and Nestor looks more terrified than before, living in his ignorance. You hit your father's ribs with an elbow, getting up of your seat and leaving the glass with tequila on the table.

“You two are like fuckin' children... Pendejos”. You growl very upset walking towards the inside of the house.

“¡Vamos, mija, no te enfades!” (C'mon, mija, don't get angry!) You can hear your father laughing from the sofa, while you walk straight to the front door, taking your phone to call your uncle.

Closing in it loud, you continue to your father SUV, supporting your back against the huge front of the vehicle. At the third tone, the voicemail talks. Shit. You hang up the call, typing this time Angel's number. He finally answer.

“What's up, mi dulce. Everything is goin' ok?”

“Can you please pick me up at Galindo's house?”

“Yea'course, you okay?”

“Please, get me out of here”. You beg, provoking his laughter.

The front door is opening by Nestor, walking next to you and leaving some distance between both till you finish the call.

“'Amma on my way, gimme' some minutes”.

“Thanks, Angel”. You sigh rubbing your forehead with the head down.

“'You leaving?” He asks confused and cheerless.

“Yeah. My hangover doesn' let me deal with bullshit”. You reply somewhat angry. He nods biting his inner lip, looking away. “Listen, I'm sorre'. I didn't mean to give you tro—”.

“Mikey says he's okay”.

“About what?”

“About us. And your father's too. Well, he actually told me that if I make you cry, he's gonna tie me to his car and run me by the desert”. Typical of Marcus, overprotecting. “I'll finish... tomorrow at seven. By evening. If you want... we can go somewhere”.

Raising you gaze at his, finding it in somewhere, you can see he's feeling a little shy. Alcohol always makes everything easy.

“Are you tryin' to fuck me in another bathroom?” You ask then, getting up from the car whilst he's chuckling because of your words.

“Who knows? Maybe. You enjoyed it a lot”.

“You too. My father freaked out when he saw your bruise in my throat”.

“But you don' have it”.

“I'm using makeup to cover it, genius...” You roll your eyes, walking towards him as he does to placing his hand on your lower back.

“So... tomorrow at eight?” A triumphant smile is making an appearance on his lips, before pressing them against your in a dearly kiss, leaving some caresses on your back.

[angstyaches]

Ok so I freaking love belly rubs and now that we’ve seen Shayne receive a belly rub I want to see it reversed 😂 Charlie has an upset stomach for some reason and realizes that he just really needs to burp but he can’t and all day long the feeling just gets worse until he’s finally home and can lay down but still nothing will come up and when Shayne shows up and he lets him through the window he immediately knows something is wrong (p 1 of 2)

(P 2 of 2) somehow Charlie convinced him to help him by rubbing his stomach which of course helps and he burps into his fist a couple of times but it’s not releasing the pressure at all, actually it’s making him feel nauseous and before he knows it he suddenly vomits all over him and Shayne ( I know this doesn’t really fit with the plot you’ve got since the ending of the last fic with Shayne but i didn’t know how to make it fit 😂 you can ignore this prompt if ya want lol)

Milo, thank you, thank you, thank you. I had so much fun writing this. Baby’s first prompt.

Sorry if this is obnoxiously long; I have no idea how to judge length yet.

CW: vomiting

In the pub

Charlie had zoned out hours ago, upon realising that the three-year age gap between him and his oldest cousins meant a lot more when he was eighteen and they were fifteen. Whatever pop culture they were chatting about held no interest for him, and whatever gossip his parents, aunts, and uncles were engaging him would likely be just as boring.

He wished he could have gone and talked to Jonathan. He hadn’t seen his half-brother in months, yet he’d barely wanted to speak two words with Charlie all day. He’d brought two friends along, which Aunt Pauline had been annoyed about at the start of the day. She had gotten over it; Charlie, however, had not. The three of them had been skulking outdoors in the smoking area for hours.

Although, if he’d been given first pick, Charlie would have been chatting to been the pretty bartender with the gold lip ring. The guy looked run off his feet, yet had a smile for every one of Charlie’s relatives who had an order to bark at him, be it a chocolate-stained little cousin or his cane-wielding grandmother. He was so cute, but Charlie was too nervous to even look him in the eye. He also felt slightly… guilty, though he could think of no rational reason why he should feel guilty. He wasn’t spoken for by anyone; not even close. And that just made him sink further into his loneliness.

So, with no conversational opportunity, Charlie had occupied himself with the bar food that came out in waves. He didn’t often eat greasy food at home, and he ate exactly like a kid let loose in a store full of chicken goujons and potato wedges. His stomach started to feel kind of sloshy at one point, but that might have been from copious amounts of fizzy orange. More food would surely soak it up and settle everything down.

After the cute waiter dropped off a tray of drinks at the “adult” table, Charlie’s dad stood up and took a glass over to where Charlie was sitting.

“There you are, designated driver,” Trevor said. His cheeks were flushed red from drinking for pretty much the whole day.

“Thanks, Dad,” Charlie said, fidgeting with the keys in his hoodie pocket. “Can we go soon? I’m getting tired.”

“Of course. Last drink and we’ll hit the road,” Trevor winked, giving Charlie’s shoulder a squeeze. “You really are a blessing, son.”

He couldn’t tell if the flutter in his chest was because of the waiter still, or because of what his dad had just said. It might also have been indigestion, though he wouldn’t think of that until a little later.

“Maybe go and say goodbye to Jonathan before we head off, yeah?”

“Alright, Dad.” A blessing, he thought as his father went back to the proper adult table and sat next to his wife. Their half-demon offspring is a blessing to them. Part of him wanted to burst out laughing, the other half wanted to weep. He hovered somewhere in between, smiling despite the tightness in his chest.

He guzzled a few mouthfuls of the fizzy drink, stealing his courage as he stood up and went to talk to Jonathan.

In the car

The drive home itself was exhausting. Charlie’s energy was already spent after a whole day of socialising. His stomach was making some awful sounds, though it felt lazy and sluggish inside him after being fed such little amounts so many times throughout the day. The flavour of the fizzy orange kept repeating on him too, and he vowed never to touch the stuff again. He glanced over to see that his dad had fallen asleep against the passenger door. In the rear-view mirror, he saw that his mum was snoring with her head thrown back.

Charlie swallowed harshly. It felt like some of the fizzy orange was sitting in his throat, blocking his airways a bit. Gripping the steering wheel tightly at ten and two, he tried to let some of the air up from his stomach, but the bubbles stayed exactly where they were, gurgling amongst the sickly combination of food in his belly.

He slid his right hand from two to twelve on the steering wheel, glancing once again to make sure his dad was still asleep; Trevor would definitely yell at him for having one hand off the wheel, but it was a straight, empty road, and Charlie was decidedly below the recommended speed.

Besides, he could probably pull up enough strength to telekinetically steer the car, if he had to. Having acceleratingly strong demonic powers had its unexpected quirks, after all.

Charlie rubbed a hand across his belly, realising that it was filling out his hoodie a lot more than it should have been. He stifled a whimper as he pushed on the swell, hoping to force up at least some of what was making his stomach feel so bad. It gurgled under his hand, the pain shifting slightly but not upwards. There was a slight rumble in his chest, a fizzing in the back of his throat, but nothing more.

He put his left hand back on the wheel and sighed, surviving on the fact that at least he’d be home and lying in bed without the hour.

Back home

“Night, Mum, night, Dad,” Charlie called dully down the hall, though they’d probably both passed out on their bed in the time it had taken him to brush his teeth. He’d hoped the minty flavour would have soothed the burning acidity, but it had just mixed sickly with the fizzy orange reflux. He could finally hunch over a bit and rub his belly with a little more force, now he was alone in his room.

He reached for his bedside lamp, when a tap on the window made him jump. He almost knocked his little brown stuffed bear from the nightstand, and he rushed to straighten him.

“Sorry, Vincent,” he whispered before approaching the window. Another tiny pebble hit the glass and Charlie groaned under his breath. Couldn’t that boy learn how to send a text?

Charlie cradled his belly as he spotted the dark-haired figure in the back yard. Usually, the sight of Shayne gave him a very light, pleasant feeling, but right now he felt the furthest from light he’d ever been. He sighed and directed his gaze towards the back door, focusing on undoing the lock before ducking back into the room.

He leaned against the windowsill, rubbing his belly desperately. It was definitely too much to ask, that all of the burps trapped inside him come up in the time it took Shayne to get inside, take off his ridiculous boots, and creep upstairs. All Charlie succeeded in bringing up were a couple of orangey splashes that burned his tongue.

“Whatever it is, I’m not in the mood,” he whispered as soon as Shayne let himself quietly into the room.

The dark-haired boy frowned as he closed the door. “Hmm?”

Charlie sighed and sat down on his bed. “I don’t care if it’s a voodoo doll or a silver stake or a monkey’s fucking paw. Can we do it another time?”

“Okay, first of all; hi,” Shayne muttered. “Second; how would any of those things be useful in exorcising or communicating with a demon? And third; where were you all?”

“My cousin’s christening,” Charlie said, slipping a hand into his hoodie pocket so he could keep some pressure on his stomach. “It went on kind of late.”

“You’re telling me?” Shayne began to pace evenly back and forth. “This place gives me shivers on a normal day. Ten times worse when it’s all dark and unoccupied.”

“Well, you could try not hanging around on other people’s property,” Charlie grumbled.

“I caught three demons in the back yard,” Shayne said. “Three demons that will never possess your parents, so you’re welcome.”

“So, you’ve got fucking warding jars on you?” Charlie whined. He knew he was feeling awful for a reason, but if those jars were close-by, they certainly wouldn’t be helping.

“’Course not, I left them at the far end of the garden,” Shayne hissed. “Okay, you’re sounding more like me than me tonight. What’s going on?”

Charlie swallowed and looked up at his friend. His belly was groaning, and he hoped he was the only one hearing it. He pulled his hand from his pocket and started holding it a bit more firmly, giving up the secrecy.

“I don’t feel so good,” he whined, sitting forward. “My tummy’s really sore.”

“Oh. Well, why haven’t you taken any of those tablets you always try to force on me?”

“Because I’ll be fine once I can burp, but so far, nothing wants to come up.” Charlie’s face burned at hearing himself give so much detail. He lowered his head as he leaned towards his knees, curling around the knot of pain.

He felt the mattress take Shayne’s weight, and then a hand prying his away from his stomach. He took a sharp breath and looked up.

“Are you going to rub my tummy?”

“You’ll never hear me say it in those words, but… yeah.” Shayne was still frowning, though Charlie recognised a slight blush in his cheeks. “Here, straighten up. Stop sitting like an idiot.”

“That’s mean,” Charlie whined, slowly released his vice-grip on his belly and straightening his back. “Why do I feel like you’re going to be really bad at – mmm.”

Shayne’s hand could almost have covered Charlie’s whole belly if it hadn’t been so bloated and tight. His stomach churned uneasily alongside the movement of Shayne’s fingers, until Charlie felt gas bubbles press up towards his chest. He felt himself groan without deciding he was going to.

Shayne held his breath, pausing the motion of his hand. “What? Am I doing it wrong?”

“No, no, don’t stop,” Charlie groaned. “Can you rub my back, too?”

As soon as Shayne pressed on Charlie’s stomach and ran a hand up his spine, Charlie felt the gas bubbles release, making a deep rumbling sound in his chest. He pressed a fist to his mouth and turned his head away from Shayne. The burp was so loud Charlie worried it would wake his parents, and lasted about four seconds.

“Holy shit,” Shayne whispered. “I think I felt the room shake.”

“Shut up,” Charlie groaned.

“Feel any better?”

“Not really.”

“I’m going to lift your jumper, okay?”

Charlie almost squeaked as Shayne slid his hand under his hoodie, rubbing at the straining skin of his belly. Charlie dug his nails into the duvet to keep himself from wriggling. His skin was starting to feel prickly and warm, but that could have just been because of what was happening. Shayne was here and touching him, and not just through his clothes. He had his hand on Charlie’s bare torso. He was in pain, but he should have been enjoying this at least a little.

A weak smile twitched across his mouth as he nudged his cheek experimentally against Shayne’s shoulder. When the dark-haired boy didn’t flinch in any major way, he let himself lean a little harder, hoping his heart wasn’t pounding as loudly as he thought it was.

“What did you do to it, anyway?” Shayne asked, and it took Charlie a second to realise he was talking about his stomach. His fingers kneaded gently across it

“I, um, just kept eating, I guess.” Charlie turned his head to let out another burp, though this one sounded like it was strangled on its way up from his stomach. “And my dad kept bringing me fizzy drinks. Designated driver, you know? Aw – fuck, Shayne.”

Charlie frowned and winced as his stomach suddenly lurched under the pressure of Shayne’s hand.

“Shit – what is it?”

“I don’t know,” Charlie murmured, his cheeks suddenly tingling. A certain kind of panic began to ring in his ears. “Oh, god, I think I’m going to –”

He retched before fully realising it was happening, before he could do any kind of aiming or get his hands in front of his mouth. His hands did fly out, one landing on Shayne’s back, the other on his own knee. The majority of the thick, orange vomit landed down the front of Shayne’s jacket and t-shirt, the rest of it flicked across Shayne’s jeans and the duvet cover.

“Oh, my god, Shayne,” Charlie gasped. His hand was shaking as he brought it up to cover his mouth. Almost immediately, his head pitched forward again, another long gush of sticky orange liquid and chunks of bar food spraying over the sleeve of his hoodie as he tried to block it, but a lot still landed in Shayne’s lap.

Shayne sighed, though he really hoped Charlie didn’t hear it. He’d definitely take it the wrong way, thinking Shayne was sighing out of frustration when really, it was the only way he could release the intense sympathy he felt as the blonde boy clung to him and vomited. Shayne continued to rub Charlie’s back, though he wasn’t sure if it was helping or making things worse.

Charlie hiccuped into his sleeve, clearly forgetting that he’d just gotten sick all over it.

“Shayne,” he croaked, slowly lifting his gaze. “I’m so sorry.”

“Feeling any better?”

“Actually, yeah, I am.”

Shayne shrugged. “Then it’s fine. Jesus, if only exorcising you was so damn easy.”

[avengerscompound]

Like Rabbits - Chapter 10

Like Rabbits:  A Black Widow/WinterHawk Fanfic

Masterlist // PREVIOUS

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Rating: E Square:  @star-spangled-bingo​ - a collection of toys

Word Count:  1790

Warnings:  Pregnancy stuff, smut (M|M, oral and anal sex)

Synopsis:  While you and Natasha are contemplating starting a family together, Bucky and Clint are doing the exact same thing.  So two couples go take the same path to parenthood together.

A/N: This is a Bucky/Clint chapter.

Chapter 10

It was about six weeks in total to take possession of the house.  In that time there had been a doctor’s appointment, but neither Bucky or Clint attended it.  It had been decided that the big deal ones they’d go to and if Natasha couldn’t for some reason, one of the boys would take her place, but doctor’s appointments were kind of personal.  Especially ones that involved pelvic exams.  So it would be better if they were mostly left to you and Natasha.  Clint worried a little that it might make them a little less part of it, but he did understand.  Besides, they were going to be part of the Lamaze classes and at the big appointments and the birth.  Not everyone in his position got that much.

You had also started to show.  Not a lot, but it wasn’t something you could hide anymore.  It was very tempting to keep wanting to touch you to see if there was any movement, despite the fact you kept telling them it was too soon.  Certainly anytime you were all around each other, Natasha couldn’t keep her hands off your stomach.

Clint and Bucky were focused on getting the house ready.  The plan was to get the kitchen and master bedrooms done first and then the four of you would move in properly.  There was a lot of work.  Some of it needed to be done by professionals.  The rest he and Bucky were going to try and do.  They’d already pulled out the cabinets and started the framework for the wall that would run down the middle of the room.  Today the plumbers were coming in and putting in the new sinks and dishwashers, so Clint and Bucky were going to start painting the bedrooms.  Steve had already started painting a mural for the babies.  He had accepted the request happily and Clint was surprised by how serene he always looked as he walked in on him.

Clint was meeting Bucky out there today.  He had to stop by Home Depot for a few things and just like every time he was sent shopping by himself he stopped at Target.  Partially just to get some snacks but partially because he really loved looking at the baby things.  He’d been bringing toys and clothes and other random little things home since the positive pregnancy test.

He pulled the pick-up into the drive (another new purchase, thankfully he’d built up a large savings account thanks to the fact his hazard pay was always huge and up until now the most he spent on anything was his archery equipment which was all tax-deductible) behind Bucky’s Audi and grabbed the bags of toys and the case of beer before heading in.

