spunkpunx

Latest Posts by spunkpunx

Bittersweet Bundle Of Misery - Graham Coxon

Plot: Reader is dating Alex James, and finds herself miserable, but finds comfort in a tumultuous affair with his friend, and guitarist, Graham Coxon.

I will probably do a part 2.

Word count: 5153!

Warnings: Drugs, Alcoholism, Smut, Angst, Smoking

April 1996

Alex loved France. Not only that, but the French loved him, specifically the women. I didn't need to understand his words to recognise the flirty tone in his voice when he spoke to the waitresses, the bar staff, in fact, basically any attractive woman who fluttered her eyelashes at him. I wasn't sure how to feel about it. Of course, I knew Alex well, so I was never under the impression that he would be a devout, faithful partner, but I also never expected him to be so explicit in his relationships with other women. We both considered the relationship open, but Alex was the only one who seemed to take advantage of that situation.

I found solace in hanging around with Graham. The tour was stressful. We both struggled. We all drank, but for Graham it was a necessity. I spent more time with Graham than with Alex, but of course he didn’t care. The words “jealous” and “possessive” were not in his vocabulary, but then again, neither was “monogamous”.

I was tired and miserable. The venues where the band played could be stubborn about sound-checking themselves. This resulted in a lot of arguments, as I was strictly instructed that the band were only to have their own sound technician (me). Alex and Damon could be rude. Since I’d been dating Alex, nobody took my work seriously. I stopped being a technician with almost seven years experience on tour, and became “Alex’s girlfriend helping out”. The crew could be horribly sexist at times. Even Ivan dismissed me when I brought him a problem.

“Get one of the other technicians to look at it,” he said, after I told him that one of the venue’s sound guys had wired the bass into a guitar amp and not the subwoofer. He must have turned up the volume to compensate for the sound and blown the speaker.

“I know what I’m doing! I’ve worked with this band for years!” I ended up snapping. I heard one of the roadies mumble something about a period and it sent me over the edge. Sometimes I got so angry it was like I didn’t have control over my impulses anymore. I told them all to fuck off and stormed out the room, kicking the door with a tremendous thud as I left. After I’d cooled down and returned, the crew tiptoed around me like I’d overreacted. After the gig, Ivan came over to speak to me.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to undermine you. You’re one of the best sound techs we’ve had,” he apologised, giving me a friendly pat on the shoulder. I appreciated the apology, it was the first one I’d had since the tour began.

Alex and I had an argument that night. We argued often, but this was explosive. He came into my room, coked up and horny, sitting next to me on the bed and pressing wet kisses to my neck.

“Are you over your little tantrum?” he asked, kneading my breast a little roughly. I pulled away.

“Little tantrum?” I repeated, surprised at his tactless words. “Everyone has been treating me like shit recently Alex.” He shrugged, running a hand up my thigh over my jeans, toying with my top button.

“Whatever it was. Ivan was trying to help and you just went mental,” he laughed, like it was all a big joke. He pressed his lips against mine and I pushed him away.

“It’s your fault I’ve been feeling like this!” I snapped. “If I didn’t start dating you then people would actually treat me like a professional! All of a sudden Damon is asking the drum tech to check the mic volume before they go on!”

“All of a sudden it’s my fault?” he asked, voice raising slightly. “Just cause you overreacted and bit Ivan’s head off?!”

“You don’t get it Alex! If you were ever actually here you’d understand how I was feeling, but you’re always off snorting lines and banging these fucking French girls!” I shouted at him.

“Well maybe I’d be here more if you actually put out instead of just going off at me!” he yelled back. I stood up, walking across the room with my hair clenched in my fists. I wanted as much distance between us as possible.

“Put out?” I looked at him incredulously. “So you’re only here if you can have sex with me? This relationship only exists so you can rely on me having sex with you whenever you fancy?!” We were both properly shouting now.

“That’s what relationships are! That’s what love is! The only difference between friends and relationships is sex!” he replied, seeing this as perfectly valid reasoning.

“So all I am is sex to you?” I asked, my voice now dangerously softer but still dripping with venom.

“No... That’s not- Stop twisting my fucking words!”

I calmly picked up my cigarette carton and lit one, letting his point ferment.

“Get out,” I spat. He glowered at me, standing up and leaving the room, slamming the hotel room door behind him.

As soon as he left the room, hot tears started spilling down my face, not tears of sadness but of rage. I felt overwhelmed. I smoked a cigarette, then another, the deep inhalation subduing my frustration. I heard a soft knock at the door.

“Piss off Alex!”

“It’s not Alex,” came Graham’s gentle reply. I stood and opened the door, wiping at my cheeks with the back of my hand.

“Gra,” I huffed in relief at his presence.

“I heard you were arguing, I wanted to see you were okay,” he said. It didn’t surprise me he’d heard it. Graham’s room was just across the hall, and we’d not been quiet. “Pub?” he offered, smiling slightly.

“Yeah alright, I’ll just grab my coat.”

We found a small bar not too far away from the hotel. Neither of us spoke particularly good French, but Graham knew enough to order some wine. The Parisians didn’t drink the same way the British did, and both of us were a little too embarrassed to try and order two pints of beer and a pack of cheese and onion crisps. Instead, we sat with a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and two glasses, hidden away in a back booth and laughing at our clumsy attempts at the French language.

“It’s so embarrassing walking round with Mr Culture speaking fluent French like it’s the most natural thing in the world, meanwhile I struggle asking the man in the shop for a packet of fags,” I complained, chuckling.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what were you arguing about before?” Graham queried.

“Oh, just...” I paused, unsure whether to tell him or whether he’d just agree with Alex. “Well you know how I lost my temper before?” Graham nodded, sucking his lips into his mouth like he always did when he was listening. “Well he made a joke about it, and it pissed me off. I dunno, I feel so tired and miserable recently, and the way everyone has been treating me like I’m totally incompetent at my job is so difficult. Alex is never there, he just swans around doing whatever he wants, meanwhile I just feel so overwhelmed,” I spilled, not even intending to share that much. Something about the build up of emotions in my life and Graham’s reassuring presence at the end of the table made me feel the sudden need to tell him everything. “I just don’t feel happy anymore.”

“I know how you feel, kind of,” Graham reassured, placing his hand over mine, while I took a large swig of wine. Looking back, I think that was the first moment I thought about kissing him. Of course I didn’t, we stayed out most of the night and then stumbled back to the hotel drunk. But I actually considered that maybe I wouldn’t feel so bad if I was dating Graham, not Alex.

October 1996

I never expected the knock at the door. It was a cold night in mid October, so when I opened the door wearing only a large t-shirt and odd socks, the biting breeze nipped at my bare legs. Graham stood there awkwardly, wrapped up in a fleece lined jacket and his eyes slightly glazed in his drunkness. I didn't ask any questions, just greeted him with a hug that lasted a few seconds longer than usual, then invited him in.

Graham wasn't a happy man, but I myself was hardly a ray of sunshine. I sat down next to him on my old settee, lighting a cigarette and refilling my wine glass. I offered him a glass but he shook his head.

"What's up Gra?" I asked him softly, reaching out to cover his hand with my own. He let out a dejected sigh.

"I can't do it anymore (y/n)," he explained. "The band. I'm starting to hate them all. The press, the tours, the people. It's way too fucking much. Damon won't change the music we do, he's being a controlling bastard, and then Alex, fuck." Graham pulled at his earlobe, something I noticed him do often when he was feeling nervous or stressed.

"What is it?"

"He's out living his playboy lifestyle, shagging around, doing lines, drinking champagne. Meanwhile, you just sit around pretending like everything is fine!"

I dropped my hand from his. I wasn't ready for this criticism, especially not from a man who was currently drunk every second of his life.

"It is fine, Gra."

"No it's not, because he barely gives you a backwards glance when he goes out and I have to watch it," he complained. He turned to me, looking over my face like he was drinking it in. "I think you're so beautiful."

"What?"

"So, so fucking beautiful," he repeated. Graham was bad at eye contact, but right now he was drunk, and looking at me with such a sinful look in his gaze. He glanced over my lips, and the small flip in my stomach as he did was my only sign. There had been moments over the past year where Graham and I had shared similar glances, but neither of us acted on impulse, until now.

I leaned in and pressed my lips against his. Immediately his hands slipped around my waist, pulling me flush against his body. His tongue slipped into my mouth, and as he deepened the kiss I pushed his jacket off of his shoulders. He assisted my movements, pulling it off to fall lazily on the floor.

