Guns & Runaways
Summary: The party just isn’t the same without her, but Lucy’s got troubles of her own. There isn’t enough liquor in the world to make him forget about her, so he has to find a way to help. Their guns are loaded, but maybe there’s an easier way to go than a shoot-out. (1920′s AU)
Words: 4636 Rating: M (NSFW at the end for ya)
A/N: This is fastest I have updated anything in my life! Here it is, the conclusion to my three-part sin. I assure you, there’s smut once you get past the drama. I couldn’t not include it when I started with it, could I? Anyways I hope you enjoy the ending and please let me know what you think! (That goes for the special fic page I created too)
Natsu had made plenty of mistakes in his life time. He’d drank one too many shots. Crashed a car into a tree. Accidently shot Gajeel in the foot. But he’d never totally and completely, utterly and entirely fucked up until now.
Because he’d let her walk right out the door.
He’d shouted. She’d shouted. Tears were shed and hurtful words were exchanged-every single one of them he now regretted- until eventually the neighbours did complain about the noise. He hadn’t even given her the chance to explain. He’d jumped to conclusions just like the fool that he was. So that’s where you’ve been all this time? He’d screamed at her, planning your fucking wedding?
Oh, if only things were that simple.
“You don’t know. You have no idea.” She’d told him, voice low and eyes furious as her crumpled and stained dress hung loose on her shoulders, “He isn’t some prom king type that I can just say no to. This is business Natsu. You fuck up once and, bam, everyone you love is dead.”
It wasn’t long after that she’d left. Not looking back as she slammed the door behind her. Since then he’d tried so hard to forget her, but nothing could drown her out. She’d tasted like his favourite whiskey the last time they’d kissed. Her touches lingered on his skin. Every night his dreams were filled with her, and during the day… during the day her face was plastered across the front page of every newspaper, the same headline on every one.
JUDE HEARTFILIA DEAD.
You fuck up once, she’d said, and bam, everyone you love is dead.