He found Bucky in the nursery with Steve.  The mural was really coming together.  It was a space scene and Steve had laid out what would eventually seem like the earth viewed from the pilot’s chair in a spacecraft.  He was currently painting the details of Earth now and it was impressive in the detail.

“Wow.  It’s looking good.”  Clint said coming into the room and looking on as Steve continued to paint.

“Thanks.  I hope it’s not too scary for the babies.”  Steve said, wiping his brow and smearing a large blue line over his forehead.

Bucky started laughing and grabbed a cloth, and wiped his best friend’s face clean like he was cleaning up a toddler.  “What have you got there?”  He asked.

“Beer,” Clint said, putting the case down on the floor.  “Should still be cold if you want one.”

Bucky and Steve both helped themselves to a bottle as Bucky quirked his eyebrow at Clint.  “You know that’s not what I was talking about.”

“I got some more toys for the babies,” Clint said sheepishly as he ran his hand through his hair.

Bucky chuckled and shook his head.  “How many toys do you think they need?”

“I can’t help it.  It’s all so cute.  I mean look at this.”  He said pulling a mobile out of the bag that was made up of little plush toys of all the planets in the solar system.  “It goes with the mural.  And … I got them a little Cap and a little Tony so their uncles can be with them all the time too.”

Steve gave a bemused laugh.  “That’s sweet.”

“You better put them in the closet to keep them safe,”  Bucky said.  “You should build some shelves for all their stuff.”

“Yeah.  That’s a good idea,” Clint said looking around the room.  “It’s gonna be nice.”

“You wanna go start on our room?”  Bucky asked.

“Yeah, you right being left alone, Steve?”  Clint asked.

Steve took a drink and nodded.  “Work better without the audience anyway,” he said.

“Alright.  We’ll leave you to it,” Bucky said and he and Clint headed down the hall to their room.

“I was looking around the carriage house.  There’s a bunch of unused timber.  It’s old and kinda weathered.  I thought we could make a… what do you call it… you know, when one wall is different to the others?”  Bucky said as Clint wandered a little aimlessly around the room.

He turned and looked at the wall.  “Yeah, that could work.  We should strip back this carpet first.”

Bucky moved up behind him and wrapped his arms around Clint’s waist and pressed a kiss to the side of his neck.  The tickle of Bucky’s beard on his skin made Clint shiver in anticipation.  “You know what we really need to do?”  Clint said playfully.

“What’s that?”  Bucky asked.

Clint turned in his arms and tugged on the waistband of Bucky’s pants.  “We still need to Christen the bedroom.”

Bucky chuckled and pulled Clint flush against him.  “You think you can keep quiet?”

“I can if I have my mouth full.”  He teased and sunk down to his knees in front of Bucky.

Bucky bit his bottom lip and looked around the room.  Clint loved that slightly panicked look in his eye.  “Door, Clint.”  He whispered as Clint moved to unfasten his jeans.

Clint sat back on his knees, letting Bucky go and shut the door.  When he returned and tangled his hand in Clint’s hair.  The light tug he gave made Clint’s scalp prickle.  He leaned forward and nuzzled and Bucky’s crotch.  Bucky unfastened his jeans and pushed them down.  He was already semi-hard and Clint’s mouth watered and he nosed at it and ran his tongue up the side.

Bucky’s cock twitched and jumped as the blood rushed to it.  As it hardened fully, Clint pushed back Bucky’s foreskin and lapped his tongue over the head.  Bucky tugged on Clint’s hair and Clint opened his mouth wide, poking his tongue out and looking up at his lover’s face.

Bucky thrust into Clint’s mouth.  Clint moaned, curling his tongue as Bucky tested his limits.  Bucky knew exactly how Clint liked it and soon he was gagging on Bucky’s cock as his own strained against his jeans.  Precum leaked down Clint’s throat and a patch of his own began to stain his jeans.

Bucky remained silent, as he clenched his jaw and fucked Clint’s throat.  Clint couldn’t take his eyes off him.  The way his eyes were set and his jaw twitch as he tried to keep it together made Clint moan into Bucky’s cock.

Bucky pulled back suddenly, nearly making Clint stumbled forward.  “You got lube?”  He asked tilting Clint’s head up to look at him.

Clint smirked and fished in his pocket for the tube he pretty much had with him all the time.  Just in case.

“I don’t know why I questioned that,” Bucky said, helping Clint to his feet.  He spun him and pushed him towards the window.  Clint frantically unfastened his belt and jeans as Bucky rutted against his ass and kissed his neck.

He shoved them down to his knees and braced his hands on the window as Bucky began to massage lube into Clint’s asshole.  His skin prickled and he moaned softly as he gazed out the window over the farm.

Bucky’s finger slipped inside him.  Clint clenched his jaw, trying to stay quiet as Bucky pushed deep inside him and curled his finger, stroking it over Clint’s prostate.  He added a second finger and stretched them.  The burn of Clint’s ring muscle giving under the pressure made Clint groan and press his face on the cool glass.

Bucky pulled his finger free and slicked his cock, before lining it up to Clint’s ass and slowly sinking in.  Clint groaned, digging his finger into the window frame.  “That’s it,” Bucky whispered, kissing the side of Clint’s neck.  “Nice and quiet.”

He began to thrust deep into Clint’s ass, sending wave after wave of pleasure running up the archer’s spine.  Each thrust of Bucky’s hips pushed him into the window and Clint had to brace himself to stop from going through it.

A pit formed in this gut and pressed down at him.  His cock ached for relief and throbbed, leaking down the shaft.

“Bucky… Buck… Buck…” Clint babbled as his hands opened and closed on the window frame.

“Mmm… what is it?”  Bucky said at a half growl.

“‘M close.  Gonna come.”  He groaned, as his cock jumped.

“Just hold it, Clint,” Bucky said, gripping Clint’s hip as he picked up his pace.

Clint groaned loudly and bit into his fist as Bucky picked up his pace.  He felt like a hot ball of lead had been dropping inside of him and he was about to burst into flame.  His cock throbbed and began to drip and it was all he could do to stop from painting the window in hot come.

With a sudden snap of his hips into Clint, shoving his cock deep inside the archer, Bucky came.  Clint moaned into his fist as he felt the pulse of Bucky’s cock inside him as it released.  “Hold it,” Bucky whispered, nipping at the shell of Clint’s ear.

Bucky slipped free and turned Clint to face him, before dropping to his knees and taking Clint’s cock into his mouth.  Clint groaned and leaned against the window frame relaxing as Bucky sucked hard on his throbbing member.

With a low groan, he came down Bucky’s throat.  Bucky swallowed it all and got to his feet, pulling Clint back against him. “It’s now home now.”  Clint joked, nuzzling at Bucky’s neck.

“Yep.  Well and truly broken in,” Bucky chuckled.  “So let’s make it exactly how we want it.”

Clint laughed and kissed Bucky’s cheek as he started to redress.  “That was the nicest way anyone has ever told me to get back to work.”

// NEXT

[fuckingthefictional]

Cross my heart- Part 15

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x OFC, John Shelby (platonic) x OFC

Warnings: Talk of sexual assault, semi smut.

A/N: Enjoy a long ass chapter, that hasn’t been proofread and it probably crap!

Previous//Next

“What the fuck do you mean she was attacked?”

“John calm down.”

“No I will not fucking ‘calm down’!”

“John your shouting isn’t helping the situation at all.”

“But Pol-“

“Don’t ‘but Pol’ me John, that girl was attacked and nearly raped! Your shouting is not helping the situation one bloody bit.”

Eliza listened from her spot on the sofa, her body ached and her memories were still intense and raw from the previous night.

Her eyes felt heavy and she felt bleary. Eliza wanted nothing more than to sink into the cushions of the sofa and just disappear.

There was a great deal of pacing coming from the kitchen, which she assumed could only be John’s.

Eliza wished she could’ve told him in a normal way, like she did with all her troubles- over a glass of scotch. That he didn’t discover the events of the night before in such a horrible way.

Her heart pounded rapidly in her chest, her entire body felt as if it were in shackles. Like she had her hands tired- as if there was no escape from this dark backstreet

She could feel ever grope, every unwanted kiss, she could hear every single taint and harsh laughter.

She felt cold and exposed where her clothes had been forcibly removed and the fearful tremble in her body refused to go away.

It felt as if she was helpless, there was nothing she could do. Like she was watching herself be pushed around and assaulted in the most cruel ways from the outside.

And then he came, cigarette burning and the soft glow of the ashy embers as they were flicked off onto the mud caked floor.

The man who had a red right hand in his pocket and a peaky cap perched on his head and she could see the blades tucked away, still glinting occasionally in the soft glow of the nicotine filled stick.

At long last she felt her knees hit the floor, as she simultaneously heard begging and screams of pain. Her hands were stained in blood and the screams got louder and louder until they just...stopped.

“Liza?” A frantic voice was calling to her, she felt like she was being shaken, “Liza wake up!”

She woke with a start, shooting up and rocking back and forth. Eliza felt someone attempt to hold her, but after the previous night she attempted mercilessly to escape whoever was touching her. She thrashed and tried to break free, but they held on.

Eliza was sure she was crying now, her voice croaked and cracked as she attempted to cry out in some sort of attempt at being rescued.

A small part of Eliza’s mind knew she was safe, that nobody was trying to hurt her. In any other situation she would relax into the embrace and find comfort. But this- this was to much to handle.

“Let her go Johnny boy-“

“Tom what the fuck is going on?”

“I’ll explain in a minute- just go through to the kitchen, aye an’ I’ll sort this.”

“Yer out ‘yer mind if yer think I’m leaving her here with you.”

There was a small pause, before the sound of retreating footsteps were heard by Eliza.

“Liza, open yer eyes for me.”

She slowly cracked open an eyelid, almost afraid of what she might find. Her vision was blurred as she burst into floods of tears at the sight of Tommy kneeled besides her.

“I- I thought-“ Eliza tried to explain, but couldn’t bring herself to say the words.

“You are safe.” Tommy couldn’t express the words hard enough it seemed, his gaze pierced into Eliza. He continued on leaning closer to prove is point, “I will keep you safe, my family will make sure you’re safe- I never want ye’ to live in fear Liza.”

Eliza just nodded, tears soaking his shoulder as he gently combed through a few stray locks of her hair.

She could feel gentle lips brush her forehead, a huge contrast to the violating ones that she had been forced to receive the night before.

“I just need time.” Eliza tried to reassure herself, “the wound will heal with time.”

“An’ I’ll be with you every step of the way, I promise you that much.”

“Just don’t go breaking my heart along the way.”

“As long as you don’t hurt mine either.”

//

Life was a struggle to get back to normal for Eliza, she went back to work a few days after the bruises had healed up.

Routine practically kept her sane the following weeks after the incident.

She’d wake up at six in the morning, fix Harry his breakfast and then meet Tommy outside the Garrison for seven. He would then walk her to the schoolhouse and wait with Eliza in her classroom until the children started to line up outside- she’d teach for the day and then be picked up by Tommy or John (and occasionally Arthur) where they’d walk back to watery lane and Eliza would stay until it nine helping with homework and bedtime routines. After a long day she’d walk with the Peaky men back to the Garrison where she’d go on shift.

By the end of the day Eliza usually felt exhausted enough to close her eyes without fearing the makeshift movie full of her past memories.

Routine worked.

Until Tommy showed up at Eliza’s window on a Sunny Sunday. Sunday’s were the day that Eliza allowed her routine to include a lie in, so she could relax and recover before Monday came around.

But of course Tommy kept tapping on the glass panes of her window.

Eliza wanted to do nothing but turn over and stuff her head into her pillows- but she knew Tommy was incessant and would stop until she payed him attention.

So she rolled out of bed and unlatched the window, pushing it open slightly before making her way back to her bed and sliding under the warm covers.

“Liza?”

She grumbled in response.

“Ive got a surprise for you.”

“Is the surprise letting me sleep for another hour?” Eliza grumbled groggily, “because that would be appreciated.”

She could practically see his smirk in her mind, there was a small chuckle from behind and then Eliza felt the covers be ripped away from her body.

“Tommy!” She shot up, to see him stood above her with a smile on his face. Eliza liked seeing him happy.

“Get up, we’re goin’ out.”

Eliza sighed, “Fine.”

//

“Where are we going?”

They had been driving for what felt like hours, Tommy had driven them out of the city- and Eliza could admit that it felt good to get fresh air and not be inhaling the heavy black smoke.

Eliza felt free, like she was in the rolling fields that her childhood town in Ireland held.

Away from Birmingham she felt as if she could leave behind her problems, and focus on some of the finer details in life.

Like the dewy grass, or the way the wind brushed against her skin, or how Tommy’s hands would occasionally tap against the steering wheel, or how his eyes would light up more every time they passed a horse in a field.

Eventually Tommy parked at their supposed final destination, it wasn’t much- a field and paddock which held a few horses, and a stable with what appeared to be a riders hut attached to it.

“Where are we?” Eliza was lost in her own befuddlement.

“My stables.” He replied striking up a cigarette.

“But I thought you had a stable in Small Heath?”

“If you mean Uncle Charlie’s boat yard, then yes- but technically it’s not mine.” Tommy opened his side of the car door, before jogging round and opening Eliza’s side too, “Besides, I prefer it when the horses have a bit of fresh air- Small Heath don’t do their lungs any good.”

Eliza smiled at that comment. She’d gathered that Tommy had a soft spot for animals, especially horses.

“Let me rephrase my original question then.” Eliza giggled, “Why are we ‘ere?”

The young man stopped in his tracks, “To ride of course.” He began to walk besides her, linking there arms together, “Yer told me that you’d ride when you were in Ireland, growing up- that yer missed it.”

Her heart swelled at the fact that Tommy had remembered that conversation. Eliza found herself struggling to form proper sentences, so instead she just nodded in awe.

“Now come on pretty girl, the longer we talk ‘ere- the less ridin’ time we’ll have.”

Eliza raises a brow and smirked, she leaned in as their noses brushed slightly. She could’ve sworn she heard Tommy’s breath stop.

With a final breath she steadied herself, “Race you!” She screamed sprinting away as quickly as her skirts allowed her to.

//

Tommy looked dumbfounded for a second before he also took off running, chasing after her trying to reach the fence first.

It made him smile, seeing how childish and free Eliza could act.

Tommy was a damn good businessman- but if he knew one thing, it was that he was willing to follow Eliza to the end of the world.

When he was around Eliza, Grace was forgotten in his mind.

When Eliza was around, he felt a genuine happiness that he hadn’t felt since before the war.

“Hurry up old man!” Eliza called playfully from the top of the terrain, Tommy shook his head a laugh escaping his lips.

“I am not an old man, you cheeky little-“ he cut himself off, “I’m not even thirty yet!”

“Old.” She retorted back still laughing heartily.

“Liza you’re 3 years younger than me- you’re ‘old’ too.” Tommy bargained.

“Are you calling me old Mr Shelby?” Eliza teased

“Polly raised me to never call a lady old.” Tommy replied, it was true- he remembered when he called his teacher old and Polly came marching into the school and smacked him right around the head. It was clear that he hadn’t done it again.

He looked across to see Eliza gazing wistfully at the horses in the paddock.

“I’ve got the perfect horse for you to ride.”

Eliza turned to him, her interest clearly peaked, “A dappled grey mare.”

Tommy could see her eyes scan across the field, trying to find the horse he’d just mentioned. When she did, she gasped and began to walk over to the gate.

He followed behind her, watching as Eliza’s steps became more springy as she got more excited. Eliza’s laughter consumed the air as she reached her hand out to pat the horses nose.

Tommy hovered behind her, his breath lingered near her neck.

“You need a hand getting up?”

Eliza just nodded as he helped lift her body off of the floor, his calloused hands grazed her waist.

“Thanks.”

“No problem pretty girl.”

//

“Thank you for today Tommy- I’m thankful, really.”

Tommy stepped forward, tucking a few stray hairs behind her ears. They had ridden for a few hours and had just finished putting the horses back into the stables.

They were both mucky and had thin layers of sweat coating their skin.

“No issue at all Liza.”

“There must be a way I can repay you.” She was stood in front of him now, even closer than before.

“Well,” Tommy licked his lips, brushing against the younger woman’s face, “there is one thing you could do.”

Their gaze lingered on each other, before the tension became too much and they met in a hot searing kiss.

Tommy walked them back towards the support beams as he continued to kiss Eliza with as much passion as he could muster.

Eliza was tugging and grasping at his hair as their lips moved together in tandem.