His hand travelled down to my underwear, tucking a finger beneath the waistband of my knickers, pausing to see if I stopped him. I did, but only to pull his t-shirt over his head. I had seen Graham without a shirt before, but now I took in his lithe physique and broad shoulders. He slipped his hand to my clit, rubbing it in slow circles. I gasped at his touch and he leant down to brush his lips against my ear.

“You turn me on so much,” he whispered honestly, slipping two fingers inside me and curling them up. I moaned into his neck, pressing a kiss against it. Alex never really bothered with foreplay so this felt like heaven. After a minute he pulled his fingers out to push me down against the sofa, as I pulled him into another hungry kiss. He pushed his hips against mine and I let out another soft moan while he smiled into the kiss. Soon the desperation over took us and I fumbled with his belt, helping him remove the rest of his clothes before he pulled my t-shirt over my head, drinking in my body.

For a second he tucked his hands into my hair, holding my face behind my ears and stroking me cheeks with his thumb, before kissing me playfully on the nose. He pushed himself inside me with a slight groan, watching my face as I let out a satisfied sigh. I felt so appreciated, the way he looked at me was so tender. Unlike my day to day misery with Alex, this felt so raw, so right. He cupped one of my breasts with his hand, kneading it gently as he softly kissed and nipped at my neck. I felt sweat beading along my thighs, pressed into his body as we lay on the sofa, fully naked with the exception of our socks. He picked up the pace, and I could tell he was trying to control his urge to finish as quickly as possible. He rubbed my clit with the rough pad of his thumb, causing me to let out an unexpectedly loud moan as I clenched around him and my body shook. This brought him over the edge and he finished inside of me with a string of swears. He looked at me slightly panicked.

“Are you on birth control?” he asked, and I laughed, nodding, still out of breath and thrumming from my orgasm. He rested his forehead against my own and we lay there for a moment, panting, letting it register what had just occurred. I didn’t feel guilty at all, although I could tell Graham did. Alex had said so many things to me now that I couldn’t feel regret for sleeping with his friend, not when the moment was so sweet. Then he seemed to be pulled back into reality.

“I’m sorry,” he apologised, standing up and looking for his boxers. “I didn’t mean to do that, it wasn’t the plan.” I furrowed my eyebrows slightly.

“The plan? What was the plan?” I asked.

“I was going to tell you I love you, but you weren’t supposed to... You were going to tell me to piss off and then I could lay it to rest. I’m sorry. I’m drunk.” He pulled his boxers up and started looking for his jeans, but I reached out for his hand, pulling him round to look at me. I was still naked, knees drawn up to my chest on the sofa. I saw his eyes soften, his behaviour calm.

“Gra, I don’t want you to go,” I pleaded, my voice coming out a lot quieter than i intended. Alex and I had had another argument, and I was already feeling so lost until Graham showed up.

He paused, looking at out two hands together. I held my breath, waiting for his response. I needed him to make the irresponsible decision. Eventually, he nodded, and I nipped to the bathroom to clean myself up. When I came back in, clean and wearing a t-shirt and knickers, Graham had settled on the settee with the telly on, he’d also pulled his t-shirt on. I came to sit next to him, and he rested his head on my chest slightly while I began to run my fingers through his hair and he hummed contentedly. The show was boring, a late night crime drama. Within a few minutes Graham was snoring softly on my chest. I sipped my wine and smiled to myself.

November 1996

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Graham rolled over with a groan of pleasure, panting with sweat on his brow. I turned on my side to face him and he pulled a stupid face, still lying on his back. I let out a sigh and turned over, away from him.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, concerned, moving closer and pressing a kiss onto my shoulder. One of his large hands rested on my waist and I suppressed the urge to sniffle.

“We don’t love each other though do we?” I said rhetorically.

“Why’d you say that?”

“Well, if we loved each other, then I’d leave Alex and you’d stop drinking so much.” I felt so bad saying it, but it was true. Even as Graham arrived in a better mood today, there was still an alcoholic taste on his tongue. We’d been seeing each other for over a month, and I knew I wasn’t breaking up with Alex any time soon.

“Maybe you’re right, but still, it feels nice to say, doesn’t it?” he pointed out, nuzzling his head into my neck as he ran his hand round to lay against my stomach, pulling my back closer to his chest.

Sometimes it felt like Alex must have known about me and Graham’s relationship, because he suddenly changed last month. Of course, we still argued. He still enjoyed champagne and cocaine and plenty of women, but god he was good at apologising. After arguments he’d always pull off the perfect apology. He’d me out to an expensive restaurant and completely overlook every gorgeous woman there. He’d make a point of telling the waitress that he must be the stupidest man on earth to have an argument with his ‘beautiful girlfriend’ and would try and show me off to every person in the room. Sometimes his apologies were less flashy, sometimes they came in the form of a home cooked croque monsieur in the morning, and kisses all over my face. Alex had the ability to make me feel both completely worthless and wonderfully special, but when he made me feel so special the guilt always tainted my mood.

In fact, it was at this moment a knock came at the door. I sat up in slight panic. Graham looked at me in confusion.

“It must be Alex,” I told him in a hushed voice.

“Shit.”

The knock came again. I pulled on a shirt from the cupboard, padding through my flat to the living room.

“Hey, (y/n). I know your home,” he said through the door.

“Can you come back later, Al?” I asked, doing up a couple of the buttons. “There’s someone here at the minute.”

“No, just open the door,” he persisted. I sighed, walking over and unlocking it. I stood there in a just the oversized shirt and some underwear I’d pulled on. My bedroom door was shut, Alex wouldn’t mind as long as he didn’t know who was in there.

“I’m in the middle of something,” I said slightly exasperated.

“Fucking hell, you look good,” he grinned, looking me up and down before pushing his way past to get into my flat.

“Hey, don’t come in!” I protested.

“It’s fine, love. I left my keys somewhere here, I just came to grab them,” Alex replied, going into the kitchen and picking them up off the side. He walked into the living, cheeky smile on his face. “Hey, can I say hello to whoever is in there?” he teased, stepping towards my bedroom door. I rushed forward, pushing him away while he teasingly stood his ground.

“No you cannot, it’s weird. If I come into yours while someone’s there you look like a philanderer, but when you come here guys think you’re my pimp or something,” I argued, managing to get him across the room toward the front door.

“Okay, fine,” Alex agreed, dropping his hands to around my waist. “Kiss goodbye?” he requested in a silly voice, tilting his head to the side. I rolled my eyes, but agreed. He pressed his lips to mine for a moment, dropping his hand to squeeze my arse jokingly, and I pulled away to give him a lighthearted smack on the arm and hurrying him out the flat.

When I walked back into my room, Graham was still nestled beneath the duvet, his head poking over the top.

January 1997

"You have to be joking, right?" came the surprised voice of Blur's bassist. Alex was stood in the doorway of a backroom at Groucho's. His pupils were like goddamn dinner plates, as per usual, but for once he was acting surprisingly sober for someone so off their tits. We'd been caught, and as Alex cast a disbelieving look between myself and his bandmate my heart dropped down into the bottom of my stomach.

I had been dating Alex James for just about two years, and had known him for four, and although our relationship wasn't defined as such, it was a rather open one. This, however, seemed to be a breach of our agreement. This wasn't a random person, or even a distant friend, this was Graham.

When Alex had walked in, he'd come across a scene that was a little bit more than over friendly. The guitarist had his hand underneath my skirt and was kissing my neck while we laughed drunkly. Of course, then came the interruption, and we had jumped apart at the arrival of my boyfriend. I sat awkwardly, chewing my lip, feeling like a naughty school kid. Nobody spoke. It was difficult to know what to say. There was no chance of convincing him it was less than he thought, I'm sure our guilty faces spoke volumes. After a pause that went on for way too long, I tried to speak up.

"Al-" I began to reason but my voice was cut of.

"No," he interjected. "I can't fucking believe it. You're my mate, Gra. You're in the band. Of course, the quiet, sweet one. Works for you doesn't it? 'Cause this whole time you've been fucking my girlfriend," Alex snapped. I saw Graham look down, his jaw clenched slightly. I wanted to reach for his hand but I knew it wasn't the time.

"Alex,” I warned but he scoffed at me.

"Piss off with that, (Y/N)," he scolded with an incredulous laugh. "Get your stuff from my place tomorrow, but don't come too early 'cause I'm bringing home that blonde girl from the bar tonight," he told me harshly, leaving the room, probably to go practice his lines in the bathroom.

I sat back down next to Graham, my frown mirroring his. I tipped my head onto his shoulder, and he pulled me into him with a comforting arm. It was difficult to pin down my feelings, although guilt was the presiding one. I felt especially guilty for not finding the ability to care that Alex had just split up with me. I felt tears prick my eyes, unable to stop myself from crying. Graham tilted his head to me, brushing the tears from underneath my eyes with his thumb, and pressing a kiss onto my forehead. I tried to pull him in for a kiss, to distract myself from my current feelings, but he turned his head away.

