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jensensfanfic · 2 months ago

Text

left it all on the cold floor

inspo: my 'cold floor' drabble + @tarlosweeklyprompts 'letter'

summary: Carlos has known about TK's struggles with opioid addiction for many years. But what happens when one day, he finds TK bleeding and desperate on the cold floor of the bathroom?

word count: 7.1k

author's note: angst has never been something i enjoyed writing until i started this. i really hope you'll enjoy it!! + thanks to @chaotictarlos for being my beta on this fic 🩶 -> warnings are under the cut. -> ao3 link here carlos' letter here

warnings: angst, opioid addiction, attempted relapse, actual relapse - not detailed, self-inflicted injury, blood, pills, carlos is aware of tk's addiction, rehab mentions

Carlos leaves the station with a box of what's left of the donuts he'd brought in at the beginning of his shift. He takes a bite of one of them and then holds it between his lips while he fumbles for his key. He unlocks the car, climbs in and drops the pink, half-empty box of sweetness into the passenger's seat and buckles his belt.

"Mm, yum." He says to himself when he finishes the last bite and licks his thumb and fingers clean of the powdered sugar. He wipes them on a tissue that is stuffed into the glove compartment and then slides his phone out of his pocket so he can shoot his boyfriend a quick text.

Mind if I come over? I'll cook for you.

Carlos and TK took things at a slow, steady pace in their relationship. They’d been together for a couple of years, but they hadn’t said those famous three words to each other, nor did they share a home. Yet Carlos had been presented with a key to TK's apartment about four months ago. Despite this, he felt it was still polite of him to let his boyfriend know before coming over, after all, he was raised a well-mannered man. It would also be plain wrong of him to just let himself in and out whenever he so pleased, key or no key.

Mind if I come over? I'll cook for you.

His words are still the only ones that are displayed on the screen. As he waits for a text back, he remembers the story of why he has the key and why it was Owen who had given it to him, not TK.

—

It was after a tough night when he’d been walking back from the convenience store. He’d randomly fancied his favourite bar of chocolate, craving it enough to take a quick trip out as it was falling dark. It was a good thing he’d decided to give in to his sweet temptations because, on the way back, he’d spotted TK. His entire body went slack when he realised what exactly TK was doing in the dark alley, talking to a taller, scruffier-looking man. He watched as the mystery guy took a roll of notes from TK’s shaking hand, then gave over a little baggy of pills. They fist-bumped each other, and then the deal was done. It was quick and quiet. Carlos had never caught TK in the act before, but he immediately jogged over to him once the other guy had disappeared and TK was making his way back into the glow of the streetlight above them.

He didn’t know what to say as his boyfriend stared at him with wide, fearful eyes. He just looked back, taking him in. TK was wearing a black hoodie, the sleeves rolled down, but not enough to hide the jagged ends of what looked to be scratch marks. Carlos had seen them before. When TK was struggling, he'd scratch at his skin and sometimes make himself bleed. He did it to his arms, his legs and sometimes the back of his neck. His eyes fall down to where TK is holding the tiny bag and he wants so badly to snatch it away, perhaps find a drain to drop it into. He takes a single step forward, and TK flinches, like he’s a stray cat, worried that this stranger is going to harm him.

“TK,” He asks a stupid question, but he needs to break this silence and end this weird standoff they seem to be having. “What are you doing out here?”

TK snaps out of his stare, crumples the bag further into his grasp and just shakes his head. Carlos’ mouth opens to say something else then, but TK interrupts, moving into his space.

“Are you, uh, gonna arrest me, Officer?”

It’s not some failed attempt at a joke. TK is serious, and Carlos hadn’t even thought about it, but he knows the answer. “No. I’m not, TK. Do you think I should?”

He shrugs. “It’s the law, right?”

“Well I didn’t see the other guy's face… and I don’t have my cuffs on me, so.” He makes a gesture with his hand, waving it to signal for TK to come closer. “Let’s just… go home for now. Come on.”

That night, he'd walked home with TK, looping their arms together and holding him tightly, cautious of anything he said or did for the rest of the evening. He tried not to let TK get all up in his head again by keeping him busy. He asked him to help prepare their meal, and then pick a movie for them to watch. They ended up sitting on opposite ends of the couch, an uneasy air flowing between them and causing a ball-like feeling to form in Carlos’ throat. The whole time, the only thing on his mind was that little bag and making sure it ended up in the trash, or at least staying full.

Owen and Gwyn found out in the morning, when they both woke up to find the text from Carlos, explaining what had happened and that TK was okay, for the time being. The three of them talked about it in their private three-way group chat. They all knew that the next couple of days were vital and they needed to keep a close watch on TK until he was acting like his true self again.

That afternoon, Owen visited the station, and following a heavy conversation and heartfelt words of gratitude for finding his boy, a key was pressed into his hand. Carlos had flipped it over a few times, frowning in confusion. He watched Owen’s eyes turn somber and when he was about to ask what the key was for, it was made clear.

“That is for when myself or Gywn aren't around. You, uh… you may have occasion to use it."

Owen patted Carlos on his shoulder, then left, leaving his mind to catch up and picture scenes where TK’s parents have had to use their own copies of the key before. He struggles to imagine what that is like; when they are so concerned about their own son’s well-being, that they have to pound on the door and let themselves in to find out if he’s okay. Or if he’s passed out, missing, or even, gone.

Carlos didn't have a chance to respond or to ask if TK would mind when Owen left, and it made him more than a little nervous to actually use it. How could he know how TK would react? But the first time Carlos worked up the courage to twist the key one day and walk on in as TK was changing, post-shower, he was met with a smiling face. TK smirked and sauntered over to Carlos, planting a kiss on his lips in greeting. “Baby.” He said simply, greeting him and making all of Carlos’ fear melt away. That was that. TK definitely didn't mind, or care.

—

After the memory passes over, he unglues his eyes from the car parked opposite him, looking down at his phone and sending a second text.

Or we could just order in?

Another minute goes by, and he types a third and final text, before dropping his phone next to the donuts, and pulling out of his parking space.

Okay… my choice then - we’ll order Chinese food tonight? Be there soon.

—

The drive to TK's place feels unusually longer than it does on any other given day. There isn't a crazy amount of traffic and he hasn't heard about any accidents on the road over the radio. He’s actually making good time, he notes after reading the time that flashes up on his mobile with two little taps. He left work around ten minutes ago, and it’s only about another fifteen before he’ll reach TK’s apartment building. It just doesn’t feel that way. Instead of ten, it feels like he’s been driving for triple that.

There’s a saying that crosses his mind, the one about time flying by when you’re having fun. Well, what if this was the opposite? The thought causes a dull ache to start up in his gut, and all of a sudden he can just tell that something is wrong. He’d often get a feeling like this during an emotional call or case at work, but right now, he is pretty sure he can pin the notion on his boyfriend. To TK.

It makes sense with the fact that TK still hadn’t answered his text messages. If he had, Carlos would know by the little popping notification sound going off beside him, but it’d been a silent drive so far.

He'd be lying if he said that TK always answered. He didn't. On a normal day, TK would read his messages and then reply later, explaining that he forgot to respond or that he was busy on a case that ran overtime. Sometimes, he just forgot, period. There were always those times as well when he just didn’t want to talk, but those were always worry-inducing.

When Carlos stops at a light, he picks up his phone again and squints down at his screen. Under the last message, it remains to read the word 'sent'. There aren't any bubbles to show that TK is typing or any ticks that indicate he has seen Carlos' texts.

Carlos calls, tapping the speaker option and dropping his phone again, the light in front of him having turned green. It rings and rings and then goes straight to TK's voicemail. He ends the call and repeats the action, despite knowing that he'll most likely get the same outcome.

'Hey, it's TK. I'm probably on a shift, or I just don't wanna talk to you. Drop a message or text m—'

"Shit, come on, Strand." Carlos hangs up.

His fingers flex and tighten around the steering wheel, and he shifts in his seat, the belt now feeling like it's far too constricting. He's well aware that he's freaking himself out, he's overthinking, but it's completely justified. As much as he hates to think it, the fact is; this is exactly what it's like to be in a relationship with someone who has an unhealthy addiction.

"TK, answer the damn phone. Where are you?" Carlos mutters. The question lingers, and he's not completely sure if he wants to know the answer. "Please, please just be showering."

As his drive continues, he thinks about good memories of TK, trying to sway his anxiety and ease it for a while. He thinks about that night when TK finally took the plunge and changed both of their lives forever with a way-overdue, toe-curling, picture-perfect kiss. It’d been a remarkably long time coming. They’d known each other since infancy and played together as children, then been inseparable best friends for most of their school lives, both of them keeping their hardcore crush on the other a secret. It took a rather horrendous storm keeping them trapped inside Carlos’ apartment for TK to make his move.