“jump.” Tommy breathed as he braced her body against his as her hips clashed up against his groin.

It caused them both to moan with pleasure, as Eliza rolled her hips against his again and Tommy planted hot kisses across her chest.

They began to shed clothes as they navigated through the stables and to the pile of hay in the corner.

Curses and pants could be heard throughout the area.

However before it progressed Tommy had stopped, “Liza...are you sure you want this?” He felt like he was pushing her.

But Eliza just caressed the sides of his face, and sweetly pecked his lips with her own, “I need to feel like I’m back in control- there’s nobody else who could take care of me in this way, except for you Tommy.” She pressed their lips together again, “So for the love of God- fuck me already!”

TAGLIST:

@peachy-aisha @marvelschriss @eternallyvenus @captivatedbycillianmurphy @annabethgranger123 @shadow-of-wonder

[torialeysha]

Something beginning with M - Part 2

Read Part 1 here 

Warnings: NSFW swearing/fluff/smut (AKA - The what more could you want combo 😉)

Song: Notion - Tash Sultana

“Yahalom?” You heard Alfies gruff voice call you softly. “We’re back now.”

Rising groggily from the cushion of Alfie’s chest, you rub at your tight eyes which strained against the darkness outside the cars windows. You can just about make out a silhouette of the row of houses in which yours was wedged between. There was no sign of life coming from the succession of little homes. The only welcome was the light emanating from the army of street lamps that casted a warm orange glow upon the dingy brick and glass facades.

“What time is it?” You asked croakily.

“It’s almost 11.”

Due to the hour and the fact your house was in darkness you had assumed your Mother was asleep and for that you were grateful. At least it would save you an inevitable scolding...until the morning anyway.

Daniel opened your car door and you clambered out on sleepy limbs with Alfie following you. You turn to him.

“Thank you for today. It’s been wonderful.”

“You’re welcome, Pet.” He sighed heavily. Taking a purposeful pause before committing to the moment you had both been dreading.

“Well, You better get in before your ol’ mum comes out and gives us both a rollicking.” You gaze at the floor, laughing weakly.

With a ringed finger Alfie lifts your chin to look at him then without warning and a with a blatant disregard of Daniels presence, he leans down to press his lips to yours. It was a sensual union of your mouths. Soft, passionate and perfect. Far from the chaste peck on the cheek you were expecting.

“Until tomorrow, Yahalom.” He finally breaks away and let’s you go.

“Tomorrow.” You repeat, still in a slight daze from his kiss.

You bid the two men adieu and stumble giddily towards the front door.

Before entering you glance back at Alfie who along with a blushing Daniel is waiting by the car to make sure you get in safe. The light from the street lamp glistens off Alfies lashes as he winks at you and you fight the sudden urge to shout “I love you” at him.

Quickly and soundlessly, you disappear behind the door before you can do so.

In a euphoric state you slouch against the front door, allowing the chill of the glossed wood to cool your heated skin. Your fingers touch your lips that still tingled with the moistness of Alfies and with a contented sigh you make your way to climb the creaky wooden stairs with a practised caution.

“And where have you been?” Your mothers direct tone coming from the darkness startled you. Squinting up at the top of the wooden mountain her scowling figure appears from the shadows.

“I’ve been out. It was a beautiful day, I was making the most of it. I didn’t mean to wake you.” You pronounce nonchalantly.

“Wake me? I ain’t managed to get a wink of sleep thanks to you. I’ve had your uncle on the phone. He said you’ve been out gallivanting with that Alfie Solomon’s again.” The contempt in which your mother spoke Alfie’s name warned you where this conversation was going.

“And?”

“And?” She repeats angrily “What do you think you’re playing at Y/N? The man’s a bloody criminal. Your Father, God rest his soul, would turn in his grave if he knew you were associating with such villainous filth.” She spits furiously.

“You don’t know him!” You fire back, furious that she had the audacity to bring your Father in to this.

“And you do?” She scoffs. “Listen to me girl. Men like that are no good. He’ll ruin you. Use you for one thing and then hang you out to dry like the rest of ‘em. Or maybe he already has. Strolling in here at this hour? How could you be so stupid Y/N! I thought I raised you better than that. I forbid you from seeing him again.” You can just about make out her snarling features in the darkness.

“You can’t do that...I love him.” You admit to your disapproving mother.

“Love.” She smirks. “I’ve heard it all now.”

Your eyes fill with an angry swell of hot tears. There was no point trying to explain your feelings for Alfie to your mother, she would never understand. Turning your back on her and her slanted prejudice against Alfie. You make your way back down the stairs.

“Don’t you walk away from me, young lady.” You hear the rubber soles of her slippers slapping righteously against the wooden steps as she descends the stairs behind you.

“Leave it, Mother. You obviously don’t understand.”

“Oh, I understand better than you by the sounds of it. Selfish delinquents like Alfie Solomon’s are not capable of such things as love, Y/N. And I ain’t going to stand by and let that man prey on an innocent girl like my daughter.” She grabs your shoulder turning you to face her. You shrug from her grasp as if it burned.

“He is capable...” You try your best to whisper. Aware of the paper thin walls of the attached houses and their sleeping occupants. “He’s shown me more love in the past few months than you have in years. And I don’t care what you say. I’m not going to stop seeing him. He makes me happy.”

“Oh I’ve heard it all now. And please tell me how a cad like Alfie Solomon’s makes you happy?” She asks through an incredulous cackle.

“He takes me away from my miserable life with you.” You spat venomously, all consideration for your sleeping neighbours disappearing.

Her hand strikes your face forcefully. You gasp in disbelief, your hand darting to cover your stinging cheek. Your Mothers wide eyes told you she was just as shocked at her actions as you were.

“Y/N-I-“ She stutters skittishly but you dash passed her to the door before she can string together a proper sentence. Flinging the wood panel wide, you make down the street. Your Mothers calls echoing after you.

In a stupor you ran as fast as your tired limbs could carry you. Your heart pounded as fast as your feet on the uneven pavement. The dark, smoggy streets of Camden seemed never ending and you knew it wasn’t safe for you to be out on your own so late at night. picking up your pace, you made it passed the countless dark alleys and side roads until you reached the familiar parade of townhouses. Unlike you’re own street, this row of houses were double in size and housed the more well-off side of town. You came to a stop outside the house with a front garden filled with a muddy bed of forget me nots that lined a path leading up to a glossy black door - Alfies door. Holding on to the cool, wrought iron railings that separated his garden from the street. You eyed his abode carefully. To your relief a sliver of light peaked through the ineptly drawn curtains of the living room window and told you that Daniel had dropped him home.

Rubbing roughly at your tear soaked face, you tried your best to pull yourself together. Thankfully the temperature had dropped from the sweltering conditions earlier and a welcomed nippy breeze cooled the hot dampness of your sweaty skin. You walked the beautiful blue lined pathway slowly, taking a couple of deep breaths to regain control of your ragged breathing.

Your hand hesitated around the heavy brass of the door knocker.

Had you done the right thing coming here? Was you being too forward?

You looked down at the eerie loneliness of the narrowing shadowed street and Knocked gently.

The muffled bark of Alfies dog Cyril vibrated through the door in warning, followed by Alfies grumbling voice.

“It’s alright boy. Come, let’s see who’s got the bollocks to be knocking on my door this time of night.” Your heart was pounding in your ears as the door opened a crack, revealing half of Alfie and the nosey sniffing snout of Cyril.

“Y/N?” Alfie inquired dumbstruck.

You attempted a smile but it didn’t reach your watery eyes.

Without delay he releases the door, holding back an excited Cyril while you stepped inside. The Mastiff wiggled free from Alfies grasp and bounded over to you. You giggled as he sniffed and licked at your hand, begging for attention. Your hand moved across his short soft fur, scratching behind his ears just where he likes it.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough, Cyril. Buggar off to bed.” Alfie commands his furry companion as he’s about to collapse euphorically at your feet.

You turn to Alfie, noticing a gun in his hand.

“For protection.” He explains sheepishly, placing it on the sideboard next to the door. You nod as if you were well acquainted with the ways of his world.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to intrude-“ You begin to apologise but he cuts you off.

“-Don’t fucking apologise, right. You are always welcome here. But don’t be out walking the streets this time of night again. It’s not safe, is it? Especially for a beauty like you.” You blush at his compliment. “You hear me?” He scorns.

You give him a contrite nod.

“Good. Now tell me what’s happened? Your mum upset ya?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You grumble.

“Hmm.” He grunts. Eyeing you with concern. His stormy orbs landing on your reddened cheek. You turn to block his view but he grabs your face, pulling it back so he can examine the pink blemish that stains your skin. The slight touch of his fingertips sends your pulse racing.

“She fucking do this?” His voice was tight, his eyes wide and alight with a frightful fury.

“This was my fucking fault getting you back so late.” He carries on bitterly and you’re unsure wether his rage is directed at himself or your Mother.

“It wasn’t your fault. It was mine! I insisted on staying to watch the sunset. I deserved it, Alfie. I said some really spiteful things...” You shake your head regretfully, holding back a fresh batch of tears.

“Ay, Come ‘ere.” He holds out his arms and you fall into them willingly. Closing your eyes you enjoy the comfort of Alfies embrace.

“I was wondering...if I could stay here tonight!” You ask falteringly.

Alfie stiffens, pulling back to study you with a tapered gaze.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Yahalom. Let me and Cyril walk you home, ay?”

You’d be lying if you said his dismissal didn’t wound you.

“I don’t want to go back there. Not tonight.” Your voice was bleak and on the edge of desperation. You were sure that a night away wouldn’t change much but it would at least allow you and your Mother some time to cool off.

He deliberates a moment before succumbing to the desperation in your Doe eyes.

“You’ve fucking got me wrapped around your little finger in’t ya?...” He sighs. “Alright then. Follow me.”

Along with a loyal Cyril, you follow Alfie up the stairs and into the room at the end of the hallway. Alfie flicks a switch and the room lights up.

It was a simple space, predominately cream with royal blue tapestries. The single, Victorian bed caught your eye. Its small, flimsy brass frame telling you it didn’t belong to Alfie.

“This isn’t your room?” You ask.

“No, but my rooms down the hall there.”

“Oh...” the disappointment was evident in your soft voice.

“I’ll leave Cyril in ‘ere with you for the night.” He looks down at Cyril who has already settled on the rug at the foot of the bed. “You’ll look after ‘er won’t ya, boy?”

Not that you at all doubted the capabilities of the sandy giant but you would much rather be tucked up in Alfies arms instead.

“There’s a bathroom across the way if you wanna get washed up and I’ll grab one of my shirts for you to sleep-“

“-I want to sleep with you.” You blurt out, interrupting him.

“...I mean, I want to sleep in your bed with you not on my own.” You explain, blushing furiously.

“No way!-“ He starts strongly but the hurt look on your face stops him from finishing that sentence. “Don’t look at me like that, Pet. You know what I mean. I can barely control myself when I’m with you in a room full of people. How am I gonna behave when we’re alone in the same bed? I’m sorry, yeah, but I’m just trying to do the right thing ‘ere.”

“What if I don’t want you to behave? What if I don’t want you to the right thing?” Your voice was merely a breathy whisper.

He scrubs at his face frustratedly.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I know what I want, Alfie.” A boldness had possessed you, spurred on by the uncontrollable fiery lust that had been festering all day.

Alfies eyes growing wide and distant, strayed from yours. His brow furrowing diligently as he debated with himself the best way to handle this situation.

“What I’m trying to say is, Pet, I don’t trust myself. And I don’t want us to end up doing something you might regret in the morning. Don’t you want to wait until marriage to share a bed and what ‘av ya?”

Marriage? You bite back the urge to scoff. After overhearing Alfies tirade of rules and beliefs to his army of new factory workers the other day, he had made it very clear that the conjugation of Gentiles and Jews was prohibited. So you were pretty sure that thanks to your conflicting religions, marriage wasn’t on the cards for you. However, his condemnation bothered you. If he felt that strongly about it then why was he wasting his time with you in the first place? It was a puzzling, arduous revelation that had been nagging at you for days and you knew you’d have to address it sooner rather than later.

“You’ve gone quiet on me. What ‘av I said now?”

“It’s not what you’ve said...or actually it was.. Oh, I don’t know.” Your head spun. Your coveted feelings for Alfie made logical thinking almost impossible. Disoriented, your heart battled with your brain like it had the past week wether to bring it up or not.

“Spit it out for fuck sake.”

You sigh defeatedly and carefully approached the subject.

“The other day at the bakery, I overheard you speaking to your new workers... and you mentioned about Jewish women being off limits... and it got me thinking... Does it matter to you then that I’m not Jewish? Because I need to kn-“

“-That’s what you’re worried about?..” He starts incredulously.

You nod, unable to look at him.

“...Not that I’m ‘supposedly’ a murderous criminal? Or the fact that your mother fucking hates me and wouldn’t piss on me if I was on fire?...So that’s the reason you were all quiet the other day?”

You stay silent.

“Fuckin ell.” He shakes his head before continuing. “Alright, fair enough.” He holds his hands up in agreement. “it’s not an ideal situation, granted. But nothing ever is, is it, Yahalom?” He sighs with a sympathetic shrug before continuing. “I guess what it comes down to at the end of the day, right... Is you just can’t help who you fall in love with.”

Your eyes dart from the floor to his. In the dim light of the room it’s hard to tell but you’re sure he was blushing.

“What did you say?”

“I love you.” The deep timbre of his casual admission reverberated through you like a bolt of lightning, so hot and fast you couldn’t grasp it.

“You love me?” The last of your sentence is lost as your breathing falters.

He nods, eyeing you cautiously. You could do nothing except stand there stunned.

“Ya see, I knew from the very first time I saw you, right, that I was completely and utterly... fucked.” You frowned at him. That wasn’t the word you were expecting. “You had me hook, line and sinker, yeah, and there was nothing I could fucking do about it.” He carried on, stepping closer to you. Picking up your hand he places it on his chest where his heart is. You feel the muscle beneath the material, flesh and bone, pounding a rapid rhythm. The air was thick, crackling around you both.

“I know what people say about me and unfortunately, Pet, most of it is true, yeah. But whatever good is left of this ol’ heart ‘ere is yours.”

“Oh, Alfie! I love you too.” You revel in his proclamation. He stills. The pounding of his heart increasing against your palm.

“Say That again.” He asks, his voice low and dangerous.

You swallow hard before complying.

“I love you.”

“Again.” He commands with a grunt and you can see the dark glimmer of unworthiness in his stormy orbs.

“I. Love. You.” You pour your heart into every syllable to erase the redundant doubt that’s plaguing him.

Closing the gap, you align your body against his. Your hand that was at his chest has snaked around his neck, your fingers toying with the messy tufts of sweaty hair at the nape of his neck.

Nose to nose, your laboured breathing mingles. His hands grasp your back, stroking and needing your curves restlessly. His little grunts betraying his restraint as his body goes rigid against yours.

“Take me, Alfie. I’m yours.” You tell him.

“Y/N.” He speaks your name as a warning, a poor last attempt at fighting a losing battle. Pushing up on your tippy toes you graze your lips against his. Unmoving, he allows the chaste contact.

“I won’t regret anything..” You continue through pecks. “The only thing I do regret is not meeting you sooner.” His furrowed gaze studies you, catching the certainty of love and desire in your glossy eyes.

“Oh, fuck it.” He pulls you tightly to him. The last of his hesitance retreating as you become a frenzied mess of clashing lips and roaming hands.

He pulls away abruptly leaving you needy and breathless. You hold back a disappointed groan as you ready yourself for his excuse to stop.

“Not here...” He pants against your lips. “...I want you in my bed.”

You gasp in surprise as he hauls you up against the length of his body. You wrap your limbs around his torso. His blatant arousal stiff and thick wedged between your bodies. He carries you with ease from the spare bedroom and down the corridor, Cyril still in tow. You bury your head in his neck, inhaling the musky masculinity of his unique scent that fills you with an overwhelming urge to taste him. You place your lips to his neck, your tongue darting out to sample the saltiness of his clammy skin. Then remembering your promise from earlier you sink your teeth into him. A grunt erupts from his full lips.

“If you don’t stop that we ain’t making it to my room.” He grumbles hotly. Your blood heats and you grin impishly into his neck before kissing softly where you had just bitten.

A couple more strides and you make it to his bedroom. Alfie boots the door and it swings open with a creaky groan. One of his hands leaves you to blindly switch on the light. He sets you down at the foot of the bed. Leaving you stood there while he closes the curtains. Your eyes travel around the freshly illuminated room in amazement. This was no doubt Alfies bedroom. It was at least three times the size of the spare room. The perfect expanse for his larger than life character.