“Now’s not the time,” he told me gently.

February 1997

I didn’t expect to still accompany the boys on the American tour, in fact, I was aware Alex had greatly argued against it, but Ivan had insisted. I was under contract to the record label and familiar with the set up and how the band liked things. I rather have stayed in London to be honest.

Before we left, Blur released their self titled album, kicking it off with a 'secret' gig at the Astoria to a sold out crowd of two thousand people. The mood was so elevated, all tensions seemed to be erased. A huge after party went down. It was packed with Britpop royalty and went completely out of hand. That night I even stupidly assumed that things would go back to normal, water under the bridge.

I only listened to the album two days later. It was totally different to anything they'd done before. I recognised the influence of the underground bands Graham listened to, although the tone seemed slightly ironic. The album seemed fast paced, but then, halfway through the album came an unexpected softer number, Graham's soft voice coming into my living room through a layer of crackly voice effects. The first verse was despairing. I knew Graham was struggling with his alcohol, but I'd been doing so awfully myself that I didn't even realise how bad it had gotten. It was the chorus that really ruined me though; heartwrenchingly honest and bitterly optimistic. I didn't care if he'd written it about me or not, but that last line hit me somewhere deep in my heart and put tears in my eyes. By the time the song had ended I was a sniffling mess on my living room floor and brimming with such a strong sense of love.

We left to France two days later. The crew were acting strange with me. Everyone knew that I’d now slept with two members of the band, and there was lots of implication I was going to try a third. Damon was acting well off with me and usually I found myself sat with Graham receiving glares from both Damon and Alex. We had to go through Paris and then Tokyo before we arrived in the US at the beginning of March. Things were okay when we all got drunk enough, the boys tended to forget about my crimes against the band. We did sing alongs at our hotels. Alex got a bit arsey when Graham fell asleep with his head in my lap in Tokyo, but he’d happily bring girls to drink with us and happily snog them while I was sat there. I didn’t mind, the part of me that cared was so easy to shut off now.

I loved Japan, and the Japanese loved Blur. Damon was particularly popular with his blond hair, blue eyes and pretty face. The reception at the airport was always brilliant. There would always be a crowd of teenage girls desperate for a signature off their favourite band member, I think one of the Gallaghers already said it, but it was like a second wave Beatlemania. I usually sat back with Ivan, watching the boys deal with their fans, especially Graham. While Alex and Damon used a charming smile, Gra always seemed so unsure what he was doing was right. It was very endearing. I wanted to stay as far away from fame as possible.

Me and Alex’s breakup was extremely high profile. Of course, why we split up was a public mystery, only adding to interest levels. We kept our relationship fairly private, although I had experienced the odd incident with paparazzi, but the Blur management team saw great opportunity for promotion with our split. I was hounded by music journalists for weeks, and photos of me suddenly started appearing all over the gossip magazines. As much as I didn’t want to be stuck on tour with Alex, I had to say it was a relief to leave it behind.

Graham still came to my hotel room late at night, but for both of our sakes he left way before the sun rose. That part was the hardest, when he climbed out of bed to get dressed and leave. I’d watch him put on his clothes, peeking my head over the bedsheets and not speaking. He’d press a kiss to my forehead and tiptoe out the room, back to his own. Then I was alone. I think that fear of being alone was what kept me from ending things with Alex, because staring up at the ceiling after Graham left was the most saddening feeling in the world. I couldn’t say I love you to him anymore, even if I did. When I was still with Alex, it was just a phrase, but then it had become an empty promise. I was far too scared to bear my soul to him like that. I think it upset him slightly, when I wouldn’t say it back, but he never mentioned it.

It was moments like that, lying alone in bed and feeling totally isolated, with nothing but the rushing thoughts in my head, that I would have given anything for Alex to burst into my room and pick a fight with me again. Sometimes I wanted him to loose his temper, to see me across the room and to shout at me, to call me names. His willing acceptance of the situation hurt me most. His ability to move on like it was nothing.

March 1997

Things went downhill once we arrived in America. Everyone was jet lagged from the flight and we were mainly travelling around on a tour bus. Being in such close confines did have a habit of getting on everyone’s nerves. I was sharing a tour bus with some other sound technicians, which was a nightmare. I was the only woman on tour, and every morning I got up an hour before everyone else so I could get dressed without being stared at by a group of blokes. Unfortunately, I was also going to bed in the early hours of the morning anyway, so I was feeling twice as exhausted as usual.

Suddenly, Alex seemed a whole lot more pissed at me than before. Any time Graham and I were even in the same room, he would glare until one of us left. He couldn't help but leave snide comments.

The other issue with being on tour was privacy. I barely got a second alone with Graham. Damon had walked in on one of our few opportunities, while Graham had his head between my legs, and aside from it being very embarrassing, since the incident Damon had been twice as off with me as ever before. Eventually, Graham and I settled for cuddles and conversation, this seemed to cause the least tension.

One night in Detroit, we all went out to a bar. I found in America all anyone ever wanted to know was 'what you did'. Of course, this was in reference to career, but I'd recently found entertainment in replying "nothing much". I spoke to lots of American's, receiving regular compliments on my accent. We drank lots, Alex ended up taking a very attractive blonde girl to the tour bus, leaving the rest of us to continue our evening by drinking enough to knock out an elephant. At one point I wobbled outside for a cigarette and some fresh air.

I stood by the back door and the bins, inhaling the smoke and letting the cold sober me slightly. Then, a very drunk Damon stumbled out the pub, proceeding to bend over by the wall and vomit onto the floor and his trainers. I rushed over, putting a hand on his back and trying to shuffle his feet away to avoid where he was being sick. He finished throwing up and swatted me away.

"Piss off (y/n)," he slurred. "It's your fault it's like this." I stepped back, surprised at his words.

"What?"

"You cocked everything up!" he whined, leaning against the wall for support. "You broke Alex's heart, and now he's mad at Gra, and now Gra's in love with you and you're going to hurt him. Fucking hell, (y/n), look at him! Can't you see what it'd do to him!"

I couldn't help it. For what seemed like the millionth time in the past month, tears prickled my eyes. I never usually cried, but now all my emotions lay very close to the surface.

"I don't want to hurt Graham, Dames. I never wanted to ruin anything," I sniffled, taking a drag from my cigarette to try to calm my wavering voice. "I love Gra, I really do, it's just... complicated."

Damon's eyes softened slightly, and then he fell over into his own sick.

Say You Love Me - Jimmy Darling

Plot: Reader is heartbroken when she hears Jimmy has lost his hands, but when they're replaced he decides to make up for lost time

Word count: 3105

Warnings: Smut, Smoking, Mild violence

The words hit me like a ton of bricks when Dell brought the news. Jimmy's hands were gone. My Jimmy's hands were gone. Taken. That no good piece of shit Richard Spencer and his lies. I couldn't believe Elsa had fallen for his bollocks, but I supposed that was his game. The rest of the freaks stood in shock.

"Oh no, not Jimmy!" Ima cried over dramatically. I felt my blood boil. My skin crawled as she wailed. I felt my ears burn up with my rage. She'd been here not five minutes and here she was, caterwauling over what they had done to him. I couldn't out loud admit what I felt about Jimmy, but I sure as hell could let it be known how I felt about her. I ran at her and swung one hard punch to the side of her head. The force did not knock her over, but the shock certainly did. 

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" I spat out the words repeatedly as I continued to hit her face and chest once she had fallen. I felt my eyes prick as I screamed at her, before Paul and Eve pulled me away. The second the anger cleared I collapsed in tears. Penny came over to me as Eve followed Dell out the tent. She held me tight as I sobbed into her chest. Ima was taken out the tent, bloodied and bruised and sniveling. I lifted my head only to spit in her direction.

"Shh, shh," Penny cooed, stroking my hair. 

"What have they done to him?" I whimpered, my voice coming out far more feeble and cracked then I had ever heard it. "How's he going to survive in there without his hands?"

"I don't know," Penny told me, honestly. "I'm sure he'll find a way."

She took me back to my caravan and I poured myself a drink. I pulled an ashtray out the cupboard and lit a cigarette.

"You don't have to watch over me Penny. I'm sure you probably best go check on your man."

"I don't want to leave you like this," she admitted, sat delicately on the edge of my bed. She was still so beautiful, despite the lizard tattoo, and so kind as well. I couldn't bear to be around anyone at the minute though.

