#SNORTING IT LIKE COCAINE UP my nosTRILS | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

drudyslut · 2 months

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— summary: kook princess. kook prince. perfect match, right? wrong. you hated rafe cameron and everything he stood for. and he hated you. so when your fathers spring it on the two of you that they’d arranged for the two of you to be married, both of your worlds are flipped upside down.

— CW: 18+ only !! cocaine use, alcohol consumption, sexual innuendo, strong language.

likes, comments and reblogs are very appreciated <3

part one

3 days later…

RAFE

“So.. Let me get this straight. Your dad, and Y/N’s dad, have formed some kind of plan to merge both companies.. And you have to marry Y/N for it to be the most successful?”

I snort. Leave it to Topper to have to go over the scenario a hundred fucking times before it finally clicks in his thick skull. I ignore him, grabbing the rolled up hundred dollar bill off the glass table and place it under my right nostril. Leaning forward, i place the other end of the rolled bill at the end of the perfectly formed white line, sniffing up the substance before dropping the bill and flopping back into the soft, white couch. Fuck, I love the burn this shit leaves behind. The way it makes my body tingle, clearing my mind of any bullshit I don’t want to think about.

Topper tries ruining my high again. “Rafe. C’mon man, we have to talk about this. What’re you going to do?”

I sit up, my eyes narrowed into thin slits at him. “There’s nothing to fucking talk about, Top. My dad and her dad have already signed our lives away. I’m supposed to marry the stuck up bitch in less than a month. I don’t want to think about it, so drop it.”

Topper groans, but thankfully, he drops the subject. I don’t know what he expects me to say. I don’t want to marry her. Marriage is the last thing I pictured myself ever doing, but even if I had decided to settle down one day, start a family, it sure as Hell wouldn’t have been her I chose. Y/N Y/L/N is the bane of my existence, and my polar opposite.

Where I like to have fun, and am riddled with issues from head to toe — thanks dad — she’s boring. She doesn’t get out, and she is issue free. Her family didn’t fuck her life up like mine did — well, until now I guess — and she doesn’t even want to change her ways. She’s stuck in the mindset of being the perfect princess. My dad always praised her when we were growing up. “Be more like Y/N, Rafe.” “Why can’t you act like Y/N? She’s a good girl.” and my favorite line “I wish I had Y/N as a daughter instead of you as my fuck up son”.

I shake the thoughts to the back of my mind. The last thing I want to do right now is think of fucking Y/N Y/L/N and the fact that come this weekend, the entire island will know we’re getting married. That’ll really fuck up my chances with getting any pussy before this wedding. That’s another thing. The girls still a fucking virgin. I mean, who the fuck is still a virgin at twenty-one years old? Y/N fucking Y/L/N, that’s who.

“You have to admit though, she is hot. And she’s a virgin, how longs it been since you fucked a virgin?” Top says, amusement lacing his tone as he lightly punches at my shoulder.

I roll my eyes. “She’s not fucking hot, Topper. She’s a bitch.”

Lie.

Y/N is a lot of things, but unattractive isn’t one of them. I would be lying to myself if I said she wasn’t fucking gorgeous. But I’ll never admit that out loud.

“C’mon Rafe. Lighten up. Maybe it won’t be so bad”

I bark out a laugh at that. It’s going to be fucking miserable. A loveless marriage. Handcuffs that I can’t break free from, even if I wanted to.

“Topper. Fucking drop it.”

He opens his mouth to speak but thankfully, Kelce comes barging through the front door. I quickly stand from the couch, making my way to my other best friend and mouthing a silent “thank you” to him for arriving when he did.

“Y’all ready?” Kelce asks, his eyes darting between Topper and I. Thankful for the intrusion and opportunity to drop this entire fucking subject, nod my head. “Let’s go”

The boys and I enter the Island Club. We come here quite often to just get drunk and forget about our shitty days. I am thankful for this tradition right about now. This whole marriage thing has had me stressed out for the last three days. I remember when Ward first came to me about it. He had told me that it was time for me to step up and do something good for the family.

“Son, a word?”

I roll my eyes, glancing at the girl laid beside me I tell her, “I’ll be right back”

My dad chuckles, his eyes glancing behind me and at the brunette that wears only my T-shirt and a pair of underwear. “Actually, you can get dressed and go. Rafe won’t be back up here until late tonight”

I roll my eyes, opening my mouth to protest, but my dad’s stern look has me quickly shutting my mouth. There’s never a point in arguing with Ward Cameron. He will win every single fucking time.

Turning to face Sofia, I give her a small smile. “Sorry, I’ll call you later”

She rolls her eyes but nods her head. She grabs her things from my floor before slipping on her white Nike tennis shoes and walking toward me. She positions all of her things in her left hand, her right palm pressed firmly against my chest as she leans up on her tiptoes and presses a long kiss to my lips.

My father clearing his throat has me pushing her back softly. “I’ll call you.” I say firmly. She turns and exits my room. Leaving me all alone with my dad.

“You won’t be calling her” He states.

My narrowed eyes find his. “And why is that?”

“Because, son. You’re about to step up and do something good for this family, and I won’t have you fucking it up by sleeping around with some bartender from the club.”

I scoff. “What’re you-” I begin to ask, but he cuts me off.

“You’re going to be marrying Y/N Y/L/N.” He says matter-of-factly.

“Rafe? You good bro?”

The sound of Kelce’s voice rips me from the memory. I slowly turn my head to face him, his dark brown eyes filled with slight concern.

Clearing my throat, I say, “Yeah. I’m good. Lets get fucking drunk”

Kelce and Topper nod their heads and begin making their way toward the bar. I follow them closely behind, but freeze in my tracks when I see her. Sofia. I never did call her, and it’s been three days since she was last in my room. I know she’s going freak out on me. If she doesn’t, i’ll be surprised.

I clear my throat and roll my neck before continuing my way up to the bar with my friends. I finally reach Kelce and Topper, they’re already ordering. “Rafe, whatcha drinking bro?” Kelce asks while looking behind his shoulder at me.

I open my mouth to speak but Sofia’s narrowed eyes landing on mine the second she hears my name has me clamping my mouth shut. I give her an awkward nod, debating on just leaving. That’s not who I am though, I don’t run away like a scared little bitch, so instead I order, “Whiskey. Neat.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’ll call me, huh? It’s been three days, Rafe. What the fuck?”

I hear Kelce and Topper snort out a laugh. I glare at the back of both their heads. I’m friends with fucking children. Turning my attention back to the short brunette, I sigh heavily. “Situations changed, Sofie.”

She scoffs at that. “Well, it would be nice to know that you had just planned on fucking me and never calling again. I wouldn’t have ever looked at you twice.”

Topper slings an arm around my shoulder. “I’m sure he would have called had he not found out later that day that’s he’s marrying Y/N Y/L-”

I throw my elbow into Topper’s side, making his arm fall from my shoulder as he groans in pain. “What the fuck was that for?” He demands.

I roll my eyes, and put my focus back on Sofia. “Look, like I said. Situations changed. I won’t apologize for not calling you, we never said it would be more than sex between us anyways”

Her mouth falls open and tears begin to well up in her chocolate brown eyes. I sigh. This is the thing about women. They always expect so much more than you’re willing to give. I never planned on having a relationship with Sofia, and she knows that. But now, I’m the bad guy because she was all but thrown out of my house and I never called.

She lifts her eyes toward the ceiling above her, blinking back her tears before her eyes find mine again. “Well, good to know. Let me get those drinks for you guys.”

I let out a deep exhale, turning to face Topper and Kelce. They both have shit eating grins on their faces. “What?” I snap.

Topper chuckles. “Nothing. You better hope she doesn’t spit in your drinks all night” He jokes.

I run a hand down my face. Tonight was supposed to help me unwind, not cause more fucking unwanted stress. “I never fed her lines of false hope, so I don’t know why she’s freaking the fuck out.”

Kelce chuckles this time, slapping a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t they all freak the fuck out when it comes to you? I mean c’mon Rafe. You can’t ever sleep with a girl without her expecting more.. I just hope you’re prepared for the long list that’s going to come for your throat when this engagement is announced.”

I sigh for what feels like the thousandth time tonight. He’s right. I have never been serious about any of the girls I slept with. They all wanted more, but every single time I felt they were getting to attached, I stopped calling or texting them. It was better that way. I didn’t want anything serious, and now, I’m being forced into something super serious. Fuck, my life really sucks doesn’t it?

“Here. Drink up, you need it.” I hear Kelce say. I turn to face him and he has his left hand extended toward me, my glass of whiskey in hand. I quickly snatch it from his grip and throw it back, downing the amber liquid in one gulp. Turning to face the bar, I slide the glass back toward Sofia. “Another.”

Two hours and multiple glasses of whiskey later, I’m drunk. The room sways a bit, and I reach my hand out to grip the patio railing. I hear Topper laugh from the right of me. “Dude, you’re fucking wasted.” He laughs out, placing his hand on my shoulder to help keep me upright.

“I- I am not wasted, Top. I’m just… Buzzed” I lie.

He opens his mouth to speak but he quickly slams it shut, the sound of his teeth clashing together has me turning my full attention on him. His brows are raised and his eyes look like they’re going to pop from his skull as he stares intently behind us.

“What the fuck are you looking at? You look like you’ve seen a fucking ghost.” I joke. But he doesn’t laugh, and that makes me nervous. Topper laughs at the dumbest shit, so for him to remain staring behind us with a look of pure shock in his eyes, it has me wondering what just happened.

My body sways to the side as I try to turn and face the direction he’s looking, but his hand on my shoulder has me stopping in place.

I narrow my blue — possibly bloodshot — eyes on him. “What the fuck, Top. Speak!”

He clears his throat. “I- Uh.. Y/N just walked in with some of her friends.”

That has my attention. I quickly turn my body, falling forward a bit but catching myself with the help of the railing again. She stands at the bar. And she looks fucking delicious right now. For a girl who has never taken it past kissing a man — if she’s even kissed a man — she sure knows how to dress the part of any other girl on this island. She wears a black, leather skirt that hugs her curves and ass nicely. A tight, white cropped top and a pair of black heels that add a few inches to her height. Her hair is up in a high ponytail, and all I can think of is wrapping my hand in it and pulling her head back as I fuck her from behind.

What the fuck? Why am I thinking of her like this? I fucking hate her. My soon to be wife. She’s a fucking stuck up, prude bitch. My mind tells me to stop staring, reminds me that I can’t fucking stand her. But my cock is screaming the complete opposite.

Without thinking, my legs begin to carry me toward her. I come to a stop right behind her, clearing my throat, causing her head to whip in my direction. The moment her eyes find mine, she’s rolling them. The act alone is fucking sexy. I picture her eyes rolling into the back of her head while my face is buried between her legs, devouring her sweet cunt. Fuck. Stop thinking of her like this Rafe, you’re just drunk, and horny. Any girl would do, but for some fucking reason, my mind is consumed with her.

“What the fuck do you want, Rafe” She sighs.

I smirk at the anger that radiates from her. “Just coming to say- just coming to say hey to my future wifeeee.” I slur. She rolls her eyes as they find mine again.

“You said hey, now run along. We don’t need to pretend to like each other right now.”

Maybe it’s just because I’m drunk, but her words stung. She really hates me doesn’t she? I mean, I hate her too. Don’t I? Yes, Rafe. She’s a stuck up bitch who acts like she’s better than everyone. But my drunken mind has me sighing as I say, “You really don’t like me, baby?”

Her body stiffens, eyes wide as she stares back at me. “I- Don’t call me that.”

I smirk. I have her worked up. Reaching out my left hand, I push a few strands of hair behind her ear before I run my fingers down the side of her face. She sucks in a shaky breath and flinches away from my touch.

“Rafe… Please just let me have a night out with my friends. In two days, we’re announcing to the entire island that we’re getting married, and I’d like to live the last two days of my life without you around… Lord knows I’m about to be stuck with you.”

My eyes narrow and I take a step toward her. You’re drunk, Rafe. Keep your cool. My large hands reach for her face, cupping her cheeks as I lower my face closer to hers. I don’t miss the way her chest rises and falls rapidly from my close proximity. She’s nervous. It’s going to be so much fun having her all to myself. Even if I hate her, pussy is pussy. And this is pussy that’s never been touched. She’s all mine to play with. To fuck. To break. To train. She’ll be my own personal whore by the time I’m done with her.

My glassy, blue eyes search her face. I half expect her to shove me away, and I’m so drunk I wouldn’t be able to fight back on it. But she doesn’t. Instead, her eyes find mine. That’s it, be strong baby girl. I like the tough girl act.

“Baby, you’re going to be crawling on your hands and knees begging for me to touch you. To kiss you. To please you. You can act like you hate me now, Lord knows I can’t stand you. But even I can admit, you’re fucking gorgeous. And I know you find me somewhat attractive.” I pause, placing my lips on the sensitive skin of her neck and leaving soft kisses, making her hiss in a breath. “I know this isn’t what either one of us wanted, but we have no choice… Why not enjoy the game?”

Her beautiful eyes narrow into slits and her lips thin. She blinks a few times before slapping my hands from her face. I stumble back a little, but catch myself on the bar, giving her a slow smirk.

“Fuck you, Rafe!” She hisses before grabbing her purse and storming off to the locker rooms.

I smile to myself as I watch her storm off. She’s mad now, but I meant what I said. She’ll be begging for more after I finally touch her. She can pretend now, and I’m not saying I’m falling for her. But Topper was right. She’s hot. Might as well enjoy the game and the perks, right? Letting out a small laugh, I turn and make my way back toward my friends, adjusting my hard cock that’s straining against my pants in the process. This is going to be fun.

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rafe masterlist | taglist form | series masterlist

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freak-accident419 · 4 months

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High On You

Derek Danforth x GN!AFAB!Reader

Summary: You read over the statistics and analytics for Derek’s company, as he requested. Except, while you do this, you’re on his bed, lower half of your body exposed as he does lines of cocaine on your thigh—then he eats you out.

WC: 1.2k

Content: 18+ smut, MDNI, derek danforth x reader (gn!afab!reader), oral (v!receiving), no spoilers for The Beekeeper, brief (yet detailed) cocaine/drug use, graphic depictions of sex and drugs (this is probably the filthiest thing i ever wrote on here), cursing

(A/n: I couldn’t wait to write it, so here !! Haven’t watched the movie yet, but if I notice that there’s anything incorrect here once I do, I’ll go back and change it ! I’m so sorry to my AMAB readers and/or the AFAB readers who get dysphoria from this type of writing !! You can check out my other smuts that aren’t genital-specific !! Love you all!! And thanks to everyone for your support !! Anyways, I think that Derek doing coke on the reader is such a Derek thing to do.)

Tags: @thehermitsaltar @coriolanussnowswife @moonlight-rosevine @harrysflorist @thegirlwholoveslivesfanfiction @joshhutchersons-slut

Your rich boyfriend, Derek Danforth, asked you to read over the statistics and analytics of his phishing center, informing him how much money he’s earned in the past week.

Except it wasn’t a very professional or orderly way.

You laid on his bed, looking at the information on your phone, reading how much millions were gained on Thursday, while your entire lower body was naked. You two were always a very intimate couple, so this wasn’t new or had invoked any feelings of diffidence, as your legs were spread out across the mattress.