Carlos briefly wonders what would have happened if that kiss didn’t happen. Would someone else be in his current position of panic? Or, would TK have already done too much damage? That night in the alley… maybe without him there to catch TK in the act, the firefighter’s name could have become a news headline.

He slaps each side of his face in turn. He needs to stop this, he has to stop thinking in this way. After all, it was plausible that TK could, as he said, just be in the shower

“No, no, no!”

The pitter-patter sound of pills falling and bouncing off of the floor echo around the small room. They roll around, some of them rebounding high enough to make it into the bathtub.

“Fuck!”

TK screams in a way that - if he lived in a friendlier area - might just scare his neighbours into thinking that something was seriously wrong. It’s guttural and angry. It’s not TK.

His breathing picks up, and he doesn't even think about what he's doing when he makes a fist and throws a punch. The blow lands against the mirrored cabinet. He lets out another scream, which drives the middle-aged drunk from the apartment below to bang on the ceiling a couple of times, yelling something that TK doesn't register in his currently clouded mind.

Cracks appear instantly in the glass. Droplets trickle down through them, painting the gaps with red, warm blood. They seep between the busted crevasses, then run over the thin edges, dripping down until they periodically splash into the sink.

His reflection is shattered. He touches the fragment of glass that he can see his eyes in. It peels away and falls, splitting into a few smaller pieces by his feet. He doesn't react when one of them scrapes his skin, tearing a few layers and causing a long and slim cut.

He tears his eyes away from the mirror, feeling just a shred of shame for the person looking back at him. His hair is messy and slick, not having been brushed or washed in a couple of days. His lips are chapped, dry and lacking any colour, and his eyes are bloodshot. The smattering of stubble that frames his chin and jawline is normal, but it’s grown longer than he’d usually let it before having it trimmed.

Suddenly, overwhelmed with the sight, he falls to his knees. The second he hits the floor, he spots the cap of the bottle that had fallen, and it doesn’t take much, the plastic lid redirecting his focus back on the pills in an instant.

He moves like a wild animal that's desperate for a single morsel of food.

His hands slap along the cold, tiled floor as he feels around for any loose pills. Most have rolled too far away, and he doesn't have the energy now to move that much. He huffs, feeling defeated, and falls against the hard surface of the tub. His back protests the harsh bump, that no doubt causes a bruise to start forming in yet another area of his injured and aching body.

He is quiet for a few minutes, zoning out until he hears the buzz of his mobile from the other room. There’s no telling how long it had been ringing, but he can't bring himself to stand up and go see who it is anyway.

A stinging feeling coming from his hand distracts him. He lifts it onto his bent knee and inspects the damage. If he were in a rational state of mind, he would panic at this point. He would call for help, call his Dad, anyone that he knew. Or maybe he would at least try to bandage the cuts himself, but he just pulls down the sleeve of his hoodie and tugs it over his clean hand, then presses it on top of his bloody one. Pressure is good, he thinks, it’ll stem the bleeding, right?

TK isn't sure how much time passes, but it feels like forever and nothing at all. He sits there on the bathroom floor, alone and longing for that euphoric high he'd been trying to chase and replicate since the very first time.

Thoughts start to swirl around in his head again, just like they always did. He thinks about how ashamed he is. Yeah, embarrassment is the first thing that crosses his mind. He knows he looks the part of an addict at this moment, and if any of his crew or his friends were to see him like this, he'd want to hibernate forever; never to be seen again. He thinks about how he had managed to stay clean for almost five months. The last time he almost relapsed, Carlos had caught him with his new dealer. Often, he dreams about that day, reimaging the night if Carlos had arrested him, or if he’d taken the pills before being found. Maybe he wouldn’t have a boyfriend anymore after such an ordeal. That thought makes him shiver.

The cycle goes on. The wheel of emotions spins to land on anger, regret, sadness, and eventually, irritability. He's pissed off. He had dropped not just a couple, but all of the pills. They'd cost him quite the lump sum of what he had left of this month's paycheck, and now they were scattered everywhere, going to waste. Or… not. TK knows that the floor hasn’t been cleaned in a few weeks, but they were just pills, surely they would still be okay to take, he could just wipe them off.

TK's mouth twitches, his eyes go wide, and he grunts as he pushes himself up on all fours. Now determined, he crawls along the floor, his head ducking to look around and locate as many pills as he can. His eyes are dead-set on his quest, and his focus is as direct as when he's out saving lives with the 252.

There's probably irony in that somewhere… about how protecting people brings about as much fixation as nearly killing himself each time he overdoses, or takes even one pill.

He finds one pretty quickly. It's behind the back of the toilet, and for just a moment, TK does question himself and his choices. He really thinks about tossing it, but the idea is short-lived. He plucks the candy-like drug from the floor and wipes it on his jeans, then shoves it into his hand with force, like he's afraid it'll roll away again. On his free hand, there's a tiny amount of dusty residue stuck to his thumb and forefinger from the pressure making it crumble a little. He brings it to his mouth, licks it off and continues to collect more.

Each time he finds another, he still feels as though he doesn't have enough; his brain telling him that he needs a generous dose. So his little hunt goes on. Until, he hears shuffling in the front room, followed by an all too familiar voice calling his name.

Carlos pushes his car door shut and locks it. In his left hand, he holds the box of donuts, his uniform jacket draped over his forearm. He should also be carrying a bag of groceries, but he'd decided to ditch the store stop along the way, wanting to get here as quickly as posssible.

He slides the key into the lock and takes a deep breath. He tells himself what he needs to hear but doesn't entirely believe. 'It's all good. He's just taking a shower. A really, really… long shower.'

"Hey, TK!" Gently kicking the door behind him, he calls out to his boyfriend, pretending not to hear the slight tremor in his own voice. He puts the box of treats down on the kitchen counter. "I, uh- brought donuts if you want them."

He doesn't get a response, so he flicks on some lights and looks around. The apartment isn't messy, but it's not tidy either. There are no dishes in the sink, the trash bin is just about overflowing and there’s nothing playing in the way of radio or the TV. He wonders if TK has even been here at all today. "Babe? You here? Hello?"

Again, he gets no response.

"You even h–" A loud grunt comes from the direction of the bathroom and Carlos jumps, and he drops his jacket slips from his grasp, thudding on the floor from the weight of his wallet and car keys. "TK!? Shit, are you okay?"

"I'm fine!"

Carlos has to remind himself to breathe when TK finally answers him, but he’s still concerned as he kicks off his boots and places them neatly on the shoe rack. "God, TK, I was worried for a sec. You didn't reply to my texts…" As he says this, he notices TK's phone, laying on a cushion on the sofa. “Oh, it’s… there.”

He picks up his jacket, hangs it up and then just stands in the entryway for a while. He listens intently, trying to figure out what TK is doing. There’s no water running, no flushing or the sound of the shower curtain being opened or closed. He decides that he’s had enough, after a few minutes. He needs to know that his boyfriend is okay, now.

He takes a few steps to reach the bathroom and twists the door handle. To his surprise, it isn’t locked, so he goes right in and gasps at the sight he’s met with. "Tyler…"

“Ugh.” TK rolls his eyes. He didn’t mind Carlos using his full name, in fact, he loved it, but it was the tone Carlos had said it in; full of shock and concern.

“What the hell happened?”

“I, uh…” TK is leaning against the tub, a hand holding his head, sitting with his legs crossed. “headbutted the sink."

"Oh, yeah. Is that all?" Carlos' words come out harsher than intended, but he’s too distracted by the scene before him to apologise or rephrase. “Did you hurt yourself anywhere else?”

He kneels in front of TK, gently taking his balled, uninjured hand and prying it open. The pills are mostly crushed, and he’s pretty sure that this is why TK looks so peeved right now. Carlos tips all of the powdered substance into his own hand and stands up to throw it in the toilet bowl. He then washes his hands and sits down, copying TK's crossed-leg position.

He knows TK is expecting a big fight. Some type of grand intervention-style speech, but he is far more worried about the cuts on TK’s knuckles and wants to deal with them first. Carlos also doesn't want to spook TK, make him leave, or upset him. He wants to tread lightly.

He stretches over to the cabinet, pulling out a first-aid kit that he is amazed TK still has. "Give me your hand." TK does as he’s asked, and Carlos places it on his leg, then cleans it with a couple of wipes, making sure to be delicate over the torn skin. "So… you punched the mirror? Why?"

TK looks off to the side, his jaw clenching. "I dropped them."

Carlos feels nauseous. The answer isn't a surprise, really, but some of the cuts look as though they’ve bled quite a bit. They're already starting to bruise, and he wonders if the cuts will scar. He finds it difficult to hear because he’d hurt himself, purposefully, over such a small thing, an accident. To him, at least.