A rich, dark mahogany dominated the room, from the lavish furnishings to the waxed floorboards. The only colour that graced his chamber was an olive green that covered the walls and accentuated the decorative rug that you were currently stood on. A white mantle piece housed a torpid fireplace which faced you and the large four poster bed you were stood against.

It struck you how the room held no sign of life.

No photographs or paintings embellished the surfaces of the mantle or the walls. It was an impersonal space, void of any framed memories, illustrated landscapes or portraits. For a room so full it felt incredibly empty.

“Three’s a crowd, mate. Out you go.” Alfie ushers out a bewildered Cyril before closing the door and returning to stand in front of you. His fervent gaze assesses you hungrily. The rise and fall of your chest increasing as anticipation coursed through your veins. He places both hands on your hips and even through the material of your dress his touch is electrifying.

“I’m taking this off.” He tells you gruffly. He gathers the material of your dress in his dexterous hands. You lift your arms as the last of the hem rises into his deft fingers and in one swift movement it’s off over your head, leaving you in your undergarment - the most naked you had ever been in front of a man.

His fingers slip the straps of your cami-bloomers over your shoulders and the all in one falls to your feet leaving you completely naked. You tense, fighting the urge to cover your modesty. His fingers trail down to trace your hardening nipples and your breath catches. A gentle whimper leaves your mouth as his thumbs circle the sensitive hard peaks a couple of times before sliding down to rest underneath the curve of your breasts. His hands grip your ribs and in one swift movement you’re tossed backwards onto the mattress, landing with a gasping bounce.

Giggling you look up at him. His dark gaze, harsh with desire stopping you mid chuckle.

Slowly and deliberately he begins unbuttoning his shirt, all the while his very serious, wild eyes never leaving yours.

Your whole body felt like it was on fire. His admiring, animalistic glare empowering your nakedness.

You make yourself as comfortable as possible, propping yourself up on your elbows to enjoy the show. Completely riveted, you watch as he bares the alabaster skin of his arms and torso along with the contrasting array of black inkings that adorn them. Your fingers restlessly clutch the bedding beneath you in hot anticipation. Once the shirt had been dealt with, he bends to tug off the cami-bloomers that are still bound around your ankles. They fall to the floor along with your shoes.

“That’s better.” He grumbles hotly. Mimicking your earlier words from the beach.

Forgetting about the removal of his trousers he crawls over you, settling between your legs.

“If we’re going to do this, yeah, I’m going to need you to tell me what you want.”

You gulp nervously, how were you supposed to tell him what you wanted when you hadn’t done anything like this before? He waits patiently for you to give him instructions.

“Tell me what you want me to do to you?” His voice is low and quiet.

“I want you to touch me.” You can barely speak.

“Where?” He asks.

“All over.” You blush. Thrashing impatiently beneath him.

“You’re going to have to be more specific, my love.” You want to curse at him. You grab his hand and place it on your chest. He bares an impish grin and starts to massage your breasts. You arch into his touch.

“What about down ‘ere?” The sharp coolness of his gold bracelets scrape across your fevered skin as his hand travels down your abdomen.

Your eyes follow the burning trail left by his touch. The little crown tattoo on his hand was all that was visible as his thumb and fingers disappeared and began stroking you between your legs. Your head fell back at the the erotic vision and the feeling of his skin on yours teasing the silky folds.

“Fuckin ‘ell.” He growls. “You’re very wet, Yahalom. Tell me have you ever done this to yourself?”

Your hips begin to gyrate shamelessly against his working hand and a measley shake of your head against the mattress was all you could muster.

“Have you done this with anyone else?” He inquires darkly against the skin of your chest. You’re too spellbound by the pressure of his thumb as it swirls and intensifies on your sensitive flesh that you can’t answer.

“Answer me.” He commands. You gasp as he leans down and takes your nipple between his teeth.

“No-Only you.” You pant quickly. Arching your back as he tries to quell the smarting of his bite with a soothing lick.

“Good.” He grunts. Coming to rest over you, he leans all of his weight on to one arm. Your hands grip the other that’s rooted between your thighs. Your nails digging into the tensing muscles of his tricep and forearm as the rough pad of his thumb continues it’s lush rhythm against your clit.

Your lips were parted to accommodate your heavy breathing and you struggled to keep your eyes open as the pleasure took over your body.

“Tell me how it feels?”

“It feels... good.” You hold back a quivering moan to answer him.

“Just good?” His fingers slide down to tease your entrance.

“Really good.” You pant dryly.

“You sure? You’re not making much noise.”

You were purposely trying not to. Like your own home Alfies had houses either side.

“Your-ne-eighbours.” You stammer a vague explanation for your considerate discretion.

“Oh, fuck them!” He shouts. “Stop holding back, Yahalom. For months I’ve dreamt about making you moan. Now let me fucking hear you.” His authoritative tone made you tingle and you couldn’t help but groan loudly as his finger slid inside you.

“That’s it.” He encouraged gruffly. His experienced fingers enticing a pleasure so intense it caused you to quake. Restlessly you writhed against the bed, unable to take the sensation that was building deep within you.

“Kiss me, Alfie.” You pleaded.

Your hands fisted in his hair, pulling his lips down to yours, emptying the moans and groans which now emanated freely and helplessly from your mouth into his.

Every muscle in your body tensed and stiffened as Alfies lips and fingers worked in perfect unison.

“Alfie...” You called his name helplessly.

“It’s okay, Yahalom. Just let go.” And with one last stroke of his talented fingers you did just that. A hoarse cry left you as an explosive sensation rippled and rolled through your body, violently shattering you like glass.

After coaxing the last tremors of your orgasm with his talented fingers, he retreated his hand from your spent form and you watched panting and wide eyed as he placed one of the fingers he was pleasuring you with into his mouth, tasting you as if you were a fresh batch of rum. You flushed as he groaned in delectable appreciation of your flavour.

“Is that what you wanted, Yahalom?”

“I want more?”

“More?” He raised an eyebrow at your greedy admission.

“I want to touch you.” You raise yourself up on heavy, sated limbs. Gathering just enough strength to push Alfie down on to the bed next to you.

“I want to make you feel good.” Your curious hands begin explore his naked torso. Your gentle touch advancing downwards to the waistband of his trousers. Your fingertips stalling at the material barrier for approval.

“Carry on.” He prompted coarsely.

Eagerly and clumsily you fumbled with the button and zip of his trousers until you could pry them from his hips, wrestling them down his body until his cock sprung free and rested thick and hard against his stomach. Alfie kicked his legs, ridding himself completely from the starchy material.

He groaned vehemently when without warning you took him in your palm, your hand flexing timidly around the velvety softness of his shaft. Inexperienced and unconfident, you look to him for a sign that you were doing it right.

“Like this, Pet.” His hand wrapped around yours, guiding it up and down his length a couple of times before leaving you to it.

“Yeah, that’s it. Just like that.” He moaned as you continued to pump him. You watched enthralled as you pleasured him. His eyes hot and heavy with desire. The primitive sounds erupting from his mouth spurring you on, making you feel powerful.

“See, Yahalom. There’s plenty of ways we can still enjoy each other without going all the way.” He groans. His hips tensing upwards into your working hand.

“I still want you, Alfie.” He couldn’t avert you that easily. He had unleashed something inside you. A wanton desire that wouldn’t be satisfied until he had possessed you completely.

“You have me.” He tells you.

“You know what I mean...” you tighten your grip around him causing him to hiss. “I want you inside of me.” You were too enamoured, too consumed in the moment to be embarrassed by your boldness.

His hips stilled as he looked upon you dubiously. His lips parted on a reluctant objection. He could beat grown, begging men to a pulp without a sliver of guilt and not think twice about it. But when it came to you, you were his weakness. He couldn’t refuse you no matter what it was, nor could he deny his own selfish desire to be buried deep inside you.

“Fuck,” He drifts away for a moment, a familiar look of anguish taking over his features.

“You’ll be the death of me.” He grunts. Forcefully pulling you on top so you’re now straddling him.

You look down at him, once again at a loss of what to do.

“Wouldn’t you be better on top?” You question bashfully.

“I don’t want to get carried away. This way we can go at your pace, right. If it’s too much for you then you can stop, okay?”

You nod. Anxiously rising to kneel above his hips as he positions the tip of his cock at the entrance of your sex.

With both of your hands resting on his heaving chest to steady yourself, you lower yourself on to him.

Your movements feeling awkward and slow as your body stretched to accommodate Alfies size. You cried out, a tortured sound of pleasure and pain as you took him to the hilt before stilling, your body trying to acclimatise to the foreign fullness.

The gasping, raspy encouragements of Alfie drifted through your ears as you rose gingerly to take him again. You repeated the movements a few more times before the stinging discomfort began to ease and all you could focus on was the pleasure and intense connection of Alfie inside you.

Your chest shuddered as you gained speed. Rocking your hips against Alfies like your life depended on it, your breasts bouncing buoyantly as you did so.

“You’re fucking breathtaking.” He tells you. Sitting up to take one of your nipples in to his mouth. You moan as he grips your shoulders pulling you down firmly onto him. His ardent mouth leaving a sporadic trail of bites and kisses up your chest and neck before claiming your mouth roughly. You bury your hands in his hair as his hips jolt up into you. The feel of his sweaty body against yours and his incoherent murmurings of appreciation and ragged grunts only heightened the intense building of another orgasm.

“Alfie, get on top please.” You beg, needing him to take control.

He shifts, flipping you on to your back. Levelling over you until you’re pinned beneath his weight. With a wet kiss he rammed in to you, the exquisite fullness causing you to cry out again as he filled you completely.

“You alright?” His panicked blue gaze searches your face.

“I’m fine.” You assure him. “Don’t stop.”

You angle your hips up to his for him to continue and he obliges. His rhythm becoming more erratic as he pounds mercilessly into you.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He curses with each thrust as you tense and clench around him. His name escapes you in a garbled plea as the euphoria of another sensory explosion consumes and leaves you a convulsing mess beneath him. He rears back, plunging his hips into yours one more time before quickly pulling out. Through a string of grunts, he empties his hot spurting release on to your stomach.

You’re just coming back down to Earth when you feel Alfies weight leave you and the bed. Distantly you register the sound of his heavy footsteps padding across the mahogany floorboards and the creaking of the door as he leaves the room. You stretch your exhausted limbs, wincing at the soreness between your legs.

Alfie re-enters the room and you can’t help but gawk at the glorious nakedness of his body.

The mattress dips as he joins you on the bed and you notice a wash cloth in his hand. Silently he tends to you.

You grimace as he gently glides the damp cloth between your legs and across the sticky residue on your stomach.

“I got a bit carried away. I didn’t hurt you did I?” Alfies fretful expression disappears as you grin up at him.

“Truth be told, I’d like you to get carried away with me again.” You notice the contrasting claret staining the white washcloth as he discards it to the floor.

“As relieved as I am to hear that, Yahalom. I think that’s enough for tonight.”

He extends his arm and gestures for you to lay on his chest. Your weary frame settles into him.

Securing his arm around your shoulder, he pulls you closer.

“But remember what I told you earlier? This is just the beginning. We’ve got forever to get carried away, you and me.”

“Forever.” You repeat sleepily, liking the way it sounded. Cosying into his chest you fell asleep with blissful thoughts of forever with Alfie Solomons.

@storm-bjorn​ @alsheyra​ @lililolli​ @jaegers-and-kaijus​ @lightwoodt​ @stars-trash-18​ @innerpaperexpertcloud​ @alitheamateur​ @pointlessbloger99 @hardygal69​ @valentine-in-my-quinjet​ @namelesslosers

[kathyprior4200]

Behind the Innocent Mask

(Evil Niffty AU)

 With a snap of Alastor’s fingers, a fire blazed to life with a whoosh in a small circular fireplace. A dark figure fell into the flames, the head poking out and one dark claw resting on the side. He Radio Demon walked over and picked up the figure with his hand. A large yellow eyeball opened up, taking in the curious faces of Angel, Charlie, and Vaggie.

With a poof and a squeak, the smoke and ash cleared and the demon was revealed.

“This little darling is Niffty!” Alastor introduced before letting go. She landed on her feet. The short cyclops demon wore a bright pink 50’s dress with three white polka dots near the top and a poodle off to the right. Her arms and legs were stick thin. Her short hair was fiery magenta with one portion of it yellow. Like other demons, her teeth were razor sharp.

“Hi! I’m Niffty!” she greeted with a wave. “It’s nice to meet you! It’s been a while since I’ve made new friends! Her pupil grew smaller and darted in circles.

“Why are you all women?” she asked. “Have any men here?! I’m sorry, that’s rude,” she added quickly.

She briefly picked up Charlie, while Vaggie angrily pointed her spear at her. Angel flinched back in surprise. Due to his feminine appearance, Niffty thought Angel was a woman.

She darted behind an overturned couch. “Oh man, this place is filthy!” she exclaimed. She lifted up a couch cushion and spotted a spider dangling from a string of web. She chomped on the spider and continued talking. “It really needs a ladies’ touch, which is weird, because you’re all ladies, no offence.”

She rushed toward stained glass windows with a dust ruffle.

“Oh my gosh, this is awful! No, no, no…” She darted around, removing cobwebs. She ran forward and poked at a piece of cloth with a sewing needle, then continued to clean the room. Alastor grinned in amusement and wondered away while the others stared in disbelief.

The blue piece of cloth which looked like a bug was, in fact, one of many Voodoo like critters that Alastor summoned. Or, in this case, he had stabbed it with a sewing needle before Niffty picked it up and delightfully gobbled it down before continuing her work. It was Alastor’s ways of rewarding her for both being polite and being a source of entertainment.

Later on, Niffty had finished tidying up the room. She walked into the lobby and happened to find Alastor pulling Vaggie and Charlie close and remarking, “This is going to be very entertaining!” Pricks of jealousy stabbed through her mind. Ever the hopeless romantic, Niffty had an obsession with men for as long as she could remember. In her life as a human, she had fantasized about meeting the love of her life and going on various adventures with him. But working as a maid and chimney cleaner to make ends meet in America wasn’t particularly ideal. There were the additional problems of discrimination against women and the Japanese. Indeed, the Pearl Harbor military strike happened in her human lifetime, traumatizing her and her family for many months. If that wasn’t enough, Niffty had been molested by her conservative uncle. That event became one of her angst-filled poem themes she kept in her hot pink notebook.

Things went from bad to worse, when as a young teen, she died in a house fire, after a bad incident while serving an upper class European-American family. It occurred in the 1950s.

Niffty soon ended up in Hell, but could only witness events while living in fire. Fortunately, Hell was full of fire and brimstone, so the servant demon could wonder around. From afar, she admired all the powerful overlords, eventually working for Alastor after he charmed her and offered her a deal. To gain a physical body and meet new friends, assist the Radio Demon. She eagerly accepted.

 Sewing, cooking, cleaning, reading and writing were Niffty’s favorite hobbies. She did all of them when she was a human and still enjoyed them in Hell. Additionally, she could speak some Japanese.

  When Niffty was cleaning the room, she could see concern in the eyes of Vaggie, Angel, and Charlie. She figured that they weren’t used to seeing a demon so hyperactive, with strokes of a chaotic nature thrown in. (With being summoned by Alastor several times, she was bound to pick up a few of his traits).

 Niffty watched from a distance as Alastor changed Charlie’s outfit and shoved Vaggie aside. She briefly looked down at her dress and admired the poodle design. Every time Alastor looked at it, disgust would reach his red eyes, but Niffty also sensed some deeper discomfort. It was amusing during the few times when he let his guard down like that.

 Back when she was human, short with black hair, Niffty would often slip into other characters to practice her acting. Dressing up and “being” other characters was a fun experience, and practical, too. In her spare time as a human, Niffty would sew costumes for herself and even play instruments such as the piano, harmonica, and saxophone.

In many ways, she was similar to Alastor; almost always smiling, energetic, enjoying the thrill of theater. It was so easy for Niffty to get immersed in the realm of fantasy and romance.

 After all, fantasies were better than hell-filled lives of low self-esteem and self-doubt.

 Even now, Niffty was putting on a happy face after dusting off the old grandfather clock in the corner. (It always seemed to stay dirty no matter how hard she tried to clean it). With more demon guests supposedly arriving, she would have to prepare some meals soon. Cooking was fun most of the time, but being pressured to serve fast without any form of gratitude from customers, was tiresome.