"I'll be fine," I told her softly, but when she didn't move I snapped at her. "Piss off! I don't want you here!" I hadn't meant to be so harsh, but she gathered herself up and left. I knocked back my drink in one. It burned my eyes and stung my throat but I hoped for my own sake it would help me sleep.

I went through more alcohol and more cigarettes. My ashtray overflowed. My head was spinning as I reached toward the bottom of the bottle. With my head heavy I fell over into my bed and pulled the covers round myself, only bothering to clumsily remove my shoes before shutting my eyes tight and trying to forget my thoughts. I lay there, my mind playing a reel of horrors of what could have happened to Jimmy. I pictured him beaten in a jail cell, battered to death like Meep was, or sat in despair at his own situation. I knew he couldn't have killed those women, even if he didn't, because he was here in this caravan when it happened. I knotted my fingers into my hair, reeling drunk. I was just as bad as he had been. 

I eventually passed out, but kept waking, sweaty and restless after nightmares. At one point my stomach turned and I chugged up my guts off the side of my bed. I rolled back over after that and caught half an hours rest before I woke again. The night went on like that until the sun rose and Eve came in to get me up. 

"Oh sweetheart," she muttered upon seeing my sorry state. She delicately picked her way to the bed past the vomit and brought me out of bed to go sit on the seat I had. I blubbered pathetically while she tossed a towel over my mess and brought me a glass of water. I was still slightly drunk, but tried to be as co-operative as possible. Eve sat next to me, pulling me in for a hug while I continued to feel like a maudlin burden on her. She took me over to have breakfast with the others, and I hiccuped my way through some bread and butter, as everyone threw pitiful stares my way. I began to sober up. 

"I'm sorry, Eve. I'm sorry I'm so useless."

"Don't be silly, come with me," she directed, taking my hand and leading me away from the show ground. As we walked further away I wiped my eyes with my sleeve.

"It's awful nice of you to try cheer me up but I'd rather not go anywhere," I told Eve, following her through the undergrowth. We passed the spot where Ethel had ended her life, which brought back more memories of how Jimmy had been after she passed. My eyes welled, but I tried hard to keep it suppressed. I didn't want anyone to think I was being such a pathetic mess over Jimmy Darling. I didn't want to be another of the freaks that he's fucked and now loves him.

"It's Elsa who said you ought to come here," Eve explained. It was probably her plan to distract me from my wallowing, or punish me for what I did to Ima. I expected hard labour ahead of me.  We reached a small barn with the doors locked. Eve produced a key, unlocking the chains. "Now listen. Elsa says its your job to look after him," she instructed pulling the door open to let me see inside. It took me a minute to realise there was a bed, a bed and a familiar face. 

"Jimmy!" I gasped, rushing to his side. I burst into tears again, this time from pure relief. "Oh baby your hands!" 

By his side lay two bloodied stumps wrapped in bandage. His eyes filled with tears when he looked at me. 

"Princess I haven't ever seen you cry before," he told me lightheartedly, but his voice cracked and he wept. I placed my hand on his face and he leaned into my touch as I wiped his tear with my thumb. I turned back to give Eve a thank you but she had left. I turned to Jimmy. 

"I thought you were gonna be gone forever," I told him, sniffling. 

"Me too baby." I bent down and pressed my lips down against his. We shared a salty kiss. I felt him flinch hard and cut off the kiss when he lifted his arm hold me. He immediately broke down in tears again. "I'm never going to be able to hold you again," he whimpered, and I sensed that there was certainly more to it than that. It stung to see him in such a sorry state.

"Oh Jimmy don't upset yourself," I tried to comfort him. "I have to change your bandages. Okay?" He shook his head. "I let you do it for me," I reminded him.

"Well you have no fucking idea how much it hurts," he snapped. I understood his frustration, but I couldn't help but pull away, hurt. His eyes softened. "I'm sorry (y/n), I just... I just don't know what I'm gonna do."

"Hold, still." I ran my hand down his arm slowly until I reached the bandage trying to cause minimum pain. I unwrapped it slowly, Jimmy putting on a brave face. As I pulled the bloodied part away from his wound he flinched and gritted his teeth. "This is really gonna sting," I warned as I poured alcohol onto cotton to clean his injury. He bit down on his pillow and nodded for me to go ahead. I wiped it as gently as I could and tried to ignore his muffled howl. "I'm sorry." He let the pillow from his teeth.

"You have nothing to be sorry about, doll," he assured, breathless from pain. I took his stump in my hands, wrapping it in bandage.

"I tried to tell the police it wasn't you, but they wouldn't listen."

"It might have been me, I was there, I was blind drunk."

"It wasn't, Jimmy. You were in my caravan. You said you loved me."

"I do." He looked at me sincerely. I avoided his eye, focusing my attention back to binding up his arm.

"You don't Jimmy, you love Maggie, you only wanted me because you were scared she might leave you and you thought I wouldn't." I sighed. 

"That's not true, I kept coming back because I love you." Tears pricked my eyes again. He probably thought Maggie had left and was settling for me. I tied off the bandage and he raised his arm up to my face, sucking in his breath sharply as his stump brushed my cheek. "And you love me too."

"No, I don't," I lied. He watched me, his stare breaking me apart like it always had.

"Paul came by before you. I haven't seen you cry once before, (y/n), but he said you have been tearful all morning. He also told me about Ima," he teased, smugly. I didn't know it was possible to sound both so weak and so smug at the same time. 

"I was worried, it doesn't mean-" 

"Please just tell me it does. Just tell me you love me, it's all I ever wanted to hear." I let out a breath I never realised I was holding.

"I love you, Jimmy Darling." He smiled at me. I reached into my jacket pocket, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it before taking a few draws. I put it between his lips for him so he could take a puff. 

"Look at me," he complained. "Can't even hold my own cigarette."

"Hush now Jimmy. Things will take time," I reassured him, to little effect. We shared the rest of the cigarette and I moved round to change the bandage on the other side. Jimmy didn't speak until I'd finished and stood up to leave.

"Thank you, (y/n)," he said sincerely. I went back to his bedside, leaned down a pressed a chaste kiss to his lips.

"I'll be here to change your bandages again tomorrow,"  I told him softly.

Although Elsa had not left, she had still sold the show to Chester, who although had a definite screw loose, seemed harmless enough. He was bright, chirpy and certainly not bossy. His odd qualities only came from the wooden ventriloquist doll he was so attached to. The twins seemed quite smitten with him, and, if I didn't know any better, I'd say they were screwing him. 

I was civil with Maggie after her trickery, especially knowing how difficult the world could be, but Jimmy had far from forgiven her. This was a hard situation to negotiate. She had asked about him, and I knew she cared, but Jimmy was set in his hatred of her. It was hard to sympathise with a woman who had been part in a scheme resulting in the death of Ma Petite and the loss of Jimmy's hands. For the most part I told the truth. Jimmy was not going to soften any time soon.

I apologised to Ima too, hard as it was. She didn't really take my apology, but it hardly bothered me. It was mainly for the sake of the others, and to keep the peace. 

That night, Dell was shot. He, it turned out, had been the one to kill Ma Petite. I felt bad for his death. As shitty as his actions were, I always felt he was trying his hardest for a better life. Still, killing another freak was unforgivable, and Ma Petite was innocence itself. It was my job to deliver the news to Jimmy, which was horrible.

"He was my father!" 

"I know Jimmy! I'm sorry!"

"Don't you dare start apologising for those murderers, (y/n)!"

"Jimmy he killed Ma Petite!" I ended up snapping. "He killed an innocent and he paid the price." Jimmy broke down into tears again, and I ended up wrapping my arms around him.

"I'm losing everything."

"Come on, baby. It hurts to see you cry so much," I mumbled into his neck. He sobbed into my shoulder.

"Don't ever leave me (y/n). Don't ever break my heart.”

The day Jimmy's hands were ready was the happiest I had seen him in months. I came into the barn again to see him, when I spotted him sat on the bed. The moment he saw me he stood up and rushed toward me. I opened my arms to him and he caught me in his grasp, lifting me off my toes. He kissed me, properly. His dark eyes seemed full of hope. I took his arms from around me and held one of his new hands in mine. Mr. Dolcefino had created perfect wooden hands, still with Jimmy's finger shapes. They were works of art.

"They're beautiful, baby," I told him, smiling.

"They ain't half as functional as they were, but my hands have never looked so good."

"Your hands always looked good." I kissed him again, harder this time. He pulled me flush against him.

"It kills me I can't touch you the same baby," he told me, running his wrists down my side in place of his hands.

"I don't care, Jimmy. I love you," I said, and it was the first time I'd said it since he asked me to. He pulled me in again for another kiss, slipping his tongue into my mouth and pushing the backs of my knees against the bed. "Easy tiger," I teased.