"Oh." He replies simply, choosing to go back to the task at hand before he can overthink some more.

There isn't much to sort through in the kit, but Carlos does find a large band-aid, a pair of scissors, and an ice pack that looks like it’s been used already and thrown back in. He cuts the sticky bandage into strips so that they'll fit a little better over the wounds. He'd like nothing more than to take TK to the hospital, just in case stitches were needed as well, but he already knows he would get nowhere with that suggestion.

He finishes patching up TK's hand, then asks a question that he really doesn't want to, but needs to. "TK… baby, please tell me honestly, did you swallow any of those pills?"

TK throw his head back and sighs. "I literally just licked some… but how would you know either way."

"TK…"

"Ugh, I told you! I got some on my finger. I licked it off. That’s it." He looks Carlos straight in the eyes.

"But was it enough? I mean, are you-"

"For fuck sake!" TK yells, and Carlos has to pretend that he isn’t hurt by the outburst. "I'm not fucking high, Carlos!"

"Right… well, listen. I have to tell your parents about this. Or you can…" TK glares at Carlos, and he decides to try and level with him in a way that has proven to work in the past: by mentioning his job. "Baby, they need to know. Your Dad especially. If I hadn't just come in, you'd have just swallowed it all, wouldn’t you? Or gone out to buy more?"

“Yeah. I would’ve." TK is harsh when he speaks, and there's no obvious guilt or shame in the way he answers so matter-of-factly.

"Well, you can't go out saving lives if you're here putting your own in jeopardy, baby." Carlos watches TK come back to himself, even if it's to the smallest degree. TK often cares more about what he does for a living than he does himself. Carlos knows this, and he knew it would benefit their current predicament to bring it up. "So I'll text them, okay?"

TK scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, and Carlos looks over at him again and wonders what the hell he is supposed to do now. He knows what TK needs to do. He needs to get professional help, but it isn't his choice to make, and quite frankly, that’s one thing he’s afraid of bringing up.

He chooses to change the topic to what they’re having for dinner. Food is the only other thing that sits at the back of his mind, his stomach had been begging for more sustenance since eating the donut.

"So, um… dinner then? Anything you fancy. You heard me mention the donuts, yeah? We can just have those if you don't want anything else. Or I–"

Carlos is suddenly knocked back as TK crashes into him, head bumping his stomach. To say he wasn’t prepared for the onslaught of affection would be an understatement. He nearly topples over, catching himself with one hand behind him while the other holds TK around his waist. "Tyler?"

He tries to get a look at TK's face, but his boyfriend just hugs him tighter. Carlos brings the fragile, struggling man in closer, his recent hunger forgotten as he feels TK’s shoulders begin to shake as he breaks down.

"You're gonna get through this, I promise you that." He finally lets a tear slip, feeling it tickle his skin as it slides over his cheek. "One day, you're gonna be so happy. You're gonna be okay."

—

The next morning, Carlos wakes, and within seconds of peeling open his eyes and glancing around the bedroom, he knows the situation has gone from bad to worse.

He knows because the pillow his head is on is far too firm to be his. He's lying on TK's side, meaning that his boyfriend isn't in bed anymore. When he looks over at TK's bedside table, his phone is there, untouched, with the charging cable still plugged in. If TK were on a shift, or visiting his parents or friends, anywhere he went, he would take it with him. The fact that it was still here meant that TK didn't want to be contactable. He didn't want to be found.

He checks TK's phone because his boyfriend had never hidden his passcode, and never tried to cover it up. He taps in the four digits, goes straight to his messages and sees an unknown number that has been texting with him since about an hour after they’d gone to bed. In past experience, these numbers usually belonged to the dealers TK would find.

Carlos' stomach does a flip, and this time, his fears and worries come out in a physical form. He stumbles to the bathroom just in time to throw up the pizza and donuts they had shared for dinner.

When he's done, he flushes, falling back into the same spot he'd found TK in not that many hours ago. He looks around the room, the glass is still scattered on the floor. After getting TK up they’d decided to leave the clear-up until later, too wrapped up in their stress to bother with such a task at that moment. Carlos is glad he managed to walk in without standing on any of it.

He rubs his hands over his face and tries to focus on what he needs to do. It's his day off of work, meaning he can go and find TK without having to call in with an excuse, like being sick, though, that wouldn’t be far from the truth now. First, though, he takes a deep breath and rises to his feet. He heads back into the bedroom, finds his overnight bag and changes quickly, then pulls out his phone and dials Owen Strand’s number.

"Hey, Carlos." Owen picks up right away. "You guys change your mind about grabbing breakfast? It’s not often that our days off line up, so we–"

"No, we didn’t, uh-” Carlos cuts off Owen's impending ramble by clearing his throat and using the name that he keeps being told to drop by the man. "Sir… it's TK."

"Oh, god. How much did he take?" Owen's voice switches instantaneously, from soft and playful to serious and deceptively calm. "Is he alive?"

"No..." The questions make Carlos' heart pound. "I mean, I don’t know… to both. I-”

“Carlos.”

“He’s gone, Sir. Left while I was asleep. I- I didn’t even hear him get up. I didn’t hear him…"

“Okay, try and stay with me, Carlos. Is there a reasonable explanation? He's not just… grabbing something to eat?"

Carlos knows that Owen is grasping for an answer they'd both love to find some truth in, but he can hear his boyfriend's father shuffling around over the phone. His voice is farther away, most likely from being put on speaker. He presumes that Owen is getting ready to leave and go looking for his son.

"There are messages on his phone. It’s an unknown number, but-”

“Yeah, probably a dealer. Carlos, I'm on my way to his place, I’ll see you in a moment, okay?"

Carlos expects a call or text from Owen, letting him know he's here and waiting outside in the car. What he doesn't expect is the gust of air that hits him as TK’s door is flung open to reveal both of his boyfriend’s parents.

None of them bothers with fake smiles or reassurance, Owen just beelines for TK’s phone, which is sitting on the back of the sofa. As for Gwyn, she approaches Carlos with outstretched arms. Carlos doesn't see TK's mother as often as he does Owen. The sight of her worried face and the smudged mascara under her eyes have him feeling weak. He has to swipe away a tear of his own when wraps him in a comforting hug.

"Gwyn, I'm so sorry. I didn’t hear him get up. He’s just, he’s gone."

"Sweetie, nothing is your fault, okay? Don’t even think about blaming yourself, do you hear me?" She releases Carlos and then Owen stands back next to her, swiping through TK’s phone, holding it low so that Gwyn can see too. "Owen and I are going out to look for him. Would you stay here, just in case he does come back?"

"Wait. Stay here? I mean, I can help."

"You are, son." Owen lays a hand on Carlos' shoulder. "If this isn’t what we think it is, when he comes back, we’ll need to know right away.”

"Okay, yeah." Carlos nods. "Yeah, sure."

“Alright.” Gwyn says, then shuffles out of the apartment, Owen following closely behind her, a hand splayed out on her back in an attempt to soothe her. Carlos listens as their voices fade as they descend the stairs. They discuss which streets they're each going to go to first, he hears them mention a few parks as well, and then they’re gone.

It's almost midnight, and Carlos hasn't heard anything for hours. He still feels sick, and he can't take his eyes away from his phone for more than a minute at a time. He tried to watch a little tv, and attempted to get into a book, but neither activity calmed his mind for long enough. The only thing he managed to do was clean up TK's apartment a little. Organising his shelves and kitchen cupboards, tossing out items that were past their use-by date. He made sure to sweep up the mess in the bathroom too. It took his attention away from thinking about every possible worst-case scenario he could think of, but inevitably, he ended up going right back to pacing the room.

Of course, he finally sits down, his leg bouncing nervously for a single minute, and then he hears the door again. Carlos springs to his feet as Gwyn walks in alone.

"We found him." She reassures Carlos with a smile before he can spin out and make assumptions, or ask a million questions. "He's down in the car with Owen. I just came by to let you know before, well… see, honey, we’re-"

"You're doing it, aren't you..." He blinks rapidly for a few seconds when the top of his nose starts to tingle; an indication of incoming tears. "You’re sending him to rehab?"

"It's time, my love. When I found him tonight, he was -" Gwyn's eyes flick between Carlos'. He watches her hands moving on their own accord as she searches for the right words to say. "It wasn't like the other times. When I got to him, I was shaking him and… for a moment I thought, I thought he was-"

"It’s okay, I understand." Carlos stops her before she can say the word ‘dead’, he can see how much it’s hurting her, and he feels it too. "And I know he needs this, but it still feels wrong somehow. Like… we’re abandoning him somehow? That’s like, totally not what we’re doing but it still feels that way… I dunno."