He snorted a line of cocaine, pressing down on one of his nostrils to inhale the drug after spilling the white powder onto your thigh and scraping it into several thin lines using one of his credit cards. It felt tingly, to have him do this on your thigh, his head ever so close to your cunt. While this occurred, his free hand was resting on your other bare thigh.

He let out an ecstatic groan afterward, and then looked at you as his high rushed in. “What—What’d you say again, baby?”

You chuckle softly at his mannerisms. “I said that in total, for Thursday at least, UDG obtained, like, over six fucking million,” you reply, looking over the statistics on your phone again. “Business is booming.”

Derek smirked as he was satisfied to hear the news. “Damn fuckin’ right it is.”

His body slightly tensed up as he quickly inhaled another white line on your thigh through his nostril, briefly rubbing his nose afterwards. The sharp inhale caused him to feel a surge of euphoria throughout his body as the drugs entered his system. His eyes closed in pleasure, then opened, pupils slightly dilated.

You watched him do this, taking a short drag of your cigarette. “Last week’s average was five point two million dollars,” you add, observing him as he corrected the final line with the card, straightening it out onto your thigh.

“So what was the total earned in that week?” He inquired as your cigarette remained hanging from your mouth.

“Thirty-six million dollars, baby,” you answer proudly while he inhales the last line quite harshly, and heard him whoop as he gained exhilaration from both the drug and the statistics.

You finally place your phone down on the night stand to give full attention to your boyfriend. You bring your hand to his hair, tangling his soft, light curls in your fingers. “Congratulations,” you praise gently, watching Derek close his eyes in pleasure, leaving a small kiss on your thigh.

He placed the package of coke on the night stand and adjusted himself on the bed between your legs. He continued to leave soft kisses on your thigh, gradually trailing towards your untouched pussy.

“Mm, I’ve been neglecting you, haven’t I?” He observed, demonstrating a hint of pity. “Fuck, baby, you’re so fucking wet,” he huffs, pulling your hips closer to his face as he finally licked up your cunt in an animalistic fashion.

You let out a soft sigh, your fingers still in his hair, and you grab the cigarette out of your mouth, immediately putting it out on the ashtray.

Derek’s warm tongue caressed along your folds exuberantly, moving up and down as your breath hitched. He gripped your thighs tightly, pushing his face even further in your cunt. You let out a gasp—almost a moan—as he flicked your clit with his tongue, stimulating the sensitive nub which elicited even more intense sounds from your mouth.

“O-oh, fuck, Derek!” You moaned as you felt him suck at your clit, closing his lips around it while lightly moving his hands up and down from your thighs to your sensitive hips, thumb pushing down on your pelvic bone for a brief moment, causing more pleasure within you. “S-so good, love… Fuck, yes.”

He lapped at your dripping pussy once more, threatening to poke inside each time his tongue ran over your entrance. He incessantly licked at you, so desperately and lustfully, occasionally tugging at your flesh between his soft lips.

“Taste s’fucking good,” he mutters between his rapid licks, “S’fucking good for me Y/n…” He rubbed off some leftover powder on your thigh, messily inhaling it through his nose for enhanced stimulus.

Your thighs jolting as you let out a high-pitched whine once you felt his tongue finally push inside your wet, aching cunt. He was eating you out as if you were forbidden fruit, because he would rather die than never be able to taste you. Pleasing to the eye, he really couldn’t help it. He was practically making out with your pussy, exploring your walls with his generous tongue.

Your legs closed around his head and you brought both of your hands to his hair, tugging his curls, which gets a muffled groan out of him, the vibration causing you to feel even more pleasure. Your breath hitched and you choked out a moan as you felt his nose bumping against your clit as he ate you out. Derek felt so hazy and foggy from his high, and because everything was so sensitive for him, he could practically cum untouched from how much arousal he gained from pleasing you. Not only was he high on cocaine, but he was also high on your taste, and hearing you moan was his ultimate addiction.

“Sh-shit, Derek…” Your head turned to the side tiredly, eyes threatening to close as you felt overwhelmed with all the stimulation. Derek hooked one of his arms around your thigh so he could place his hand warmly on your stomach, below your belly button yet over your cunt, now focusing more on his precision.

You felt yourself closer to your orgasm, waves of pleasure crashing onto you each second. Derek slipped his tongue out, just to spread your pussy lips apart with his fingers, and then lap his tongue against your cunt again sloppily, making your thighs twitch, incoherent whimpers escaping your mouth. “Holy shit, you’re so fucking hot…” he mumbles.

You let out a high-pitched moan as his long, slender middle finger inserted into you effortlessly, quick, deep thrusts provoking wet, vulgar squelches while he simultaneously sucked your clit again. He pulled out his finger smoothly, abrasively running it between your soaked folds, then pushed it back in deeply.

“G-God! Fuck!” You whined, back arching as you succumbed to his touch. Abruptly, he spit on your cunt, lapped his tongue on you, switching constantly between your folds and your clit. You felt a knot in your stomach, in which Derek’s free hand had still remained resting on it. His licks were fast and rough, and you felt yourself being driven over the edge. “G—Fuck, Derek, b-baby, I-I’m—”

“That’s it, that’s it, baby,” he encouraged softly in between licks. He looked at you hungrily with his deep brown eyes, “Cum for me.”

The second you heard his command, you came hard around his finger, moaning his name loudly as he slipped it out to desperately taste your juices, him groaning in your cunt. You whimpered and shuddered uncontrollably, his insistent touch bringing you to overstimulation. He kissed it a few times, then brought himself up from the mattress to make you with you, lips moving with yours as it allowed you to taste yourself.

“Fucking love you,” he muttered in the kiss. “So good for me, Y/n, fuck.” He held you in his arms softly, being as gentle as he could, rubbing your arms up and down comfortingly. The room smelled like sex, as the atmosphere consisted of only your deep breaths and the soft, wet smacking of your kisses.

“Fuck,” you panted, and the corner of your lips curled into a relieved smile until you kissed him again. “I love you too.”

#derek danforth x reader #derek danforth x gn!reader #derek danforth x you #derek danforth smut #Derek danforth fanfic #The beekeeper #the beekeeper fanfic #Josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson x reader #josh hutcherson x you #josh hutcherson x gn!reader #josh hutcherson fanfic #josh hutcherson smut #Mike schmidt x reader #clapton davis x reader #josh futturman x reader #peeta mellark x reader

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lokisgoodgirl · 1 year

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The Red Dress: Ruined [Avenger! Loki x Fem. Reader]

Part of the Hostile F*cks Collection A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: (6) After royally p*ssing each other off at a party, Loki's method of redress is typically theatrical. (w/c 2.5k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Language. Dirty talk. Hostility. "Friends" w/ benefits. Soft!Dom Loki

You pushed Loki against the wall of your bedroom, tugging his infuriatingly handsome face to your lips in a ravenous kiss. His tongue fought against yours, each desperate to dominate the other first.

“You are unbelievable.” you muttered darkly between pants, slick with his saliva as your audacious fingers began work on the buttons of his tunic. “What has gotten you all wound up, I wonder?” Loki purred, before running his tongue over his bottom lip. You grimaced.

“Oh...was it the flirting?” he postured innocently, making you tear the final four buttons open with a brutal rip.

You tugged it ruthlessly over his biceps, letting it fall to the ground with a soft thud around his ankles. “Could it be...jealousy? Oh dear, surely not.” he probed as the growl finally erupted between your clenched teeth, your fiery gaze rising to meet his. He smirked. “I must have forgotten what keen eyes my...friend, has.” Loki's voice was smouldering, the blue-green of his irises concealed beneath a widening darkness. Your fingers ran firmly up his exposed torso, hard muscle sickeningly erotic beneath smooth skin. “We are not friends.” you rumbled, pressing the tips of your fingers deeper.

His body didn’t yield. “You know how Stark likes me to turn on the charm for our guests.” Loki goaded, ignoring your comment as he widened his legs with a subtle thrust. "He knows the effect I have on mortal women. He knows how I can use it to my...advantage. And his." He leant forward, jutting his chin out as your fingers began to grasp aggressively at his belt buckle. “But you can tell Rogers that you’re still my new best friend, darling.” he whispered mockingly. "I don't mind." Loki’s cologne filled your nostrils like a snort of cocaine, hateful desire roaring hot in your blood. Like flames up gasoline. You clutched the sides of his head, fingers winding in his hair before pulling him into another violent kiss. Loki’s tongue jammed hungrily into your open mouth, a low sigh rattling in his chest as you melted together in a writhing mess of hands and thrusts against the wall. “Mine.” you muttered between biting kisses, whipping his leather belt to the ground. “And you’re going to fuck me now, Loki.”

He chuckled, edging you backward towards the bed. You stumbled ungracefully onto the mattress, bouncing twice as he towered above. “You’re right about one of those things, Agent.” The skirt of the red dress hung between your open legs as you drew your feet onto the bed, observing him unbutton his snug trousers with agonising slowness. You slid the material up your thighs, letting the luxurious sheen fall around your hips as you rested back on your elbows. A peek of the lace panties you wore were visible as one foot extended outward, curling your toes to lightly tug at his open waistband. He let out a soft snort, a thin smile tugging at his lips still slick with your saliva. “You know I hate red.” he murmured, a flash of disgust tingeing his sharpened features. “Then change it.” you snipped argumentatively, raising your chin. You noted the rise and fall of your cleavage drawing his attention, his eyes crawling covetously over your curves. "You're always saying how you can do what you want. So change it."

“No.” he growled, making the trousers vanish. Your foot rested on his muscular pelvis, the root of his glorious cock grazing your pinky toe, straining against velvet skin. It had been too long since you’d last seen it. Too long since the boundless girth stretched the sides of your mouth to cracking as you choked on his perfection. It had been too long since the veil of reality shuddered as you came with it sheathed inside your needy, desperate cunt. You needed more. And you hated it. No piercings this time, you noted; as you savoured the sight. It stretched upward against his stomach, deep grooves of hip muscle rising at either side of the column making your breaths quicken. You could feel the slick between your thighs slide, saliva welling beneath your tongue. You let out a staggered sigh, hearing him tsk. “You must face the consequences of your desperately uncouth actions.” he muttered formally, settling one knee on the bed, before stalking forward on all fours. “That dress.” he chided, tilting his head. “What were you thinking?” The curve of his biceps taunted you, flexing teasingly as he edged closer. Loki’s dark curls tumbled over his collarbone, set against his fair skin like oil on snow. "It's just a dress-" you stammered, the facade of indifference fading as your fantasies came to life inside the walls of your room. Nerves fluttered in your belly as you shuffled backward, the god’s regal air making your stomach churn with adrenaline. He paused, looking down at you disapprovingly.

“I will fuck that dress off your pretty, fragile little body with no regrets.” he purred, making you shiver. “It will be in tatters by the time we are through. Of that I can assure you.” You yelped as his fingers wrapped around your ankles, pulling you towards him. Loki knelt back, the muscles of his thick thighs braced above his calves. He trailed his knuckles up your inner thigh; extending a finger to brush the moist centre of your panties. A whine escaped you at his touch, the molten lust in his eyes swirling. He grasped the waistband, tugging them greedily downward in one swipe. You pressed your lips together, forehead creased with anticipation as he brought them clenched in a fist to his nose. Loki inhaled the scent before tossing the balled lace to the side. In a flash, you crawled atop him; arms wrapped around his neck as you sank down to brush the pinnacle of his desire. The thick tip of his cock pulsed at your opening, Loki’s lips parted as he stared up at you through half-lidded eyes. His hands ran over the silk coating your ass, spreading your cheeks before drawing one back and letting fly with a tight smack. "I always knew you were a bad girl, Agent. But I never thought you'd stoop this low." Another growl filled the air, before you crashed to his mouth. He pushed you down onto his waiting length, every rippling inch making you moan into his mouth with feral need. “You're an a-asshole, Loki” you groaned, as he released a series of staggered, dirty grunts into the back of your throat. “Now shut up and fuck me you arrogant s-shit.”

Your walls clenched as he bottomed out, a guttural moan vibrating as he thrust upward once to make sure he’d taken every inch of wet heat. He hissed beneath you, letting his head fall back. The thick veins of his neck strained as he began to thrust in rhythm, every bounce of your open thighs making him groan louder as you clawed his neck. Each pound of his cock was stronger than the last as he took his pleasure, long fingers digging into to the bare skin between your shoulder-blades.

They swiped down, ripping the straight-edged back of your beautiful dress like tissue paper. The seams tore in fluid obedience beneath his grip, his nails scraping down your naked spine as he reduced it to tatters with one stroke. Before you could catch your breath, he sent you backward; fastening his torso flush to your chest; his wetted cock never leaving your tight heat. “Loki…” you gasped, as his fingertips ran firmly up your legs; manoeuvring them around his hips. The god’s jaw made a trail of ravenous bites and sucks across your neck, working down your chest. There were no words, just your back arching to the ceiling as he consumed you. A snarl erupted as he met the traitorous red silk of your neckline, drawing it into his mouth while continuing to ruin you with pulsing thrusts. You looked down, the crest of his brow visible as he shook the fabric between his teeth like a wolf on the kill. Loki yanked his head to the side with force. The intricate neckline of your silk gown came away between his gritted teeth like filo pastry, decimated. The whole panel tore with a theatrical rip, your eyes widening as he spat it onto the bedsheets. Deep vertical lines ran between his brows, anger and desire woven in the fabric of his features as his mouth twitched. "I told you." he scorned, running his eyes from your parted lips to your naked breasts. "I will be merciless." You closed your eyes with a heady moan of his name, Loki’s lips fastening around your exposed nipple. You felt his tongue circle the hard nub, a muffled sigh of pleasure warming your breast as he began to suck ravenously; dragging the sensitive bundle between his teeth. “F-fuck, Loki...yes…” you cried, not caring about the paper thin walls as the angle of his cock changed inside you. There would be no one there. Everyone else would still be at the party. One of Loki’s endless legs was bent at the knee, palming the other breast needily as he suckled at the first through muffled moans. His hair fell across your chest, buried in your pleasure as he sought his own inside your wet slit. Needy whimpers were pulled from you as climax began to build, every brutish rut of his hips making your eyes roll back. Loki raised his head, running his tongue around the cupid’s bow of your lips as your pants grew quick together. “Oh, Agent...are you close?” he cooed condescendingly, slowing his thrusts. He knew every powerful wave was pulling at your swollen clit, moans filling the air as he watched the tells of your orgasm rise in shallow pants. “Are you going to cum around your favourite cock?” he goaded, watching your eyelids flutter open. “Do you want to milk me, pet? Make me a juddering mess with your teasing, tight pussy while you call me…Daddy?” You let out a small whimper, your face contorted with shameless lust for this infuriating man. How does he- His eyes narrowed mischievously, a restrained hum of pleasure rumbling from his throat as he ran his hands down your waist with a grunt. Your body was grasping at climax Loki dangled out of reach, bucking and squeezing around him to hold on. He tsk’d again, before letting out a staggered, mirthless chuckle. “No woman of mine is coming undone in a red-fucking-dress” he snarled. “I told you. I will fuck this dress from you. And then…then you’ll cum for me.” He lowered, his wet lips coating the grooves of your ear. "For me." he repeated darkly. A half-hearted roll of your eyes was interrupted by another flick of his hips; the thick tip of his cock bottoming out making them squeeze shut in pleasure. “Uhhh-god L-Lo-Loki why-why do you care? You were all over that w-woman...” He chortled darkly, tendrils of hair grazing your cheek before his lips fastened around your earlobe. He pulled the soft flesh, a torturous moan from him making you clench tightly around his length.