"I haven't held you in so long (y/n)," he replied, pushing himself even closer to me, my body flush with his own. I felt him, hard against my thigh. I kissed him again, hard, and let him push me onto the bed, his own weight on top of mine. He began to nip at my neck, and I sighed contentedly. He went to cup my breast with his hand, but came short when he realised his hands could not move the same, could not feel. "Baby, I'm sorry," he apologised, sitting up on his knees and pulling away. I sat up with him and put my hands around his neck, fiddling with the hair at its nape.

"You aren't giving up that easy are you?" I jibed. "After all, you have a mouth in perfect working order." He grinned at me, pulling me into another hungry kiss. He nibbled down my neck again.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to undress yourself, doll." I did as instructed, pulling my jumper over my head while Jimmy watched. He returned to kissing my collarbone as I undid my bra. His kisses travelled over my breasts, wooden hand against my side. He kissed along my chest, eventually moving to take one of my nipples in his mouth, swirling his tongue over it as I sighed. He bit down on it and I yelped, scolding him lightly by giving him a little slap on the arm. He grinned again at my reaction, before kissing his way down my sternum. He stopped for a second, giving me an opportunity to pull my trousers off for him. I went to pull my underwear down but he stopped me, instead using his teeth to pull them down and bringing them the rest of the way with his prosthetic. I laughed at his actions, until he buried his face into my heat, licking over my clit again and again. I felt myself get quickly wetter as he flicked his tongue up my slit. His attention went back to my clit, circling it as I dug my fingers into his hair, pulling at it and moaning as I did. I felt my cheeks flush when he came back up the bed to kiss me again, my taste still on his lips. "I'm feeling a little uncomfortable in these pants, do you think you can help doll?" he asked. I happily obliged.

"Of course baby." I pulled his shirt of his shoulders slowly, the removed his vest, taking my time to run my hands all across his chest and take it all in again. I ran my hand over his stomach and reached to palm him through his trousers. He groaned and closed his eyes. Then I took off the trousers, getting him to sit up in order to help me. I could see the shame in his eyes so as soon as they were off I kissed him hard and put my hands into his pants, stroking his cock. He let out the most delicious moan into the kiss. After a minute of this we were both desperate for it so I bit his earlobe and pulled his cock out of his pants, guiding it to the right place. He pushed into me slowly.

"Fuck," he swore, before capturing my mouth with his and thrusting again. I let out another moan into his mouth as he bit down hard on my lip. He pressed wet kisses into my neck, speeding up his thrusts with considerable lack of control. It had been a while since we had sex, so the desperation in his movements was very apparent. He let out the most beautiful gasps and moans, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, tangling my fingers into his hair as he continued to nip and suck at my collarbone. I tugged at his brown curls and he groaned breathily. He recaptured my lips in his own and I let out a moan as he pushed deeper into me.

"Jimmy," I panted into his ear, before pulling on his earlobe with my teeth. He let out what was almost a growl and fucked me even harder. I felt myself drawing closer to finishing and let out a desperate string of swears.

“Come on, baby doll, fuckin finish for me,” Jimmy murmured deeply, kissing along my jaw and neck before biting down on my collarbone. I let out a gasp as I felt a wave of pleasure over me, clenching around him and digging my nails into his back. He kept going, his thrusts sloppy, coaxing me through my orgasm until a faltering moan fell from his lips and he pulled out, spilling his load onto my stomach. He lay on top of me, spent, and I pulled my fingers through his hair, running my nails against his scalp.

“You really love me?” I asked, as his hot breath brushed my neck. Before he answered he pressed soft kisses against my shoulder.

“Of course I do, doll face.”

Pretty Girls Make Graves - Tate Langdon

Multi Part Series

Dear America; From The Rubble to The Riches

Plot: Reader has just moved into the murder house and meets a certain character.

Warnings: Smoking, Drug use, Self Deprecation, Undiagnosed Dyslexia

When my mom told me we had to move, it didn't surprise me. The house we lived in cost too much, and there wasn't room for me, mom and my brothers. We moved house a lot to be honest. I was seventeen but had lived in over 20 different houses. It was the way mom lived. She had money and time, so she spent it being a nutcase, and we were along for the ride.

My mom was a bit of a hippy, and when I say a bit I mean a lot. She was living constantly in this "free love" dream where it was people's obligation to step away from society. Ever since I was tiny every house we've lived in has been filled with strangers. She lead a kind of open door lifestyle, with constant lodgers. They generally came along to coincide with whatever her new "calling" was.

I was the youngest child. I had two older brothers, Chris and Nathan. Chris was 23, but couldn't move out because he was too mentally unstable to keep a job. Nathan was 19, smart, with plans to go to college in New York if he could just stop messing about with drugs. I got on with Chris better, he was the one who bought me cigarettes.

The house we moved to was a large Victorian town house in L.A. It was exactly mom's kind of place, and was largely underpriced. She bought it instantly.

~•|•|•~

A week later we were bringing all our stuff into the house. I was carrying a box of CD's, ready to take them to the attic bedroom, which after several fights I had claimed as my room. I was currently paying for it, because as I walked in carrying boxes, Nathan kept kicking the backs of my ankles.

"(Y/n), just leave those there," mom instructed, gesturing the hall.  "I need your help in the kitchen." I put the box down and walked through. She was in the process of putting mismatched plates into the cupboards.

"Nathan said he's going to piss on my bed if he doesn't get the attic room," I told her, starting to put away the cutlery.

"He won't. Look at this amazing cooker they have in here," she pointed out, distracted. It was a big eggshell range set against the wall. I rolled my eyes. I took a cigarette out the packet I carried and lit it. Mom turned round. "Hey!" she scolded. "Share."

I gave her one and we leant against the counter.

"I bet school is shit," I complained.

"I know, honey. But I've still got to send you, even if I'd rather not."

I turned back to grab a mug to use as an ashtray. Mom started putting plates away again. We chatted, until I turned around to see a teenage boy stood by the back door. I jumped, almost dropping the glass I was holding. Mom turned round and saw him too.

"Hello," she greeted him in a friendly voice. "You must be the new neighbor." He smiled at her.

"Yeah, I'm Tate. My mom lives next door."

"Well, feel free to come in here anytime, we run an open door system, don't we (n/n)?" she asked me. I shrugged.

"I was wondering if you needed any help moving things," he offered. I didn't entirely trust him. He was dressed grungey, battered converse, ripped jeans and a knitted sweater, but was giving this kind of American Boy charm to try impress my mom. If he thought it was working, he was wrong. He could have told her he was a drug addict with intent to steal money to pay for gear and he would have got the same welcome. Mom loved pretending to save people.

"That's would be amazing of you. (Y/n), Tate can help you take your stuff up to the top floor."

"Sure, whatever," I agreed, stubbing my cigarette out into the mug. I went through to the hall and Tate followed. Chris and Nathan had just brought the sofa in and were arguing about it. Nathan spotted me walk in.

"Hey, you got one last chance to give me the attic room before I piss on all your shit," he warned me. I pulled the middle finger at him, picking up a box.

"Tate, you can just grab that one," I told him, nodding my head towards it.

"It's a bit soon for mom to have her friends in isn't it?" Chris asked me.

"That's Tate, he lives next door." Tate grabbed the box. "You can also speak to him directly, his ears work."

"Smartass."

Tate and I took the boxes up the stairs.

"Are they your brothers?" Tate asked. I nodded, not bothering to respond properly. "Are you going to Westfield?" I nodded again. "Why are you not fucking talking to me?" he snapped. I kept walking, but responded.

"Cause you're asking dumb questions. Do you go to Westfield?"

"I used to, but they kicked me out."

We got to the top bedroom and put the boxes down.

"What did you do?" I asked him, grinning. He frowned.

"Nothing much, just caused a bit of trouble."

~•|•|•~

Tate helped us move in over the weekend. It was lucky that we didn't really own a lot of stuff. It was mainly furniture, pots and pans and then all of mom's hippy crap. On the Monday, I had school. Chris dropped me off, giving me a tap on the hand before I got out his car.

"Hey, don't let anyone get away with any shit," he told me reassuringly. "And brush your hair, it looks like ass." I smiled at him half heartedly.

The first class I was in was English. I hated it. The teacher seemed nice enough but it had never been my subject, not that any of them were. It was a new term. She suggested a spelling test. The rest of the class groaned.

"We're not babies," one of the girls complained. I felt dread. After I'd finished I looked down at the words.

1. Culor

2. Defense

3. Axidentally

4. Foren

5. Principel

6. Realize

7. Nessercery

8. Happened

9. Carecter

10. Lesure

None of the words looked right. I felt like an idiot, but letters made no sense to me. The teacher gathered in our tests, and then handed out the books. Wuthering Heights. I felt dread in the pit of my stomach. If we had to read this on our own I couldn't possibly do it in time.