"Yeah, but my boy… he’s tough. Deep down I know he knows that, too, and he is going to get better." Gwyn sniffles and Carlos offers her a second hug which she gratefully accepts it. When she pulls back, she caresses Carlos’ cheek, her thumb stroking his skin gently. "Do you want to see him before we go? He's not exactly in a talking mood, but…"

"I want to. Of course, I do, but I don't think it's a good idea. Not right now... he needs to just get there."

"Okay. Well, I'll see you soon, sweetie." Gwyn plants a kiss on Carlos' cheek. “Take care of yourself, Carlos, okay? If you need anything at all, even just to talk, I’m here for you.”

Her words hit Carlos hard, and he is so grateful at that moment, that his boyfriend came with such genuine, caring parents. “Thank you.” He whispers shakily, and then she leaves with a little wave, closing the door behind her.

He's still for a few moments, holding his breath, and when he hears a car engine start from outside the building, he realises that he doesn't even know how long TK will be gone. He didn't ask. He chokes on a sob, and tears finally start to fall. He drops to the floor, grabs a cushion from the sofa and, though he’s alone, he hides his outflow of emotions, crying into the soft material, squeezing it as tight as he can in his hands.

—

When Gwyn returned from the airport, she and Owen had come over to see Carlos, just as they promised. They talked for a few hours, and when they left TK’s apartment, Carlos stayed. Both parents had agreed that it was more than okay for him to live at TK's for however long he wanted, or needed to. However, after four long days, he decides that it's time to go.

He figures that he has sat amongst his own sadness and dread for long enough, and he felt like he needed a change of scenery. TK wasn’t coming back for a little while, and to be truthful, he was finding it hard to be present when he was on duty, which was obviously not a good thing in his line of work.

So he packs up his things back at his own apartment, sends them to his new address, and then goes back to TK's one last time.

While there, he takes one of TK's hoodies. He wants something more than photos in his phone’s gallery or the memories that fill his head daily to make him feel closer to TK while he’s away. It's old, has a hole in one sleeve, and the strings have clearly been chewed on, but he still tugs it over his head. He pulls the fabric to his nose, and yeah, it still smells like TK. Not the TK who left for rehab, but the man who is so funny, so kind and gentle. The man who was impossible not to fall for when he was sober, innocent. He takes it off again, frowning when he realises that it’s the very item of clothing that TK had worn the first time they kissed. He has photographic evidence tucked away in one of his moving boxes that is currently on its way to his new home.

Carlos feels another round of waterworks coming on when he visualises the framed picture in his mind, so he shakes his head and refocuses.

He thinks about what he came here to do and then goes to find a pen and some paper. Before Carlos tidied up the place, it would have taken some digging just to grab what he needed. Now, there was a little basket on a shelf that held the supplies. Some pads of lined paper and a pencil case of various colours of pens, along with other materials needed for any creative endeavours. He also takes out an envelope that he had bought at the post office on his way back to the building.

He plops himself down on the kitchen stall and quickly wipes it over with a dry cloth to make sure that the paper doesn't accidentally get wet. He uncaps a black pen and then spends a good hour writing out his letter.

Tyler,

Firstly, this isn't an old-time-y way of me breaking things off with you. I want you to know that before you carry on reading - I'm not breaking up with you. I don’t think I ever could.

He underlines those last six words, and he hopes that TK will take them in, and know how serious he is.

I'm not sure how long it will be until you come home and find this, but I can't text or leave a voicemail. I think I may be allowed to send you this letter, but I don’t want to interfere with your recovery there. I don’t want this to be a possible distraction for you.

Is it strange that I find writing to you kind of… romantic? I mean, despite the reason I'm having to write it in the first place.

He thinks about crossing out that part and starting over again, but then he remembers that TK is a grown man who knows what's happening, and why; he doesn't need to sugar-coat anything.

Was that a good segway? Because I really want to tell you that I believe in you. As cheesy as it may sound, I know that you can get through this, TK. I’ve never been through what you are right now, but I can guess that you’re going to find it hard. Even when you leave rehab, it'll be a battle for a while at least, but I know you'll pull through. You'll survive.

And through everything - the ups and downs, good days and bad, I’ll be here for you.

Well, actually I'll be in Austin, Texas, but what I mean is that I’ll always support you, whether it’s in person or through a phone. You’ll always have me.

Carlos stops to brush away a tear. He clicks the pen a few times and then continues.

Did you know I have family in Austin? Friends, too. I think I’ve mentioned it once or twice. I figured if I’m going to move anywhere, that’s where it should be. Someplace I can go where people already know me, so I don’t have to worry about fitting in or making new friends.

As for my job, well, there's an opening in the APD. I’ve heard good things about all of the emergency services down in Austin. You should look up the 126, and read their stories… they’ve had some bizarre calls.

Anyway… maybe we could try that long-distance thing once you’re home. You can visit me, and I can do the same. The place I’m renting, it’s really nice, I have some design ideas I think you’d really like.

Baby, honestly, I am positively desperate to get my arms around you again. I miss you so much. I miss kissing you, cooking for you, watching movies and having you fall asleep in my arms. I miss your charming smile and your hands in mine. I miss… other parts of you, too. How could I not? And it's a little embarrassing how much, since, as I'm writing this, you've only been gone for 4 days.

I need to wrap this up. As much as I would enjoy writing you a novel, I do have to catch a flight.

- In this envelope, along with this soppy love letter, you'll find a card with my new home address on it. I hope you’ll make good use of it, and that I’ll see you standing at my door soon. We can have one of those cute romantic movie reunions… the ones that have even you tearing up.

One more time, Carlos pauses. He thinks about what he wants to write next, pondering over whether or not it's the right time. Ultimately, he decides to lay down his feelings and put them all on paper with three simple words and a name. So with a few more strokes of his pen, he confesses it all.

I love you, Tyler Kennedy Strand.

I'll be waiting for you.

Carlos

Carlos folds the pieces of paper neatly three times, enough to fit inside the envelope. He slides his address card in there, too. Then he lifts the letter to his mouth and licks along the edge. Placing it back down, he uses his thumb to make sure that it is stuck down well enough. He caps the pen, puts it away and then places the letter on the coffee table, the tips of his fingers lingering over it for a few seconds. He takes one of the larger pebbles from one of the potted plants in the window and places it on top, like a paperweight. He then sends a text to Owen, letting him know that he's on his way to drop off his key to TK's place. Finally, he grabs his last piece of luggage, a backpack filled with some belongings he'd left here over the past 2 years or so since he'd started dating TK.

He opens the door, takes a deep breath, and then just before he leaves, he whispers, "I’ll see you soon, Tyler Kennedy Strand."

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

taglist: @wandering-night19, @fortunatelydecaffeinateddinosaur @rubinsteinsilva126 @maniadeityn @just-inside-her @chaotictarlos @lightningboltreader + let me know if you'd like to be added/removed, please!

#mine #sideblog reblog #tarlos fanfic

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jensensfanfic · 2 months ago

Note

“don’t call me that, that’s what everyone else calls me”

For Clay Jensen Please! You’re an amazing writer :)

idk what to do for this prompt 😂 did you have something in mind specifically? & thank you for the compliment ❤️

0 notes

jensensfanfic · 5 months ago

Text

hey! it's been so long! i really want to get back into writing full fics, but since it's been a while, i'd love to write some shorter drabbles to get back into it. so, if you like, please request some prompts from one of these lists -> ONE TWO THREE -> please be specific in which ones you choose (you can copy and paste them into my ask box to make it easier!!) and please only choose 1 or 2 per ask 💚

a reminder of who i write for: clay jensen, justin foley, daniel larusso

willing to attempt to write for: zach dempsey or beth greene

#jensensfanfic #daniel larusso x reader #clay jensen x reader #justin foley x reader #colin bridgerton x reader #zach dempsey x reader

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jensensfanfic · 1 year ago

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A CONFESSIONAL ESSAY

[or: a part 2 to 'kissing montage']

pairing: imogen heaney x f!reader

prompts: heartstopperweekly's week 1 prompts -> 1: summer break/holiday) & 3: "Please help me with my homework. I'll owe you one."

word count: 2.2k+

warnings: flirting, established relationship, an almost-love confession, reader literally runs away from her feelings, anxiety

a/n: this was written for week 1 of @heartstopperweekly. it can be read as a standalone fic, but i do recommend reading my fic, "kissing montage" first for the best experience. also, idk if the 'essay themes' mentioned would actually be a thing, but let's just pretend for the sake of this fic

—☆—

Imogen flops onto the bed face first, and the contents of her pencil case all fall out and roll onto the floor where you have your own stationery and books spread out into organised spaces. You hear her begin to talk, but it's muffled due to the pillow her face is now buried in.