“You love it...imagining me with others, don’t you?” he murmured, his fingers rubbing your clit as he circled his hips. “I am simply encouraging your admirably competitive nature, Agent. It’s what friends do, is it not?” Loki’s eyes flashed as he continued to monologue while screwing you senseless, garbled moans rising in your throat as climax reared once more. “But this?” he pursed his lips, sighing regretfully as he lifted the hem of your tattered red dress strewn around your open thighs with derision. “This is a much greater offence.” He leant closer. “And you know that.” You gasped as the world spun, Loki lifting you in the air like a doll. In seconds you were on your hands and knees, facing away from the simmering god. He slapped your ass with a groan, fingers immediately rubbing over the surely pinkened skin beneath the silk. “Red.” Loki spat incredulously behind you. You could almost see the twisting of his features as he spoke the word. You felt his fingers gather in folds of silk, his hands balled in two fists at your lower back, gripping chunks of the offending material.

You braced. There was a shuddering rip as the dress was pulled apart to both sides, jagged sections fluttering by your waist as you gripped the bedsheets. The only thing now attaching it to your quivering body were the thin straps at your shoulders. Closing your eyes, you heard Loki hum with approval at the sight of your naked rear splayed before him. You swayed on all fours, delirious with need as he stooped to bury his face between your legs, a messy lick running from your sopping pussy to the ridge of your asshole. A guttural moan vibrated deep inside you, Loki’s heavy breaths filling your senses as the soft thump of his knees on the mattress drew closer. “Are you sure it is me that you wish to bed tonight, Agent?” he murmured menacingly, rubbing a hand appraisingly over the curve of your ass. “That it is not another godly cock you seek to fulfil your wanton desires?” He drew his thickness tauntingly through your cheeks, thrusting upwards as you pushed against his achingly hard cock with a strangled moan. “You know of whom I speak.” he muttered, dipping the very tip inside your soaking channel before withdrawing. Loki’s voice was burning embers, thick with sarcasm that smouldered like coal-smoke in the air. “Would you prefer if my brother came and finished you off, Agent? It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve warmed a lover for his bed.” “No, Loki. You.” you panted breathlessly, hearing him chuckle behind you as he lined himself up at your entrance. The meaty tip rubbed through your folds, collecting the rampant slick that supported your fevered words. You both moaned as he squeezed inside your warm heat once more, sheathing himself to the hilt.

His large hands fastened around your hips, pulling you back as he mounted you again and again. Loki’s low groans of pleasure bubbled like molten gold, deep sighs accompanying each slap of his hips. One hand wound in your hair, pulling your chin upward as he rode you. “G-gods...y-yes- that’s it. That’s it.Uhhh, no one f-ucks you like me. No-one.” he stuttered darkly, as your mewls grew louder beneath his thrusts. You could feel your walls flutter around his pulsing length, your knuckles whitening as you gripped the duvet below. “Don’t you dare. Not yet.” Loki growled, making you gasp as he pulled you back tight against his chest. Your ass nestled against his stomach as he rested on his knees, continuing to pump upward as he fought his own release.

Something flashed in the corner of your eye. The flat of his dagger rubbed against your shoulder, timed with every messy thrust. "Say it...say I'm the best fuck you’ve ever had." he whispered, as the metal slid beneath the first thin line of silk tethering you to captivity, toying against the slack. “No...” you sighed, head lolling back against his shoulder with a grin as he edged you closer to heaven. The weak silk snapped beneath the blade, before he flicked the dagger up in the air. The metal glinted as it spun past your face in the low bedside lamplight before landing gracefully in his other hand. "Say it, Agent...I shan't ask again." The delicate blade toyed with the final strap, the almost imperceptive scrape of steel against silk scratching in your ear like white noise. "Of course you w-will, Loki.” you groaned, choking the words through strangled breaths. “You need the…f-fuck..validation."

Your weeping pussy clenched around him, enjoying his torment in profile as his eyes fluttered shut, his breathing heavy. The final strap snapped beneath a flick of the blade, before Loki tore the tattered red sheet from your body. He drew his forearm across your chest, throwing the ruined dress in the air above the bed. You gasped as it burst into flames, sucking inward to a tight ball of light before vanishing in a puff of dark green smoke. Loki’s hands cupped your breasts; palming roughly upwards as he groaned into the curve of your neck. "You are im-impossible..." he grunted, before grazing his teeth over your hot skin. “I’m gonna come L-Loki…” you whimpered. The thought of losing another orgasm made tears prick your eyes as it rose with frightening intensity within the apex of your thighs. Loki’s muffled hiss rang in your ear, every rise of his powerful thighs making your calves clench tighter. “M-milk me...f-fuck. Ta d-det du trenger..take what you n-need from Daddy’s cock...hva d-du ønsker-uhh.” With a thundering cry, you succumbed. The word you had called him so many times as you touched yourself between these very sheets sending a shudder through your core. Tension melted as fast as it rose, the incomparable feeling it seemed that regrettably only he could bestow roaring through your bloodstream as you saw stars. Loki’s fingers gripped your thighs as he followed you, hot seed flooding your spasming channel as he bit down on your shoulder; a feral roar of nordic curses vibrating the skin.

As you both came to a shuddering stop, he released you to flop forward on the bed, hitting the mattress with a final moan of satisfaction. “You...owe me a new dress” you sighed wistfully into the sheets. Loki chuckled, lowering himself beside you, a thin sheen of moisture clinging to you both. Seconds passed in blessed silence before he spoke.

“If I ever see you wearing red again, similar action will be taken.” There was a tinge of mockery in his voice, but you had no doubt that he meant every word. “That doesn’t sound like much of a deterrent." you scoffed groggily, face down on the mattress. "And I still don’t understand why you give a shit.” A finger trailed up your spine, making you shiver. He combed the hair strewn around your face as he leant closer, the curve of an unbearably smug smile pressing against your cheekbone. “Be that as it may, I cannot promise I will honour the courtesy of ensuring we are alone next time... Agent.” he whispered, as he slid two fingers through the mess between your legs.

“Only you can decide if that is a risk you are will to take.”

Ta d-det du trenger – Take what you need Hva d-du ønsker – ...what you crave Part of the Hostile F*cks Collection Continued in Highland Fling

Tags

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#hostile f*cks collection #loki smut #loki x reader #lokismut #loki x reader smut #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x reader #loki x you #loki x yn #loki x female reader #loki x female reader smut #loki x fem!reader #loki x f!reader #loki laufeyson smut #loki odinson #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki oneshot

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lexisecretaccx · 2 months

Text

Green Dreams. Pt 1 - Chris Sturniolo

(Fem reader x Chris Sturniolo, drug use, alcohol use, not smut yet, fight scenes..)

Summary: Y/n goes with her older brother Zack to a party but little does she know this party is full of illegal drugs and alcohol.. in the party she meets someone who she feels herself becoming drawn to even though she shouldn’t..

“I’m headed out..” Zack yells from by the front door.. he’s supposed to be looking after me, even though I’m 18. But my parents are out of town for a week so I’m stuck with him, a 24 year old druggie.

“Where?” I shout back before getting off the bar stool in the kitchen and walking to the front door next to Zack. “Does it fucking matter y/n? I don’t have to tell you where I’m going.” He rolls his eyes and grabs his keys out his pocket.

I grab the keys out of his hand, “What the fuck?” He exclaims, “I’m not giving them back until you tell me where you’re fucking going Zack!” I demand causing him to sharply exhale and try to grab the keys. “A party,” He mumbles, “I’m 6 years older than you y/n why are you acting like a mom?” He asks before looking down at me with an annoyed expression.

“A party? I’m coming with you or I’m calling mom right now and telling her you’re leaving me alone to go to a party.” I smirk, knowing my plan is gonna work. “Fuck,” he sighs before pinching the bridge of his nose, “fine I don’t care anyway, if you get shitfaced I’m not taking you home.” He huffs before I give him back his keys and he unlocks the door.

We get to the party and it’s in a warehouse, Zack parks his car up outside and before we head inside he grabs my shoulders and leans down “tell mom about this and I swear I’ll kill you,” He whispers, “but please be safe in here, it’s not the best place for an underage teenager.” He looks concerned “I’m not underage, I’m just not old enough to drink Zack.” I laugh softly and we continue to walk inside.

The second I walk in, my head feels muggy from the lingering smoke, loud music and the smell of weed and so many other things fills my nostrils and causes me to stumble back. “You okay?” Zack looks down to me, “yeah sorry it’s just so much going on, I have to get my bearings.” I look around at the various people sharing a joint, drinking alcohol and some people up to a table, snorting lines of something.

“I’m gonna meet my friends, will you be okay to be on your own?” Zack asks, I don’t feel safe here but I did ask him to bring me. “Yeah I’ll be fine.” I say smiling before he pats my shoulder and walks off.

I’m standing in the middle of a party full of people I don’t think I’d ever meet elsewhere and I don’t know what to do. “Want one?” A voice comes from behind me causing me to jump and turn around, he’s holding a platter with tiny pills on it, and a label on the platter reading ‘Ecstasy’ I look up at the man, he’s got glasses and blonde hair and a smile plastered across his face, “uh no thanks.” I awkwardly chuckle, he rolls his eyes and walks off.

I find my way to a couch and sit down on it, the table in front of me covered in remnants of cocaine, and other powdered substances, causing me to shudder at the fact anybody could do such a thing.

“You look lonely, want a puff?” I turn my head to see a black haired girl smiling softly with tattoos on her arms and neck offering me a joint, I smile at her back and take the joint and inhale lightly, it’s not the first time I’ve smoked weed. “Thanks.. I’m so fucking anxious, I don’t want to be here honestly.” I laugh softly and she places her hand on my knee.

“If you need anything to help with feeling nervous or anything I suggest going to see Matt, he’s up there..” she points up at a room, that’s attached to a balcony looking over the party, “he’s got good stuff for nerves and shit, see ya!” She hops up and walks away smiling.

As I walk up the staircase I look down at the amount of people in this place, people dancing, passed out, throwing up, the sorts. I go to the door of the room and there’s a sign on it, ‘matts not here right now!’ Fuck. I can’t bear to go down into that party right now so I sit down on a bench that’s looking down onto the party.

All of a sudden footsteps are running up the stairs causing me to turn my head, “Fuck, you scared me.” Says a man with brown hair and blue eyes beading down on me. “Sorry I’m just waiting for Matt, apparently he can help my anxiety or some shit.” I mumble. The man sits next to me, a cup full of God knows what in his big hand.

“I wouldn’t take any shit from Matt, once I had something for my nerves and I was bouncing off the walls for the next 5 hours.” He chuckles softly, “good thing we were at home because I couldn’t do that at a party like this.” He looks at me and smiles lightly. “You were both at home? What are you like siblings or something?” I ask politely, studying his face, the way his long brown hair falls in his face and the light from the party softly illuminates his cheekbones.

“Yeah, triplets, the third ones at home because he doesn’t like this shit,” he looks down at the party before refocusing his attention on me. “ I’m Chris by the way, sorry forgot to introduce myself.” “Y/n.. is my name..” I stutter, feeling more anxiety than I ever have. “Sorry I’m really fucking anxious I need to get out of here,” I stand up before Chris stands up next to me, “let me come with you.” He puts his hand on my lower back to guide me out of the party.

We walk out a tiny side door into and are outside in an alleyway, “So, y/n.. why did you come alone to this party if you don’t want to be here?” He tilts his head and observes my face as I lean against the cold wall. “I didn’t come alone, I made my brother take me because I didn’t think it was a drug filled party.” I laugh quietly.

“Your brother? Why did you make him take you?” He questions me, standing in front of me maybe only a foot away. “Well, my parents are away so he’s like babysitting me even though I’m old enough to be on my own and I blackmailed him to take me.” I speak rapidly. “Okay,” he looks me up and down.. “so how old are you.. exactly?” I swallow nervously “I’m 18.” I mutter. “Oh thank fuck, I thought you were about to say you’re 16 or some shit.” He laughs relieved.

“So what about you?” I ask wanting to know more about this tall figure standing over me. “What about me?” He shrugs and smiles, “how old are you Chris?” I look up at him, he seems to have gotten closer and now we are inches apart. “I’m 23, so who is your brother, wanna know if I know the kid.” I laugh causing Chris to lean closer to me tilting his head in confusion, “what’s funny?”

I look right into his blue eyes and smirk “you’re calling him a kid but he’s literally a year older than you, just thought it was funny that’s all. His name is Zack l/n.” Chris’ smile drops, and he stands up straight before looking down at me. “Oh.” Is all he can say and he leans back down to me, “your brother is trouble y/n, that’s all I’ve gotta say.” Confusion takes over my face as I look over to the rusted ladder leading up to the roof of the warehouse, the rusted and mossy pipes across the walls.

“You okay?” Chris whispers to me, I refocus on the situation and look back up at him, “trouble? What do you mean.” He leans down to my ear before whispering, “I can’t tell you, not here anyway. Have this..” he slips a card into my back pocket of my jeans “that’s got my number on.” He leans back up before going to walk back into the party.

Just as Chris puts his hand on the door, it is immediately pushed open, causing Chris to move back. “So here’s where the real party is huh?” Zack yells in an enthusiastic tone. Two more people follow out the door with him, “Chris.. you tryna fuck my sister in an alleyway?” He looks between me and Chris, “dude I didn’t touch your sister you insecure fuck.” Chris hisses as Zack and his two friends start cornering him. “Zack leave him alone he didn’t do anything!”

“Shut up y/n, you’re only here because you forced me to take you here.” I roll my eyes before demanding “make your friends go inside, it’s pretty cowardly to do 3 against 1.” Zack looks back at me and huffs, “fucking go inside.” He does a hand signal to them and they walk inside, not breaking eye contact with me causing me to feel sick.

I walk up to Zack, cornering Chris even though Chris is taller than him, Zack’s eyes are dilated I can barely see the green which is now only a ring around the black orbs that are his pupils. “What have you taken?” I ask concerned, “fuck off bitch.” Zack whispers, he’s definitely off his face on some shit or another. Chris hasn’t spoken for the past few minutes, only taking in everything we are doing and saying, he studies Zack’s body before pushing him back via his shoulders.

“Get the fuck off me Zack I don’t wanna do this infront of her.” Chris spoke slowly and clearly, definitely the more mature one in this situation. Zack stumbles back and while Chris quickly looks to me, Zack’s fist comes flying forward and punching Chris in the nose causing his head to jolt back, and Chris’ eyes start to water even though he didn’t seem to look pained by it.

“You fucking asked for it man, Y/n turn around, please?” Chris pleads with me, clearly not wanting me to seem him hurt my brother, I shake my head “ I don’t care what happens.” Chris rolls his eyes and shrugs before cracking his neck and knuckles and walking up to Zack who was preparing to hit Chris again and Chris swings and hits Zack’s jaw causing his head to twist and his body follows as he falls down onto the ground with a loud thump.