"I want us to read this as a class, now we have a new student. (Y/n) Bone, would you care to start on the first chapter?"

"What?"

"Just read it aloud, the first couple of paragraphs."

"No."

"Sorry?"

"I don't want to," I desperately tried to explain. She frowned.

"You don't have a choice, now go on."

I took a deep breath, opening the first page. The words seemed to wriggle around as I tried to recognise them.

"I have... just... returned form..." I struggled, conscious of how slowly I read.

"It's from," she added in.

"Oh. From a vis- visit to my... landlord." I paused, feeling my ears turn red in embarrassment. I heard whispers behind me and clapped the book shut loudly, making everyone jump.

"Keep reading," the teacher instructed in a firm voice.

"No." I was mortified. My first day and it had been revealed to everyone that I could barely read.

"You will do as you're told, I looked through your test and your spelling is atrocious, now get back to reading the book, and I'm writing you up for detention." I stood up, receiving an incredulous look.

"Fuck off," I told her, grabbing my bag and walking straight to the door and walking out. When I was out in the hall I kicked a locker and kept walking till I was outside. I sat on a bench and lit a cigarette. I sat, chain smoking, trying to decide whether to go to my next lesson or to leave. I contemplated this until I was joined on the bench. The guy had long, dark hair and a Slayer t-shirt on, chain on his jeans and a leather jacket.

"You're in shit with the principal now," he told me, pointlessly.

"I don't care."

"Well done on having the balls to walk out of Mrs Parks class."

"Who are you?" I asked bluntly, not wanting to bother with small talk.

"Dev, Dev Khare." He offered his hand to me, a gesture I ignored. "Come on, this place is fucking hell already. It's gonna be a bit better if you have someone to hang out with."

"I like being on my own."

"Bullshit." He reached into to the pocket of his jacket, pulling out a joint and raising his eyebrow at me. I looked back at him, unable to help cracking a smile. "We can skip next period and come back after lunch break."

I followed him to his car, an old Honda Accord, hopping in the passenger seat.

"This is a really old car," I commented, running a hand over the dash.

"Yeah, it's my dad's old one," Dev told me proudly. "Do you like metal?"

"Not really," I replied, honestly.

"There's a Misfits tape in the glove box, put that one on."

I opened the glove box, looking over the tapes he had. TOOL, Deftones, Slayer and Rage Against the Machine were just some. I found the Misfits tape and put it in the cassette player. Heavy guitars started blaring through the stereo.

~•|•|•~

I ended up ditching the last two classes and getting Chris to pick me up. He dropped me outside the house before leaving to go apply for another job that wouldn't last the week. I walked into the living room to find Tate sat on the sofa with three randos. I assumed he had taken my mom's open door policy as an invitation to spend his time here instead of at home. Apparently her gang of hippies had already shown up. They were passing a spliff round the group.

"Hey," said a white man with matted dreadlocks, spotting me as a walked in. "And who are you, friend?"

"Someone who actually fucking lives here," I replied, irritated. School had been crap, I was hardly in the mood for hippy stoner crap from a random trustafarian. I turned round and stated walking up the stairs to my room. Tate stood up and followed me.

"How was school," he asked, trying to keep up with me.

"Why are you following me Tate?"

"'Cause you're pissed off. I like people when they're pissed off."

If I was less annoyed, I'd be impressed by his response.

"Following me is only gonna make me more pissed off," I snapped.

"Good," he replied. "I wanna see what being pissed off makes you do."

I reached my bedroom and walked in, immediately noticing a dark patch on my red bedsheets.

"For fucksake," I cursed, feeling utterly defeated.

"Is that... piss?" Tate asked.

"Yeah," I responded, my voice wobbling. I felt my eyes prick and hot tears running down my face. I tried to forcefully wipe them away before Tate noticed, but he was already looking at me, almost surprised.

"Are you crying?" he asked me, sounding almost concerned.

"No," I lied, sniffling. He was the last person I wanted to see me cry. I hardly ever did, but the whole day had left me feeling like the ground had been taken from beneath my feet, and all of Tate's persistence to not leave me alone had made me feel a lot weaker than I wanted to be.

"Hey," Tate said softly, cautiously moving close enough to carefully wrap his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into him. "Don't cry. I didn't mean to make you cry." I let him give me a hug, wiping my eyes on the back of my sleeve.

"I don't cry normally," I apologised, ears feeling red and hot with my shame. "Especially not over stupid shit like this." He didn't let me go, just held me up next to his chest while I made my lame excuse.

"What made you so upset then? Was it the piss? I can help you get him back," Tate reassured, patting me on the back a little awkwardly. I shook my head, moving away from him.

"No, it was just school."

"Westfield is full of assholes."

"School makes me feel so goddamn stupid. Probably because I am," I complained, moving to the stereo on the floor. I never had a lot a furniture, not even a bed frame, just my mattress on the floor. It made it easier with all the moving house. I didn't mind. I put in a CD, one I made on a friends computer. Heaven Beside You by Alice In Chains started playing.

"I think you're smart," Tate told me. He was stood next to my bed, playing with the sleeve of his jumper.

"You don't know me Tate." I sighed. "I can barely fucking read, and that bitch made me do it in front of everyone."

"You can't read?"

"How shitty is your mom that you wanna be round here all the time?" I changed the subject.

"Very," he bristled. "She's a whore." I raised an eyebrow.

"Take it you don't get on with stepdads?"

"None of them. How'd you know it was stepdads?" he asked, looking from his shoes to meet my eye.

"Guessed. Kinda seemed like you were the kinda guy who's dad walked out and hasn't got over it."

"See. You are smart."

Bob Mazzer’s photos of London Underground from '70s and ‘80s.

I Don’t Share - Kai Anderson

Plot: Reader is the only person who Kai Anderson ever really listened to.

Word count: 1899

Warnings: SMUT, Manipulative reader, Smoking, Blood, Aggressive Sex, Mocking, It’s AHS Cult so it’s gonna be dark, Misogyny

I walked down the steps, into the basement. The place he dwelled. The dark web was a strange place, full of internet trolls, but something about Kai Anderson was different. Something in his words garnered attention, and now, it was time to find out.

“Hello?” I called out confidently. At this point in my life, nothing scared me, not even death, but my survival was important. After all, what could I achieve from beyond the grave? To be without fear is to be dangerous.

“Who are you?” a voice called out from the sofa. The man sat there was not the man I expected to see, and I was pleasantly surprised.

“Kai Anderson?” I queried, and he nodded. I had expected someone much less attractive, but Kai’s dark eyes, handsome face and fit body were all things that played into my hands. His eyes bore into me as I walked into the room and sat opposite him. he wore sweatpants, and his shoulder length hair was dyed blue.

“Answer my question, bitch,” he snapped at me, but I just looked at him disapprovingly, taking a cigarette from my pocket and lighting it. He glared at my lack of response, but I made sure to take my time before I replied.

“When a dog bites it’s master, they take it into the yard and put a bullet in its head,” I calmly spoke, resisting a smile at the taken aback expression on his face. The surprise soon turned into rage, and he stood up and grabbed me by the collar of my t-shirt, making me jump.

“I don’t even know you! No bitch will be the master of me!” Kai yelled, and I met his eyes with a level gaze. I gave him a look, a look of indifference, and he released me from his grasp. He stood above me.

“Sit down Kai, I’m not speaking to you until you sit.”

“Fuck off.”

I met his eye with a steely glare, and reluctantly, he took a seat the other side of the coffee table.

“Now, I’m (y/n) (l/n), and I came to see you because I need you,” I began to explain. Kai raised an eyebrow. “There’s something about you Kai, that shocks people, that commands attention, but you’re wasting it away sat sweating in this shitty basement.”

He leant foreword in his seat, starting to listen more attentively. It was almost too easy.

“Now I have a proposal, because I need you to realise your potential,” I continued, and he was captivated.

•

The cult had been running for just over a month. Of course, no one had identified it as what it was yet, but it was coming together as intended. When I first met Kai, I wanted to rile him up and let him lose to wreak havoc on the world, to scare people into action, but after speaking to him, I realised an intelligence more than I had initially thought. It was a waste not to push him forward into something on a national level. Of course, he had been harder to break than I first thought, but eventually I had had him wrapped around my finger using the only weapon women had against men, the weapon that sat between my legs.

Within the ring I took the position of Kai’s right hand and lover, his assistant, and it was widely assumed that I was abused and too love struck by our “Divine Ruler” to realise. As much as they admired him, they feared him. In reality, I was in control. Everything Kai had become was because of me.