"What was that, Im?" Laughing, you rise to your feet and plop onto the edge of the mattress. "Didn't quite catch it."

She lifts her head just long enough to repeat herself. "I said we only have a week left to finish our summer homework, and I have no idea what to write for my English essay."

Imogen slams her face back into the soft pillow and groans loudly. You shuffle up the bed and lay down, peppering her shoulder in little kisses to get her attention.

Imogen sighs and then rolls over to face you. "It's your fault, you know?"

"Excuse me? What's my fault?"

"This... I could've had this stupid essay done already, but you're just so d—" She cuts herself off.

"'So', what?" You lift your brows and wait for her to explain the blush that starts to spread over her cheekbones, but then she suddenly shifts. "Hey, come back and tell me why this is my fault."

"Just forget I said that." Imogen slides off the bed and back onto the floor, picking up her book again to find a blank, lined page. She starts to draw a cloud with little lines coming out of it. "Come on, help me brainstorm ideas."

You follow her to where she's sitting with her legs crossed on the carpet and pull out your phone.

"Wait, what are you doing?" She asks, leaning over to try and look at your phone screen. "You're not gonna help?"

"I'm taking a break."

"But I need you! Help me, please!" She tries her hardest to plead with you, eyes wide and lips pouting. Reaching over, she lightly ghosts her manicured nails over your arm rhythmically.

You'd be lying if you said that the feeling didn't send shivers down your spine; make you want to give in, and then lean over and kiss her– homework forgotten.

"Nope." You shake your head, rapidly blinking heavenly thoughts of flicking her hand away and pulling her over you. "Not until you tell me why it's my fault that you can't write your damn essay."

She huffs, and you hear the little thud of her pen dropping onto paper as you continue playing a game on your phone. You purposefully turn up the volume and grin.

"Really?"

"Really." You look over the screen at her and wiggle your brows. "You can't just blame me and then not tell me why."

"It's just a stupid thing. I didn't mean it, alright." She rolls her eyes. "Just... ugh! Please help me with my homework. I'll owe you one. You're so smart and so creative and so good at—"

"Hold up, hold up, go back. You'll owe me one?"

"Yeah, anything." She perks up, desperate to keep you interested in the possibility of a deal. "We could, uh... go out after? Maybe a cinema date? Or we could order in pizza? I'll pay for it."

You drag your bottom lip in between your teeth and look up at the ceiling, thinking, then shake your head. "I'm not really feeling like going anywhere... or pizza."

"Okay, okay..." Imogen glances around her room. "Um... ooh! You can pick one of my plushies to keep. You can pick any one that you want! Besides my queen frog, of course."

You look over at the green frog plush sitting on her nightstand, a little crown on top of its head. You briefly remember when you'd given it to her years ago, when you were both in primary school and your friendship was beginning to bloom into something special; into a forever kind of deal.

You smile, but you don't answer, so Imogen carries on looking around her bedroom until she spots something lying under her bed.

"What about this guy?" She plucks the Luigi plush that she'd practically stolen from you at the arcade almost a year ago. She waves his arms around and pats his head. "I know you still want to steal him right back after I kidnapped him from you."

"Hmm." You reach out like you are going to take him, but then pull back just as quickly. "Nah. I'll have plenty of chances to reclaim him when you're not looking."

Imogen sudddenly throws her head back, and tosses Luigi across the room, making you flinch a little. He bounces off the door and lands perfectly upright in her laundry basket.

"God sake! You're so annoying." She exclaims.

"Rude!"

"You..." Imogen ignores you and she now looks both equally annoyed and nervous, the second emotion puzzling you. "You want me to tell you why I said it's your fault, don't you?"

"Ha, you know me well. Oh, yes." You smile. "I sure do, Im. I'll help you figure out an essay topic for the low, low price of..." You clap your hands against your legs, creating a drumroll sound effect. "Revealing why this is all my fault."

Imogen looks exasperated, but there's a hint of amusement in the slight pull at the corner of her mouth. Her lashes touch the bottom of her eyebrows when she rolls her eyes again, dramatically.

There's also a feeling of nervousness that momentarily washes over your own body and mind. You worry that she might be about to say anything that could cause discord, or a fight.

What if she was about to say something that would upset or anger you?

It's not like you had never had arguments as a couple before. After all, you had been going out for almost a year. When they did happen, it would usually be resolved in true Imogen and [your name] fashion; with a long talk, a couple of emotion-desolving jokes and lots of kisses.

Before you can overthink too much, Imogen groans loudly before saying, "You better not make fun of me. This is dumb."

"Im, I would never."

"Okay, fine!" Her head falls and she fixate on her fingers, starts to pick at a loose thread on the lilac-coloured cardigan she's wearing. When she speaks, her voice is quiet and shy, not like her usual bubbly self at all. "It's because of you. It's your fault because of... you."

"What does that mean, I don't—"

"Ugh! It's because you're so freaking distracting, okay!? You're cute laugh, and your face, and you're so pretty it's very annoying." She looks up like she's asking for help from a higher power. Continuing on, her eyes drop back to her fidgeting fingertips. "Ugh, it's so embarassing... but, I can never concentrate when you look at me the way you do— like that! Like you are right now! I can't focus when you're always so... you!"

You could swear that your heart literally flips inside of your chest as you hear the words tumble from her lips. It takes several minutes after she's finished to say anything back.

"I..."

One word is all you can manage before you take a steadying breath and try to regain a slither of the confidence you had been wearing before her outburst of honest affection. It takes a moment, but you find it, shuffling closer to Imogen.

"You find me... distracting, huh?"

You bump her shoulder with yours, in the space where her cardigan has fallen down to her inner elbow. The familiar sensation of tingles chase themselves all over your body at the innocent, yet intimate press of skin against skin.

It feels like fireworks.

"That's why you can't decide on an essay topic?"

Imogen tries to turn away, but you swiftly take one of her hands, stopping her. You use the other hand to take her chin between your thumb and fingers, and guide her face to look at you properly.

The rose-coloured shadow that dusts her cheeks is now visible, and you find it both adorable and a huge compliment towards you; making you feel all kinds of lovely and warm and prized.

"Im, that's so sweet. And you know I find it hard to get anything done around you as well." You lean forward and kiss the corner of her mouth. "All I want to do when I'm with you, is grab your gorgeous face and kiss you forever."

Imogen's fingers interlace with yours as a small, shy laugh escapes her. She finally replies, tinted cheeks still evident and pleasantly hot under the tender stroke of your thumb. "Really?"

"Can't you tell?" You move impossibly closer and peck the space between the top or her nose and her forehead. "That's why I can't stop looking at you, but I never thought you noticed, to be honest."

"Well, I wish you would stop, so I can get some work done."

"I don't think I could stop if I tried." You rest your forehead against hers and smile. You chuckle then, repeating the same phrase that has become your thing since you began dating. "I really, really like you."

She hums, content. "Hm. I really, really, really like you, too."

Imogen's hand comes up to hold the back of your neck, and you stay locked in the moment for as long as it takes for you mind to come up with an idea, dragging you out of the bubble moment and causing you to pull away.

Imogen's looks dazed and confused, her hand hovering in the air from the sudden loss of contact. "What— Come back! That was nice!"

"Sorry, I just got an idea for your essay."

"Really? Okay, wait a sec." Imogen's eyes widen, and then she reaches for her book and scrambles for the pen she wants; a purple one with a little fuzzy ball on the end. Once found, she rest the book on her leg. "Alright, tell me your brilliant idea."

"You can write about me." Imogen smirks and quirks a brow.

"I— ha— I don't mean that in like, a self-centred type of way. I don't mean you should write about me, specifically, but the theme is romance, right?"

"Or friendship, or family relations. Basically any type of relationship... it's pretty vague."

"Well, maybe you could write about chemistry, like in a relationship. Like ours." You pause for a beat. Imogen's smile is fond as she patiently waits for more. "It could be about how two people can become drawn to each other. How they can feel so connected that sometimes it's all they can think about, to the point where it becomes, you know... distracting."

"Mmhmm." As Imogen nods along excitedly, practically transcribing every word you say into her book, you start to feel breathless. You find yourself pressing a hand against your sweater covered chest.

You try to push on, wanting nothing more than to help Imogen, despite the beads of sweat suddenly adorning the line of your hair.

"Write about how it can actually interfere with your day, thinking about that person and how much you crave being around them, and how much you lo— uh, how much you... like them." You such in a sharp breath, wiping your now-clammy hands on your jeans. "Like being around them. Yep, okay."

You stop abruptly, and Imogen glances at you with expectant, sparkly blue eyes. Her head tilts in the way you've always found so alluring, and she gestures with her hand in a way that says 'carry on' without words.