Chris leans down over Zack, “I didn’t want to hit you when your coked out of your mind.” He squats down further “and I didn’t try to fuck your sister,” his voice gets lower so I can’t hear, “but maybe I will.” Chris goes to stand up and Zack try’s to pull his leg to make him fall, but he fails and Chris accidentally stands on his hand, making a crack noise happen followed by Zack screaming.

“Fuck, didn’t mean to do that.” Chris grabs my arm and speedwalks us back into the party and up the stairs to Matts room thing, the sign is gone so he’s probably in there, Chris pushes the door open and we walk in. Matt instantly turns around to look at us. He wasn’t lying when he said they were triplets, Matt looks like Chris but his hair is shorter and he’s got slight stubble and tattoos on one of his arms. “What?” He says, looking at Chris and then look me up and down.

“I think it’s going to go down again.” Chris breaths.

“What did you do?!” Matt walks over to Chris and me, his jaw tightening as his face shifts to that of anger.

A/n: I’m so excited for this series! It’s kinda like a more intense one, there will be smut soon! Hope you guys love this series as much as I think I will!

Taglist: @kvtie444 @blahbel668 @mattsleftnipple03 @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @hysteria-things @sturniologurl4l2008 @jakevwebber

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #sturniolo #chris sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #sturniolos #matt #smut #chris sturniolo fanfic

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jungk0oksthighs · 2 years

Text

jungkook drabble “Stop! Please, stop! You’re going to kill her!”

mafia!jungkook, toxic!jungkook | Word Count - 800

warnings: heavy angst, swearing, explicit drug use, mentions of blood and violence

Jeon Jungkook is many things. A mafia leader, drug lord, underground fighter, tax evader, shady businessman, and a complete asshole. It’s 10PM on a Wednesday night, his nostrils are almost fully blocked from the sheer amount of cocaine he’s snorted over the course of his now four day pity party. A feeble attempt to get you out of his head. You. The only woman he’s ever loved. The only person he ever felt comfortable enough to be vulnerable with. The self and same woman who upped and left him, four days ago.

“I can’t do this anymore! I can’t live like this!”

He remembers the sound of your cries when he came stumbling home at 9AM that morning after guess what, another pity party. When Jungkook doesn’t get his own way he has a tendency to go off the rails, sometimes completely off the radar for days at a time. He knew it wasn’t fair on you, sitting in his apartment every night waiting for him to call – maybe even for the police to call, perhaps even alerting you of his death after he’d taken his lifestyle too far.

He's lost count of how many times your life has been endangered because of him. The rival gangs constantly monitoring your every move just waiting for the right moment to strike, the private investigators hired by families of his victims trying to corner you for information, sometimes using force. One time it was actually Jungkook himself who nearly ended your life, his inked hands clasped so tightly round your throat during an argument about something not important that he saw the light begin to fade from your eyes.

“Stop! Please stop! You’re going to kill her!” His friend Jimin had screamed, had he not been there that night god only knows if you would’ve survived his vice grip.

Jungkook scoffs humourlessly, fists balling with anger before he pours more white powder onto his coffee table, slicing it into thick white lines with his golden credit card.

It’s unfathomable how he has the audacity to miss you after everything he put you through. Coming home with blood-stained hands and a bad attitude stemming from a serotonin comedown, viciously snapping at you every time you asked questions. It hadn’t always been like that though, there was a time where he treated you right, told you how beautiful you are, kissed you every morning, took you on dates, listened to your worries and offered his shoulder to cry on. He was everything you ever wanted in a lover, before he turned into someone he promised he’d never become. A stranger, a liar, a twenty seven year old cocaine addict with secrets and anger issues.

He wastes no time snorting the slugs of snow he’s made, having to sniff extra hard to overcome the build up of substance that’s already there. It’s been four days since he heard from you, four days since he saw the blind hatred mixed with desperation behind your eyes when you finally left this life, his life, four days since he realised it wasn’t you who broke his heart at all.

It was him. He’s the one to blame for this, for all of this.

The sudden rush of forced ecstasy clouds his judgement, winning him to pull his phone from the leather pants he wears and dial your number for the twenty eighth time that day.

Voicemail. Of course it’s gone to voicemail, you’ve probably blocked his number by this point or maybe got a new phone altogether in an attempt to forget about him and everything he’s done. Jungkook’s heart hammers inside his strong chest, his brain vividly recounting the memory of the last thing you said to him.

“I can’t sit back and watch you do this to yourself anymore! You need to choose.”

Jungkook had the cheek to laugh in your face, unbothered by your tears, “Choose between what? You and coke? You and killing people? You and my fucking sanity?! How do you think we can even afford a place like this, hm? If it wasn’t for me and what I do you’d still be cooped up in your shitty little box apartment, you wouldn’t even have a pot to piss in.”

You swallowed, a single tear cascading down your cheek when you picked up your suitcase, “At least I’d be happy.”

Frantically brushing his hair from his face he reaches for the cocaine again, this time pouring the lot onto the table and not bothering to evenly line it up. He takes his straw, messily inhaling the whole pile without a second thought.

Happiness.

Something Jungkook didn’t realise he had, until four days ago when he lost it.

A/N: thank u for ur request i hope this is okay angel :) x

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sadhours · 1 year

Text

“I look for love in all the wrong places”

prequel to wicked sensations

a/n: this is my present to you all for 300 followers!!!! Thank you so much for enjoying my series. i hope i dont make y'all too sad with this one

word count: 3.7k

warnings: 18+ minors dni, messy Billy, sad billy, abuse mention, addiction, underage drinking, drug use, cocaine, marijuana, brief smut, Neil, homophobic slurs, sexism, angst lots of angst. This was sad to write.

masterlist (i accept requests)

taglist: @blue-eyed-lion @bbyhargrove @sweet-villain @actuallyspencerreid @trapistani @sierrahhh @likeanimagepassingby2

Fingernails stained yellow from nicotine, Billy brings yet another Marlboro Red to his lips while Jennifer pours him another another shot of Jameson. He’s been here every single night for the past three months, the days bleed together but he’s under the impression he’s having a good time. Every evening folds out the same way and Billy likes a rigid routine. The liquor goes down without so much as a wince, the fiery sensation spreading down his throat and over his entire body. A comforting, numb warmth that’s become his most favorite feeling. In fact, Billy couldn’t go a day without it now. There’s a necessity to it, some might call it an addiction, but Billy thought it made the beatings guaranteed to him more bearable, therefore it’s a form of protection. Getting sucker punched by his dad didn’t hurt as much when he couldn’t feel anything.

The next bit of routine was also made certain by a woman double his age cornering him every night. Not usually the same woman, but always one old enough to be his mother. They’d all kind of bled together, dyed hair, heavy makeup and the same pickup lines. Are you old enough to be in here? or What’s a young handsome man like you doing alone in a place like this? And Billy would accept their advances every time, looking for attention anyway he could get it. Sometimes he wished he didn’t like compliments. The way these broads looked at him and talked to him made Billy feel powerful.

Tonight was no different, a woman he pegs to be roughly 40 situating herself between him and the jukebox as he’s flipping through songs.

Turning on the charm, Billy smirks, “Well, hi. Just what I was looking for.”

It’s a lie, he likes getting off and these women provide an escape but he always feels disgusting afterwards, so he drinks more to bring the numbness back. Regardless, he continues repeating the cycle.

“Does your mother know you’re here?” the woman teases and luckily Billy’s buzzed enough for it not to sting and spiral him into another episode. She never knows where she is. And he wonders where she is all the time.

“I’m a big boy,” he retorts, leaning closer to the woman.

She gives him what he thinks was supposed to be seductive laugh but it’s a little too deep and it brings him out of the moment, panic rising through his throat while he realizes this bar is dark and he can’t really be sure if he’s attracted to her.

Then she lifts up a tiny baggie filled halfway with an off white substance he’s beginning to indulge in most nights, “Want some?”

Billy knows he shouldn’t, he knows he’ll wake up tomorrow with the emptiest feeling in his chest that’ll drive him to chase after good feelings but no matter what, he won’t be able to get his serotonin back up for days. Nevertheless, he nods and follows the woman to the dingy, sticky men’s bathroom. She locks the door behind her and dumps a bit of the baggie out onto the toilet paper holder. Billy begins to think about what other disgusting substances have been on it as she cuts them each a line and pulls out a rolled dollar bill. He goes first, needing the courage from the drug to follow through with what this woman really wants. He snorts the cocaine, standing and hands her the dollar bill while he rubs his nostril with the back of his hand. He tastes the drip immediately as the warm numbness begins to wash over his mouth and descend down the rest of him. Then the excitement comes, his heart pounding out of his chest while he’s filled with a newfound confidence that was languidly slipping away minutes before. He watches as she snorts her line and when she’s finished, he hitches her foot up onto the toilet and undoes his pants. He fucks her quick and hard, glancing away when she turns her head to look at him. He doesn’t give a shit if it hurts her feelings. Billy pulls out and cums on her thighs.

He tucks himself in his jeans and tells her, “Thanks, sweetheart.”

However that’s not their only interaction of the night, like a fiend, Billy keeps returning to snort all the blow she has and let’s her buy him drinks all night. She gives him a crumpled napkin with her number on it and he purposefully misses his pocket, dropping it on the dirty bar floor.

As per his routine, he doesn’t stumble out of the bar until it’s closed and he drunkenly attempts to help Jennifer close it up. He drops a barstool on the bar only for it to come tumbling back down on his face, pushing him to the floor with it.

“Alright, Billy…” Jennifer sighs, “I think I can manage it myself. Get home safe, kid.”

He does, though he won’t remember the drive in the morning. His body crashes through his window, face planting on the hardwood floor and from where he lies, he can see a light flicking on from the crack under the door.

“Shit,” he mumbles, grappling to his knees and pressing his palms into his thighs.

He’s pleasantly surprised when a small redhead opens his bedroom door with wide eyes. His intoxicated smile falters when he hears Susan’s voice calling out for her.

“Sorry!” Max calls out, “Bumped into something. It was dark.”

“Go to bed!” his Dad yells and Max turns off the hall light after glaring at her drunken step brother. She closes his door and retreats back to her room.

She was a little shit but she was a really good sister, covering for Billy whenever she could. He stands to his feet and turns on his lamp, looking in the mirror to see his lip and nose are bloodied from either the barstool or the face plant, he’s not sure. He sighs, wiping his face with his sleeve before collapsing in his bed, succumbing to a hard sleep.

He’s not sure how long he’s been out when he wakes up, having no idea what time he even got home. But his heads killing him and the post cocaine blues hits hard, flashes of the older woman piercing his brain. He groans, reaching under his bed for a warm can of beer and sits up. He cracks the beer open and gulps it down, reaching for his pack of Marlboros to discover he smoked every single one last night. He winces as he stands up from bed, dropping the empty beer can to the collection strewn across his floor. He peeks out the window to see his Camaro parked halfway on the lawn and he cringes.

Billy strides to the bathroom, keeping the light off as he reaches for the rinsing cup and fills it with tap water. He drinks it and fills it again, repeating the process until his stomach churns and empties into the toilet. Over and over. Billy’s not a quiet puker either. He knows whoever is home can hear it but it’s common, they’ve got to be used to it. After collecting himself, he stares at his reflection in the dirty mirror and dim lighting seeping in from the tiny vent window. His lip is swollen, he’s got dried blood under his nose and massive bags under his eyes.

“God,” he groans before splashing water into his face. He braces himself as he exits, glancing up and down the hall before strolling back to his room. Before he can get there, he hears Susan’s hushed voice and he freezes.

“He’s a problem, Neil. Stumbling in at ungodly hours and he always reeks of alcohol,” she whispers.

“I know,” Neil responds, “I don’t know what else I can do.”

Billy shuts his bedroom door quietly, not wanting to hear the rest of the conversation. He digs through the pile of dirty clothes on the floor for a pair of jeans, pulling them over his legs and hopping into the rest them. He grabs a white muscle shirt, bringing it to his nose and wincing at the stench. He keeps digging through the pile until he settles on a black muscle tank instead. Then his phone rings, the shrill pitch of it sending a shockwave of sharp pain through his head.

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbles, lifting it off the hook to be greeted by his girlfriend. Oh, shit, he’d forgotten he had one.

“Veronica, calm down,” he groans, slipping his Converse on. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I was busy.”

“Busy?!” she yells, “We had a fucking date, William.”

“Ugh, don’t fucking call me that,” he looks in the mirror, fixing his hair with what little energy he has. “Listen, I’ll be at your house in twenty. Bring weed.”

“You’re gonna make this up to me, Billy. I’m so sick of you leaving me high and dry.”

“Whatever you want, baby,” he quips sarcastically before hanging up, hopping out his window and stealthily strutting to his car. He speeds off down the street before Neil and Susan can run outside to stop him. He takes a detour, stopping at a gas station to fill up his car and retrieve the ever needed pack of Marlboro Reds. “Ya know what, give me a shooter of Jack,” he adds, handing a wad of cash to the clerk who despite his disheveled appearance gives him fluttery eyelashes and blushed cheeks.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he winks to the girl as he shoves his change in his pocket. When he’s back in his car, he downs the shot and lights a cigarette before filling up his tank.

“You said twenty minutes,” Veronica scolds as she gets in the front seat, her blonde hair pristinely styled in big curls.

Billy snorts, “Hey, I showed up.”

“Yeah and you fucking reek of booze,” she complains. Billy shrugs, speeding off down the street. He whips through the neighborhoods, ignoring Veronica’s incessant yelling to slow down. He wonders why she even likes him, all she ever does is complain. He arrives to their usual spot, a parking lot a ways out that faces the ocean, no shore beneath it.

“Where were you last night?” she demands, sounding like a parent. She’s always like this. Well, she wasn’t at first. She liked Billy’s danger at the beginning, she used to call him wild child. She used to laugh hard at all his jokes and sing at the top of her lungs with him to his cassettes. She used to look at him with stars in her eyes. She used to love him.

“I was hanging out with Jennifer,” he deflects, not mentioning the coke or the middle aged woman he’d fucked without a second thought.

“You know she thinks you’re a loser, right?” Veronica reveals and Billy doesn’t doubt it. He knows he’s been going a little overboard since Susan and Max moved in. He know his dad grew to truly despise his mom over the years but he never dated another woman until he met Susan. Billy didn’t want to subject his mom to more abuse but he selfishly wished she’d come back, that they’d get back together.

“You are a loser, Billy,” Veronica seethes, “You’re turning into a total fucking burn out. We don’t even surf anymore.”

Billy takes the verbal censure. He always does, he’s heard the words so much they don’t even sting anymore. He no longer cares that he’s a huge wasting, disappointment to everyone around him.

“Did you bring the weed?” he asks, unbothered by the dumbfounded look on his girlfriends face.

She heaves a sigh and digs through her purse, imparting the bag of weed to Billy. He takes it, opening up his glovebox to grab his rolling papers. He grinds the weed between his fingers, hovering above the open paper, using his pinky to disperse the broken up buds. He rolls it expertly, eying his blonde counterpart as he licks up the side of the paper before sealing it up.