 Although Niffty wouldn’t admit it to anyone, she had an awareness of the social structure of Hell, based on her observations hidden within flames. When putting her mind to it, Niffty could be quite manipulative. In fact, she wasn’t hesitant to concoct plans by herself for her own ends. It gave her something to think about while her hands were busy.

When Niffty was cleaning the room, she could see concern in the eyes of Vaggie, Angel, and Charlie. She figured that they weren’t used to seeing a demon so hyperactive, with strokes of a chaotic nature thrown in. (With being summoned by Alastor several times, she was bound to pick up a few of his traits).

  As Alastor sang his reprise, Niffty happily looked at her new outfit conjured by Alastor’s magic: a black and pink dress with a round hat with daisies on the top. Alastor pulled the residents into a hug as Voodoo spirits appeared from the darkness. Niffty admired the show, briefly wishing she had powers like that.

There was a quote that Alastor used that stuck with her: “The world is a stage, and a stage is a world of entertainment.”

If only she could create that worldly stage for herself.

 Alastor kicked a skull away and Niffty rushed to clean up the pieces with a broom and dustpan. A boom rattled the hotel and blew out the windows. Niffty, mesmerized, soon witnessed a door flying straight into her face. Knocked back by the force, she knew that no human could survive that.

Niffty soon appeared outside with the rest of the group, watching as Sir Pentious arrived with his blimp. She watched with a small smile on her face as Alastor wrapped the blimp with black tentacles and causing everything to explode.

“Well, I’m starved!” Alastor exclaimed to the shocked group. “Who wants some jambalaya?”

Niffty darted around Alastor, a big smile on her face. Despite resenting being ordered around by him, she still blushed whenever she got close to him. She skipped up to the hotel with the others, imagining what Alastor’s soft red and black hair would feel like in her dainty hands.

 Niffty headed to the kitchen to prepare jambalaya for the group. She was used to making this New Orleans cuisine for Alastor several times a week when she was summoned. (It did get pretty boring in the fire.)

Niffty poured a tablespoon of oil in a frypan and then cut up slices of chicken and sausage. She removed the tails from shrimp and used another cutting board to chop green onions. Stirring in the tomatoes, meat, and vegetables, she added all the hot sauces: hot pepper, Cajun, and Worcestershire.

Finally, she added rice, chicken broth and the shrimp on top. Before long, she brought out five hot steaming plates for the group at the bar. Husk was drinking the remainder of his booze on his stool, still pouting at not being able to win his prizes. Vaggie looked around at the bar in disgust, clearly appalled that alcohol wasn’t going to be removed from the hotel. Angel Dust lounged on a pool table, drinking a Shirley Temple in a glass while sucking on a straw. Charlie was chatting with Vaggie about new plans for the hotel.

“Oh, this is exciting!” she smiled. “Now that we have a maid and a person to welcome the guests, I’d say things are looking even better.”

Husk scoffed. “Fuck that bullshit. Thanks to that talk show clown over there…” he mentioned to Alastor leaning smugly against a nearby wall… “…I’m stuck here doing a stupid charity job. If I had my bets, I’d say I’ll go insane spending several more hours here.”

“Oh don’t be such a sourpuss,” Charlie said. “Alastor said you’d make a great addition to the hotel.”

“Stuff your mockery, princess. You know how annoying and deceitful he is. I’d fare better being chased by hellhounds than being stuck here with him.”

“Just give him a chance, Husk,” Charlie said. “You’ll see that even the most sinful among us can be redeemed.”

Husk rolled his eyes. “With your singing and cheer? Good luck with that.”

Charlie glared at the cat demon, Vaggie holding her back.

“I, for, one, welcome our new Hazbin overlord,” Angel remarked, from the pool table. “He’s classy and has those cute furry ears…”

Vaggie stomped over to Angel and grabbed him by the collar. “Don’t let him hear you say that!” she hissed. “You’ll be vaporized in an instant.”

“Geez, calm your tits, Vag,” he replied, backing up and hopping off the table. “Though his eyes and smile are kinda creepy. I wonder how it would feel for him to make work of me with those claws of his…”

He sighed in content and sucked his straw again.

“Fuck you,” she spat in revulsion. “You have a messed up death wish.”

“You mean, a double death wish?” he asked with a laugh. “Double Hell, here I come!”

Vaggie growled and stormed back to the bar table.

Niffty came into the room, holding up the plates of food.

“Ah Niffty!” Alastor exclaimed, moving from the wall. “What perfect timing! Jambalaya, just how I like it.”

Niffty placed the plates in front of the five individuals. Another plate of dead voodoo looking rats appeared off to the side, Niffty eagerly gobbling them down, much to the shock of Vaggie, Angel, Charlie, and Husk. Alastor winked at her, causing the maid to blush, a rat tail hanging from her mouth. She slurped it up and ran off with a nervous giggle.

“Such a sweet little darling, isn’t she?” he mentioned. Charlie smiled nervously while the others remained silent.

“Well, dig in everybody! This food won’t eat itself. Unless you’d like me to demonstrate…”

He wiggled his fingers while Husk, Vaggie, and Charlie rapidly shook their heads.

“Aww, come on,” Angel murmured, almost to himself. “It’s been a while since I’ve watched vore…”

“I’m gonna be sick and I haven’t eaten yet,” Vaggie groaned. Husk, too, was picky about the mesh up of food in front of him. Charlie, and Angel, however, dug in in delight. Angel ate with four hands.

“Oh, Alastor! This stuff is marvelous,” Charlie exclaimed. “So spicy and full of flavor. I haven’t had spicy food like this in a while.”

Alastor laughed. “It’s my mother’s special recipe. She made it so well, it almost blew her straight into Hell. Ah, memories of times so swell. I figured you’d like it. A charming belle, eager to try new things.”

“Rhyming asshole,” Husk scoffed, staring at his empty green bottle.

Angel sat on a bar stool with his tongue hanging out, red from the heat of the sauces. His eyes were shining.

“Wha…what are you doing now?” Vaggie asked, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

“The tingling feeling of the heat, seeping into my taste buds. Fantastic. I’d love more of this from that musical strawberry pimp.”

“Angel!” Vaggie seethed under her breath.

Angel shrugged. “What? That’s what he looks like to me.”

Vaggie tentatively tried a taste of it, as if it were spiked with poison.

“Not too bad…” she began. Then the heat of the sauces kicked in.

She swore in Spanish under her breath then rushed off for some water.

Alastor was already almost finished with his meal. “It can be pretty intense for some people.”

Vaggie came back and glared at Alastor. “Are you trying to kill us?”

“Did you not hear what I said earlier, dear? If I wanted to hurt you all, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

“How do I know you won’t try to kill us in the future, huh?” she asked, pointing her weapon.

“You know it’s rude to have weapons present at dinner,” he added.

“What? You afraid of this or something?” she continued, holding it out.

“Vaggie!” Charlie called, lowering her friend’s arm. “There no need to get into a fight like this. Alastor’s been nice to us so far. At the very least, he’s trying his best.”

“Trying his best?!” Vaggie asked. “He’s nothing but a talk-show pervert lord.”

Charlie turned to Vaggie and thought for a moment. “Are you jealous that I danced with Alastor?”

“No!”

An awkward silence.

“We were just having fun,” Charlie said. “It was his way of livening things up for the Happy Hotel. You were more than welcome to join us.”

“I’d rather fall from grace again than dance with that son of a bitch.”

“Wait…” Angel Dust asked. “What do you mean by ‘falling again’?”

Vaggie paused. “None of your business!” she snapped.

Niffty sat in the corner, giggling at their confrontation. Oh how she loved seeing people embarrassed when their dark secrets and thoughts came out.

 “You girls done?” Alastor asked. He wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“Yes,” Charlie said, taking a deep breath.

“I’m out,” Husk muttered, heading toward the back to search for more booze. After stumbling, he heaved and vomited the contents out. Then he groaned and promptly passed out on the floor.

Charlie gasped, hands covering her mouth. Angel stared in shock. Vaggie face-palmed with an “oh, no.” Alastor turned his head backwards to look at the giggling Niffty. He tilted his head and Niffty’s giggles fell flat. Without a word, she rushed over and helped Husk onto a nearby couch before cleaning up the mess.

“Well, that was a satisfying supper!” said Alastor breaking the silence. He got up and held out his arm to Charlie. “Now, how about you give me a tour of your hotel and I can provide you guys with some entertaining dad jokes?”

“How wonderful. I’d love that,” Charlie replied. She turned to Vaggie. “I just want to make sure that my friend is okay.” She looked at Vaggie with concern.

“I’m fine, Charlie,” she said with a sigh. Charlie looped her arm with Alastor’s and held out her hand to Vaggie. Reluctantly, Vaggie took it and the group headed off down the hall.

“Say,” Alastor said as they walked. “The graveyard’s getting overcrowded, don’t you think?”

“What?” asked Angel.

“What graveyard?” asked Vaggie, her eyebrows raised. She shuddered at the thought of Alastor posing in a graveyard of his murder victims.

“You know, the one where people are just dying to get in. Hahaha!”

“Oh, I get it! Good one, Al!” said Charlie.

“Ha ha,” Angel said with sarcasm. They arrived in a larger room with tables and a stage off to the side. Alastor turned to shadow, then materialized in front of the microphone.

“Uh, nobody asked for this,” Vaggie said. Charlie, Angel, Niffty, and Vaggie took their seats.

“Let’s just see how it goes,” said Charlie. “Jokes will surely remind demons of the good things in life.”

“Besides drugs?”

“Yes, Angel.”

“Besides dancing in the nude?”

“Yes, Angel.”

“Besides steamy sex?”

Charlie sighed in frustration as Angel laughed.

 Alastor tapped the microphone. “Testing, testing, is this thing on?” The mic made a screeching sound that made the viewers cover their ears.

“Apologies for that,” he said. He chuckled and summoned a black tentacle from the ground. It tossed the metal microphone to the side before vanishing. His own vintage microphone appeared in front of him.

“Thankfully mine always works.”

“You ready?” Alastor asked, speaking into it. The microphone came to life, and the being inside it rolled his eye.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

He cleared his throat as a spotlight shone on him. “Did you hear about the guy who invented the knock-knock joke?”

“Yeah, what about him?” Angel asked in a bored voice.

“He won the no-bell prize! Ahhahaha!”

Charlie smiled. Niffty said “ha…ha…ha…” bored too.

“What did the buck say to his traveling doe? ‘Come home soon, dear.’”

“Yeah, you’d know all about deer, wouldn’t you?” Angel remarked. Charlie laughed, and even Vaggie let out a small smile.

“Hey, Charlie,” said Alastor.

“Yes?” she asked with a faint blush.

“Can February march?”

“I don’t know. Can it?”

“No, but April may!”

Charlie broke into fits of laughter.

“This is torture,” Vaggie said.

“Boo! Get off the stage!” Angel called.

“How many more jokes do we need?” asked Alastor.

“Zero!” booed Angel.

“Well, I was going to make a joke about paper, but no, it’s tear-ible!”

“Uh, god damn it,” Vaggie groaned. “I’m glad Husk doesn’t have to witness this.”

“What’s a demon’s favorite dessert?”

“Your mom!” yelled Angel.

“No, it’s actually devil’s food cake. Hahaha!”

Charlie giggled some more. “The hotel residents will love these!”

“Yeah, sure,” Niffty deadpanned, walking away.

“Hey Vaggie?” Alastor asked.

“What?!”

“Did it hurt when you fell from Heaven?”

Vaggie’s eyes went wide, her face beet red. “Why…you…”

“Don’t worry, crawling up from Hell hurts like hell!”

“Why not have the best of both worlds?” Charlie asked. “I’d love to visit Heaven someday.”

“Foreshadowing…” Angel said in a stupor.

 Niffty smiled sinisterly in a dark corner. Her plan was coming into motion.

[shiningamongdarkness]

Chapter 30. I'll do it myself

Shining among Darkness

By WingzemonX

Chapter 30. I'll do it myself 

After that failed encounter, Damien did not return to the convention center. Instead, he went straight to the hotel. He did not do it with a specific reason or plan but by pure reflex. It was still a couple of hours before the event officially ended, so he was not surprised when he arrived at the Presidential Suite they had reserved, to see that there was no trace of Ann or any of her aides. He sat down in one of the armchairs in the small room and waited, his back to the door. He did nothing else. He didn't turn on the TV, didn't check his phone (had actually turned it off), he didn't drink or eat anything. He just sat there, staring into absolute nothingness as he tried to process everything that had happened. He would hope that after time it would end up calming down a bit, but it did not. In fact, the longer he waited, the more anger he became. But his annoyance was not towards Abra; she was perhaps the person with whom he could least feel anger at the moment.

 Thinking in Abra was the only thing that managed to distract his mind a little from the rest that bothers him. He was tempted to look further, to look for her and see if she was okay. However, he forced himself to put that idea aside. In his condition, it was highly likely that he could lose control and do more than just "look at her," and that idea didn't appeal to him at the moment.

 He didn't know exactly how much time passed, but it had been less than two hours, he was sure of that. The door of the suite opened, and several different types of footsteps entered through it, which stopped a few seconds later, possibly when they distinguishing his black hair and white nape, protruding above the back of the sofa. He did not turn to see them, but he did not need to do so to know who they were.

 "Damien," he heard his Aunt Ann's voice exclaim in surprise and annoyance. "Can you tell me where you got all this time?" The woman hurriedly walked to him. It didn't take long for her to get into his range of vision, right on the left corner. She was staring at him hard. "Did you forget that you should be with me at the conference? And we were going to have dinner with the other CEOs invited." Then she glanced quickly at her small wristwatch. "If we hurry, we could still catch them at the restaurant."

 Damien did not reply; he didn't even deign to look at her at all.

At the door were members of her security and Ann's assistants, including Veronica. They were all standing there, staring at him with the latent doubt of even having permission to lift a finger. Having suddenly appeared there in the room had surely surprised, not to say frightened them. He could feel all their fear flowing from them and permeating him like it was slimy, sticky air.

 He was sickened by that feeling.

 An intense feeling of hatred for all of them was abruptly born. He wished everyone would jump off the balcony and crash their heads on the pavement. But that would end up attracting too much attention; even in his anger, he was cold enough to process it that way.

 "Leave us alone," Damien snapped without looking at them yet. No one moved. Then he stood abruptly and turned to them, his eyes almost alight with fire. "Didn't you listen to me? All of you get out of here! Now!!"

 His voice echoed with great force, echoing off the walls of the suite; Even Ann, who was the only one there who had remained calm, couldn't help but startled at the sudden reaction.

 The guards and assistants immediately rushed to obey, leaving one by one through the door. Veronica, on the other hand, stood motionless in her place, glancing at the others.

 "You too, lapdog," Damien yelled scornfully. "Leave now!"

 Veronica was overwhelmed. Out of instinct, she looked to Ann for guidance. Ann looked askance at her and nodded her head slightly, signaling her to obey. Veronica lowered her gaze, as if embarrassed, and followed the others out, the last one, so she closed the door behind her.

 Now Damien and Ann were alone. Anyone would be terrified enough to be in her place, but Ann Thorn remained cool; at least, it seemed so on the outside.

 "Now, what's the matter with you?" She questioned him calmly. "You run away from me without saying anything, you make a fool of me, and you're the anger one? Could I know what the reason is?"

 Damien still didn't look directly at her.

 Then he went without saying anything to the small bar of the suite, opening the showcase behind which were the bottles of alcohol. Without much thought, he took a bottle of whiskey.

 "You can't drink that," Ann said scolding. "You are a minor."

 Damien chuckled wryly, yet indifferent to such an absurd warning. He ignored it entirely and poured some of the liquid from the bottle into a low, wide glass. He actually served too much, so much so that it overflowed from the glass, beginning to create a puddle around it on the bar counter. Still, he kept serving and serving, making the puddle bigger, and even spilling down the banks to the ground. He didn't stop until the bottle was completely empty.

 Ann witnessed such an act, silent.

 "Do you have any idea how expensive that bottle is?"

 "Do you have any idea how little I care?" The boy finally answered her in a curt tone, but at least it was an answer. He capped the bottle again, placed it hard against the bar with an annoying roar, and then took the glass that was full to bursting, and took a long drink of it. He didn't stain a bit and didn't even blink, like it was just water. Once he took that drink, he lowered the glass again, and at last, looked straight at her, with a defiant attitude in his blue eyes, which felt even threatening. "Does the expression 'The Shining' ring a bell in you?"

 Ann shrugged her shoulders.