"Uh— yeah... just write about... all that, and—"

"Wait, keep going, please. This is great." You blow out a breath, and Imogen frowns. "Are you okay?"

Your skin prickles with goosebumps when Imogen picks up your hand and runs her thumb gently over your trembling hand.

"Wait, are you feeling okay?" She puts down her book and lays a hand on your cheek. "What's wrong? You've gone pale, babe."

"Oh... God, don't call me that right now."

You shove her hand away, and immediately notice her mouth fall slightly, a hurt look crossing her features. "I'm sorry, I—"

"No, no. No, don't be, just—" You quickly pick up your phone and stand up. "I need to get out of here."

"You're leaving? But—"

"I have to..." You mumble, then swing open her bedroom door. "I have to go home."

"Wait—" You hear Imogen rustling around as you run down the stairs.

Once you've reached the door and gotten outside, you close the door and lean against in for a quick breath. "Oh, my God."

"What just happened?" You hear Imogen's mother say from inside, her voice prompting you to starting running again.

As your pulse races and your body moves on impulse, your mind reels with the words you are certain were about to spill out of your mouth if you hadn't left when you did.

It's not as though you don't want to tell Imogen how you've been feeling for the past few weeks now... it's just incredibly daunting to think about what her reaction could be.

That night, you don't get any sleep whatsoever as your mind acts like a never-ending camera roll of possible ways a confession like that could have gone; all of the awful, perfect and heartbreaking ways.

"Ugh!"

—☆—

Taglist: @whereimwritingfrom @wqxianwriting @httphayn @imdoingbetternow (lmk if you want to be added or removed to all future imogen fics!!)

#my writing #mine #angelnicknelson #imogen heaney fluff #imogen heaney x reader #heartstopper x reader #kissing montage part 2

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jensensfanfic · 1 year ago

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KISSING MONTAGE

pairing: imogen heaney x f!reader

requested: @aygfd: hey, I would absolutely love an Imogen one, especially there only being about 3 I’ve seen! I was wondering if maybe you could do an Imogen x f! reader where they pull a nick and Charlie and sneak around school kissing and all lovey dicey at home. If not that’s okay! Thank you :)

word count: 1.1k+

warnings: lots of kisses, sneaking around, reader calls imogen "Im", coming out via a public kiss, kind of set in s1 (bc of nick being single still)

☆part 2☆

—☆—

Imogen bounds towards you the second she sees you arrive at the school gates. She's so excited that she nearly runs into you but stops herself just short so that your shoes are touching.

"Morning," she greets you, sweetly, "Did you sleep okay?"

You briefly flash back to the previous evening you'd shared with Imogen.

You were at her house, hanging out in her room, like you did most nights. It was a normal moment night until Imogen had asked you who you fancied. She said she'd noticed you hanging around with Nick for weeks. Little did she know, you were hanging out with him because he was the only person who knew that you weren't straight. He was the only person you had told, and you had been telling him about your crush on Imogen, while he would try to convince you to let her know, to tell her.

And that is what you had finally done last night.

After she asked you that question, you took a deep breath and then turned around to face your best friend before taking her hand and finally confessing to her that you liked her.

It didn't take long after that for Imogen to lean forward quickly and give you the softest, warmest, most butterflies-in-your-stomach inducing kiss you'd ever experienced.

Now, here you both were, standing outside of the school gates, her eyes darting down to your lips as she also went over the night in her head.

"Not really." You answer, and Imogen looks concerned for all of a few seconds before you add, "I had other things on my mind, you know? Couldn't stop thinking about that–"

She cuts you off by grabbing your hand, surprising you. "Come on!"

She leads you inside, through the corridors, until she finds an open cupboard full of cleaning supplies. She ushers you in and closes the door behind her. "Is this... okay?"

"Uh... yeah!"

She giggles, and then you're kissing again, the hairs on your arms standing instantly as one of your hands finds its way onto the back of her neck.

You break apart a few minutes later when the bell rings. Not wanting to get caught, you both decide to risk getting detention, and you wait for the bell to stop and the corridor to empty before leaving and heading to class with sweet smiles on both of your faces.

—☆—

Over the next few weeks, you and Imogen can't keep your hands to yourselves. Whenever you get a moment alone, your lips are joined, both giddy and excited over this new and glorious feeling.

One evening, while doing homework, Imogen catches you staring at her. You watch her face, noticing the cute way she furrows her brows when she's concentrating. When she calls you out on your staring, you deny it, which results in her tickling you and inevitably leads to her smashing your lips together again.

—☆—

One night, during a sleepover at her house, her mother announces through a yell that she needs to 'pop to the shops to get some milk for breakfast in the morning'. The second the door shuts, Imogen smirks at you, wiggling her brows, "Alone at last! Wanna make out?"

"Uh... duh."

At some point during your little makeout session, you pull back momentarily. Imogen tilts her head slightly in confusion, and you say, quite simply, "You're lips are so soft, Im. Could kiss you forever."

She blushes and then you pull her back to you.

—☆—

Then there's your weekly 'friend date'. This time, you decide to go bowling at Hollywood Bowl. You end up making a bet. If Imogen wins, you'll pay for all the arcade games you play together afterwards, but if you win, she has to give you any and all prizes or tickets that you win in the arcade.

You end up winning, and then Imogen wins a cute Luigi plushy on a crane claw game. When it falls, you reach down to grab it, and she sulks, making a pouty face. You chuckle, "That face... so cute."

"What, this?" She asks, and then pouts again, to which you respond by tipping forward and pressing your lips to hers.

"Crap, sorry! We're like... in public."

"It's okay, there's no one here, silly." She replies, and then snatches Luigi from your hands and runs away with it, making you chase her.

—☆—

It goes on for weeks. You steal kisses at her house, at yours, at the park, in little hidden away corners at the mall, even at school. You both know how risky it is, but you manage to go months without anyone seeing you.

Being best friends, the only kisses you ever manage to get away with in school, are the little cheek pecks. You've always done it every time you greet each other at the school gates or said goodbye after a studying session, sleepover, or before walking home.

And of course you take advantage. Every time you kiss her cheek, or she kisses yours, you linger just slightly longer, or take the opportunity to whisper something cute or romantic in each other's ears.

—☆—

One day at her house on a Saturday afternoon, several months after your crush confession, you break away from her lips, pressing your forehead to hers. "Im?"

"Yeah?"

"I really, really like you."

She pulls away and laughs softly, "I really, really, really like you, too."

"I was wondering... if you want... can we, um... can we start to tell people. I think... I really want to... I'm ready to." You don't look at her as you wait for her answer, not wanting her to see how much you want this, how your eyes are near brimming with tears ready to spill if she says no. "It's okay if you don't want to yet. We haven't even said, you know, if we're..."

"Girlfriends? I think we are." Imogen gently lifts you chin with her thumb. "It's been months, and... well... do you want to be my girlfriend?"

"Absolutely, 100% yes, I do."

"Okay." Imogen pecks your cheek, and then your lips. "Then let's tell people."

—☆—

The next morning, Imogen is at school before you, and the second she spots you walking towards her bench, she bounds happily toward you once again. She kisses your cheek, wrapping her arms around you in a hug. "Just so you know, I want people to know, but I'm just checking... are you sure?"

You smile and nod. "I'm very sure."

"Then come here, girlfriend!" She pulls away, grabs your face, and crushes your lips together, in full view of everyone around you.

This special, life-changing kiss sends tingles throughout your body in a whole new, exciting, and terrifying way, and you can hear the murmurs as Imogen talks into the kiss. "Scared?"

"A little."

"Me too." She pulls away completely then, takes a breath and smiles at you sweetly, then takes your hand. "But I really, really, like you. Come on, let's not be late and get any more detentions."

—☆—

Taglist: @whereimwritingfrom @httphayn @imdoingbetternow (let me know if you want to be tagged in future imogen fics!!)

#my writing #mine #imogen heaney x reader #heartstopper x reader

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jensensfanfic · 1 year ago

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tiny justin foley drabble under the cut. nsfw

13 REASONS WHY MASTERLIST

—☆—

justin foley is the type of guy who loves to almost get caught with you, but also despises the idea of anyone seeing you like that.

like, just imagine being right on the edge, writhing in pleasure on his bed in the outhouse, when you hear a car pull up outside. justin suddenly stops, pulling out completely and leaving you feeling so empty.

"no, please don't stop," you protest, "i was so close."

"i'm not gonna risk anyone coming in here and seeing you like this, baby. only i get to watch you fall apart."

