once-upon-a-oneshot

[once-upon-a-oneshot]

Wrong Love

Summary: You’re in love with Damon, but he's doesn't want your love.

Warnings: swearing, sexual themes, violence

Word Count: 1752

“Stefan, he’s out of control!”

“Yea, Ric, I get it. But-”

“No buts Stef-”

I let the argument around me drown out into background noise as I reflect on what’s unfolding before me. The mob had formed. Pitchforks drawn. Torches ablaze. The people who were supposed to be his friends, were the first in line to cut off his head. Stefan always did his best to keep them at bay, but lately it’s been getting difficult. He’s been getting difficult.

Damon Salvatore.

The man who juveniley acts out because he’s broken. He’d never admit it. But he doesn’t have to. Not to Stefan, and not to me. We get him. All his long miserable life, Stefan has had what Damon secretly longed for. The friends. The loyalty. The girl. Acceptance.

And this time around in Mystic Falls, was no different.

I know Stefan holds on to Damon because he feels guilty. But I hold on to him because, somewhere along the way of knowing him, I fell in love.

Maybe that’s the key to truly seeing Damon. First you have to love him for all that he is.

Is it them that is blinded by their hate for him.

Or is it Stefan and I who are blinded by our love for him.

As Caroline, Bonnie, Ric, Elena, and Stefan continue to bicker in the living room, I decide to make my way to Damon’s room -- where I’m sure he’s listening to this all unfold.

As I reach his bedroom door he looks up from his desk trying to look shocked by my arrival. But I know he heard me coming.

“Oh please, I know you’re listening.” I roll my eyes playfully and walk over plopping down on his bed. He shrugs at me and takes a sip from the glass he’s holding.

“Shouldn’t you be downstairs plotting my demise with the rest of them?” he smirks. The smirk that he thinks masks his true feelings. But I see through it.

I don’t reply.

“Why are you here?” Damon demands growing impatient with my company. He gets up from his seat at his desk and walks over to his mirror, turning his back to me.

“It doesn’t always have to be you against the world Damon.” The words fall out before I could stop them.

He looked at me through the reflection of the mirror, never turning to face me. Never breaking the gaze we held through the reflective surface, I slowly got off the bed and walked across the room. Each step bringing me closer to him. I could see his body tense as I approached him.

Once I was standing directly behind him, he turned to face me. I took another step towards him closing the small gap that separated our bodies. I don’t know who had taken over my body, but it felt like I was no longer in control. But that’s what Damon did to me. Act first. Think later.

I brought my hand up slowly to his cheek. Hesitantly at first, but when he did not flinch away, with more confidence. I gently slide the pad of my thumb across his stubbled face. Before I know what I was doing, my hand trailed from his face, down his neck.

Suddenly Damon crashed his lips into mine. The kiss sent electricity through my entire body. I wasn’t sure if Damon had felt it too, but the way his lips hungrily devoured mine, I was sure he had. Wrapped up in the bliss of the moment, I pulled back slightly and mumbled the words I never intended for him to hear. Not like this.

“I love you Damon.” and immediately crashed my lips back to his. But this time it was different. He didn’t kiss me back. Instead he pulled away and put his hands on my shoulders to keep me at a distance.

“What?” Damon questions, chest still heaving.

“I-I um-” I wasn’t sure if I should repeat myself. But I knew he had fully heard what I said. There was no going back from it. The only thing left to do was to just dive in. “I said, I love you Damon.” I spoke confidently. In return Damon laughed shaking his head.

“Wow, baby brother has really missed the mark with this one.” He spoke almost to himself as he walked back to his glass he had left on the desk.

“W-what are you talking about?” I tried to push the embarrassment I felt, further down inside me, in hopes that it wouldn’t show. “Damon, I’m serious! I love y-”

I was cut off by the shattering of a glass. It took a minute to register that Damon had thrown his cup against the wall.

“DON’T say it again!” Damon snarled.

Whether it was the intensity of the moment, or the rejection I felt burning inside me, I couldn’t help the tears that formed in my eyes blurring my vision, or the anger that bubbled from within. I rushed to Damon shoving him. He didn’t move an inch.

“Why can’t you just accept the fact that someone loves you?” I shoved at him again.

“Oh spare me. I’m a monster. The villain, remember? No one loves me.” Now he was in my face. “You don’t love me.”

“Why do you do this?” I wasn’t going to let him intimidate me, so I stepped in his face same as he’d done to me.

“What was your plan coming here?” ‘Oh poor Damon so sad and alone, maybe, just maybe if he thinks someone loves him he’ll be good again.’ News flash. Nothing can save me. I don’t want anyone to love me. And I sure as hell don't need anyone to.” With his last words, Damon brushed past me walking over to stare out the window. A que that the conversation was meant to be done.