 "Not a bit. Is it a movie or something like that?"

 Damien laughed again. He stood behind the bar, staring intently at the glass in his hand. It wasn't so full anymore, but it still had enough of the expensive liquid.

 "I met a girl this afternoon," he began to explain. "A girl who can do unusual and inexplicable things. Things like the ones I can do, and even others that I can't."

 "What?" Ann exclaimed, stunned. "A girl? What a Girl?"

 "That doesn't matter a damn." The threatening tone in Damien's voice increased considerably. He took another drink, similar to the previous one. "This girl could read minds, move things without touching them and, according to what she told me, see places and people even if they were far away. Isn't that weird, auntie? Because Adrian, Lyons, you, and all your damn Brotherhood, have spent all my life telling me how special and unique I am. That I was blessed with abilities beyond a human to fulfill my destiny. And that I am protected by my father, Satan himself in person, to do so." He stood to bolt upright. His face took on an almost uncontrollable fury, and he pointed angrily towards the windows, spilling some of the whiskey that remained in the glass. "And now it turns out that there are more people out there who can do the same as me?!"

 Despite the outbursts, Ann tried to remain calm. When he raised his voice, she couldn't help but wince but managed to control herself. Even so, she needed a few moments to clarify herd ideas and be able to respond to something tangible.

 "Things are not like that..." Ann whispered slowly.

 "You knew it?" Damien asked demandingly, stepping out from behind the bar and heading straight for her. "Did you all already know and hide it from me all this time?"

 Damien stood directly in front of her, and Ann had to hold her breath for a second.

 "Yes," the woman replied, trying to sound confident, "we know there are people in this world who can do unusual things. But none of them is like you. They are simple rarities of nature, and you are an envoy from beyond this world; a chosen one of much higher forces..."

 "Or maybe not," he snapped, pointing accusingly at her. "Maybe I'm just some other guy who can do some elaborate tricks, and I was the one that fit the image that the three of you had of their supposed 'Antichrist.' And so you decided to pull me into all this charade to keep your group of worshipers happy and faithful."

 "No, nothing like that," Ann answered immediately and without question. "Don't say those things. Our faith is not a charade. Our faith in you has never been more real and stronger..."

 By mere reflex, the woman raised her hands and placed them on the boy's arm, but he immediately rejected her.

 "Don't touch me!" He yelled at her, shoving her with one hand, knocking her off balance, and tumbling onto the couch.

 Ann began to breathe slowly, seized with fear and worry, which gradually broke her shell, always covered with coldness and strength.

 "If I have hidden some things to you, it has been for your good. Everything is part of the bigger plan..."

 "You got me sick of your fucking bigger plan!" Damien growled with great force and then threw the glass in his hand toward the wall with all his might. The glass was shattered by the blow, and the pieces, along with the whiskey residue left in it, were scattered everywhere. Ann winced at herself helplessly. "Every damn breath I've given since the age of five has been planned, calculated, and watched over. And for what? Tell me! For what?! My parents, my uncle Richard, Mark... What have all these sacrifices really been for? This is all just fake!"

 "Not..." Ann whispered very slowly, unable to lift her face.

 "Either you're a liar who cheats on all these guys, or you're another incredulous like them. I don't know which option seems less pathetic to me."

 "No, no…"

 Ann dropped abruptly from the chair and walked as close as she could, even crawling towards him, intending to place herself at his feet.

 "Get those thoughts away from you. There can't be doubt in your actions, my Lord." She wanted to strike her forehead against the boy's feet, but he immediately took a step away. She just stayed on the floor, her long dark hair falling over her face. "You are here to open the door to a new world, to fulfill a destiny so great that we would not even be able to understand..."

 "Shut up..." Damien muttered, growing increasingly angry.

 "You are above everything and everyone, including those pathetic mundanes you speak of. They are stupid and ignorant of the real way. Don't look for your equals among them, there are none. You are our Crimson Prince, our guide and teacher..."

 "Shut up, I told you!" He bent down suddenly, taking her by the neck and lifting her just a little, enough to force her to look up and see her in the eyes. "If you say one more word...!"

 Anna's eyes were teary and fearful. Her makeup had smeared a little, even her lipstick, which was always red and perfect.

 "My life is yours, my Lord," she began to sob slowly, running her hands over her torso and taking her clothes as if she wanted to rip them off. "I've always belonged to you. If what you want is my death, you only have to ask for it, and I'll gladly please you with it..."

 The eyes of Ann Thorn, of her supposed aunt-in-law, suddenly overflowed with fervent and almost intoxicating excitement, which left Damien paralyzed. There was no such fear springing from her, but an almost insane devotion that brought Damien confused images to his mind. Images of wild beasts, of blood and fire, and her aunt at the center of everything being consumed, with that same expression of satisfaction.

 Damien felt disgusted and suddenly dizzy. He released her, pushing her to the side and causing her to fall onto her left side. The boy advanced towards the bar again and leaned against the bar to avoid falling too. He looked attentively at the mirror of the bar in front of him, admiring his own reflection, which was difficult for him at the time. His hair was misaligned, his tie was gone along with Abra, and his eyes looked like those of a complete madman. How could that guy in the mirror be him? How could he have lost control of the situation so quickly?

 He breathed slowly, inhaled through the nose, exhaled through the mouth. Little by little, the ideas were getting together again.

 "How many more are there?" He snapped suddenly without taking his eyes off the mirror. "How many more are there who can do these things?"

 Ann leaned on her hands, lifting her body slightly off the ground, but still staying most of it.

 "I don't know," she replied as a small distant lament. "We've only come across a few over the years... but none is like you."

 Damien took one last deep breath. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to accommodate it as best as possible.

 "We'll see about that," he said dryly, and immediately walked to one of the suite's rooms. "I'll discover the truth myself, even if it has to pass over you."

 He entered the room, slamming the door behind him, and disappearing from his aunt's sight.

 Ann lay on the floor, looking agitatedly toward the closed door of the room. Instead of trying to get up, she sank down onto the soft mat completely. She was unable to move. Her whole body shuddered, as thousands of ants running through her skin. She needed a second, just a second, to try to regain her strength again. And then she could be the perfect, firm, and fierce woman who always kept control of everything. She just needed one more second...

 They were both so engrossed in that heated conversation that neither of them realized that they were not entirely alone. Despite the potential threat, Veronica couldn't help but stay close enough to listen from behind the door. She couldn't hear everything, but she could listen to it enough to feel worried... and very disturbed...

* * * *

 Someone knocked on the door of the study, and Damien's fingers stopped moving on the computer keyboard. He stared thoughtfully at the screen for a moment, not recognizing for an instant the last three paragraphs of his essay, as if it were something someone else had written. It took only a moment longer to completely let go of his previous obsession, and thus return to that place and time.

 "Come in," he exclaimed loud enough for the person on the other side to hear him.

 One of the security men peered carefully into the study, showing only about half of his body from behind the white door.

 "Mr. Thorn, your guest has arrived," the man informed him stoically and muffled.

 Damien smiled. He nodded in agreement, and the man quickly opened the door wide, moving to one side as well, clearing the way for the person who had just arrived.

 He was a tall man with a stocky build; dark skin, long black hair, held in several braids that fell back and protruded from behind the nape of his neck. Her face was adorned by two brown eyes, cold as ice. Around his mouth, he wore a trimmed circle beard. His clothes, however, were not as good-looking as the rest of him. On top of everything, he was wearing a heavy and thick beige-green jacket, with a wide hood that fell towards his back at those moments. Beneath this jacket, a white tank top peeked out, revealing part of his muscular pecs. At the bottom, he wore blue jeans, somewhat discolored, and old work boots.

 His appearance, especially her face, was anything but friendly. His expression was harsh and aggressive, like someone looking for the right guy on the street to put up a fight, just for the pleasure of it. His posture was also very defensive and waiting; even his fists were kept tight and hanging at his sides.

 As soon as he caught sight of him sitting behind that desk, it seemed as if all that biting he carried became even more intense. The boy, however, was not intimidated or also interested in such an attitude at all. In fact, he smirked and leaned back against his chair in a relaxed way.

 "Oh, James," Damien exclaimed playfully, rocking a little in his chair from back to front. "I was waiting for you. Please, come in."

 The man at the doorway arched his lips in annoyance but still entered the study with heavy steps. Two of the security men came behind him and perched in front of the door with their hands clasped in front.

 "Leave us alone," Damien instructed them, however, making both men feel a bit confused. Surely they weren't comfortable leaving him alone with a stranger with that evident attitude. Still, Damien didn't care about their comfort. "Now, didn't you hear me?"

 The two guards looked at each other, and soon after they left the study as they had been ordered. They closed the door behind them, and the whole room was covered at that moment with deep and absolute silence. The newcomer stood in the middle of the study, his shoulders stiff, and his intense gaze on the boy.

 Damien kept smiling as if all this seemed somehow comical.

 "Take a seat," he indicated, extending his hand to one of the chairs in front of the desk. The man stood perfectly still in his place. "I understand... How is Mabel, by the way? Has she felt better?"

 That mention did not help to lessen the bad mood that his guest already brought with him as soon as he entered.

 "What do you want?" The man exclaimed, in a low voice and a pounding tone. "Why did you call me to this... place?"

 The man, possibly named James, looked around with disdain, and even some disgust.

 "You say it so disparagingly," Damien said ironically. "And I was hoping that you would like to visit a nice place for a change. Compared to that trailer where you spend your time..."

 "I'm not your dog, you stupid rube," James muttered immediately. "I'm not going to come to you every time you snap your fingers."

 Damien laughed, small but loud. He then moved forward, causing the chair to straighten. He propped his elbows on the desk and leaned his body forward. His eyes regarded his visitor with the cordiality that one would look at an old friend who had not been there for a long time.

 "Yes, you will," he whispered perfectly normally, with no apparent threat in his voice. With no apparent. "Because, in case you haven't noticed yet, you and your girl belong to me now. You are still alive only because I allow you to. So, if I tell you to come before me, you will, and preferably as soon as possible. Is it clear?"

 Those words made something explode inside that man. His breath hitched heavily, and his fists clenched even more. But even so, he continued without moving from his place... as if he was afraid to take even one more step towards him.

 "But relax," Damien exclaimed, his tone mischievous, and then he pulled his chair back a little, and bent down as if searching for something under the desk. "If you do, you'll soon learn that I can be a nice master..."

 Then he picked up a thick gray briefcase and placed it on the flat surface of the table so that he could see it. He turned it so that the side on which it opened was facing his visitor. He opened the locks, and lifted the lid, revealing what it contained: three thermoses, or what appeared to be three thermoses. They were similar to those used to hold coffee, large and with a fully metallic and shiny body. They were placed on a black foam base, just in shape.

 As soon as he saw them, James couldn't stop his anger from fading, even a little, and giving way to a huge surprise.

 "That's…?" He murmured, almost stammering. His body trembled slightly, like that of an addict getting a free dose in front of his face. "How…?"

 Damien shrugged impassively.

 "When I know what to look for, it's easy for me to find it. Now, do you want to take a seat?"

 Little by little, James recovered from his initial amazement and returned to the old aggressive posture of before.

 "I could crush your head and take them away in a second," he threatened sharply.

 Damien laughed a little again, now with even more irony. He leaned back against his chair, crossed his legs a little, and crossed his fingers in his lap, in an attitude so relaxed that it was even infuriating.

 "Do you seriously want to try it?" He whispered defiantly, looking at him closely. James was looking at him too, straight in the eyes as if expecting him to bend with his single glance and duck with submission. Damien, however, did not do such a thing. He continued in the same position, with the same countenance, and with the same attitude; in fact, it was James who was gradually looking more... nervous. In the end, he was unable to hold his gaze and ended up turning away, as if embarrassed. Damien smirked. "Take... a seat…"

 That last suggestion no longer sounded as kind as the previous ones; now, there did seem to be a bit of a threat in his tone. James held his breath for a second. He walked with a bit of haste towards one of the chairs and sat on it, all without looking directly at it. Even when he was already seated, he preferred to have his attention fixed on the briefcase and its very, very engaging content.

 "Better," Damien exclaimed proudly. Then he took the briefcase and slid it aside so that it was not between them; James stared after it as it moved. "I need you to do a job for me. There is a woman I asked for another job. She is in charge of finding and bringing me two people. She's efficient, but somewhat emotional and tends to get into some trouble. I need you to watch her and give her a hand. But only if you see it necessary because it is important to me that she carries out her work herself."

 "And why are you asking me that?" James questioned, almost as if an insult had been fired at his face. "Why don't you ask some of the guys out there? Or to one of the thousands of your followers?"

 "They aren't my followers," said the boy with some disinterest. "They are just followers of an idea. But don't get me wrong, they are quite useful when required. But I want you to do this." Then he pointed directly at him with his index finger. "You aren't like them, and right now, I want to surround myself with more people like you. Also, I think you'll love to meet this woman I am talking about. I just hope your girl doesn't get jealous."

 Damien laughed a little, but James didn't even blink.

 "But, so you can see that my intentions are good and fair..." He stretched out his right hand towards the briefcase and took one of the thermoses inside. Then he held it out to James, placing it right in front of him. By mere apparent reflection, the dark-skinned man leaned back a little, almost as if the object frightened him, but at the same time looking at it with fervent admiration. "You can take one, and the others when you do your duty. Come on, you know you want it..."

 James looked at the container in silence. Did he want it? Of course, he did. But he knew very well what it would mean to take it: he would be selling his soul to the Devil... Although, he possibly had already done it a long, long time ago.

 He raised his trembling hand and firmly took hold of the metal thermos; the surface felt cold.

 Part of his forearm peeked out from under the sleeve of his jacket, from which a few small light spots protruded slightly on his dark skin. James immediately pulled his arm back and covered his sleeve again, with remarkable apprehension.

 "Good boy," Damien murmured in a mocking tone, which James was not really amused by. "Cheer up, from now on, we are going to have a lot of fun..."

 James did not answer anything; it wasn't that he really had anything to say or object to.

 He had said it: now they belonged to him.

— — — —

 Once again, Eleven found herself in that dark, silent, infinite space. Once again, she felt surrounded by that immense loneliness, which she had not managed to get used to despite the passing of the years. In that place, in that hidden corner of her mind, she was able to see and hear everything, if she knew in what direction to look. Almost always, she had a guide at her disposal to show the way. It could be a photograph, a place, a face, or an idea. On that occasion, however, her only guide was a name: Abra.

 She spent too long prowling in those dark corners without encountering anything. For a moment, she thought that if she stayed longer than should, she would lose her mind, and perhaps would be unable to go out again. Even so, she kept walking, chasing any distant echoes that called to her, any figure that moved in the shadows, guided by any sensation that ran through her skin.

 She felt exposed on more than one occasion. She had learned in a bad way that being there was also like opening a door or turning on a bright light that could end up attracting someone... or something. But this time, Eleven was not afraid of the monsters that roamed the corners of the world, waiting for a moment of carelessness to make their way towards her plane. She was not scared of human-eating creatures, of entities that possessed your body or consumed your soul, of demons, ghosts, or monsters. Her only fear was that boy who had appeared out of nowhere, and had shaken her head and moved everything inside like a bag of marbles.

 Eleven feared the mysterious attacker who had made such an insufferable impression on her and Matilda. She feared an unknown enemy, strong enough to do them great harm.

 She did not know if spending so much time on that plane left her equally exposed to him. Still, ignorance of it did not help provide security either, quite the opposite.

 (Abra, Abra, where are you? Who are you? What relationship do you have with him?)

 Total ignorance of who she was looking for was also a source of fear.

 What if she was intentionally getting into the wolf's mouth? What if that person, whoever she was, was like that individual... or even worse?

 (Abra, Abra, where are you? Who are you? Why do I feel like I need to meet you? Why do I feel we need you…?)

 "Brownie!" Suddenly she heard a voice echo like a loud crash behind her, causing her to unbalance and almost fall. "Mom is going to kill you if she sees you again on the couches!"

 It was the voice of a young woman, or so it seemed to her. Slowly, she began to turn on her feet, almost fearful and doubtful of what she would see as soon as she turned. However, she saw no monsters or threats: just a young woman, squatting with her back to her, talking to a cute little brown four-legged creature on a green tapestry chair. They both glowed as if they had their own light through all that blackness.

 The small animal leaped from the armchair towards the young woman's spleens, and she received it with pleasure.

 "Come, little one. You are a good boy," she murmured in a tone much more loving and soft than her initial scream. She stood with the animal restrained with one arm, while with her other hand, she subtly caressed its head. Then she turned a little in her direction.