—☆—

Taglist: @mockerycrow @wqxianwriting

#my writing #jensensfanfic #jensensfanfic/justinsjensen #justin foley x reader #justin foley imagine #justin foley fanfic #justin x reader #justin foley smut #justin foley fanfiction

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jensensfanfic · 1 year ago

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CLAY ASKING YOU TO SPRING FLING ☆ DRABBLE

pairing: clay jensen x gn!reader

a/n: i was about to go to sleep and then i got this random thought in my head. it's messy and short as hell, but i hope you like it nonetheless.

—☆—

thinking about clay jensen trying to come up with a way to ask you to spring fling.

he's had a few crushes during his school life but has never felt brave or confident enough to ever ask them out. you, however, were different. he couldn't watch you go to the dance with somebody else without at least trying to ask you. there was just something about you that he couldn't let go - not without trying.

weeks went by, and each day that passed was another chance for some other student to swoop in and ask you to be their date. he needed to just buck up and do it, but he was still full of nerves whenever he was around you- which was actually quite often.

you sat next to each other in robotics almost every day. he had so many chances.

one day, while in class together, clay scribbles both of your names on top of your project plan, then doodles two little characters that you recognise from the akr comics you both read.

when you mention this, that you know these robots, clay only allows himself a mere few seconds of shock, before diving into a babbling ramble about the comics.

by the end of the conversation, clay finally gets an idea of how to ask you to spring fling. it's simple, probably a little nerdy or lame, but he does it anyway.

he spends all night– and all morning before school– sketching a small comic strip. he draws himself, and you, as akr characters, and in the very first square, inside the speech bubble, he writes, "will you go to spring fling with me?"

underneath, there are two different outcomes. in one, your character says a polite 'no', to which clay responds calmly and respectfully, the drawing of him looking sad, but understanding.

in the other outcome, the second square, your character responds with a 'yes, i'd love too'. and in this drawing, a thought bubble encases a small drawing of your characters dancing together at spring fling with tiny hearts decorating the scene.

clay can't believe it when he actually hands you this drawing in person, and he believes it even less when the second square becomes a reality.

he is utterly flabbergasted, but also, so so happy when you fling your arms around his neck and whisper a promise– to frame the picture and keep it forever– into his ear.

—☆—

Taglist: @mockerycrow

13 REASONS WHY MASTERLIST

#my writing #mine #jensensfanfic #jensensfanfic/justinsjensen #clay jensen x reader #clay jensen imagine #clay jensen fanfic #clay jensen fluff

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jensensfanfic · 1 year ago

Text

OUTHOUSE SHENANIGANS

pairing: justin foley x afab!reader

warnings: smut— top!reader - then top!justin, use of the word 'hole', trying to be quick (but not really lol), getting caught by clay, a little sprinkle of cockwarming

a/n: this just... happened, so it may be shit, but idc. hope you enjoy!

—☆—

"Holy hell, baby, you look so good right now. Taking it so well."

Justin's compliments spur you on further. You swivel your hips and start to move faster, smiling at the sound of his grunts of pleasure.

"Ohh, fuck. Yes."

Your phone chimes from the bedside table, but the text fails to interrupt your movements. You simply plant your hands on Justin's chest for balance and peak over at the glowing screen.

"It's just Clay- fuck."

You lean back again, running your fingers along Justin's arms. You take his hands in yours and guide them to your hips. He gets the message and starts to help you to move, to bounce up and down on his leaking cock.

"What– shit– what did he want?"

"Gonna be home in fifteen– oh my god, Justin, I'm–"

"Shit!" Justin suddenly goes rigid, and in a blink, he has managed to pull out, leaving you feeling empty and confused.

"What the fuck, Justin!?"

"You said Clay was on his way. He'll kill me if he catches us again."

"Asshole. That's it? I was so fucking close, baby." You sigh, then grip his shoulders and push him back down. "Come on, it's been days, I need it."

"Sorry!" Justin is so conflicted, glancing between you and the locked door of the Outhouse. "But–"

"Please, we still have like... 10 minutes." You look around and quickly find Justin's discarded blanket. You reach down and grab it before throwing it over both of you. "There."

"Really?"

"Really." You shift, moving your hips until your still-wet centre meets his half-hard cock. You start to grind on him. "Come on, baby. You wanna finish? Hm?"

The way Justin fully hardens again in mere seconds answers your question before he whispers a "yes."

You grin and then revel in the gasp he makes when you take him in your hands once more. You slap the head of his cock against your pussy a couple of times, causing little jolts of pleasure to ripple throughout your own body. Finally, you rub him around, collecting some of your wetness on his tip before sinking back down onto him.

You both move together for a minute or two before the urge to feel his weight on top of you becomes too intense to ignore. You grip his shoulders again and then lean down to whisper in his ear, "want you to fuck me, baby."

"I am."

"No, I mean–, I need you to fuck me."

Justin shifts then, rolling you over and under him without letting himself slip from the tight warmth of your aching hole.

"Mm, yes!" You readjust the blanket so that it's covering you both completely, then hook your ankles around his bare ass, flexing so that they nudge him into you. "Move now, baby. I need to cum so bad."

—

A few moments later, sated and sweaty, you pull down the blanket. You glance down at Justin, who is still planting gentle kisses all over your chest and neck; something he always does after sex, to calm your shaking, spent body and muscles.

He's still buried inside of you, and you love the feeling, always have. You both love to be connected for as long as possible post-sex.

All of a sudden, you hear the click on the door. Your eyes widen, and you glance down at Justin. He's still focused on kissing every inch of your body as you see Clay walk into the Outhouse.

He stops dead in his tracks, and you both stare at each other for what feels like an eternity but is actually only a handful of seconds.

You shrug, trying to look apologetic and trying harder, not to let out a laugh.

Not a word is spoken, as Clay just sighs. His hands fall limp to his sides, and then he turns around, takes a single step, and leaves.

This time, Justin hears the door slam, and his head pops out of the blanket. "Fuck... again? Clay is so gonna kick me out someday."

—☆—

Taglist: @mockerycrow @wqxianwriting (let me know if you want to be added or removed!)

13 REASONS WHY MASTERLIST

#my writing #mine #jensensfanfic #jensensfanfic/justinsjensen #justin foley x reader #justin foley fanfiction #justin foley imagine #justin foley fanfic #justin x reader #justin foley smut #justin foley x reader smut #smut

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jensensfanfic · 2 years ago

Text

NOT JUST THE FLU

pairing: justin foley x gn!reader (romantic) + clay jensen x twin!reader (familial/platonic ofc)

warnings: cursing, vomiting, justin in recovery - mentions of specific drugs, hints of justin's trauma from being on the streets, coughing, lmk if i should add anything else! (i am not an expert on addiction/recovery + symptoms so please don't come @ me)

a/n: here's another fic from my wattpad days. in the original version of this fic, i wrote the reader to be extremely pissed off and annoyed, but in this version they're a lot more understanding and soft

13 REASONS WHY MASTERLIST

—☆—

"Anyone home!? Hello?"

As you close the front door, you kick off your boots, shoving them under the radiator to dry. With dripping hair and soaked clothes, you wander into the kitchen, leaving a trail of wet patches on the carpet in your path. You blow our a long, tired breath and head to the fridge for a bottle of water.

You call out again. "Hello!? Mum? Dad? Clay?" You pause for a few seconds, gulping down half of your drink." No? Just me, then. Sweet."

Figuring that you are home alone, you climb the stairs to the bathroom. You take the small pile of fresh pajamas you'd left before school and change into them. As you're drying your dry, you hear some clattering coming from Clay's room, immediately followed by a curse and then what sounds like a window being opened.

"Clay? You're here?" You knock on your brother's bedroom door. "Why didn't you answer me before?"

When you don't get a response, but continue to hear a string of curse words, you turn the handle and go in anyway. Your eyes widen when you see your friend, Tony. Well, just the back of him at least, as he sits on the window and then jumps down.

"The hell..." You charge forward, watching as he picks himself up from where he'd landed. "Tony, what the fuck?!"

Tony stands, brushes dirt from his jeans, and then looks back up. "Clay said you were studying with Jess."

You're at a loss for words as you frown.

"He said you'd be out late."

"What? I– we got done early. But that doesn't answer my question. What the fuck? Why were you in Clay's room alone?"

"Uh– not alone..." You turn around at his words and your eyes widen further upon seeing Justin Foley laying on your brother's couch, snoring.

How had you completely missed him lying there?

"Tony! Seriously, what the hell is going on?"

"Clay will explain. I have to go." With that, Tony gets into his car and drives away promptly, leaving you confused.

You shake your head in disbelief, then slide the window shut and turn to Justin. You walk over and give him a small shove.

"Justin? Hey..."

Justin wakes instantly, looking around the room, probably for Clay, but when he only sees you, he sits up and looks worried. "Um..."

"Can you please explain to me why the fuck you are in my house, drooling all ovwe my brother's couch?"