I knew I had control at the first “pinky ritual”. As soon as our fingers made contact he dived into the first questions, but by that point I’d already won. He was angry, emotional, irrational. I’d got under his skin. It didn’t take long for me to turn the questioning round onto him, and soon he was spilling his guts to me. Everything about his parents, his brother and sister, every fear, hate, love and regret in his life he gave to me. We had sex and with that he’d given me all of his power.

Despite the impression that the rest of the cult held, Kai was ready to lick the shit off of my shoe if I asked. Of course, that didn’t mean I had absolute control. His ideas were his own, I just gave him a push in the right direction. After the killing of Bob Thompson and his gimp, I had pulled Kai’s mask off and kissed him, hard, to show my appreciation. He pulled our bodies closer together and when he brushed his finger across my lip I could taste the blood on it. From that point on, there was no better sight for me than a bloodied Kai Anderson.

•

“I don’t share Kai,” I stated, coldly, as he walked down into the basement. I had been sat on the sofa, waiting for him to return.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t lie to me,” I spat. “You’ve been upstairs fucking Mrs. Lavender,” I pointed out, referring to Meadow.

“There’s a reason,” he defended himself simply. “She needed to think I loved her so she’ll be willing to die for me. It’s exactly what you asked.”

“I don’t think you understand,” I replied slowly, opening my legs to reveal no underwear on beneath my skirt, and I noticed Kai’s next words catch in his throat. “You belong to me. To this.” I gestured my womanhood. He knelt in front of me on the floor, tracing his hands along my thighs, temptation in his eyes.

“No, I don’t,” Kai spat. I snapped my thighs shut and he pulled his hands away sharply. “I am the Divine Ruler,” he announced, standing to lean over me, taking my throat in his hand and squeezing slightly. I looked him back in his dark eyes coolly, daring him to do what he was threatening to do. Kai didn’t have the strength in him to kill me.

“I made you what you are.” I felt his grip tighten. “You’re nothing without me,” I croaked, my voice hoarse as he cut off my breath. His grip tightened more, and for a moment I almost considered he might go through with it. I saw a tear run down his face and then he let go. He dropped his head, tears running down his face, and I opened my arms to him. He dropped down to the sofa, next to me, falling into my embrace. He buried his head into my shoulder and sobbed, while I stroked his hair, shushing him.

“I’m sorry,” he almost whimpered. I pushed him down of the sofa, back on his knees in front of me, opening my legs. He sighed in appreciation, his eyes darkening with lust. As he reached his hand towards my leg I smacked it away.

“No, you have to beg,” I instructed. He looked up to meet my eye. There’s nothing more dangerous than a humiliated man, he had once said, but here he was, willing to get down on his knees in front of me and beg for my attention.

“Please, forgive me, (y/n). Let me touch you,” he pleaded pathetically. I leant forward and took his jaw in my hand, guiding his lips up to meet my own. He desperately leaned into the kiss, sitting up on his knees to pull us closer. His hand ran along my thigh and brushed across my heat, and when I didn’t pull away he rubbed the rough pad of his thumb against my clit before pushing a finger inside of me. I let myself moan against his kiss. He added another finger and curled them inside of me, swallowing my noises up with his lips. I pulled away from the kiss, panting.

“I want you to show me how much you hate me Kai,” I told him, and he removed his fingers from me, confused. I continued, pulling my shirt over my head leaving me in my bra. “Oh, I know you do. The way I make you feel confused, the way I treat you. I let you know how much of a piece of shit you are and you let me tell you that. What kind of man are you? You hate the way I make your prick harder than anyone else could,” I tease, reaching to grab his erect cock through his trousers. I pull my knees back, showing my full pussy out in front of him and that’s all he takes to snap. He stands up and pushes me down on the couch, kneeling himself between my knees before pulling his shirt over his head. It’s hard not to admire his muscular body. It’s no wonder he could get people to believe he was their god, he looked exactly like one. He unzipped his jeans and pulled them down, freeing his cock from his boxers and stroking it while looking at me.

“You’re right,” he told me harshly, grabbing my jaw and resting his thumb in my mouth so I kept it open. “I do fucking hate you.” With that he leant forward towards me and spat directly into my mouth. His harsh words were making me drip with lust. Without any warning he plunged his cock into my warmth, grunting and dropping his hands to my grip onto my waist and the flesh of my stomach. He pounded into me relentlessly, letting out small moans of pleasure. I panted, and when he hit a spot inside of me I let out a breathy moan. I felt a sting across my face, realising that he’d slapped me. He moved a hand to my thigh, pressing it back toward my chest. He growled as he hit my cervix, his hands heavy and his grip tight. Kai grabbed my throat and leant over my body to give the most bruising kiss, and as he pushed my legs back, his cock hit even deeper in me. I even whimpered as he mercilessly pounded into me, harder and harder. His kiss travelled, down my neck, and I felt him take the skin between his teeth, leaving bite marks. I took his head in my hands, fingers tangled in his hair, and I connected our mouths once more, tongues and teeth colliding. He let out another desperate moan. Even when he hated me I still controlled him. The room was filled with the sound of wet kisses and skin slapping. I felt the pleasure build and reached down to rub myself, reaching a shuddering climax and clenching around Kai. He let out a groan and swore, pounding into me faster, his thrusts sloppy. He pulled my bra down and grabbed onto my tits, desperately panting and he brought himself closer to finish. I could do nothing but moan and tremble as his thrusting overstimulated me. His breathy moans brought me to finish a second time, a wave of pleasure hitting me and making me shake again. Kai groaned, pushing himself balls deep inside me and spilling hot cum. He collapsed down on top of me and I let him rest his head on my chest, wrapping my legs around his waist and kissing the top of his head.

“I do think I could love you, Kai,” I murmured against his hair, and I had no reason to say it, but I truly meant it.

Are Friends Electric? (Alex Turner)

Multi Part Series

Part 1: Dreamy Days

Sheffield 2002

"Is that a fookin' United shirt?"

"Yeah, so what? It's not mine, you know I support Owls."

"Am honestly disappointed in you, consortin' with the enemy an' that," Alex shook his head, refusing to look at the offending football shirt that I'd been forced into wearing.

"It was in lost property, an' you know what the PE teachers are like, they threatened to suspend me, Mam would kill me if they did," I replied, rubbing her legs in an attempt to warm them.

"Only 'cause you've been suspended before."

"Yeah well I don't want to do it again, she'd have me bloody guts for garters," I told him. He rolled his eyes. We were sat on an old bench around the back of the school, dressed in PE kits and smoking B&H cigarettes I had stolen off my mother. My football shorts were no match for the harsh January weather, but I was wearing a parka, hence why Alex had only just noticed the Sheffield United t-shirt. We couldn't leave school grounds yet, because in order to get out from behind we'd would have to go past the French classroom, and as the bell hadn't yet gone, there would still be Miss Kelly and a class of year 7s ready to catch us out.

"I'm fookin' freezing," Alex whined, putting out his fag on the wall and dropping it onto the floor. "At least you've got that bloody big coat."

I sighed and flicked my cigarette butt onto the floor, stomping it out with the toe of my trainer. "If we go over the wall you know you have to give me a leg up," I explained bluntly. He nodded along almost eagerly, likely desperate to get out the cold and home as soon as possible.

"I don't mind Jack, I just wanna leave."

"Right then," I replied, standing up, picking up my bag and putting a foot into a crack in the stone, grabbing the top edge where my fingers could just about catch grip on the rough stone. Alex came up behind me and put his hands on my shin, and using his hands to push against, I pulled herself up. Unfortunately, my foot slipped, and I began to fall back down, but my fall was stopped by the feeling of hands holding me up. Alex's hands, on my bum.

I felt my ears burning red, but not willing to have to try again, I pulled herself up using my arms and jumped down the other side. As soon as my feet touched the ground I climbed on top of the large wheelie bin that sat against the wall and grabbed Alex's arm as he clambered over as well. He was a lot taller than me now, he'd grown in a way only 15 year old boys do, all long limbs and clumsiness. I'd barely even noticed him shoot up. I helped him over and we jumped into the street below.

"Um... I'm sorry that I touched your..." Alex stuttered slightly, his cheeks going uncharacteristically red. I cut him off.

"Al, it's fine."

"I mean I-"

"It's fine," I repeated, more firmly. He shrugged and pushed his hands into his pockets, beginning to walk down the alley toward the road. I followed him, jogging slightly to catch up with his long strides.

"Am gonna join a band you know," he told me as we turned the corner onto the street. I looked at him in surprise.

"A band? Who wiv?" I questioned, confused.