“Voila,” he sings, proudly holding up the joint to admire his handiwork. He brings it to his lips, flicking his zippo up to light it. He takes a deep hit, choking lightly as it stings his throat before offering it to Veronica. “I didn’t put any tobacco in it, just for you.”

“Oh, you’re so kind,” she sneers, her expression frozen in indignation. God, she’s such a bitch, Billy thinks.

He won’t let her ruin his high, he needs this. He’s gotta charge up before he can head back over to the bar.

“Do you even have a job anymore?” she wonders, venom lacing the question.

Billy snatches the joint from her lips before she can take a second hit, “I do. I work tomorrow.”

He dreads to think about doing any strenuous labor with a hangover. Maybe he’ll claim window washing and tire pressure duty when he arrives. His boss is getting suspicious of him, though. The other day, he made a snide comment about Billy having a long night when he locked himself in the bathroom to spew for thirty minutes.

“Good. Our anniversary is coming up,” she reminds Billy, “I expect jewelry.”

He bogarts the joint, not passing it when he’s supposed to. He sucks more than half of it down before she notices.

“Hey! Give it here, it’s mine anyhow.”

Billy obliges, turning the stereo out and shoving a Metallica cassette into it and turning the dial to tune out any more of her whining.

Luckily, the joint seems to get to Veronica and she’s quiet for a while. Billy gets to admire the waves, the vastness of the ocean as the blue of it fades into the sky. It always calms him, helps him forget about Neil, Susan and Veronica. He can stare at it and even forget he exists.

Alright, he’s pretty stoned.

All part of his rigid routine, Veronica moves to the backseat and pulls him with her. He lays her down and hovers above her, his head fuzzy while they awkwardly situate themselves. It’s rushed, quick and to the point. Like it always is. She’s a means to an end and he is to her.

When they’re done, she tells him he needs to get a grip before Senior year starts in two weeks. He ignores it, Billy thinks he’s doing just fine. He wouldn’t have his life any other way.

He takes it easy that night. Which means he still stumbles through his window drunkenly but he’s not blackout drunk. He remembers the panic of the drive home, constantly checking his rearview mirror but blue and red lights. He showers after his morning hurl. Standing under the hot water a moment too long, making him late for his shift.

He grabs his work shirt from his backseat and begrudgingly makes his way into the garage, clocking in under the judgmental eyes of his boss.

“I know,” he mutters before he can be ridiculed, “I slept through my alarm. Won’t happen again.”

Unfortunately, Drew beats him to calling window washing and tire pressure checks. Billy’s stuck downstairs draining oil. It’s so hot down there, he yaks a few more times during the day. On his drive home, he’s particularly introspective. Finding he’s actually disappointed in himself for the heavy drinking and late nights.

When he walks into the door, he’s met with his dad, Susan, Max and his grandparents sitting around the table. An intervention? Seriously?

Billy groans, barreling through them to his room. Neil’s quick to follow, pounding on the door when it’s slammed in his face.

“William Ocean Hargrove, get your ass out here now!” Neil bellows behind the think particle board. Billy revels in his mom giving him that middle name, forcing his dad to say it whenever he was pissed and no doubt bringing Billy’s wild-spirited mother to his mind.

Billy opens the door. “I’m covered in oil. Let me change,” he spits at his dad before slamming the door again.

“Neil,” Susan says pointedly.

He hears his dads footsteps walking away and he glances to his window, debating if he should run away again. He’s embarrassed with his grandparents sitting there and he’s sure Neil won’t hit him in front of them. Not until they leave.

He changes into a clean pair of clothes before making his entrance out, standing in front of five pairs of concerned eyes. He heaves a sigh and motions to them, “Go ahead. Tell me how my life’s going down the shitter and I’m a huge fucking disappointment to all of you.”

He thinks it’s unfair Max and Susan are here. They’ve known Billy all of six months. They don’t fucking know him yet they’re trying to be family. Well, as far as Billy was concerned he had no fucking family. This house, these people, they had no warmth. They didn’t truly give a shit about him, they just wanted to control him, didn’t want people to look at them differently because he was an embarrassment.

“Billy…” Susan starts and he laughs.

“Listen, I barely fucking know you. You can’t waltz into my life and expect to be my fucking mother. You aren’t and you’ll never be,” he spits.

“Maybe I should start…” his grandmother says and it breaks his heart. She was the tiniest bit of solace in his life. She was the escape when things had gotten too bad. When Neil couldn’t even fathom looking at Billy, he would ship him off to his parents. He spent every summer there until he was fourteen. Then Neil wanted him working.

Billy sits down at his grandmothers request, his breathing labored as he’s stricken with guilt.

“Honey… we’re all so worried about you. Your dad tells me you’re never home, you’re drinking all night and,” she can’t finish, choking out a sob as she looks to her disheveled grandson.

Billy feels tears threatening his eyes but he’s quickly reminded about all the times Neil bullied him for crying. Calling him a faggot, a fairy, a pansy, every name in the book. He told him men don’t cry. Last I checked you didn’t have a vagina, he’d said. Billy steadies his breathing. He won’t cry, he can’t cry.

“Your behavior is unacceptable, son,” Neil chimes in and Billy keeps his face stoic, doesn’t want anyone to know how deeply he’s hurting inside.

“You’re a bad influence on Max,” Susan says quietly and Billy feels his blood boil. He never agreed to being any kind of influence on her. He never agreed to having them forced into his life.

Billy doesn’t speak, he stares at four consecutive holes in the table and remembers how they got there, his dad stabbing his fork into the table during a heated argument at dinner when Susan and Max had first moved in. He wonders if they’ve even considered why Billy is acting out. He assumes not, his feelings never a concern of theirs.

“This has to change,” Susan pleads.

Neil puffs his chest out, “William.”

Billy knows what his dad is getting at, looking up at him and holding his domineering stare.

“We’ve got a solution. We’re moving,” Neil informs him, “I’ve already got a job lined up.”

“What?” Billy asks, hurt present on his voice and then panic, “Where?”

“Indiana,” Susan states.

Indiana? No ocean. No waves. No calmness. No one he knows. He’ll be even more alone. Billy’s stomach churns, the emptiness of it of no concern to the bile rising in his throat. He abruptly moves up from the table, stomping to the bathroom where he collapses in front of toilet, and he heaves. The fluorescent yellow fluid forcing its way up his throat, burning his eyes and tearing up his airways.

He rests his cheek against the seat, unmoving as he realizes his life is over. Neil can control him better so far away. He’ll be so isolated from everything he knows and loves so well.

Billy stares at his Camaro packed to the brim with his belongings. It’s so wrong. The October breeze chills him as his eyes fall on the scratch along the side of the midnight blue finish. Veronica keyed his car and he’d attempted his best to buff it out but it was still faintly there. A reminder that he’d lived up to her shitty expectations of him.

Neil pats his shoulder, “We’ll get that fixed in Hawkins.”

He was annoyingly chipper since the intervention, clearly excited at the prospect of a completely isolated Billy.

“Max is riding with you,” he shoots his soon a pointed look. “Can’t have you running off.”

Billy sighs, realizing just how trapped he is.

This is it. He gazes back to the house he’d grown up in, his chest stinging at how unalive it looks. He stands outside of his car and looks around while Max sits in his front seat. His feet are stuck. He can’t possibly move them.

“Billy! Let’s get a move on! We’re on a schedule!” his dad calls from his truck and Susan honks from the U-Haul.

Fucking bitch.

Billy cries quietly as he drives away from home, not caring that Max can see it. He fucking loathed her and her mother for doing this to him. He doesn’t say a single word to her the entire drive. He doesn’t speak to any of them when they sleep in motels where Billy’s given a pillow and small throw blanket to sleep on the floor in each one. He’s disassociated the entire three days it takes to drive there.

He thinks Indiana is ugly and he’s unbelievably distraught when he sees the size of Hawkins. A town like this, everyone knows each other which means higher expectations from Neil. They drive past the school, Max commenting about how that’s where they’ll go, and Billy remains silent. The only bright side is no one will know who he is so he can be anyone he wants. And he’ll be damned if he’s not worshipped in this town by the end of his first week here.

a/n: thank you so much for reading. i really appreciate all the love i'm getting for the series. i hope you enjoyed this lil look into billy's life before the move

#billy hargove imagine #billy hargrove angst #billy hargrove drabble #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove fic

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noellawrites · 1 year

Text

Nose Candy - Yandere!Nick Amaro x reader

summary: you and Nick do drugs together, but nothing ever goes as planned.

warnings: drug usage (cocaine), yelling, physical abuse

After a long day at work, you and Nick were back in your shared apartment.

“You talked to Liv about taking the Sergeant’s exam, right? I think you have a good shot at—“ you began, but Nick cut you off.

“Yeah, I talked to her. Tucker told her they’d never promote me. I got nothing goin’ for me, (y/n),” he sighed.

You narrowed your eyes and shook your head.

“I’m sorry, babe. Is there anything I can do?” you offered, walking over to where your husband stood.

You ran your hand up and down his arm in an attempt to comfort him.

“You, uh, you got any snow?” Nick asked, smiling at you as he loosened his tie.

“Nick, are you sure?” you asked, biting the inside of your lip.

“Of course I’m sure, baby. Zara won’t be here to visit until next week. Let’s do it together, c’mon!” he urged, putting his hands out and bringing you into a hug.

“Okay, let me go and get it.”

You grabbed your small tin box from inside your underwear drawer. You always kept it hidden just in case Zara was over to visit Nick. You shut your drawer and went back into the living room.

You sat down on the couch next to Nick, hands trembling as you opened the tin.

You passed the razor blade and the small baggie of powder to Nick, who had a small mirror sitting on the table in front of him.

You rolled up the dollar bill and watched him cut the cocaine into a few thin lines.

Deep down, you knew how toxic this relationship was. You and Nick both had addictive personalities and a hard time saying no to anything when you were together.

You handed Nick the rolled-up bill and watched as he bent his head down to the mirror.

When it was your turn, Nick moved the mirror toward you and you bent down, using the dollar to snort the powder right up your nostril.

You cringed in pain as you felt your throat burning. It was only temporary, and Nick was rubbing your back gently as you began to feel the drug kicking in.

You moved so your head rested in Nick’s lap and your legs rested on the couch. Nick smiled down at you as he played with your hair.

“I feel sick,” you mumbled as the contents of your stomach groaned and made noise. You wriggled around to find a position of comfort.

“Get up, baby! We should have sex!” Nick laughed, moving you off of his lap and jumping up.

"C'mon, it'll be so much fun like this," he urged, grabbing your hands and attempting to yank you up.

"Nick, stop it, not right now," you groaned. A shiver ran up your spine, which made you feel anxious and jittery.

"You never want to fuck me, baby. Why is that? Am I just too ugly for you, after all the times I've been shot and punched and injured? Do I repulse you? Huh?" Nick yelled. He grabbed your arms and pulled hard, causing you to tumble off the couch with a groan.

"Get up! We're not done here!" he pointed at your trembling figure and snarled.

You shook your head. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes and you attempted to take a deep breath when Nick grabbed your neck, cutting off your air supply and forcing you into a standing position.

He stared at you in horror, letting go and allowing you to cough and sputter in an attempt to get more oxygen. He took a step toward you and you stepped back, shaking. You were terrified.

"I-I'm so sorry baby, I didn't—oh no," Nick gasped, staring down at his own hands in disbelief. Your neck now sported a red handprint, courtesy of him.

You watched as Nick's lips curled into a sob. A tear rolled down his cheek and he screwed his eyes shut, no longer able to look at you or his hands.

"Nick, it's okay. I'm not hurt, I promise," you assured your husband, gently putting your arm on his back and guiding him to the couch.

"I'm so sorry, babe. I never meant to— I don't want to be like my father. I'll never do it again, I promise," he vowed, looking deep into your eyes and taking your hands gently in his.

You wanted so badly to believe him, but you weren't sure just yet.

#nick amaro x reader #law and order svu x reader #law and order svu #nick amaro imagine #yandere nick amaro #yandere law and order svu #dark law and order svu #dark nick amaro #nick amaro

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val-made-a-mistake · 1 year

Text

❝the garrison rat❞ CHP 14

THE FINAL CHAPTER

summary: torn apart by an unexpected loss, you find yourself unable to leave birmingham. you’re aware that people notice you drinking in the garrison every other night, you’re aware they call you nicknames, but you don’t care about any of it— at least, not until you start speaking to john shelby. he’s looking for a wife and you vowed to never love again, which makes things a bit complicated.

warnings: smut, cocaine usage, infidelity, angst, brief mention of prostitution...if you’ve made it this far you’re probably not going to be surprised by anything in this chapter

word count: 5.6k

tag list: @datewithgianni @1950schick @clementinesjourney @cbouvier23@smailaway @cedricscoffin @buckysjuicyplums @belledawnidk @wandering-poetess @bobafett-tea @esposadomd

a/n: holy shit, where do i even start??? it’s hard to believe that a one-shot turned fic series i only wrote as a distraction because i was mad that my movie date got cancelled got here today. thank you all for the support since september 2021, because the amount of people who have enjoyed this series and keysmashed over it and dmed me to say that they stayed up all night reading it is crazy, you guys blew me tf away. i’m kissing you all five times and doing the Hand Squeeze™ with everyone who has supported me over the past five hundred something days TGR has existed. i would gladly make plans to run away to paris with you. :)

//////

“Are you running away? Because it really looks like you’re running away.”

Your suitcase shut with a sharp SNAP. “It’s only temporary. And you keep your mouth shut about this, you hear me?”

Esme held up her hands like you were pointing a gun at her. “Okay, okay, I just really don’t think this is a good idea.”

“It’s only temporary,” you muttered to yourself, preoccupied again as you shoved another cigarette into your mouth, your fifth of the evening. You were refusing to voice your thoughts aloud: you were already thinking about finding a new place to be from. “London’s not that far away from here, is it?”

“You have no family in London, and no friends,” Esme replied. “Y/N, just stop packing the goddamn suitcase.”

You snorted as you lit your cigarette. “It’s funny how no one around here gets that there’s a whole world outside of Small Heath.”

“Yeah, and there’s a whole world of rock bottoms outside of Small Heath,” Esme shot back, flat and unconvinced. “You gravitate towards shitholes, y’know. You’re only just gonna make life worse for yourself all over again.”

“I need to get out of here,” you repeated stubbornly, exhaling a thin plume of smoke. “For just a week.”

“Jesus Christ, Y/N, this is going to go terribly,” Esme muttered under her breath, absently pouring a miniscule amount of the powdery white substance she had in a tiny vial onto her knuckle. “How are you not thinkin’ of the kids? Fuckin’ four of them and John still doesn’t know how to take care of them.”

You barely heard her; you were staring at the vial of cocaine.

You almost hesitated, but pointed at the table. “Bring it over here.”

Esme gave you a weird look, and there was a tense beat that made you think she wasn’t going to do it, but she pressed her knuckle to her nostril and sniffed with barely a flinch, then poured out a jagged line for you on the table behind her.

“Y/N, I…”

“It’s fine.”

You were already searching your back pockets for a bill, or some kind of thin object that could be rolled into a cylinder.

It didn’t feel good to do it, but one last time couldn’t hurt, right? You were a changed woman now, and you could control yourself - no matter how badly you wanted just another line, like you already knew you would.