 The girl was a bit older than Eleven had thought, but she had an innocent face, with rosy cheeks and discreet blonde curls falling on it. She reminded for an instant of her own daughter, her Terry, the smallest and most innocent of the three, with her eyes lit like suns and all the wonders that the world can offer reflected in them. Eleven couldn't help but smile at her image and presence. It conveyed to her a singular sense of tranquility, one that she really needed to feel in those moments.

 But that only lasted a short moment.

 Abruptly, and without any prior warning of this, the girl turned her face directly and sharply towards her, nailing her blue eyes, which had now taken on a much more aggressive feeling. Eleven was a little startled; she wasn't looking at something else through or behind her, she was looking at her, there was no doubt about it.

 (Who are you?)

 The young woman murmured with demand, but also with a certain trace of fear. 

 (Get out of me!)

 Before she could say anything or even think about it, Eleven felt her breath short, and a sensation similar to being pushed hardback. She had felt it before with other Shine ones, but not with that intensity. If she had wanted, perhaps she could have resisted, but in reality, she did not put up much resistance. She allowed her to push her away, and just let herself be carried away by the tide of thought.

 The image of that young woman and her dog was moving away, or perhaps she was the one moving. In that space, the difference really didn't matter.

 Her eyes widened suddenly, being back in her study; back home. She inhaled hard, then began to exhale slowly. She quickly withdrew her headphones, rested her hands against the desk, and gradually allowed her mind to relax.

 Was she Abra? If it wasn't, it still had to be someone with a pretty impressive Shining; she took her completely off guard. But even so, it was not like that guy. But not so much for its power or capacity, but rather for the sensation conveyed to her. Yet among all that aggressiveness she felt at the end, she could feel a bright and warm light...

 Then she felt a slight headache... and discomfort in her nose.

 She reached out and lit the lamp on her desk. The first thing she saw left her practically paralyzed for a long time. On the desk was the paper on which she had written the name ABRA. However, in addition to the name, there was something else decorating the paper: two imperfect red circles.

 She put her fingers to her nose, more as a requirement than anything else since she already knew what she would touch from before doing it. Indeed, her nose bled again.

 While putting on a handkerchief to stop the bleeding, she tried not to really think about it, but it was practically impossible. It had happened again; it was already twice in two days, after not having happened in years. Had that girl caused it? She doubted it; the push she had given her hadn't really been that intense. Had her meeting the day before left her exhausted? Perhaps she should not have gone too far after such an unpleasant experience.

 It must be that. She just needed a little rest, not using her powers for a couple of days, and everything would be fine.

 It must be that because the other options... were unthinkable.

 Eleven looked at the piece of paper again. One of the drops of blood had fallen right in the name, right between the "B" and the "R," like a horrible omen.

END OF CHAPTER 30

Author's Notes:

—The character of James is an original character of my creation but is based on the context of one of the works involved in this story. Some may have already guessed which one, but if not, it will be explained in more detail later.

[honestsycrets]

Locked In II: Your New Beginning

↳ prison au

Author’s Notes | heed warnings

❛ pairing | hvitserk/reader

❛ word count | 3993 

❛ genre | angst & smut

❛ summary | hvitserk is excited to bring his newest toy to their hideaway. hope it lasts.

❛ warnings | violence, dub/non-con, angst, convict!hvitty, exhibitionism, mention of breeding rings, drug use, criminal behaviour, kidnapping, abo dynamics, humiliation, masochism, guilt tripping etc.

The bite must have hurt.

On the after thought of the escape, Rollo tends to wiping his wet fingers over his chest and jerks off his button-up shirt from his chest, flinging it on the floorboard of Ragnar’s car. As his father pulls off, you realize that around the main entrance there an influx of police filter in. None of them realize that such a threat has escaped, nor that medical staff lay in the medical wing deceased.

“Your plaything is a cobra.” Harald says, victim to an onslaught of your sneakers shoving against him his torso while he changes into a t-shirt. Hvitserk too changes quickly, unable to help the disgust that runs through his skin from wearing a uniform of a what might as well have been a dirty fucking cop.

“You’re telling me.” Rollo responds from the front seat.

Hvitserk laughs, “Yeah but she smells amazing and I need a fucking hole that don’t feel like STD Russian Roulette. You got my lollipops, uncle?”

Rollo tosses a bag of brilliant red lollipops over his shoulder, landing in your lap. “Let’s hurry up and change out the license plates.” He reaches around you to grab his lollipop, unraveling it from its wrapping and popping it into his mouth with a long, pleased groan.

You shift uncomfortably on top of him-- unsure which to wiggle close to. Did you wiggle closer to the insane Ragnarsson you briefly knew or this strange, older man with tattoos reflecting a lifelong world of crime on his face? Either he was an idiot-- or he just didn’t care who knew who he was.

So instead you make the mistake of scooting back over Hvitserk’s lap where he kept you. He can’t help his long, jagged moan behind his lollipop, loosening the tie in your hair and turning his nose in your silky hair.

“You already trying to scent me?” He laughs. “Fuck you smell good as fuck.” Hvitserk’s hand slides from the lollipops in your lap to the stringy bow ties of your pants, tugging them loose. Rollo hands Harald something in a warm cup. At first you think, booze. Not the case. The car is filled with a nutty smell of coffee beans.

“I’m no, I’m not!” You all but shout as his large, slender fingers slide over your dry folds. He’d have to try a hell of a lot more than that to make you bend!

“We got shit to do, Hvit.” Harald rumbles beside him.

“Not for a good ten minutes.” Hvitserk shrugs, making nothing out of the fact that he’s petting you right in front of the other men. Harald seems more concerned with nursing his headache and coffee-- but you know those blue eyes linger upon you as much as Rollo’s were. Even this strange ‘Dad’ snuck a look in the mirror above at least once.

“Let’s see that pretty pussy.” Hvitserk ignores your complaints, looking to Harald for assistance. He provides Hvitserk with a knife-- and the older man looks to you to stop wiggling with a hard raise of his forehead. Bunches of wrinkles strain his forehead. The hard side of this new knife prods the crotch of your scrubs causes you to jump, outright sobbing this time.

“Please don’t…” You sob inhale a breath, full of the thick odor of three potent Alphas. Fear soars up your veins, sending shockwaves of hard palpitations when Hvitserk affectionately sliced through the fabric. He chuckles, soft and conceited.

“Keep still.” His voice deepens, ordering you to do as he willed. The knife slits a long line from ass all the way up to the waistband, stopping a inch or two short. Perfect, he thinks. He flicks the blade to the side, smoothing over your pussy that slowly-- but oh, oh so surely, becomes wet for him. In a test, he dug his digits in between your slick.

“Please don’t…! “ You sob, losing yourself when his digits come back out connected by a long string of thick lubricant. He slips the fingers into your mouth to shut you up, flicking you in the cheek when you bite down on his fingertips. In place of his wiggle fingers, you feel the hard stickiness of something all too man made.

“Knock it off.” His father says from the front seat, glancing over his shoulder to his son. His knuckles twist the candy he was once eating with a spin, glancing up with trifling green eyes to him.

“Leave it to you to not let me play.” He pouts, spinning the lollipop once, then twice before pulling it out again. You flinch when he brings the soiled candy back up to his lips, knocking the candy around his full cheeks contently. “We almost at the stop?”

“We’re here.” He throws the car into park. Hvitserk shoves you off of his lap towards Harald-- who looks down upon you with a small, smug smile. The doors to the car open and thrash closed once again. Two of the men have left. Did you make the wrong choice? You fear asking anyone anything, flailing to sit back up on your ass. There was a good reason for your fears too…

“Do I… get to go home?” You ask. At the wheel, the man has his short and thick fingers at his lip. He glances to the rearview mirror where Hvitserk is, flicking his stick in another direction as he replaces the plates on the car with the help of Rollo.

“You’re an omega.” Harald says beside you. “You aren’t going anywhere.”

It couldn’t have been worse. You bury your hands into your face with an outright sob when Hvitserk comes back into the car, it’s with his lit cigarette and a cheesy smile, flicking the plates onto the ground.

“Hey.” He takes another long drag of the cigarette, nudging you. When you don’t respond, he pokes you with the hot end of his cigarette. The sear is immediate, raising the hairs of your arm that haven’t been singed by your new, raw wound. Ragnar starts the car for their new hide away.

“Sup, princess?”

Oh god, help you.

You should have been looking out the window.

In the stress of your seizure, you had lost it. No longer were you awake looking at the many trees whizzing by. Not until the blackness you were shaken out of your empty, black dreams.

“We’re here.” The voice, deep ease you awake. It took a few moments to snap awake-- and when you did, it was by the crack and squeak of old wood under feet. The Ragnarsson Hvitserk had you yet still in his tattooed arms. Moments later, he creeps into another room. You know that the entire house was peculiar. It’s aged walls peel with a dull yellowing wallpaper, sure. There is also thin, dusty curtains that would scarcely hide any sun.

“You smell better by the minute.” Hvitserk turns the corner, kicking open a cramped bathroom. It elongates just so to fit a bath, a toilet and sink all in the room. It could have been nauseatingly small all on its own. Hvitserk sets you down on the edge of the bath, grabbing a plastic pack from underneath the sink.

They must have owned this house.

“But, there’s some modifications I could live with.” Hvitserk shrugs, turning one green eye to you. He flicks his fingers at you to get into the bath. It’s… stained. You fear with more than just day to day grime. He stops what he’s doing to throw you an almost irritated look.

“Think I’m gonna shoot you? You have a pussy, don’t worry.” Hvitserk laughs. “You’re safe.”

That was consoling. Still you do as he pleases and strip off the grimey-- ruined scrubs, setting them just outside of the bath with your bra and panties. It was almost neat. Hvitserk swipes them up, tossing the into a large trash bag.

“Trust me, where you’re going, you won’t need them.” He says.

“Where I’m going?” You respond with thick concern. Hvitserk sits upon the toilet, flicking the handle of the bath. Scalding hot water fills the bath causing you to flinch back, folding your feet against your breasts to hide your body fro him. He tilts his head, gazing to your folds that are unprotected from his gluttonous eyes.

“Yeeaaah, shouldn’t’ve worn tight clothes to work. Why would you do that working with a bunch of alphas?”

Now this was your fault? You huff heatedly.

“C’mon, tell me. You like the attention, don’t you?”

You admit to nothing-- even if you did! It wasn’t for the attention of a bunch of pussy starved inmates. It was for the hope of what all the other women wanted. Male or female or somewhere in between, most to everyone wanted a special somebody.

“But don’t worry.” He laughs, flicking out a razor to hand to you. “We’ll take care of you. Now shave it pretty for me.”

It’s all cryptid. Hvitserk then turns to an carribean blue ice chest sitting upon the floor. He plucks it up by the grey strap, pulling out a glass vial. Your stomach clenches hard upon an empty stomach, feeling the anxiety bubbling with every sweep of your blade over your smooth skin. Hvitserk pops the cap off, plunging it into the white permeable membrane of the vile.

“What is that?” You shudder, shaking now.

“A suppressant, if you can call it that. Has a poison to destroy those stupid receptors you omegas got. Arm.” Hvitserk sweeps his eyes over you, drawing on the orange plunger to pull the strangely clear liquid out. You’ve heard of those very suppressants-- a pricey drug not cleared by the Omega Drug Association.

“No.” You wiggle through the hot, burning water to keep your distance. If he came close, you could always use the razor! A deep sigh bounces off his lips, flipping up his t-shirt to pull out the handgun that was tucked in the rim of his joggers. He turns the gun on you next, crouching down beside you.

“Don’t fuck with me.” You drop what you were doing enough to give him your arm. He smiles, winding the black tie he uses for his hair around your upper arm. He eases the needle in without falter and so you know he’s definitely experienced in such things.

“See babe.” Hvitserk laughs, pulling out the plug to the water before drawing another bath. “It’s not so bad if you just listen, right?”

Your heart was telling you that you knew far better than that.

The light streaming in from dust littered, sheer buttercup curtains should have woken you up that morning. After an arrival like that you should have been knocked out upon the thin, craggy stained mattress pad. Instead you sprawl over the stained covering with a bursting heat within your tingling inner walls of your pulsing cunt. Yet you couldn’t touch it, tied like a dog and told to sleep it off. The drugs coursing through your system were filtering out. You curse yourself at that very moment for not taking suppressants. Despite the pulse of your cunt, you know what will happen.

He should scare you.

They all should scare you.

Yet the demon that brewed in these alphas were unlike the ones in normal alpha males. They were disposed to be what they were: greedy, lusty, gluttonous. Oh, a great many things. The difference between these convicts and normal men was the ability to keep the demon inside of them at bay. In days of your heat, you were just the same; spilling needy little cries of an omega through the house until the alphas were at war among one another.

“She can’t go on like this.”

The alphas had been awake for a great few hours. His chest stung as he flexed, bloody with pink at the edge of the black wings of Hvitserk’s tattoo. Hvitserk had been in a fight with Rollo as the hours raged on. They sat arranging their flight out of Denmark into sweet, innocent little Sweden. Or at least, that was the original intention before your scent trickled down to where the other alphas were bickering that Hvitserk wasn’t tending to you carefully enough.

“She’ll be fine, uncle.” Hvitserk chides, thrusting his towel over his shoulder and lazily walking over to drop a plate in front of his father. Ragnar’s trademark braid was done away with in favour of a short crop on the top of his head.

“You have… intention to breed her?” Ragnar twiddles a bit of floppy, chewy bacon. Hvitserk listens to your soft sobs above-- slipping into the ragged, natural desires of the flesh.

“Of course I do. She’s an omega! When her heat soars, she will be screaming for release.” Hvitserk says. “Then you can take her for your ring.”

That was no sort of life and all four of them damn well knew it. The highest bidder would lay down their coin for a night with the most delicious of dolls. Each slamming their fat palms down on their red buttons, thrusting up cards to dib coin upon their fixations. The winner walked away with the toy. Then the same would happen… night after night until Ragnar thought them fit to be given to Rollo. From Rollo-- there was no coming back.

“But she’s educated.” Harald says gruffly. “Can’t we use her for better means?”

Ah Harald, always making half-baked plans. Hvitserk turns to set his plate of crunchy bacon and medium done eggs before him.

“No.” Hvitserk snears. “Don’t be stupid.”

“You’ve been around Ivar for too long.”

“I was stationed with him.”

Ragnar’s hand hovers lazily by his lips. His blue eyes flicker down to his plate, then back up again to look at the stairs just behind the meager two floor home. They had to airlift out of this hellhole as soon as your heat settled. Ragnar slips out of his chair as son and uncle bicker tirelessly together. Before either notice, up Ragnar goes up the stairs.

Each step brings him closer to the princess’s den so to speak. He can already tell that your soft mewls of desperation are stringing out longer and longer. Ragnar knocks the door open with a rippling creek that swells down the steps. It creaks apart. The yellow wallpaper on the walls matches the drab brown wood coming half way up the wall, dull. Your eyes lock onto him through the wildness of your hair. A thin rim of colour surrounds the deep black of your eyes.

Ragnar does not find this something new or unique. He’s seen that very eye in a willowy, alpha female-- his wife, before she attacked and bred him for his seed once upon a time. Ragnars’ lips twitch and so he moves closer.

“(Y/N), that is your name?”

“Fuh… fuck you.” Comes the hiss. Ragnar closes his eyes, motioning his head downwards tiredly. He’s surely heard this one before and yet he carries on, moving closer. Like an animal she sits there, rubbing her legs together and massaging herself through heated frustration.

“You’ll have the chance.” Ragnar hums, reaching forward to moved your hair from the messy manner it was displayed. He could feel your heat burning through his skin, attempting to get under his own, to implore him to breed.

“What do you… mean?” You make out between deep, harsh breaths. Your thighs press tightly together. Despite the heat between your legs, you can rub them together for some friction. But it’s not enough… it’s never enough. Ragnar’s eyes course over your freshly shaved mound up to your breasts before relenting his gaze.

Then he makes a face of indecipherable emotion. It’s short lived-- because shortly after, Hvitserk resurfaces through the door. Ragnar slides back up and within a brief few steps, disappeared back from the way he came. The scents mingling overpower any humanistic qualities you may have had previously.

“Guess omegas are kinda indiscriminate, right?” Hvitserk muses, rolling you onto your back. His touch sends a shock wave of tingles through your walls. Damn your body. Damn whatever he gave you too. Hvitserk senses the hitch in your breath and it brings a stupid smile to his lips, palming your breasts while you squirm. “As long as it can pop a knot, right?”