But I wasn’t finished. I turned around now talking to his back.

“Jesus Damon. I thought you were supposed to be better than these people?” He didn’t turn around. “You were the only one living their truth and not giving a damn who it bothered. But now you're just as full of shit as the rest of them.”

“I’m done with this conversation.” he barked over his shoulder, still not turning to face me.

“Damon-”

“I SAID.” He finally turned around -- eyes black, and the veins in his face bulging out.

“I’m done. Now get the hell out.”

All the hope I had that no one downstairs had heard my conversation with Damon quickly faded as I made my way to the living room and all fell silent. Caroline tried her best to act distracted, but Stefan always wore his heart upon his sleeve. The look he gave me when our eyes meet was the look of a boy who had clearly been down this road with Damon time and time again. Seeing as Elena, Ric, and Bonnie were the only ones in the house that couldn’t hear what was said, they watched me carefully for any clues as to what was going on. Curious eyes watched as I moved to the center of the room.

“For those of you in the room who don’t have superhuman hearing, please, allow me to fill you all in.” As I began my speech Damon made his way into the doorway of the living room. I knew I shouldn’t do what I was about to do. But the way he so nonchalantly leaned against the doorframe with that stupid smug look on his face, pushed me over the edge. I grabbed a half empty glass of Borbon off the table and threw it back.

“Upstairs. I told Damon I love him.” I began pouring myself another glass of the disgusting brown liquor.

“Pathetically begged for him to have me.” Just like the first glass, I chugged the whole thing down. The burn it caused in my throat was nothing compared to the burn I felt in my chest.

“And then, well Damon you wanna tell this part?” I extended my hand to Damon beconning for him to join me at center stage. “Come on D. Come over here and lie to them like you lied to me.”

Damon didn’t move from his spot on the wall.

“Fine. I’ll tell the story myself. See everyone, Damon told me he didn’t want to be loved. But everyone of us here knows just how untrue that is.”

Damon stood up a little straighter but still didn’t move from his place. If no one notice Damon’s sudden tension, I wanted to make sure they did.

“Oh. Now I’ve got his attention.” I called him out. Since he made no attempts to stop me, I continued. This time I spoke directly to Damon from my spot in the middle of everyone.

“Come on. Stop lying to me. Stop lying to everyone here. And please stop lying to yourself. It’s not that you don’t want to be loved. It’s just not me who you want to love you. Isn’t that right?”

“I’d shut up now.” Damon finally spoke through clenched jaws.

“See you want to be loved. Just not by me. No, no room to want me, when you’re too busy wanting,” I pointed towards Elena without breaking eye contact with Damon. I could see the anger boiling inside of him. “Her.”

As soon as the last word left my lips I was shoved so hard against the wall the air was knocked from my lungs. Damon was holding me in place by my neck. He looked so rabid I half expected him to start foaming at the mouth. Just as fast as Damon had pinned me against the wall, Stefan was by his side trying to pry him away from me.

“Damon! Get off her!”

“No Stefan, it's fine.” I strained to get my words out since Damon’s fingers were still wrapped around my throat. “He’s only proving I’m right.”

“Damon. Let her go. Please stop.” Elena was now standing behind Damon pleading with him for my life. Although the intensity in his eyes never simmered, the grip he had on my throat loosened.

“Damon. Leave her alone!” Elena cried out again. Damon finally released his hold on me and I fell to the ground gasping as the air rushed back into my lungs. As soon as his hands were off of my throat, Damon was gone.

And so was any hope I had of us being together.

[once-upon-a-oneshot]

Not Everything Is So Primitive

Based On: “If These Walls Could Talk” by 5SOS

Summary: You and Calum can’t keep your hands off each other, but you have to keep it a secret

Warnings: swearing, sexual themes

Word Count: 715

Here I was again. In this cramped, dark storage room. Trying to tempt him. It was the same game every time. He protests and argues – verbally anyway – but he doesn’t stop me from dragging him down the hall to the spot we always found ourselves in. This was my favorite part of our little game. In the tight confines of the little space he still pretends like he isn’t tempted. Pretends that his heart rate hadn’t quickened the second I started sneaking him away. I believe his words were

“You think I’m just some primitive caveman that will just take you in a storage closet?”

I didn’t think he would. I knew he would. I pretend to give up. But as I slip past him to leave the room, my bottom, like always, brushed a little too closely to his crotch. A small, almost inaudible grunt escapes his plump lips. And his hands immediately found their way to my hips, holding me in place. He gave in and let his primal instincts take over. Calum was hungry. And I was the only thing that could satisfy him.