Your freshly lit cigarette still burning between your two fingers, you rolled up the bill into a tight cylinder with the precision of someone who had done it hundreds of times before, leaned over the desk, and sniffed up a thin line of cocaine.

Like always, it hit you all at once, like a bolt of lightning. Oh, God.

And then everything became clear.

If there was one think you knew, it was that you were getting out of Small Heath tonight.

“Barely hit,” you muttered, looking up at Esme with dilated eyes. “Can I see the vial, please?”

//////

John was deep in the forest again, his bare feet caked in mud and moss and leaves, and he was going out of his mind with want.

“I miss you,” Martha purred like some long-lost, ethereal creature, and her cold, dainty hand glided around his shoulder. She had been circling him for the past ten minutes and yet her footsteps made no noise - she was pure magic, that woman was, and she smelled something sweet, like pound cake. Dizzy in her presence, John blinked hard as something in the depths of his mind purred happily, something primal and hidden blossoming to life, making him feel everything.

She was in her dress that she had worn to her wedding, the brilliant purple-pink wildflowers were braided into her hair like not a day had gone by, and John forgot that those flowers were actually dried and pressed into some obsolete book in the betting shop in the Parlour.

“Do you miss me?” she whispered, her cold hand on his other shoulder now, and John felt the skin there erupt into gooseflesh.

Martha sidestepped quickly, mystically as ever, and suddenly she was in front of him again. She had asked him a question, and he hadn’t answered.

Her hazel eyes glowed so brilliantly and ethereally that he was sure she made his blue Shelby eyes look hazel too, and he had to pause for a moment to take in her glittering beauty, her fair and freckled skin, her thin lips that had somehow been an insecurity of hers when she’d been alive, like they somehow hadn’t fit perfectly on her face and John hadn’t wanted to kiss them whenever he stared at them for too long.

John knew that he had opened his mouth to say something, but he wasn’t quite sure what had happened: either the words had come out as though he was underwater, a distorted, gibberish mess, or he had simply opened his mouth and not said anything at all.

He was suddenly aware of his heart pounding harder in his chest, and he tried to say, I do, I do, I do, but for some reason, the words couldn’t force their way past his lips.

“Clearly not, since you’re with that rat bitch,” Martha snarled, and it suddenly dawned on him that this wasn’t reality at all, not a lovely dream but a nightmare, and he started breathing hard until he was nearly hyperventilating, something like a panic attack settling in.

“No,” John tried to say, but his throat had closed off and he felt like he was screaming underwater. No. No. No.

This wasn’t the first time he’d felt something like this because he suffered from the soldier’s disease, but just because it was the hundredth time he’d experienced it didn’t mean it got any less terrifying. There was a whirlwind in his brain, a headrush so powerful like everything was incoherent, unreal, and he couldn’t– fucking– breathe—

“Kitchen towels!” Polly shouted from somewhere afar, scaring him awake. “For fuck’s sake, John, where are the bloody kitchen towels?”

John launched himself out of his chair and looked around: Polly wasn’t in his office, where he’d been sleeping for the past several weeks, but she was still shouting loud enough to be heard in the betting shop, so he straightened his cap and smoothed his rumpled suit like he hadn’t been asleep at all and hurried out of the door.

It’s too bloody early for this, he thought angrily.

When John got to the kitchen with the roll of kitchen towels from the betting shop, the first thing he noticed wasn’t Polly hurrying around with a broom, clearly agitated, or a cup of tea overturned everywhere on the kitchen’s pristine tile, but Esme standing in the open doorway of the Parlour, breathing hard, looking pale and panicked. He checked his watch. 6 AM. It was the middle of February; the sun hadn’t even risen yet. What the hell was going on?

He took another look at Polly, the cup of tea shattered on the floor, and Esme, his head swiveling back and forth between them like he was watching a ping-pong match. “Fucking hell, you lot, what’s the matter?”

His voice was groggy and dehydrated, but he blinked hard and tried to ignore it.

You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake.

“Y/N is fuckin’ missing, that’s the matter,” Polly snapped, venom seeping through her voice as she snatched the kitchen roll from his hands to clean up the mess of liquid and ceramic shards on the floor, “Esme here storms in at six o’clock in the bloody morning, tellin’ me all fuckin’ panicked that she woke up at the Lee house down the street and Y/N wasn’t there when she was spendin’ the night, and she was goin’ on about how she wanted to leave Small Heath before she fell asleep…”

A fresh round of cold, unsettling panic doused John, and seeing the darkening look on his face, Esme grimaced sympathetically at him. “A part of me thought she was joking, I tried to talk her out of it. I’m sorry, John.”

“Well, what’s done is done,” Polly snapped with the air that she was only becoming more pissed with every word Esme spoke, and straightening, she slammed the roll of towels on the counter and chucked the shards of ceramic into the garbage. “Gather Arthur and Tommy, we need to have the Blinders looking for her. The earlier we can find her, the better.”

He nodded.

“Arthur!” he bellowed down the hallway, without a care in the world for his kids or anyone else. “Get the fuck up!”

//////

Understandably, there were no trains running at three in the morning, the time you’d left a sleeping Esme at the Lee house on Watery Lane, so you simply shifted your bag higher on your shoulder and decided to find another place in Small Heath to camp out until the sunrise.

Still on your cocaine high, you refused to look at your reflection in the windows of the shopfronts you passed. You already felt disheveled and bloodshot, you didn’t need to see it.

Eventually, you settled on an alleyway some three blocks away from the station. You pressed your back against the wall and slid down it until you were sitting on the damp stretch of dirt, dead grass, and litter.

You moved your bag from your shoulder to your lap and inhaled sharply: if you were aware of your body for too long, the cocaine pain in your ribs made you feel like your entire body was on fire. You had a small bottle of vodka in your suitcase to ration, and you’d feel even better after a few burning gulps from the bottle, but you resolved not to start drinking at least until you got on the train.

The cocaine high would have to be enough for now, you decided.

You sighed as your head suddenly spun, and the hazy feeling of unreality settled deep into your chest, making your heart pound harder and harder until sweat was dampening the back of your neck. Your brain was throbbing hard, but euphoria pulsed through your entire body, and for that feeling alone, it was worth it.

God, cocaine was terrible, but simultaneously beautiful. You’d almost missed it.

Sure, you definitely hadn’t missed always feeling like you were on the verge of fainting, nor the aching and the itchiness and the cold liquid that seemed to bubble in your veins after you came down from your high, indicating that you were sober again, but whatever, it was three in the morning in a shitty corner of England, you were alone and staring up at the glinting stars in the sky, inhaling the ever-present scent of manure and cigarette smoke, and your cocaine-fucked brain promptly decided that nothing else mattered but this moment.

The year is 1920, you thought dumbly, in that same blearily existential way only someone who was extremely high could. Will people still appreciate the Earth’s beauty a hundred years from now?

You probably wouldn’t be around to see it, but you hoped they did, and you squinted up at the sky to scope out any possible constellations. You’d never had a chance to notice it before, but this was a Nevada kind of view, which made you think of a moment five years earlier where you were lying in the great expanse of desert beneath the stars, watching Sam’s chest slowly rise and fall as he slept, swiping at the mosquitos whenever they got too close.

You weren’t all that aware of it, but your entire face stretched into a tired smile, making your cheeks ache. Goddamn, I love cocaine.

The next moments passed in a blink: suddenly the sun was rising, and you were at the station again, and you couldn’t remember how you’d gotten a ticket in your hands but you were already carrying your things onto the train, and vaguely acting sober, you stumbled into the first empty carriage you saw, all while your body didn’t feel like your own and you were simply a spectator to your own activities.

Which, honestly, you preferred. You had no fucking time to regret any of this.

//////

“Y/N?” John shouted, shining a flashlight down the long, empty hallway of the old Lee house. He’d stomped in there the minute the car had rolled into the field, so fast and panicked that he hadn’t even bothered to turn on the lights, meaning the house was shrouded in darkness. “Y/N!”

“Are you absolutely sure you didn’t see her at the train station?” he heard Esme snap at some Blinder waiting outside.

“Why would I lie for the fuckin’ Garrison rat?” John heard him reply before he stepped out of range, and scowling, he burst into the bedroom Esme had said you’d slept in days ago.

It was stripped bare, not even your scent had been left behind, like you’d never been inside the room in the first place, which only made the dread crawling down his back worse.

You’re a fucking knobhead, John scolded himself, pivoting on his heel to exit the room. A fucking knobhead, you know that? What kind of husband has their wife walk out on them?

Regretting his excessive drinking and smoking, sleeping in his office, booking his favourite whore at Zhang’s, and avoiding his wife like the plague, John ran back onto the field with his knuckles aching to kill something.

He took his cap off to smooth his hair back. “She’s not there.”

“‘Course she’s not,” Esme said resignedly.

“Where the fuck would she had gone?” John shouted at her, resisting the urge to grab her and violently shake her, purely to keep the peace between the families. “Esme, did she tell you any place that she was wanting to go?”

Esme opened her mouth and closed it.

“London,” she whispered back, her eyes wide. “She told me she wanted to go to London.”

“London!” he yelled in disbelief, whipping around. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“The trains start early in the morning,” she bit out, twisting her hands together. The Blinder beside her was staring at her, wide-eyed, as though trying to find a way to insert himself into the conversation, but both she and John ignored him. “John, if we can’t find her, that means she already went.”

Unadulterated rage swept through him, bitter and blinding, but John choked it down. “Fuck.”

Ducking out of the way so they wouldn’t see his glossy eyes, he started to stomp away. “Get back in the fucking car.”

//////

London was sprawling and gleaming when the train noisily rolled into the station, and in your threadbare, dirt-stained skirt and cardigan, you felt like you weren’t expensive-looking enough to fit in.

No matter, you told yourself, but the voice in your head was much too pleasant and lacking the predisposed anxiety and misery to truly sound like yourself. You can simply buy new clothes.

Plus, you already knew you weren’t planning on staying in London for long anyway.

You hummed a quiet but hopeful folk song you’d first heard at the Garrison to yourself as you retrieved your things from the compartment, your heart already pounding hard with excitement at the thought of leaving the train. As you hummed out what little lyrics you could remember, a pang of sadness hit your gut for the first time since you’d snorted cocaine: you’d miss Grace, but you were happy her beautiful voice had become engraved in your memory.

Her voice was yours to keep forever.

Smiling, you carried your bags through the narrow hallway and descended the train.

And sweet Jesus, the air of London smelled like the most refreshing summer breeze simply because of the absence of manure and furnace smoke. The station was still overcrowded with people, which normally would have alarmed you had you been sober, but this time you didn’t even care, it almost felt like you had snorted another few lines of cocaine as you waded through the onslaught of people, a dumb grin plastered on your face.

Girl, you are high as balls.

You caught sight of a husband waiting at the gate with a bouquet of flowers for his approaching wife, and quickly glanced away. You didn’t need anything like that to bother you right now.

“Airport?” you asked aimlessly to the people around you. “Does anyone know how to get to the airport from here?”

After a minute or two of wandering around and shouting among the onslaught of people, a man not much older than Tommy Shelby finally turned around.

“Airport?” he asked, squinting down at you. “You’ll need to go to Croydon.”

“Where is that?” you asked sweetly, layering on the Americana glitter in your charming Garrison rat voice, batting your eyelids at him. “It’s my first time in London, you see.”

The man smiled and extended his hand. “I can take you there, miss, for a fee. I’ll carry your things for you.”

“How much quid?” you asked absent-mindedly, peering down into your bag to find your change. “I can give you, uh, maybe twenty-”

“I’m not talking about money,” he cut in, and your head snapped up like a deer in headlights. How dare he, knowing that you had a very expensive wedding ring glistening on your fing–

You stopped yourself.

You weren’t wearing your wedding ring.

It was rolling around somewhere in the depths of your bag.

Time seemed to slow down and your heart pounded even faster, cocaine influence or not, but what shocked you the most was the odd sense of relief, making the ugly scar stretching across the length of your abdomen tingle.

Men still desired you.

With your head slightly spinning and the residue feeling of your body not being your own anymore, it was the most chilling reminder that you weren’t sober: you suspected that in any other state of mind, you would feel differently about this, but right now you didn’t care.

Wasn’t the whole point of coming to London that you didn’t want to feel chained by the Shelbys anymore?

“Take me there,” you heard yourself say after what felt like a century, and the man’s grin widened. “Of course, ma’am.”

Please protect me, God, a voice whispered in the depths of your mind, and accepting his outstretched hand, you let him guide you out of your train station.

//////

Tommy Shelby pushed the heavy mahogany doors of the Garrison open with a flourish, stepped into the pub, and promptly bellowed at the top of his lungs, “Everybody out!”

It had been bad enough losing his own love to a mind-boggingly similar situation two months ago, but Christ, how likely was it for John boy to go through the same goddamned thing? He wasn’t sure if he was impressed or annoyed. What had gotten into the women of today? Was this something he seriously had to be worried about?

The few number of patrons at 11 AM on a Wednesday morning quickly made themselves scarce with a frightened look on their faces, and for the first time that morning, Tommy had a chance to sigh before he approached the confused and frightened barmaids behind the bar.

After Grace, he felt a deep inner hatred more intensely than he had before her, and this morning was no exception.

“Have you seen Y/N Lee around these parts in the past few weeks, ladies? Y/N Shelby? The Garrison rat?”

The two barmaids looked at each other, puzzled, and one opened her mouth but promptly closed it.

“You,” Tommy said, pouncing on her. “Did you see the Garrison rat at all?”

“I…uh….” she stuttered, and Tommy cocked his head in anticipation for her words. Where was the easy grace that all of the barmaids seemed to have whenever a Blinder visited? “I…”

The barmaid gulped and stared at the floor. “She came in here once, lookin’ like a mess, and said she was getting out of here that night.”

“What kind of mess was she?” he pressed, leaning forward. “Drunk? Sniffing snow?”

“She - she was covered in blood,” the barmaid choked out, and he recognized the telltale signs of an anxiety attack as she started shaking. “Covered in blood. And vomit. And dirt. And twigs. And she had this…crazed look in her eyes. None of the drunks have it, so I knew she wasn’t drunk. She meant what she was saying with a burning passion. She wanted somebody dead.”

Tommy thought back to the night that pathetic boy was killed, the way he’d wailed and screamed and cried as John pummelled him. It had been a real mess when you’d ran off like that, and there was no signs that you’d even been bothered until before then.

He eyed the other barmaid, who was pale as a ghost.

“Go make a drink for your friend,” he told her. “Ma’am, what’s your name?”

“Edith,” the sniffling barmaid replied, staring at the floor.

“Edith,” Tommy repeated. “Well, Edith, thank you for your time, but I’m afraid that the Garrison rat has fulfilled her promise as of this morning.”

With a haunting sort of finality, he replaced his cap and turned on his heel to exit the Garrison.

//////

“Fuck!”

Before John could stop it, a long, frustrated, angry scream ripped out of his throat, and it was so loud within the confined space of his office that it made his own ears ring. He was the only one here now, and it had been that way for an hour: the rest of the family had gone out looking for his wife.