Justin opens him mouth to speak, but right at that moment, Clay arrives in the doorway to his room. "Shit! Crap. Uh– I can explain all of this."

"What on earth, Clay? Did you, like... smuggle him in here. Do mom and dad know?"

"They don't, and... kind of. I mean, yes. Yes, I did."

"And Tony was here because?"

"Tony was watching him while I was out."

Justin coughs. "Ugh, I told you, I don't need a babysitter."

You and Clay respond simultaneously. "Shut up."

You shake your head, confused. "Why would Tony need to babysit him?"

Clay looks down at Justin, who looks up at you before opening his mouth to speak. "I– uh– it's–"

"He's sick." Clay interrupts him. "He has the flu. Yeah. I brought him back to help Jessica with the trial and everything... but he's sick, so he's been staying here."

"Why does he need to be here just because he's sick?" You drop your shoulders, mouth hanging open slightly. You sit down on Clay's bed. "How long has he been here?"

Clay gulps before answering. "A few days."

"For real? I mean, what the hell, Clay? You've had Justin Foley in your room for a few days, and you didn't tell me? Are you completely crazy, or am I a total dumbass for not even noticing?"

Clay sighs. "Look, I'm sorry. But we can't risk him being seen."

You rest your head on your hand. "This is crazy."

"I know, okay? Just please... don't tell mom and dad."

Clay gives you his classic, wide-eyed, pleading face. The one he makes when he wants a favour from you, or if he's done something wrong and needs you to cover for him. He thinks it works, but, honestly, it never has.

However, thinking about it, you decide you would rather not face your parents after they find out this... secret. You can imagine their faces and the questions and the yelling they would do, directed at you and Clay. Since now, you have been involved.

"Yeah. Okay, fine." You chuckle. "Can you imagine what they'd say?"

Clay smiles and nods, and then sits down on the end of his bed next to you. "I'm really sorry that I didn't tell you right away."

"Forget it. Does he have medication?"

Justin shakes a small bottle of pills and points to the bottles of meds and water on the table.

"Great."

You feel before you see Clay tense a little, and you look st him with a quirked brow. "What now?"

"You are going to absolutely hate me for this, and I won't blame you if you do, but Tony, um... he can't skip school again tomorrow. Do you think you could– well, you know."

"You want me to watch him? You're serious?"

"Please. Just this once. I'll make sure you don't have to again. I'll figure something else out."

You huff. "Fine. I have first two periods free, so only until then."

"Thank you." Clay nudges your shoulder and smiles. "You're the best twin a brother could ask for."

"I know." You smile back at your brother, and then both of your eyes widen at each other when you hear Justin hiccup and then cough.

"Oh, God!" You try to grab the waste bin quickly, but Justin has vomited all the carpet before you can reach him.

—☆—

You sigh loudly when your phone rings again. "Jesus Christ!"

Justin tries to look over your shoulder. "What is it?"

"Clay... again."

You type a message back to your brother and then slide your phone onto the desk without looking. "He's demanding an update. Like, I'm sorry I forgot, I was sort of in the middle of cleaning up snotty tissues and your favourite vomit-covered shoes, bro."

Justin laughs. "Yeah, oops on that one, he's gonna be pissed."

"Most definitely."

"You have to admit, taking care of me isn't that bad?" Justin smirks.

"What makes you think that? It's gross."

"C'mon, Jensen." Justin smirks, his voice cocky as he explaisn. "Jeff told me."

"Told you what?" You ask, hoping Jeff Atkins really didn't let slip your secret."

"He told me what you said. That you thought I was 'hot', and I quote, 'as fuck'."

Ugh, Jeff.

You figure there isn't much point in denying it. You did find Justin attractive, and you weren't ashamed to think that. However, you do spin a tiny fib and pretend like your little crush on Justin is old news.

"Well... that was after that one night when you were fighting with Zach outside Hannah's party. You were having the time of your life, and so was I while checking you out."

"Oh, really?" Justin beams, and the smile looks strange against his sickly, exhausted looking face.

"How can you be this cocky and... flirty while simultaneously looking like you currently do."

Justin's mouth falls open. "What do you mean?"

"I mean... you really, really look the part of a sick person right now."

"Thanks?" He says, then makes you jump when he blurts out, "Shit, I'm fucking freezing!"

"I gave you three blankets!"

Justin shrugs. "I'm still cold."

"It's probably your fever." You sigh. "Be right back."

You quickly go to your own room and take the duvet from your bed.

"Here." Back in Clay's room, you throw the duvet over Justin, who takes it gratefully and pulls it around himself.

He frowns, surprised by the kind gesture, given that most of your shared time together, you'd been grumpy and impatient to leave.

"Thank you. But won't you need this yourself?"

"You want me to take it back?"

"No." He holds up his hand in defence. "I'm good, I'm good."

It's silent for a little while, so when Justin coughs again, it makes you look over at him. For the first time since you'd discovered him in your home last night, you actually take in his face properly.

You notice his eyes first. They're bloodshot, tired-looking, with little brusie-like circles underneath. His face isn't just pale; it's almost grey, and upon squinting at his hands for a few moments, you realise they are shaking.

Looking down at his medication, you see that not all of them are even meant to be taken for a 'flu'.

You stand up, frowning, and Justin follows your movements as you spot a fold tucked under Clay's desk, and lean down to pick it up. Before you can read it, Justin coughs, and you're certain it's fake; done in order to distract you.

"What am I going to find in here, Justin?" You plop back down onto the bed with the folder, and place it on your lap. "What isn't Clay telling me?"

Justin pulls the blankets tighter around himself. "Nothing, I–"

"You look awful. Like, worse than the flu awful. You're all lying to me, aren't you? You, Clay, and Tony." You roll your eyes when Justin doesn't respond. "Look, just tell me. Please. I promise you, whatever it is, I'll still keep my mouth shut. I just want to know what I'm really dealing with here."

You're about to push further when your phone rings again. You groan loudly. Answering it, you ignore Clay's questions and mutter, "Call me back in 20."

You hang up and throw your phone to the side. "So?"

Justin closes his eyes. "Just open that dumbass folder Clay made."

You do as he says, eyes widening when you read the first line on the first page inside. You read it aloud, "'Detoxing From Heroin.' What and what not– Justin, what–" You blow out a breath, taking a minute to let your anger fade, the feeling being replaced by concern and confusion. "What happened to you? After you left..."

Something in Justin's eyes shift. He suddenly seems scared, shy, maybe even a little ashamed. "I–" His voice cracks. "When I left–"

"Don't answer that." You quickly move to kneel beside him, leaning up on the couch and laying a hand over one of his. "Okay? You don't have to."

"Hm. Thanks." He relaxes and turns his hand, so that he can interlace his fingers with yours. When you don't pull away, and instead, squeeze his hand back, he smirks.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" You ask, amazed by how quickly he seems to be able to change his entire mood.

"Because I knew it."

"Ugh. What?"

"You still like me, don't you?"

"Shut up, Foley." You pick up the folder again, opening it up to the page on medication. "Okay, what did you take before I got here?"

Justin doesn't answer right away, he just watches you flipping through the folder and mutters to himself. "Yeah, you still like me."

—☆—

Later that day, when Tony arrives to switch with you, Clay comes home too. You give them both an ear-bashing before leaving the house and heading back to school.

—☆—

A few days pass, and when you're walking to the shower one night, you hear Tony, ranting to Justin about how he needs to be somewhere else. You don't quite hear the what's and where's, or who's, but before you can even think about it, you push open the door.

"Go, Tony. If you need to. I've got it tonight."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm free, so go ahead."

"Okay." He pats you on the shoulder as he leaves the room. "Thank you."

You go and sit next to Justin on the floor, where's he got his knees tucked up against his chest, and his arms wrapped around them, shivering. "You're back. Thought you told Clay that you weren't gonna help after the other night."

"Yeah, well, I lied, I guess."

He smiles sweetly, and then you sigh to yourself for showing how much you really care for Justin, when you squeeze his knee. He looks up, confused, and then you turn your hand, palm up and nod.

Justin takes your hand once again, and then Justin lays his head on your shoulder. You lay your own against his.

"This is nice." He whispers.

"Yeah... until you throw up again."

Justin snort-laughs; and what you don't see is that at that moment, Clay arrives home. He looks in on you both, surprise making him leave you alone as he walks back downstairs, mumbling to himself.

Taglist: @mockerycrow @wqxianwriting

#old wattpad fics #my writing #mine #jensensfanfic #jensensfanfic/justinsjensen #justin foley #clay jensen #justin foley x reader #justin foley fanfic #justin foley imagine #justin x reader #clay jensen x reader #clay jensen fanfic #clay jensen imagine #clay x reader #clay jensen x twin!reader #mygifs*

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