"Matt."

"Matt Helders or Matt Sheppard?"

"Matt Helders of course! Av'e never even spoke to Matt Sheppard why on earth would I be talking about 'im?"

"Well I dunno do I? I didn't even know Matt Helders played an instrument, he's not singing is he?" I queried, scuffing my shoes along the floor.

Alex shook his head slightly. "He plays drums, I'm the singer."

"But you play guitar?" I could sense my brain was really struggling to keep up.

"I can do both, like Bowie."

"Don't compare yourself t'Bowie unless you go to your gigs dressed in a catsuit an' heels an' bat away crowds of lads and lasses who want to sleep with ya."

"I'm not against the crowds of lasses, but I don't think I could commit to the rest," he laughed cheekily. I gave him a playful punch in the shoulder.

"You're full of shit, you are," I grinned, as he rubbed his arm over-dramatically. Cars whizzed past as we reached the main road. Cars that caused slight rushes of air as the pair of us continued to walk, that's how close they drove past the pavement.  "Mine or yours?" I asked him.

"Yours, yer mam won't be back from work yet."

"Fairs."

A silence lulled in the conversation as we continued to walk down the street, Alex was scuffing his trainers along the floor. It was annoying as fuck but I didn't say owt.

"Did you hear what Rory Pike did today at lunch?"

"No?"

"He got his cock out on the school field," Alex divulged me, a laugh spread across his face. I couldn't help but join in the joke.

"Rory Pike is a world class minger," I told him, and soon we were both in stitches, adding extra gross details to the story to the amusement of each other.

"Did Cook finally ask tha' girl out then?" I changed the subject, catching my breath back from my laughing fit.

"'Course not, he jibbed again, then Simmo asked her instead," Alex explained.

"Simmo? Did she say yes?"

"Why would she? She clearly fancies Jamie."

"He needs to get his act together and ask her."

Alex nodded, momentarily in thought. He then very suddenly turned around and gave me a playful shove.

"First one to yours!" he exclaimed, quickly speeding off around the corner.

"Bastard," I muttered, beginning to run after him. I sprinted to catch up, but the awkward coat prevented me from getting anywhere near the speed his long limbs could get him. He legged it off and I was forced to slow my pace back down to a walk. The boy was clearly going to win and I had the house key so he'd have to wait outside for me anyway. I decided to take me time knowing I'd probably bump into Alex around the corner when he came back to see where I was. He'd probably be a bit moody about it, telling me off for being a fun sponge, and I'd apologise insincerely and then he'd give me an awkward side hug and tell me he couldn't stay angry at me, there's no way I'd let him. Then we would probably walk back to mine and be done with the matter.

This wasn't the case. I got round the corner, then the one after that, and didn't see any sign of Alex. There was no way he would still be running, he was too lazy and he would look like an idiot, racing against no one. He was a dafty but not that much of one. I began to get confused after I rounded the third corner and there was still not a sign of him.

"Oi Jackie!" Alex exclaimed, grabbing my shoulders from behind. I yelped in surprise and he burst out laughing.

"Fook you Alex Turner," I scolded him. "How did ya even get behind me?" He said nothing, and just tapped his nose conspiratorially.

Sheffield 2003

He knew everything there was to know about Jackie. He knew her favourite colour (red),her middle name (Arabella), her handwriting and everything else in between. Alex had known this for ages, but it had never weighed on his mind as much as it had recently.

It was the way he'd seen her the other night. There was a small gaff at someone or another's and Alex had gone with the boys. Jackie had showed up a bit later, dressed very differently to how he normally saw her. She had a leopard print mini skirt on and a tight, cropped t-shirt, along with her trainers and Adidas jacket. Of course he noticed her, lighting one of her L&B blues and trying to smoke it subtly; she was the only one smoking.

He had gone over and said hello, and she'd grinned when she saw him, glad of some company, he expected. Some 90s rave hit was playing, and cheesy lights flashed across the room. Trying too hard, he thought. She picked a beer off the counter she was leaning on and gave it to him. A Corona, lukewarm but still alcohol.

"D'ya wanna come for a spliff?" she asked him, patting her pocket, and he said yes. Her top was very tight, although he tried not to look, but he saw her bra, visible through the fabric. They went outside onto some kind of shitty balcony. She got what looked to be a large gram of weed and some Rizlas out, making an L and then ripping open a cigarette to get the tobacco out, she carefully sprinkled in some of the spliff and rolled. Alex didn't say anything, he just watched as she deftly rolled the joint. She lit the end and took her time, sitting down on a breeze block. He found himself a seat on the step.

"So how's t'band going, Arctic Monkeys i'nt it?"

"There's a gig coming up, at The Grapes," Alex told her, proudly. In fact, he puffed up slightly with pride. Jackie had never really got involved with the band, she said it weren't her business, but Alex still felt remarkably pleased whenever she showed an interest, especially if they were doing well.

"D'ya want me to come?"

"'Course! I thought you already were."

"Yeah I just... weren't sure, that's all," Jackie responded, unusually quiet. She was acting off with him.

"Is summit up?" Alex asked. She shrugged, taking another drag on her spliff and then handing it to him. "Jack?" he prompted further.

"It's nothing Al, jus' summit stupid," she replied. Her fingers fiddled with the edge of her sleeve. He decided to leave it, pushing her wouldn't make her tell him, it would just annoy her. He took a toke of the joint and they sat in silence for a moment.

"Wanna find some White Lightning and get hammered?" she asked and Alex grinned.

"Are you sure? That stuffs pretty lethal."

"Well fook it all we're not going home tonight," she replied, laughing slightly. Alex nodded, smiling, then passed her the spliff back. It was a still and cold night. Jackie let the smoke seep out her mouth and inhaled it through her nose.

They finished the spliff and went back inside. Alex found the rest of his mates and together they all got steaming. Simmo was acting strangely all night. Then Jackie started acting strange too. She was all quiet and snappy.

"Why were you being such a mardy bum yesterday," he asked her the next day. They were lounging about on the sofa at his, nursing two horrible headaches. She rolled her eyes at him.

"Not now Alex, I'm too hungover for this," she answered, misery clear in her voice.

"Just tell me and I'll stop naggin'" he told her, shuffling a bit closer so she couldn't turn over and ignore him.

"Your mate Simmo," she replied simply.

"What'dya mean? Look, I know the joke was a bit insensitive but tha's just what 'e's like," Alex began to explain, for some reason unknown to him, in Simmo's defence.

"It's not tha' you bloody great nit, he kissed me."

Alex couldn't explain why that came like a twist in the gut, but it did nonetheless. It made him stumble for his words for a moment.

"Oh," was all he managed to get out. "Did you kiss him back?"

"Of course not, he's funny, but a bit gross," Jackie replied, pulling a face, and Alex laughed. A strange sense of relief was felt somewhere in his system, although nowhere near enough to dull the queasy thud of his hangover. "'Sides, Chris asked me out the other day."

"Who the fook is Chris?"

"Chris Maher, from the garage."

"Him? You've lost your mind Jackie, he works at fookin' MotorWorld."

"He's funny! And he knows loads about cars, plus he can drive," she said stubbornly, crossing her arms.

"Why does it matter 'e can drive?"

"So I can get places, obviously," she responded dryly.

"I've almost passed me test!"

"Al, you're not even close to passing, I spoke to yer Dad an' he says you drive like you're drunk. 'Sides, I wouldn't want to get on your nerves, always cadgin' a lift." she explained, to Alex's disappointment.

"I didn't expect your type to be a guy who walks around in trackies, how desperate are ya?" Alex jabbed, a little cruelly. Jackie shot him a scathing look.

"Alexander, what is up with you? You were fine last night, an' now you're acting like I'm makin' you suck bloody lemons," she reprimanded him. She was trying to draw him into an argument, he could tell. He wasn't about to start a fight.

"Oh, it duen't matter," he said offhandedly, hoping to diffuse the issue, which seemed to work.

"He's actually a really lovely guy," Jackie added after a long pause.

"Ay, I'm sure he is," Alex replied halfheartedly.

Lost, Lost, Lost, Jonas Mekas (1976)

On the edge of Vienna, a 1940s house has been chosen as material for refurbishment by architect Krischanitz. 1989, Scan

The Decline Of Western Civilization (1981) dir. Penelope Spheeris.

Five Girls by Sam Haskins

Nancy Sinatra

Marilyn Monroe

Gaye Advert 1977, taken by Derek Ridgers

Bridgette Bardot

Gill by Samuel Haskins (1962)

Unknown

Debbie Harry performing with Blondie at the Roundhouse in Chalk Farm (northwest London), 1978.

London’s Carnaby Street – 1973