This was our routine. It has been for about a month now. We have to meet in secret, because that’s exactly what we are – a secret. I’d give anything to be able to tell the world about us – we both would. But things are just too complicated. See my ex-boyfriend is one of Cal’s best friends. He’s actually the one who introduced me to Calum. Little did any of us know, Cal and I would start falling for each other. Not that it’s any consolation, but as soon as I realized how I felt about Cal, I broke things off with my previous relationship. At first we tried to deny our connection. Fight it even. But one night, we got too drunk, and things went too far. And since that night, we’ve lived in the land of “Too Far”.

“Imagine if these walls could talk.” Calum broke the silence that filled the room as we came down from our high and started redressing.

“Yea,” I let out a laugh. “They’d probably have a lot to say.” I couldn’t help the flirtatious tone dripping from my comment.

“Well, I hope they wouldn’t say anything,” Unlike my own, Calum’s tone was serious, and somber. “If he found out-” he shook his head, “…when he finds out-”

“Cal-”

“No. I just. I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”

This was my least favorite part. The part once the thirst was quenched. When the passion in our eyes was no longer blinding us. The part when the desire was replaced with unbearable guilt.

“Calum I get it. I’m hurting him too. But-”

“Ashton would hate me!” Calum pulled his arm back as I reached out for it. The action was so sudden and unexpected it made me jump back. “This could ruin not only our friendship, but the band too! There’s no way you can possibly get that!”

“I’m sorry.” I stutter. The hatred I felt for myself and what I was doing, mixed with Calum’s anger was overwhelming. I couldn’t stop myself from bawling.

“I-” Cal let out a frustrated sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m the one who’s sorry.” His tone was a lot softer as he embraced me in his arms. “I know you didn’t want things to be this way anymore than I did.”

“I-It’s okay if y-you hate me.” I let out between sniffles.

“Stop, don’t ever say anything like that.” Calum pulled back so he could look me in my eyes. “I could never hate you. I love you… It’s me that I hate.”

I didn’t need to say anything. I didn’t have to tell Calum that I felt the same way. I didn’t need to explain that I couldn’t look myself in the mirror and be proud of who I was, or of the things I was doing.  I didn’t need to tell him the tears I cried at night after I leave his bed. I didn’t need to show him the pain I felt inside when I had to look at Ashton and know the things I’ve done. Because he already knew.

And sooner or later, Ash would too.

[once-upon-a-oneshot]

Friends with Benefits

Summary: You and Calum are friends with benefits, but what happens when one of you starts to want something more

Genre: Frat!Calum

Warnings: swearing, sexual themes

Word Count: ~900

“Same time tomorrow?” Calum asks as you clumsily climb out of his bed and search around the room for the panties you arrived in.

“Um,” As you reach under the bed, you feel the silk material in a crumbled heap. You pull it out only to realize that these are not the panties you wore here. In fact, they aren’t even yours. “I actually have plans.” You continued, throwing the panties away from you and wiping your hand on your still bare thigh.

“Plans?” Calum’s tone is doubtful, almost even mocking. But you’re too busy scowering the room for your panties to notice.

“Yep.” Deciding to abandon your search for your undergarments, you grab your pants off the foot of the bed and shimmy them on. “So, looks like you’re going old school tomorrow. Just you, yourself, and Miss Righty.” 

The way you grin to yourself as you pull your shirt over your head annoys him. He hates for any one, especially just some girl he hooks up with, to feel that they’ve got anything over him.

“Bold of you to assume you’re the only girl I call when I need to get off.” He pushes, raising an eyebrow at you. Uninterestedly you roll your eyes at him.

“Not only,” you smirk to yourself, “but best.” He’s trying to best you, but you’re not like all the other insecure girls he messes around with. You know what you’ve got, and you know what it’s worth.

“Again,” it was Calum’s turn to smirk at you. “Bold assumption”. Your only response it to roll your eyes as you bend over to pull on your shoes.

“I mean, for the past three weeks you’ve called me, what,” You turn your eyes towards the ceiling and scrunch your face pretending to think. For added measure you use one finger to solve an imaginary equation in the air. “Oh that’s right, every night.”

You won’t back down. But Calum won’t either.

“Yea, and who do you think I’ve called every morning?” Calum smirks triumphantly. You say nothing as you grab your purse and head for the door.

“Good, then call one of them.” You say it and mean it. Just like it was for Calum, to you this arrangement was simply a business transaction. A mutual exchange of sexual favors. Nothing more. 

“See ya.” You call over your shoulder as you finally walk out of the room. Leaving Calum naked and alone in his bed.