No, you want to say, it wasn’t write. Yet as your walls moisten and your cunt burns with a hot, eager need you know that he is right. In this state you would give it up for anything-- convict, or no convict.

“You ask stupid questions.” You huff out, moaning outright when he pinches both nipples between his fingers. Instead of the fear he was so damn sure you would exhibit, you writhe under his fingertips.

“You like it?” His tone shames. He twists again-- and pleasantly your legs kick out, betraying your mind screaming everything that Dagny committed to your knowledge. Hvitserk Ragnarsson was a murderer. A breeder. The last alpha male that crossed him had shown up to your clinic with great tears to his jaw up to his cheekbones. Fibrous strands of connective tissue attempted to string his cheek and jaw back together, a testament to the quick wound healing of an alpha.

“Of course you like it. I bet you're into all types of kinky things, aren’t you? Don’t you got someone special at home?” Hvitserk rustles within his own pants, drawing his cock out into the cold air. Your curious eyes can’t help but sneak a glance. He’s of what you think might a comfortable size. Or at least it would have been if not for those barbells along his shaft.

“Just shut up.” You answer between painful huffs; even if you did, it wasn’t like you would tell an insane alpha male that. Men like him were regularly euthanized. Who would tell him anything? Your eyes keep attended to his cock in his small strokes along the shaft. It only serves to build his huge ego-- and it’s nothing that you would admit to freely. Hvitserk slips onto the soiled mattress before you, taking your hand in his gloved one to force you to look at him.

“No? Then let me guess.” Hvitserk chuckles, fisting the root of his cock to lead the tip to your unprotected pussy. He shoves himself forward unceremoniously, forcing you to roll from your side onto your back.

“You’re one of those li’l sluts that binges xvideo porn all day and daydreams all about a certain little someone, right?” He chides, pinning your shoulders down. A long groan escapes his lips, hissing. “Fuck, no one been in this pussy for a while.”

Oh you hate him. You hate him, you hate him, you hate him!

“Those are the kinda pussy princesses I love, ya know?” He slurs, moving his hands down your back to your waist. He pins you there, enjoying the bounce of your ass against his hips with every bouncing thrust. The balls of his piercings pop into your hole, gliding in cool. They’re quickly warmed by your juices coating down his cock.

“The ones that just can’t get enough. Just like me.”

“I’m not like you!” You hiss and despite his dick just smoothing over the right bundle of nerves, you fight him tooth and nail through the long, bruising thrusts that relieve your swollen need. He’s so thick-- and when he fills you, it’s as if you could never be more full.

“Aw that’s cute pretty baby.” He leans in above you, placing his palms down flatly against your head. You glare at the black lines on his right forearm, wanting nothing to do with him. But in the end of it all, you knew he was right. “But it ain’t true. Omegas are meant to be bred like this. This is what you were always meant to do.”

His balls slap against your ass-- hard, then harder when your hips defy you. You lean into his thrusts, taking them like only an omega could. Hvitserk’s lips churn into a wide, bright smile. The more he warmed you in your heat, the more attention you craved. And Hvitserk-- was far too gladdened to give you everything you craved. As a true alpha, It wouldn’t be complete if you weren’t gasping for it first. And so you were, oozing your excitement over his dick before he even came! Hvitserk gives you a long, deep stroke of his cock to fill you properly. Your vaginal walls respond by squeezing him perfectly, milking him while he strains to hold himself out above your with a few forced pants.

“Nnn- nooo.” You sob, this wasn’t it-- this wasn’t… wasn’t you. And yet all the same, yesss.

At the end of your week long heat, your legs were wiggly like the jello and thin, light foods that Hvitserk had been feeding you so often. Never again did you want to see breads, brothy soups and crackers that made it so easy for Hvitserk to breed you and breed you all week. You felt the heat subsiding little by little through your cunt until finally, it was little more than daily annoyance of breeding and sex.

Hvitserk woke up before you that day, preparing everything that had previously been used in the house for the fireplace. Your wrists were bound when he finally came back to gather you onto two feet with a short, white flowing dress.

“Where are you taking me?” You ask-- stupidly so.

Hvitserk keeps his head level, hair smoothed out into a neat bun on the top of his head. He takes a drag of his cigarette, losing the smoke in your face yet again. You were getting used to his asinine actions over the week that you knew this Ragnarsson.

“You’re flying back with Dad.” He answers.

“Back… home?”

Hvitserk stops around the area where a jeweled pair of flip flops are. Whoever picked these pretty things-- it definitely wasn’t any of the four idiots you came to know over the week. Though Rollo did have a soft spot for prettty things, so maybe it could be him.

“You’re not going home.” Hvitserk explains. Ragnar comes to stop beside him, and so suddenly, the dread pits in your stomach. “You’re going to his breeding rings.”

Breeding rings?

“You’re not serious.” You state the question as a blank statement. Ragnar grasps your upper arms, tugging you away from the only man that you knew up to this point to stand closely against his toned chest. The young man stuffs his hands into his pocket.

He’s deadly serious.

“You can’t do this to me!” Your voice cracks at the end of the statement, beginning to panic as to what exactly a breeding ring might be. It was a running joke that Omegas were only good for breeding rings but like any things, you never gave it any credence until now. Almost like a lead weight you drop in Ragnar’s grip, refusing to go anywhere. Much less tot the sight where you would be airlifted in a separate direction with the Sigurdssons Ragnar and Rollo.

“No, no I’m not going!”

Instead of giving your fit any weight, uncle Rollo coes to the other side of you. He lifts you up onto two feet. Hvitserk lifts his hand and like magic, Rollo pauses.

“C’mon princess. Don’t make this painful. I like you, but I don’t like you like you. Besides, you’ll be nice and cared for by my brother Ubbe. Don’t that sound nice?”

It didn’t sound nice, it didn’t sound nice at all!

“It sounds awful!” You shrill out, jerking in the two brothers’ arms. At long last, Hvitserk digs his hands into his pocket. You shrill all the way to your next mode of transport until Hvitserk is nothing but a small speck. He shakes his head, rejoining Harald, still in his thoughts.

“You’ll thank me later.” He chuckles. “When you can’t get enough.”

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[ashphoenix06]

A Call for Vengeance ..... (jse ego universe)

UNCLE JACKIE!

Jackie’s eyes snapped open at the sound of his name. Immediately, he closed them due to the blinding headache that came right after... He grimaced and pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to turn over; forced back onto the bed due to a heart stopping pain that shot out through his body. Gasping as the pain dissipated, he looked down at his bare chest to see a make shift bandage wrapped around his stomach, slightly stained pink in the middle...

What the fuck, he though. Di... did I get shot? Again?

His right hand lightly passed over the patch job as he tried to remember what happened. His head was always foggy for details whenever he woke up from injuries like this...

“You were shot.”

Jackie bristled and turned his head to the sound of the voice, only to relax when he saw the familiar face of Marvin. He was standing lazily against the wall, one foot propped up against it. His arms were folded across his chest as he started Jackie down. Jackie tilted his head when he saw that Marvin didn’t have his mask on. The only reason he wore that thing was to cover the scar that ran jagged over his left eye... and to make his glass eye less noticeable.

“Hey, Marv... you look pissed.”

Jackie saw Marv’s good eye flash from pissed to worried to pissed all within a second. The glass eye just stared. Jackie always felt bad about how Marvin lost his eye... the day both of them got their powers.

Marvin huffed and stood up straight, his cape swishing along with the movements.

“You remember what happened, yet?”

Jackie turned his head to the ceiling and blinked as the fog in his head slowly started to clear. They’re fight with JJ; how Marv had to knock their brother out before he had choked Jackie to death. Bursting into the recording room... Schneep forcing Chase to put the gun to his head....

Jackie closed his eyes and turned his head away from Marvin, tears already starting to stream down his face.

“Yeah... yeah, I’m starting to remember...”

Marvin being caught in one of Anti’s frozen spells... Anti blasting Jackie with a powerful glitch attack...

Marvin hit the wall with his fist, Jackie heard. Oh yeah, Marvin was pissed. He always got more aggressive whenever he was in a fit of rage...

And Jackie didn’t blame him...

Schneep had forced Chase to shoot himself in the head... right in from of them...

Jackie tried to hold back a sob but was unsuccessful. He could feel Marvin rush to the bedside within seconds.

“What’s wrong, Jackie? Is it the wound? Do I need to cast another numbing spell?”

Jackie shook his head and that one movement had him burst into tears.

“Chase... he’s.... he’s dead...”

Jackie felt Marvin lightly touching his shoulder in reassurance and completely broke down.

“Why, Marv? Why did Anti do this? Why did he make Schneep shoot Chase?”

Marvin’s grip tightened on Jackie’s shoulder as the memory of Anti squatting down next to Chase’s body flooded his mind. Anti’s sickening little humming.

Let’s try this again, shall we?

“It might of been Anti’s order, but Schneep was the one that forced the trigger,” Marvin growled.

Jackie snapped his head over to glare at Marvin. The magician had his head bent down, locks of his hair hiding his face in shadow. But Jackie could see his eye shining with the memory and filling with hatred.

“He didn’t have a choice, Marv,” Jackie hissed. Not this argument again, he pleaded. Not now...

Uncle Jackie, help!

Jackie snapped his eyes to the other side as Marvin dropped his hand from his shoulder and turned to face the wall. He figured Marvin didn’t hear that tiny voice calling, so it must of been someone in distress out there. But... but why was it the only voice?

“Marv....”

“Jackie, we’ve gone circles around this,” Marvin turned to face him, taking Jackie by surprise when he saw the tears streaking down his face. “JJ and Schneep... Anti couldn’t of taken them by force. Look how he tore Jack down bit by bit and yet he still fought against that glitch before he...”

Marv cringed and turned his head away. His hair hid his face but Jackie could still see his chin quiver. He felt his heart breaking for his brother. Marvin was like the second big brother in the group, Schneep usually viewed as the oldest. Both were more hidden about their emotions when stressed or upset, but Marvin tended to keep to himself when things got too out of control.

“And what Schneep did to Ch... to Chase,” he choked out, trying to turn his face away even further from Jackie. “And... and to... you...”

Jackie looked down at his stomach again and had an instant flash on Schneep pointing the gun at him, his face robbed of any emotions. But... Jackie swore he saw something in his friends eyes before he pulled the trigger...

A flash of recognition... a sliver of horror... a fleeting glimpse of regret.

“Marv...” Jackie hiccuped, pushing himself up a little ways with his elbows. Marvin didn’t move.

“Why didn’t you use you powers, Jackie?”

That broke Jackie’s resolve, tears rushing down his face again. Marvin sounded so weak in that one sentence... He was hurting and actually trying to reach out. He had carried the guilt of the way they both gained their powers for two years now, Jackie knew this. Marvin felt incredible guilt over the fact that those powers nearly killed Jackie that day. The story of his eye was still a mystery, though. Marvin never told him how that had happened and Jackie had given up asking.

Ever since that day, Marvin pretty much never left Jackie’s side when it came to missions. He was always there when Jackie was hurt or when he reluctantly agreed to practice with his powers. Where Jackie was content with the knowledge he knew, Marvin was always studying new spells and abilities. That’s more than likely why Marvin was way more powerful.

Before he could stop himself, Jackie accidentally murmured that one, dark thought he held from Marvin in his next words.

“I didn’t use my powers because I saw something, Marv. Schneep... he was still there. He wasn’t gone. He’s fighting... just like Jack did. I’m sure JJ is, too. And if I had to make that choice again, I would in a heartbeat. And you have to accept that you’re not going to always be around to save me...”

Oh fuck, Jackie thought as Marvin face snapped back in his direction. His eye was red from crying and shined with hurt. Marvin never got hurt by comments, that is, he never showed it. Jackie felt like an ass; he could see on Marvin’s face that he’d gone too far.

Jackie was about to apologize when that tiny voice boomed throughout his thoughts.

UNCLE JACKIE?!? HELP ME! HE TOOK MY DADDY! HE’S CHASING ME! UNCLE JACKIE?!??

S..... Sammi?

Jackie’s elbows gave out as he crashed back down hard onto the bed. Pain pulsated through every muscle from his wound and he barked out a yelp, bucking from the sheer agony. Hands ripped off the bandage and probed the wound, causing Jackie to cry out even louder.

“Shit, shit, shit! I’m sorry, Jackie, but you ripped some of the stitching! Dammit, if Schneep was here.... forget it! Hang on!”

Warmth started to spread from his stomach and throughout his body. He slowly felt himself beginning to relax and his breathing fell into a normal pattern. He chanced a look over at Marvin, who had staggered back to the wall. The strain on his face from the spell he used was clearly visible...

Jackie heard Sammi call him again. He remembered his question from earlier.

“Marv...” he whispered, “Why... why can’t I hear them?”

Marvin, still sweating and panting from the energy spent on the spell, stood up. He gave Jackie a sad, knowing look.

“I blocked your mind reading ability, for right now. That shot really messed you up... I barely made it to you before...” he shook his head. “You need the rest.”

Jackie gulped and nodded, turning his head to the window on the other side. Should he tell Marvin that Sammi managed to break through, that Anti was after her? Throughout the warmth, Jackie felt a cold dagger of hatred pierce his heart at the though of the demon... He had corrupted Schneep and JJ... he had killed Chase to take his body... He made Jack fucking slice his own throat for the world to see!

Jackie made his mind up.

“I was wondering why it was so quiet,” he murmured, feeling the warmth starting to dwindling to the adrenaline overtaking him. The static of his powers raced through his body.

Never turning his heard, he heard Marvin sigh and his footsteps walking away.

“That was the last of the bandages... I’m going to have to run back out to get more. And some more thread for the stitching. I promise I won’t be long... just try to relax... Okay, Jackie?”

Sammi’s cries flooded Jackie’s head.

“Sure,” he slurred, still affected a bit by the spell though it’s grip on him was crumbling due to the hatred. Jackie had never felt this way before... he had never known what this feeling of wanting revenge ever was....

He found himself liking it.

“Just try to get some sleep... I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

As soon as Marvin flashed out of the room, Jackie climbed out of bed and grabbed the top part of his outfit, which had a small hole over the stomach area. He walked to the window and pushed it opened, barely registering the pain coming from his stomach. He had a mission to accomplish, a goal. That glitchy asshole had ruined all of their lives; hurting Jack, taking Schneep and JJ... killing Chase...

And now he was after Chase’s daughter... Jackie sweet, little niece...

He jumped to the window ledge and focus his thoughts on Sammi, hearing only her voice. He kept his eyes shut and remained still as he tracked her location... There! At the park!

With that, Jackieboy Man sprang into action, but not as a hero. He was going to kill Anti and he wasn’t going to stop trying until he or Anti were dead.

**********

“Jackie?” Marvin said as he appeared back in the room. The minute his eyes landed on the bed, he dropped the wrappings he held in his hands.

Jackie was gone.

“FUCK!”

He rushed over to the bed and grasped at the bandages he had ripped off only a while ago. Taking a deep breath, he concentrated and murmured a spell, using Jackie’s blood as a beacon. He sees misted images of himself and Jackie right before he left... but the misted aura of Jackie’s started to change from it’s energetic blue... it started to darken till it was almost navy blue...

Jackie wanted revenge... he wanted to kill...

“Fucking shit!”

Marvin dropped the bandages and his eyes immediately shot to the open window, blowing in the rain that had started while he was gone. He felt panic begin to rise as he grabbed one side of his head and started tugging at his long hair. Out of habit, whenever he was scared, he started pacing.

“This isn’t good...” he mumbled to himself, “he had torn the stitching... I only gave him a spell that was the equivalent of morphine... he’s gonna cause more damage and bleed out...”

He paused and looked back at the window, remembering his brother’s aura darkening...

“If... if he manages to kill Anti... regardless of him using Chase’s dead body... his aura will be... he’ll be...”

Horror filled Marvin from head to toe.

“.... corrupted....”

He ran to the window as fast as he could, whipping out his mask from thin air and slamming it on. If Jackie killed someone intentionally, he’ll be vulnerable to darkness... any kind of evil presence can attack and consume him...

Like a glitchy demon who had just lost his host.

“Dammit, Jackie,” he growled as he conjured up his spell of transportation. This wasn’t going to be easy... with Jackie’s aura darkened, it was going to make it harder for Marvin to find him.

He couldn’t lose his little brother... at least, not to that sadistic monster!

No, this is not the third reading prompt from @glitchbicth, but it has references to the story in it. I’ll post that later tonight, after I eat. Lol!