His vision suddenly blurry with tears, he punched his desk over and over again, screaming at the top of his lungs, his hands stinging, his heart pounding, everything spiralling out of control at once. All of his emotions had been pushed as far as they could possibly go ever since he woke up, and at 4 PM in the afternoon, this was the only opportunity he’d had to let them out.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

John felt blood trickling down his knuckles and he finally stopped, cursing, hating himself. Why did he have to be like this? He would feel nothing but indifference for weeks on end until it all came rushing out of him like an avalanche.

Well, some part of him knew this explosion was warranted. It was forever frustrating being back to square one: without a wife, without a stepmother to take care of his kids, without love and painfully aware that he was without Martha.

It wasn’t the first time he’d felt it, but it was the first time the feeling seared through his chest like a volcano erupting: he’d wished he’d never had kids.

“Why am I so stupid?” John shouted at himself in the thick silence. “Fucking hell, why am I so fucking stupid?”

Get it out, some type of comforting voice told him in the back of his head. Get it all fucking out.

His knuckles were pouring blood now, screaming for bandages, but John leapt from his chair and shoved everything off his desk in a giant sweep.

He picked up an empty vase behind him and threw it as hard as he could at the wall, where it exploded in a shower of glass.

He ripped open all the cabinets of his desk and yanked out all of the files, lobbing them at the wall, throwing them on the ground, tearing them in half, and when that wasn’t enough, he lifted his office chair and pounded it into the ground as violently as he could.

“Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!”

He couldn’t even remember when he’d started screaming anymore, but his throat was raw as he lobbed the splintered, broken pieces of the chair at the wall.

His hands were covered in blood, and he had a sobering feeling that maybe he should stop now, but no matter how self-destructive he was being, the rage was addicting, and he was throwing various detritus from the wreckage as hard as he could at the wall. The rush of pain flooding to his knuckles was almost gratifying— thank God, he could still feel things. Even if he was feeling too much, he was feeling, and that was good.

Tears were streaming down his face, and when he tried to inhale through his nose, his nostrils were blocked with snot, but he couldn’t stop. His entire face was red from overexertion and his hands were bleeding and he couldn’t stop shaking and he couldntfuckingbreathe, like he was a little kid throwing a tantrum, and—

If his throat was raw when he’d had the energy to destroy things, it was nothing like how it felt now. “Fuck!”

Maybe this is how Y/N felt when she saw me kill that monarchist fucker, John thought dumbly, and he sank to his knees in his demolished mess of an office, a tide of regret crashing through him unlike anything before.

This feeling hit him like it was trying to kill him.

//////

The car was parked in the parking lot of the airport, and it hadn’t moved for the past ten minutes.

It was cramped, uncomfortable, and questionably damp, but the man who’d driven you there-- Billy, you’d since learned his name was-- wouldn’t buy the plane ticket for you until you gave him your payment, and you had nothing left to lose. With Paris being a hefty cheque away, a daring trip that you could just barely afford, you had weighed your options and promptly decided fuck it, just get it over with.

Without breaking eye contact with him, you licked a thick stripe up the underside of his length before pulling back to suck the tip, darting your tongue around it, producing the filthiest slurping sounds he’d ever heard as you bobbed around him. He wasn’t longer than John, but a little thicker, and it was an interesting change to feel how his cock felt in your mouth.

“Fuck,” Billy murmured, weaving a hand through your hair as you swiped his cock over your wet lips, teasing it over your warm mouth, smearing your red lipstick further down your chin. “Fuck, just like that - gonna - fuck-”

He came fast with barely a warning, warm droplets of come spilling onto your tongue. Knowing you were almost done, you wrapped a hand around his length to jerk him off, gulping him down as best you could while he kept his hand tight in your hair, ensuring that you swallowed every last bit.

Saltier, you noted. Well, that’s a bit disgusting.

//////

He had her on her back so he wouldn’t have to look at her, but it was still so hard to pretend that she was someone else: the dark curly hair spilling over her shoulders that looked nothing like her hair, the breathy little moans that fell from her lips that sounded nothing like hers, even the way her pussy squeezed his cock, they were all dead giveaways that she wasn’t who John desperately wanted her to be. And no matter how hard he tried, she wouldn’t be.

“Oh, God,” Esme moaned, grabbing the headboard to keep herself from falling over as John fucked into her just a little bit harder, and his hand was wrapped around her neck before he even registered it being there.

“Shut up.”

She wasn’t listening.

“Fuck, John, I’m gonna-” –With one hand on the headboard, she was furiously rubbing her clit now– “I think I’m gonna - oh fuck -”

She collapsed from underneath him as her orgasm rushed through her body, but in a split-second he’d yanked her upright by her hair, back to her original position, except her arms were pinned behind her back.

This was about control.

Fucking her even harder now, his voice was furious in her ear as he whispered:

“Next time you come, you’re gonna ask for my permission, yeah?”

//////

Paris was golden.

Golden and full of pickpockets, that was for sure. The one drawback of such a fashionable, progressive city, you had to keep a tight hold on your purse as you made your way to the closest bar, or the bar à cocktails, as you frequently heard the locals call it.

Three months into living in Paris, you fit right in with the people born and raised here: they tended to go all out in comparison to Birmingham, their wardrobes were fashionable, flashy, and fancy to the point where a floor-length dress, your most expensive pearl necklace, and a glittery headband had become your drinking attire. You couldn’t imagine the stares had you worn the Garrison rat’s usual outfit of trousers and a blouse anywhere in Paris.

So, when it came down to it, you didn’t mind being bold, not at all. It was the années folles, after all, and life was good.

The same way British slang had slowly seeped into your vocabulary when you were an American trapped in Birmingham, your accent was starting to change the longer you stayed in Paris. Words like “quid” and “fucking hell” were slowly starting to disappear in your internal monologue, instead being replaced with “franc” and “merde”. Eventually, your American accent wrapped around the French words you spoke with a kind of ease, your thoughts came to you in French more than they did in English, and it dawned on you one day that you couldn’t have imitated the sweetness of the Garrison rat’s voice if you tried.

Honestly, you couldn’t care less. Maybe it was for the better.

You gently pushed open the glass door to the bar and, smoothing your dress, walked inside.

Lilting jazz, warm golden light, quiet conversation, respectful barmaids, a wide array of bottles at the bar, and best of all, sparsely populated. You loved coming to this place— you were already a couple of shots in, of course, but you enjoyed the French stuff.

You carefully sat down on your usual barstool to the left of the barmaid and calmly told her, “Comme d’habitude.”

She nodded without looking at you, emotionless. “Pas de problème.”

You settled back onto the stool, content to think about nothing for a moment as your drink was being made, but you sensed him approaching you before you saw him. Even though you had to tell yourself that you weren’t the Garrison rat anymore, that mysterious charm hadn’t been lost on the men of Paris, clearly.

The new man— dark hair, gray eyes, nothing remarkable — sat on the stool to your direct left, with the kind of forced confidence that immediately told you he had to practice it before coming over to sit with you, and you refused to look at him.

The barmaid slid a shot over to you, and the mysterious new man held up his hand, as though to intercept you from paying. “Je vais le payer.”

Looking anywhere but his face, you didn’t stop him as he handed over a fistful of coins to the barmaid.

Why should you? It was free drinks. That was welcomed in Las Vegas, New York City, Small Heath, and Paris.

As the barmaid walked away to attend to a new customer, his attention was on you now.

“Vous venez souvent dans ce bar.”

It was a statement, not a question. You looked at him, your face completely blank, and said nothing.

He smirked at you. “Vous aimez cette musique, oui? Le jazz est toujours beau. Bon pour danser.”

When you still said nothing, growing slightly frustrated now, he asked, “Quelle est votre histoire?”

You scoffed, and finally decided to speak.

“C’est une longue histoire. Une trop longue histoire. La seule chose que je sais, c’est que je ne tomberai plus jamais en amour, donc si vous pensez m’inviter à danser, n’essaie pas.”

The man looked at you for a long moment, before getting up from the stool and walking away— wordless, the kind of complicated look on his face that you didn’t understand. And it pissed you off, really, not understanding why he had the audacity to look hurt.

With the drunken blurriness of your vision, as the man retreated into the distance, his silhouette seemed to be absorbed by the gleaming, golden light, and you let out a low sigh of relief as you were left alone again. Alone with your thoughts.

You turned back to the bar and found yourself lost in the murky depths of your drink that he’d paid for. Through the haze, you blearily noticed that you’d started thinking in English again. Blunt and short sentences, but still: English.

I’m never going to love again.

//////

AUGUST 1920 - SMALL HEATH, BIRMINGHAM

I’m never going to love again, thought John as he stared moodily across the length of the merry Garrison. Grace may not have been there anymore, but the roaring folk songs every night had remained in her memory, and someone had clearly written a new one for the drunks to sing.

The only person there that wasn’t singing, John couldn’t help but roll his eyes. He wasn’t in the mood to act as though there weren’t any horribly-concealed glances in his direction every few minutes. Though, as time went on, they were becoming lesser and lesser, the Garrison rat was disappearing into a mythical woman that belonged to the folklore of Small Heath. Honestly, in the months without her, sometimes it was hard to believe that she had ever truly lived.

The song roared on.

“Oh, the Garrison rat, the Garrison rat, she left at twilight and we haven’t seen her since that…”

#john shelby #john shelby x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #joe cole #john shelby x y/n #john shelby fanfic #john shelby imagine #peaky blinder imagine #peaky fucking blinders #peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby #arthur shelby #polly gray

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willnotethenihilist · 1 year

Text

So I had a dream where I’m just chilling in my bed and my significant other walks in and asks me the age old question ‘Will I still like them if they were a worm?’. Without hesitation I say that if they were a worm I would snort them like cocaine. They then proceeded to transform into a worm and I snorted it so hard it went up one nostril and dangled from the other. I sucked it right back in.

#I don’t even have a significant other #I conveniently had this dream on the night before Valentine’s Day #weird thoughts #weird dreams #i had a dream #i dreamt #pmseymourva

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petricur · 2 years

Text

in purgatorio

T/W: violence, mention of drugs ( !!!read with suggested bgm music!!!) 1. Purgatory 2. Belladonna The stench of burning cigarettes is the first thing that hits his nostrils the second he's seen at the entrance of the infamous underground club, purgatory. The name resonates with the concept, an elitists' space of warped up morals conjured up in this room dimmed by red lights to simulate a solace of the crumpled. This one had the distinction of patrozinating exclusive if not rich guests of foul businesses, anything that spoke illegal it was there indulging in its vices. Carnal and feral. Like any other exclusive club in downtown Seoul, it was private and nestled away into corners of alleyways difficult to find despite the effort of many, and if one were to meander around it could get you easily mugged or killed for that matter. At the entrance, Yohan enunciates a key word that allows him the entrance to a minuscule part of hell on Earth. From doctors to lawyers, politicians, leaders of special forces, they all sat in arm chairs and futons surrounding them a booth with see through drapes for some kind of fucked up non-existent privacy, and if paid a closer look they would lure you in and devour you. Past the corridor and into the change of scenery where the roof is now higher and the room is ten times the size of what it was, strobe lights flash and occasionally fade to black where he takes the chance to move sly as a fox, swiftly walking amongst the elite crowd. It's no secret Yohan's looks are striking and as he stepped in, the room was his, turning heads especially when he adores to swim in his narcissistic nature by taking all the glances, even sharing a smirk with a young couple ogling him shamelessly from the left side over the neon bar. His sharp eyes quickly locate the VIP area on the second floor of the club, he aims to dive into the crazy jumping crowd to dance himself to the very back of the club where he'd find a spiral staircase to his destination. He smiles at the taller male at the end of the stairs, he's inspected for a moment before the colossal male scoots aside to grant him entrance to the restricted area. That is where he aims. His eyes scanned the room incessantly, taking in every face for him to identify later. Dancers and escorts swayed to the music blaring in the grounds of the spacious club, while money was handed to them by hungry dogs that begged for a quick fuck in exchange. Yohan glided around the room fingers tangled up in his hair, aiming for his target seated over at the back of the room, it wasn't difficult to find him, he drew the attention to himself, surrounded by escorts like a pack of wolves, one latched over his neck and the other touching him inappropiately, giggles bubbling in the corner as Yohan already stood there quietly. The business man looked over to Yohan, his face lighting up immediately. Yohan remained stoic. "Yeou, my dearest little fox you've made it. Fancy a drink, an escort? Men or women, we don't discriminate here." One of the male escorts scanned the fox like male uttered something about giving him a nice time, in that exchange the ladder snorted a line of cocaine, before Yohan's irises shifted back to him. "I don't do personal deliveries." Yohan reached out to his jacket's pocket and delivered a folded envelope contaning fake id's, visas and passports and threw it over the glass table. "Is that why you're so sensitive? Then why did you bother coming? I made you come all the way down here for you to see the place and hang out." The man added while cleaning his nose from the hit of cocaine he just did. Yohan smiled. "Why did you do it?" Yohan simply inquired. "Huh?" Yohan's mischevous glint disappeared, his eyes turning to a deep black. He jumps over the table to the other side and clutches the male's neck to yank him up, swirling him around to slam his face against the glass table, pressing him down against broken pieces of glass. The escorts fled the booth immediately and left them to their luck. "Uri, told me your face turned pale when you found out I was still alive." Yohan kept the male's body locked with one knee against his neck restraining his breathing and an arm locked against his back adding significant pressure to it. "You pissed me off." He talked calmly, leaning against his ear with a small grin. "Reason flew out the window when you decided to kill me and you know I'm a man of reason, but you never decided to speak to me. Fuck." The man's breathe shortened everytime he gasped for air, he eyed the way the man squirmed for his life, but Yohan's lock remained firm. He laughed amusingly, lifting the pressure off the man, he then fell down to the ground almost unconscious gasping for air as Yohan snatched the fire arm tucked on the back of the man's belt. He stroke him with a kick to his ribs and another one to his face, rolling him over with his foot, Yohan lifted him up by the collar of his jacket, while cocking the gun and placing it over his forehead. "Why?"Yohan picked up the question again."Envy. Someone is jealous of you." The man spat blood. "It's hunting season, isn't that what you said?" The bloodied smile showing through with malicious intent, disguting. Yohan pulled the trigger and the male startled in fear to his shock, no bullets. "Send them my regards." Yohan hit the man's nape with the base of the gun to leave him passed out on the floor. He straightened his suit, running a hand through his disheveled hair, his eyes setting over a single glass of liquor presenting itself over one of the tables, he chugged the whiskey with no hesitation to numb out any distraught feelings. Yohan disappeared from the club.

#(;script)#(; this took the life out of me)#(; its messy so bare with me until i get this thing together)#(; im taking a whole week off lmao)

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frankaben · 2 years

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limelight killer tapes #2

as stars we see ourelves as chosen, loving women leaving hoping on mars' neon rails displayed as broken, hoping we men give them dope in fiending states closing all our leaving gates, trapped an feeling even less. dressed up, messed up, dry heaving to their fates. still locked in, try to love them, cry too often into nightime buckets, like them getting tired after giving you the white line start ups.

cocaine rails that trains gilde on too swiftly, cut cat tails that rain hangs on too quickly. sickly stomach open womb to puke out babies fast, snort two stones to make them ladies last. living fast, hasty mist has settled on my eyes, as cries they rain upon your nose those nostrils made them most their pleasures, take edge off, applying pressures. claw her close, you waste all your clothes, no i see them not, i dont care what you chose to wear. stare stare stare still cant see clear, knife in my hand and the pains still there all my broken pleasures, guilty guts. token havers, milky musks.

spray spray spray can red love paint, bloody rose, led broken thrills. pills in drakness kills us both. cant see, fainted lovelife-boats.