*****CALUM’S POV*****

Friday night. Exactly 22 hours since I last got off. I’m not OCD or anything. It’s just that over the years I’ve found that keeping a strict “booty-call” schedule made it easier to keep track of my endeavors. Not to mention it prevents the always awkward “two booty-calls running into each other” situation. If you’ve never experienced one chick leaving your room half naked, while another chick is walking in ready to smash, trust me – you don’t want to go there. However, it did make for some pretty hot hate-sex.

Not that the schedule really mattered much lately. There was really only one time to account for. (Y/N)’s time. Every night for the past couple weeks. 10 o’clock on the dot is her call time. Usually she won’t get here until about midnight, but that works out perfectly for me. The later it is the less likely she’ll be to try and hang out, or some shit, afterwards.

Throwing the weight of my body on the bed, I pull my phone out of my tight jean pocket and call her.

It’s not until she doesn’t answer that I remember about the bullshit “plans” she told me she had.  Whether they are real or not, they’ll just have to wait. Because right now, I need her. Well, my dick does anyway.

I call again. This time the phone rings twice and then goes straight to voicemail.

She sent me to voicemail.

This is probably all just some elaborate scheme to make me think she actually has better things to do than fuck me.

Two can play at that game

I toss my phone on the bed and head towards the bathroom. The sound of my phone vibrating on the bed makes me stop in my tracks. I smile to myself and eagerly make a move for the phone.

Eagerly? Why are you eager?

I blame it on my being horny. I can’t help the way my face falls with disappointment when it’s my friends contact name on my screen instead of hers.

Disappointment?

I must be really, really, horny.

“What?” I bark annoyed. It’s not actually him I’m bothered by, but he’s the one who’s available.

“Dude, where are you?” he’s yelling into the phone, and I can hear loud music blaring in the background.

“My room?” I don’t know what he wants, but if he doesn’t tell me soon this conversation is going to end.

“Oh, I figured you were at that Phi Delta party?”

“Well, I just told you I’m in my room.” I snap. “Why the hell would I be at some frat party?”

I’m far from the type. All those preppy douchebags. Running around with their gelled-hair, short shorts, and flip flops. What real man wears flip-flops other than to the beach? And even that is pushing it.

“Yea but-” the sound of his voice pulls me back to reality from my internal rant. “Your little fuck-buddy’s here so I figured-”

“Who?” I interrupt.

“Uh, you know that one chick. The one you rated best rack!”

“(Y/N)?!” I don’t know why but knowing that she was ignoring my calls, while she was probably running around with some douchey frat guy irritated me.

“Yea! Yea dude her! She looks-” Before he can even finish his sentence, I hang up the phone and grab my keys. I don’t know why I going to the party or what I’ll do when I get there, but right now all I can think about is (Y/N) laying in bed with a douche in flip-flops.

As I finally pull up in front of the huge trashy house, none of the irritation has left my body. Taking long strides, I make my way in the house and navigate through all the drunk teens determined to find (Y/N). I do a quick scan of the living room, the kitchen, the backyard, but she’s nowhere to be seen. With every room I check off the list, my fears of her being locked in one of those bedrooms upstairs with some guy grows.

Just as I’m about to storm up the stairs and kick in every door, I spot her walking through the front door, with a guy following close behind. The type of guy who looks like he wears flip flops. As I watch her grin from ear to ear, I can feel anger rumbling deep in my stomach. Suddenly the house feels hot. Too hot.

My eyes follow them into the kitchen. I count to 10, and I head towards the kitchen too.

“Wooow, hey.” I fake shocked to be running into (Y/N) here.

“Calum.” Her statement sounds more like a question as her eyes go wide.

“Plans huh?” My eyes shift to the tool standing too close to her. I mean come on its burning up in here. Definitely, too hot to be standing that close to someone.

“Yea. Uh Corey this is Calum, Calum this is my friend Corey.” Friend? Her friend Corey? And what I’m? Just Calum? What she should’ve said was ‘Douchebag this is the guy who fucks me better than anyone ever has be-‘

“Nice to meet you man.” Douchebag interrupts my perverse thoughts and reaches out to shake my hand. I don’t want to take it. Who knows where those fingers have been.

Hopefully not in her.

I choke on my own thoughts as my breathe gets caught in my throat. I burst into a fit of coughs and (Y/N) and Douchebag just stare at me like I just grew another head. Douchebag pushes his cup towards me and I take it. As I chug down the beer from his cup, I swear I can taste (Y/N)’s pussy on the rim.

His lips better have not gone anywhere near her.

I can’t stop the thoughts going through my head, or the places my fucked-up imagination keeps taking me, but I know it needs to stop.

I finish off Douchebag’s drink and hand the empty cup back to him. I can feel the alcohol immediately. My muscles ease ever so slightly and I’m starting to function like a normal human being again. I need to regain control of this situation.

“So,” I chose to not even address whatever the hell was going on with me a minute ago. “This is the hot date (Y/N) was all giddy about.” I challenge her.

“You told him this was a date?” Douchebag raises an eyebrow and turns his attention to (Y/N) who’s shooting me daggers with her eyes.

“Well I didn’t use those words exactly.” She says through gritted teeth.

“Damn this is embarrassing,” He continues. I smirk to myself and wait for the show to begin. “Because ... I’ve been telling everyone it was.”

Douche, and I can’t stress this enough, bag.

I can’t help but roll my eyes and scoff, which I play off as another cough.

“You Calum, should take care of that cough, and you Corey, follow me to the beer pong table.” I watch as she grabs his hand and pulls him back towards the living room.

I decide to stay in the kitchen and continue adding alcohol to my system. The liquor burns my throat but for the time being it stops the weird thoughts in my head and helps me think more clearly. I mean obviously I’m not jealous or anything because, why the hell would I be. He’s a douche yea, but not because he’s here with the chick I occasionally fuck. And obviously I’m not irritated with her just because she’s here with a douche. It’s just that I needed to get my dick wet and she ignored my call to be here with said douche. Like he’s somehow more important than me getting off.

I stumble back into the living room and find a spot on the couch. Of course from where I’m sitting I have the perfect view of the beer pong table, and therefore the perfect view and Miss Thing and her new boy toy.

I sit watching them as I down beer after beer. My eyes follow (Y/N) intently as she finally walks away from the table towards the kitchen again. Without thinking, my feet are carrying me to the kitchen right behind her.

“Are you like stalking me now Calum?” she spins on her heels noticing me trailing her.

“Fiesty.” I wink at her. She just rolls her eyes and continues over towards the punch bowl to refill her cup. “I just wanted to tell you how good you look tonight.” I lick my lips while allowing my eyes to rake up and down her body, paying particular attention to her breasts.

“Fuck off.” She rolls her eyes at me while shaking her head. She knows this is a game, and she’s fighting hard not to lose.

“Damn,” I place one hand on her neck tilting her head to the side. “You’re sexy when you’re mad.” I make a move to attach my lips to her neck and she lets me. And I know I’ve won. I suck at the sensitive skin and try to push my body closer to hers. “Let me take you upstairs.” I whisper into her neck.

“See I would,” she speaks but doesn’t move away from me. “But, I have a hot date to get back to.” She finally pulls away from me. “I’m just so giddy about it.” She’s mocking me. She smirks as she brushes past me leaving me and my bulge alone in the kitchen.

One hour, and too many shots later I’m still here. At this stupid frat house with these stupid people. I could’ve just gone home, but something keeps me here. I think it’s my obsession with beating (Y/N). Finally proving to her that she should’ve been in my bed with me tonight. Not here with what’s his face. When the first bit of alcohol entered my system, it helped keep my thoughts from running wild. Now that it’s pulsing through my veins as thick as my blood, the thoughts have returned.

I sit on the stairs, watching as (Y/N) grinds her perfect ass against Corbin, or whatever the hell his name was. It makes me sick. He slides his hands down her hips. He could never navigate her body as well as I do – even if she drew him a map. I’m the one that knows all the right places to touch her. I’m the one who knows all the right buttons to push. My name is the name she calls out while I pound into her.

The alcohol is mixing with my lust and my anger and it’s pushing me.

Douchebag spins (Y/N) around and wraps his hands in her hair.

The way that I do.

He tries to lean in and kiss her, but just before his lips meet hers, I’m pushing him off of her. My mind is confused but my fist are determined. I tackle him to the ground and start beating the shit out of him.

“Calum! CALUM GET OFF OF HIM!” (Y/N)’s voice pulls me off of him when no one else has been able to. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I don’t know how to answer her, because truthfully, I don’t know what I’m doing. I stand there glancing around at all the faces of the small crowd that had formed around us.

“He-You-” I was struggling to find a way to blame them for this. She stands there impatiently waiting for me to speak. Her angered expressions triggers something in me. She thinks she can stand here and face off against me. What does she think? She can intimidate me or something?

“You’re the one who should’ve answered my call!” I bite back at her. “Then I wouldn’t have had to come to this stupid ass party in the first place!”

“Calum get over yourself!” Why can’t she just let me win. Why does she have to be so damn stubborn? My body burns with rage and the faces of all these staring people aren’t making things any better.