#my writing #dark #poetry #writing

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harrison-abbott · 14 days

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that f*cking man

My daughter Cassie got in touch with me to tell me she was getting married. To this man called Derek Collins. I had met Derek only twice in my life and I politely admit that I never liked him, at all. I didn’t say this to Cassie, but that’s how I felt. He came over here to my flat, with her, once, a long while ago. He stank of aftershave and after I told him what soccer team I liked he kept taking digs at them, the team, because he supported the arch rivals. It was funny at first but he kept doing it for hours. Then, between the meal that I had made for them, he would excuse himself to the toilet down the hall. Except, he kept doing it as if he had a bladder infection. And, I followed him down the corridor to get something from the living room … and when I was coming back, I heard these swishy snorting noises from inside the bathroom. Was he actually doing that? He was doing cocaine in my toilet, after coming over to ‘meet the parent’ for the first time with my daughter. I didn’t mention anything to Cassie. She was real pretty, when I came back into the kitchen, sipping at her orange juice. I thought that maybe I had only been imagining things about what Derek was doing but then when he came back into the kitchen as well and resumed speaking I noticed white powder up one of his nostrils. Jesus. … Oh, and the next time I saw him was at the train station. I was heading to work. And I noticed this tall fellow in a blue suit wearing these cream sneakers standing looking at his phone outside a WH Smith. That was Derek – back, then, my daughter’s boyfriend. So I had met him for the first time back in the summer six months earlier and now it was the winter; Derek had mentioned that he took trips to this city for work. I went up to say Hi to him. “Hey there, Derek?” I said. And arrived in front of him and offered a handshake. He looked up at me from his screen, irritated and narrow-eyed. “How are you doing?” I said, and I kept my hand hanging there … He blinked. And his eyes didn’t expand, until I said, “It’s me. Andrew. Cassie’s father.” And just then, his face bloomed up and he went, “Oh, of course! Andy! How are you doing mate! Sorry, I’m sleepy, I didn’t recognise you!” And he grabbed my hand and crashed it with his fingers. He apologised four more times within the next couple of minutes, for not remembering who I was: it was because he hadn’t much sleep and that he was hungover and that I hadn’t had a beard last time he saw me. But that he really enjoyed the dinner I served at the flat that time. “The macaroni cheese! What a belter that was. … Anyway, Andy: I have to go now and catch my train! Was super nice to see you and we should meet up again soon, right?” … There was another of those tremendous handshakes. And when he walked away from me I thought, ‘I did have a beard last time. Because I never shave.’ …

So that last episode happened four years back. And Cassie called me yesterday to inform me that they were engaged. I hadn’t seen Cassie since she came to the flat that time for the Mac Cheese: and so that was five years ago. It did make me wonder why she was even calling. Until she started talking about money. She was all flowery with her chat, until she began speaking about how much the wedding was going to cost. And so I nabbed the intentions behind her communication. There are a whole load of stories about why Cassie wasn’t so close to me. But, she was doing this manipulative behaviour in adulthood: scouting for money because she needed the finance. I couldn’t really be bothered with that. “Cassie,” I said to her. She was telling me a story about a recent trip she’d made to the zoo with Derek. And how he had been joking about the animals. “Do you remember when Derek first came over to the flat to meet me? For the first ever time?” She went quieter when she answered, “Yes?” And so I asked her, “Do you know what he was doing every time he went to the toilet?” She remained silent on the other end and I could tell that she knew what I was talking about. “Cassie. I can give you a bit of money, because I do have a spare amount, and I’m not liable to live much longer. So may as well pass some on to my only kid. But I’m also not interested in coming to a wedding to watch you marry that fucking man. Plus, I’m tired right now and I need to rest before getting up for work in the morning. See you later for just now.” He hung up the phone and the short smack of that act was quite satisfying.

#writeblr #creative writing #writers on tumblr #prose #stories #tumblr writers #short fiction #fiction #short story #spilled ink

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yaoogui · 7 months

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"Are you here for the business or the coke cause..." Dai questions, nonchalantly scratching his head, a lazy yawn following. "Well, it's breakfast time." He does look like shit a little but it is part of his charm, one would say. He is in his usual kimono, his traditional wear, open, untied for his entire torso, tattoos exposed, his hair getting longer falling down his shoulders, untamed. At least, he does have pants on - and that's a lot. In one hand he's holding Konkon, this little pigglet he considers like his son. Truly, he wouldn't treat a human better than he treats the little pet. In the other hand, a cigar travels from his fingers to his lips. The club isn't too crowded by the end of the afternoon, the party only starts when the sun goes down. Music is still playing however in the back, less loud as these hours are mostly reserved for business. Well, if Boss is in mood for it. Dai keeps on walking, Naeun is naturally expected to follow him, as he falls down his golden velvet couch, man spreading as a treat. For the guests, they could either stand or sit on the facing couch. The lights aren't fully off yet the spotlights already spinning gaving a peculiar taste to the atmosphere. Henchmen are of course, all around them. It is an escort then, who walks in and places down the table an already prepared line of fresh cocaine on a plate made of actual gold. Over the top. He did not lie, it is breakfast time at 5pm. The girl then places another plate down on Naeun's side of the table before bowing and smiling to the two of them. Park Naeun. Since Dai has opened the Octogon club, here in Seoul, the word has been out that the yakuza are back in town. An arrival that did not make most of the underground scene happy and yet, many kangpaes and gangs saw the potential of alliances with him and ended up sitting on this exact couch for negociations. Then came the ones working solo as well, the renegades the bannished, the desperate. Naeun, to Dai, is not a desperate no, but a lone wolf, a skilled one : as much as a potential friend than a potential enemy. He likes that. The ones who swear allegiance to no one. He leans down, finger against his nostril, the other snorting the white line and immediatly throws in head to the back as he's savouring this sweet sweet pleasure of the instant, his hair swaying as well. "Fuuuuuck." He actually moans. "YES!" He then shouts out loud, his eyes redicting to her, this time, filled with this manic energy that is more Him, clearly more awakened than 5 minutes ago. "God I feel like a baby crawling out of my mama's placenta, I feel. ALIVE! FUCK! ALRIGHT!" He exclaims, clapping once in his hands then slapping himself one side and then the other, growling like the animal he is. "Let's! Do! Some! Business! That one's for you by the way, come on, don't be shy." He now says, an inviting smirl on, the one that spreads from his temple to chin. "That little power made of fairies moons and stars is cleaner than a virgin sacrifice in the church of my dreams. So come on, taste it. Go, Taste, it." He says, gesturing towards the cocaine with one hand randomly, the other snapping in the air couple times for one of his clan member to approach.

for @ourcarvedsins from permanant starter call

A member, lowkey ranked, hands a big file to him. Grabbing it in a sharp move he slams the folder down the table, opening it, to then push it towards her direction. "Here." He speaks, planting his index finger down the table to enphasize the upcoming statement. "Every single motherfucker who wore a goddamn snake as a tattoo for the past 30 years in Seoul. The list is pretty damn long, turns out not only one organization wore the tattoo but many. Some did not survive, others ended up merging with bigger gangs. There are some chinese bozos too, the triad had quite a piece of territory here in Korea back in their glory days, so they get thrown in the damn mix. Who knew snakes tattoos weren't original for shit huh?" Dai comments. "If you isolate the ones particularly active between 1990 and 2000, guess the list gets smaller." Dai had a perfect knowledge of the underground scene there in Tokyo and now here in Seoul, as well. It made him the ideal person for Naeun to ask for some sort of help to track down her targets, plus he had resource. Men under his control he could send in every corner of the country and dig. The folder handed to Naeun had profiles but old pictures as well, pictures of the suspected men, locations of some of their head quarters, connections between some snake tattoos gangs and various organizations. A quite full and complete registary that still needed some dissection from her. It is a fair effort for Naeun who, Dai believes is useful on the ground when he's away. "Tell me if any names, pictures, something, rings a bell to you that's gonna be a path for us to follow." He then says, sinking down his couch. "Your turn now. I asked for the Matsushitas location. You got that for me?" The Matsushitas, a japanese smaller clan planning on implementing themselves in Seoul and who did him dirty, attempted to betray him even though they had a deal. Traitors must die. He actually killed all of them, only three got away, he needed to finish the work and hang their limbs right next to their best friends in the slaughterhouse. "I got a new axe so, I'm in the mood for a hunt tonight."

His razor smile spreads again.

#神 : 𝐲𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐤𝐢 𝐝𝐚𝐢. / the leader.#神 : 𝐲𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐤𝐢 𝐝𝐚𝐢. / interactions.#Konkon is there #Everyone's favorite little baby pig so Naeun is lucky to see him #Well less lucky cuz he just got out of bed and hasnt had his morning coke fix yet #But at least he offered her some he's a good Host

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marvelslegacies · 1 year

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Noah & Biron | Small Talk | Main Paragraph

It had been a week since Biron had stumbled into the lives of Team Legacy, he had almost adjusted to the new house. Cass and Jarome were out scouting tonight, doing the real work of men, while Noah and Biron stayed home doing nothing but pills, cigarettes, and marijuana. All they needed was one discrete head nod and they were sharing their secret stashes with each other. Biron had brought out the pretty pink pills from the inside pocket of a black backpack. Noah had a large glass jar filled with orange-dusted nugs.

In a matter of minutes Noah had three blunts expertly rolled and Biron was two lines deep into some quality coke. He passed a small glass tray over to Noah who took the rolled up fiver and put it to his good nostril. He snorted the stuff and braced for the burning sensation in the back of his throat.

“Cocaine tastes fucking nasty, dude.” Noah said, setting the tray on the coffee table and leaning back into the couch. Biron was to his left, facing the front door of their home, staring it down.

“Do the cops run around your neighborhood?” Biron asked without waiting for an answer, “I bet they don’t. These houses look nice.”

Noah had his own questions, but he was not yet high enough to ask them of Biron. So he picked up the tray and snorted one more line then lit up his blunt and a cigarette, double-fisting the two.

“You can light up a personal.” he offered one of the blunts to Biron with a dismissive wave of his hand, still holding the cigarette.

Biron reached insteach for the pack of Marlboro Reds and lit one up for himself. “When I’m fucking ready.” he said plainly to the other, the most outgoing of the three of them. Noah didn’t take offense to Biron’s words, he was too busy enjoying the waves… his head was swimming.

Biron found it easiest to be around Noah. Cass was in constant pain around him and wouldn’t shut up about it. Jarome was easy to talk to but perpetually busy meditating or reading. Noah had very little going for him besides their makeshift team, and Biron… Biron had very little going for him as well, for the time being. It just made sense for the two to get high together.

After twenty minutes passed, the thought of Jarome and Cass eventually returning was long gone. They were doing reconnaissance, anyway, Noah knew that Cass was thorough and Jarome could get obsessive. They’d be gone for hours, maybe even all night. This was Biron and Noah’s first time alone together. Noah thought he was more than good-looking but was trying to play the friend role, considering Biron had blundered into their lives in the midst of a major trauma.

“So what’d you go to prison for?” Noah asked cheekily. This was actually one of the easier subjects to broach between Biron and Noah. They discovered days ago that they shared a spider web tattoo, although Biron’s was a stick and poke and Noah’s was… done by a guy who had a real job selling bagels in order to afford his tattooing dreams.

Biron cocked a brow at Noah, knowing that his secrets were meant to be guarded. “Why do you wanna know?” he countered.

Noah shrugged, “It’s exciting. I’ve broken the law but never been arrested. Only detained.” Noah admitted neutrally.

“Fine. Armed robbery.” Biron said, “A few counts.” This time, Biron shrugged. “The thing is I wasn’t armed.” Biron baited and Noah bit.

“What do you mean? Tell me, tell me.” Noah bounced in his seat, feeling all kinds of vibrations humming against his skull.

“I knew a guy. My brother’s friend, really. He had Weapon Physiology.” Biron smirked as he spoke, his eyebrows raised up high. His eyes locked with Noah’s now for a moment. Noah felt a twinge of nervousness followed by a wave of giddy excitement. He liked looking at Biron. He was devastatingly handsome and made Noah feel as though his features were goofy and overly animated.

Biron continued, “No joke, man, I watched the guy step on a guard’s throat, turn his fucking foot into a revolver and blow his brains threw his fucking skull.”

Noah groaned amusedly, “That’s insane.” Noah thought for a moment about the guard and who he might have been, what family he may have had. He then was paused by the overwhelming thought that he should not under any circumstances bring up Biron’s dead brother. Noah would have to wait longer if he wanted to know the reason Biron had ended up at the Legacy house in the first place. Biron and Noah spent some odd hours swapping ridiculous stories, and after a while both knew that the other was exaggerating sometimes, though neither one seemed to mind. Shooting the shit was just too fun. The little pink pills were certainly helping to keep the ambiance lively during their shared trip.

“Hey,” Noah said in the middle of some monologue now forgotten, “are we gonna see shit on these or what?”

“No but I got somethin’ that’ll show you somethin’.” Biron said, “If you want it.”

Noah shook his head, “Nah my head’s doped up. I was just wondering. He pulled another cigarette out of its pack and held it between his teeth, lighting it up. He passed the thing to Biron who took it graciously. Noah was struck by the way Biron’s strong arms moved and flexed, yet he dare not speak of it. Biron hadn’t mentioned any boyfriends or girlfriends, so Noah was left to daydream about both scenarios, neither one involving him. Only Biron and faceless, nameless strangers.

Noah shook himself from his fantasies and realized that Biron was now eying the door with suspicion. “So what’s your thing again?” He said, still staring down the doorknob. Noah ignored this pleasantly and jumped at the chance to brag about his powers.

“I have power over the elements. It takes a lot of control but I’m way stronger than I was when I was a teenager. Jarome and I agreed I should never use this… but I can also manipulate blood. Something about the water in the plasma and the iron in the red blood cells together. I can’t, like, heal anyone or anything. I can just…” Noah hung his own head, having made himself sad, “kill people.”

Biron placed a hand on Noah’s shoulder and said nothing for a moment. Once the moment had solidified, he offered his advice, “It’ll come in handy in a dark moment, when you are called upon to be a merciful man.”

Noah pondered this, then said, “Thanks. I think.”

The door cracked open. Biron and Noah scrambled silently with their perspective paraphernalia, leaving the pack of cigarettes sitting innocently on the coffee table.

Cass and Jarome came shuffling in looking dirty and drained, Cass took one whiff of the stale air in the house and reached an arm out to the thermostat. He turned on the A/C then grumbled, “I don’t wanna know what you two have been up to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Noah wanted to know.

Biron waved his arms, “Ain’t no funny business around here. The man bummed me a cigarette.” Biron said nonchalantly.

Jarome rolled his eyes, “You both look… really high.” he deadpanned.

Noah and Biron exchanged a look, then both chuckled to each other before catching themselves and clearing their throats, uttering their excuses.

#tw: drug use #026

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