“What the hell are you all looking at?!” I yell at the nosy ass bystanders. I probably look like a mad man. Wild hair, sweating, with knuckles busted and bleeding. I look scary enough for the crowd to scurry away in all directions turning their attention to something else.

(Y/N), along with the crowd, turns her back on me.

“Don’t,” I grab her arm and spin her back around to face me. “Turn your back on me!”

“Fuck! Off!” She emphasizes each word never letting any of the anger simmer. She jerks her arm away from me and turns her back on me again. I want to say whatever I need to to keep her from walking away from me. And of all the things I could, and probably should say, the best I can do is:

“That guy isn’t right for you!” The words taste foreign on my lips. I’ve never been one to look of for what was “right” for someone. Especially not some girl. The second the words leave my mouth I want to shove them back down my throat.

Now she’ll think she got me.

Now she’ll think she’s won.

“Right for me? Christ Calum it’s a date, not a fucking proposal!” She’s pissed, but at least she stayed. (Y/N) marches up to get in my face. She’s not done with me yet. “And what the hell do you know about right for me?! We fuck on occasion but that doesn’t mean you KNOW ME!”

She turns around and storms off. This time I let her go.

As I watch her walk away from me, I get this feeling. A feeling in the pit of my stomach. A sinking feeling.

Don’t leave me.

The thought scares me. I’ve never wanted someone to stay before, nor did I ever want to want someone to stay. But as the possibility of her staying faded -- leaving me alone -- I realized how desperately I wanted it. How desperately I needed it. Needed her.

This wasn’t a game. It never was. But as she turned her back on me, I couldn’t help but feel like I had just lost.

[once-upon-a-oneshot]

Game Over

Based On: “When You Sleep” by Mary Lambert

Summary: Frat!Harry only wants you when he’s drunk, and you’ve finally had enough

Warnings: swearing

Word Count: 1.8K

Here I was for the third time this week pulling up to a frat party in the middle of the night. I didn’t want to be here, but, just like all the other times he had too much to drink, he needed me. Usually it takes a great amount of pushing past drunk underaged college kids to find him at these things. But this time, as soon as I reached the yard of the house, dimly lit by an array of neon party lights, I spotted a mop of curly brown hair, hunched over a bush.

“Yo! Harry dude! I thought we agreed no more puking in our bushes?!” Some frat guy was yelling at him from the porch. Harry’s only response was to flip the guy off and grin while using the bush to hold him up. “Finally! Your baby sitter’s here” The guy half-joked noticing my arrival.

Harry turned around to face me a little too fast, and he stumbled forward nearly falling. I tried my best to support him but there was no chance. I by no means would consider myself “small” or “petite”, but compared to Harry’s 6-foot, broad shouldered stature, he was too large.

“Hey! What’re ya doing hur?” Harry drunkenly slurred semi-regaining his balance.

“Haz, you called me, remember?” Normally I would’ve been embarrassed calling him anything but his name. But I’ve done this enough times to know, in the morning, he won’t remember any of the words exchanged tonight.

It took nearly an hour to get Harry back to my dorm room. Our new personal best. It’s not that I live far from the frat house, it’s more the process of getting Harry here. The trip usually goes something like, helping Harry stumble to the car, pulling over at every traffic light so Harry can throw up, finally making it to his apartment (which is past my own apartment), Harry begging me to help him to his front door, Harry realizing he “forgot” his keys, Harry asking if he can just crash at my place instead, me driving Harry back to my apartment, helping Harry stumble into my dorm.

It took about the third time of this routine being repeated for me to realize the coincidence of Harry forgetting his keys every time he went out, got shit faced, and called me to come pick him up, wasn’t so much a coincidence. And even though it was the same thing every time, I never skipped the step of driving to his apartment, because I knew it meant he’d have to verbally ask me if he could stay with me. And in some sick way, I got off to hearing his lips form those words. It was something so small, but something that meant so much to me. And he knew that. Drunk or not. I knew what the morning would bring, but for the night, I’d listen to Harry’s slow, peaceful breathing as he slept.

The next morning, I woke up to the sound of Harry attempting to tip-toe around, collecting his things before I’d wake up. And just like every other morning, I lay perfectly still, letting silent tears hit the pillow, while I listen to the boy I love try to pretend he was never here.

LATER ON CAMPUS

“Hey (Y/N), what did I miss in class today?” I swiveled around in the library chair to face the person who was speaking to me.

Before even facing him, I recognized the voice as a kid from my Biology class, who also happened to be from my hometown. We weren’t necessarily friends, but we engaged in small talk every once in a while. Although I knew who it was before I turned around, I didn’t expect Harry to be standing there with him.

“Oh, uh, not too much.” I focused as hard as I could on my classmate to keep from looking over at Harry. I could feel his eyes burning into me, but I was too embarrassed to look at him. “I can send them to you if you want.”

“Sick! Can you email them to me right now, so I can print them right quick?” I wanted badly to make up some excuse for why I just had to leave and send the notes later, so I could get far far away from Harry. But when I opened my mouth, “Sure” is all that came out.

The guy sat at the computer across from me, and Harry sat down next to him. I fixed my eyes on the computer screen and tried to steady my shaky hands enough to hurriedly send the notes. All the while Harry continued to stare.

As soon as the notes were sent, I logged off the computer and packed up my things. In order to get out of the library I had to pass Harry and the guy, and it was just my luck that the guy had gotten up to go print. As I passed Harry, he grabbed my wrist stopping me. I finally looked into his green eyes, but he didn’t say anything, he just continued to stare like he had already been doing.

“What?” I asked getting uncomfortable with the intensity he was looking at me with. He just shrugged in response.

Once Harry noticed his friend walking back to the computer, he quickly released my wrist, and turned around, as if nothing had ever happened.

Things have been this way with Harry since I met him. Since the day I became his. He knew I had a crush on him, and it gave him some sort of ego trip. Even though he knew I already wanted him, he wanted to make sure it would stay that way. So, whenever he felt like I wasn’t paying him enough attention, or he thought my yearning for him was slipping away, he’d throw me a bone to keep me begging. Initially I made the mistake of thinking this meant that by some chance, he wanted me the same way, but he proved time and time again (through his actions and his words), this wasn’t the case.

And after months of taking whatever treatment Harry would give me. I finally snapped. It happened one night at a party. I was drinking, and I didn’t know he’d be there. I spent the night avoiding him. I was afraid of what drunk me may say or do once I got around him. When he entered a room, suddenly I had somewhere else to be. When he needed another drink from the kitchen, suddenly I wasn’t thirsty anymore. When he wanted to join on the beer pong table, suddenly I was bored of the game. And Harry noticed.

I was on the second floor of the house on my own, exhausted from dodging Harry all night. I leaned my back against the wall of the hall after the stairs reminded me just how buzzed I really was. I guess Harry spotted me heading up stairs because I heard footsteps on the stairs, before he appeared at the top of them. Without saying anything, Harry glanced over his shoulder, before walking and standing directly in front of me. He put an arm up on either side of my head, trapping me between him and the wall.

“I didn’t know you were gonna be here.” he said too casually for our position. “Are you mad at me or something?” This took me by surprise.

“What?”

“You’ve been ignoring me all night.” Again, his tone was way too casual for the things he was saying. But honestly, that’s always how Harry played it.

“You mean living my life? Enjoying the party? Not worshiping the ground you walk on?” Harry’s only response was a smirk. That’s when I started getting angry. “Look I’m too drunk to even be having this conversation with you right now Haz, so can we ju-“

“What’d you just call me?” Harry questioned raising an eyebrow at me. I froze. I was so drunk and emotional that I had accidentally let it slip. But upon processing the look on Harry’s face as something almost resembling distain, my embarrassment turned to pure anger.

“What do you want from me Harry?!” anger was thick in my voice as I pushed him backwards further from me.

“What are you talki-“

“No. Don’t you dare do that! Don’t act like you’re clueless. Like-like you haven’t been playing games with me since we met!” He said nothing. Instead he just stood staring at me. An emotionless expression painted across that beautiful face.

I wanted to stay angry. I wanted the fire burning inside of me to push me to finally walking away from this toxic man. But seeing that there was truly nothing there, the anger fizzled out to simple exhaustion.

“Look, we both know you know how I feel about you. And we both know you don’t feel the same way. But you play with my head. You flirt with me just long enough to wrap me around your finger. And then silence. Just like I never existed. That is until your hold on me starts unraveling again. It’s just some big twisted game for you. It’s like when you can’t have my attention, you suddenly want it.”

“It’s no-“

“I’m not done. For once in the history of whatever the fuck this thing with us is, it’s my turn to talk, and your turn to just listen. And I want you to listen good, because this is the only time I’m ever going to say.” I waited for some sign from Harry to let me know he was really paying attention.

He nodded so I continued.

“I can’t keep being a pawn in your torturous game Harry. It’s not fair to me. You’re breaking me apart and you don’t even care. The thing that hurts the most Harry,” I fought the tears for as long as I could, but the alcohol made it nearly impossible “is the fact that I know I could make you so happy. I would do everything in my power to give you the world. Hell, I basically already do. But you’re so blinded by “not wanting to be with me” that you don’t even realize how good I am for you. How good I am to you. If you stop telling yourself you’re not allowed to love me, I guarantee I’d make you fall. But if that’s not what you want. If you really, truly don’t even want to give me a chance, I’m done. I’ll have to walk away before you finish draining what little of me, I have left. And if that’s what it comes to, I’m begging you, please just let me go. No more games.”

Harry just stood and, like he so often did, stared. Blank. I felt like I was frozen in that moment and all the air had been sucked from the room. Unfortunately, I could feel myself began to sober up as I stood in anticipation of Harry’s response. I wished like hell I was still drunk, because maybe it would’ve hurt less when Harry finally spoke.

“I’m sorry,” he began backing away back towards the stairs. “I’ll leave you alone.” And with that he spun on his heels and trotted back down to the party.

[once-upon-a-oneshot]

An Eternity to Wait

Based On: “The Man Who Can’t Be Moved” by The Script

Summary: Luke lost you, but he continues to wait for you to return to him

Warnings: illness, death

Word Count: 865

Every Tuesday at 2:47pm. This is where I sit. Waiting.

I know I’m a fool to think she’ll ever show up here. To the place we first met. But I can’t risk her coming back and me not being here. She’d be so lost. So alone.

If my calculations are correct, this is the 6th, or maybe 7th time I’ve come here since she left me. It’s hard to keep track sometimes. After the first couple of visits, all the Tuesday’s just started blurring together. It’s probably because every time I come here, I do the same thing.

I arrive at 2pm. I purchase her favorite flowers from a nearby florist. I grab her favorite blueberry bagel from the café across the street, and a drink. Three quarters orange juice, one quarter lemonade – just like she likes it (I always thought it was the strangest combination. So particular. But since she’s been gone, I’ve found some sort of odd appreciation for it). Then I sit on this bench at 2:47 exactly and wait.

I wait a while, but after the first 40 or so minutes, I start to get hungry. I eat half the blueberry bagel, but I wrap the other half up tight. If she comes, I’m sure she’ll be hungry. I do the same with the drink. I sip on half of it, and then leave the rest for her. She’d never forgive me if I finished it all before she had a chance to get any.

While I wait, I think back on the beautiful life I once had with her, and all the things I missed about it. Like the way she’d turn any floor into her stage. She’d laugh and dance around just because she felt like it. I feel ashamed as I remember how I used to let it embarrass me sometimes. I’d beg her to stop because she was drawing attention to us, but she never cared. She’d just laugh and dance on.

That’s something else I miss about her, the way she could find humor in any situation, no matter how frustrating. There was this one time, she had some really important appointment she had to get to, but her alarm didn’t go off when it was supposed to. If waking up late wasn’t bad enough, she was dog-sitting her best friend’s puppy, Alfie – who we, unfortunately, discovered was a bit of a kleptomaniac. After she had sped to get ready, she realized her keys were missing, and Alfie happened to be a lot dirtier than usual. After 20 minutes of digging around in the garden, she finally found them. But her misfortune wasn’t over quite yet. It was about an hour after her scheduled appointment when I got a call from her. “I got a flat.” was all she said, and I dropped everything I was doing to go be her knight in shining armor. Little did I know, she didn’t need saving at all. When I arrived, there she was, sat on the side of the road. With a purple blouse, red shorts, two-left shoes, with dirt smudged against her skin. A clear sign of someone who’s had the most impossible morning. But as soon as she saw me, she just busted out in fits of giggles. She laughed so hard tears started rolling down her cheeks.

The thing I missed the absolute most about her though, is the way her eyes lit up every time she’d call my name. Luke. A name I never loved as much as when it was rolling off her tongue. She’d do this thing where, no matter where we were, no matter what we were doing, she’d just randomly call my name. I’d turn to her and patiently wait for what usually came next. “I love you.” It was something she had done since the first time she told me she loved me. She loved to make me wait for it. Always told me my face would light up like a kid on Christmas the second she called my name. I’d turn eagerly waiting for the three words that always followed the pause. And no matter how many times she did it, the excitement I felt never withered. Even after 2 years of her doing it. She never quit.

Even after she got sick. She’d lay in her hospital bed, doing her best to suffer in silence so I didn’t know how bad things were. I’d sit by her bed every night, holding her hand, wishing everything would just be okay. “Luke,” she’d say and wait, “I love you.” It was all she had to say to calm me down. To reassure me that everything would be fine. That nothing between us would ever change. In a way I saw it as a promise between us. When she’d make me wait, and I enthusiastically did so. It was a promise that I’d always wait for her. A promise I’m still keeping to this day.

Because when the last words to ever leave her lips, before peacefully slipping away, were “Luke,” I knew I’d spend the rest of eternity waiting to hear what was supposed to follow.

“I love you.”