#Each Day Sober Slowly Helps Alcoholics Brains Recover

[heykav]

Each Day Sober Slowly Helps Alcoholics' Brains Recover

Each Day Sober Slowly Helps Alcoholics’ Brains Recover

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Latest Mental Health News

WEDNESDAY, Sept. 2, 2020 (HealthDay News)

A new brain scan study shows why the “one day at a time” approach works for recovering alcoholics.

“For people with AUD [alcoholuse disorder], the brain takes a long time to normalize, and each day is going to be a struggle,” explained senior study author Rajita Sinha, a professor of…

[raebayhc]

Girls Night Out

PART TWO!!!

warnings: smut, oral sex (f), fingering, public sex acts, car sex, use of alcohol, manipulation

word count: 2070

summary: you along with your groups of friends decide to have a girls' night for the first time in a while, things get heated and your friends end up taking turns using your body.

series: part 1 (more parts to come)

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Finally making your way through the crowd you make it back to the group of girls who had already begun to drink. Mikasa’s hand finds purchase on your waist as she pulls you closer to hand you a drink “it’s fruity, you’ll like it” Mikasa knew you weren’t a heavy drinker but when you did drink you preferred fruitier things, you giggled at the thought of her ordering something so girly with the sole intent on giving it to you. You happily took the drink from her hand giving her a warm smile, taking a sip she watches your reaction as your face lights up “holy shit mik- this is awesome” she takes a sip of her rich colored drink “let me taste” you obliged as you held your glass up for her, she goes to hand you her drink but you decline “no thanks, that stuff tastes like rat poison.. I’m better off with my drink from paradise” you laugh, she lets out a small chuckle at your cuteness “just try it y/n I promise it’s not that bad”.. “Ughhhhhh fiiiiiine only because it’s you mik” you reply hesitantly. You both lift your drinks to the mouth of the other, not breaking eye contact you take a sip, and as does she, almost as if it was planned yall both swallow squint grunt then let out a small cough a visual representation of how yall felt about each other’s drinks “how do you drink this shit?? Bleh” Mikasa spits out “it’s better than the jet fuel you have in this glass” you shiver out.

The night goes on and all of the ladies are around the bar talking, yall somehow landed on your childhood and how yall used to run around outside all day and play in the woods behind your neighborhood. Mikasa continues to tell the story of how yall have matching scars on the same place at the top of your inner thigh from when yall collided bikes one time as if she needed proof she lifted your skirt to look at the scar, a reminder maybe, “see! Told yall it really happened and I have the same exact one too!” she lets your skirt back down and the girls disperse throughout the building, some dancing, some talking to guys for potential hookups. You and mik still at the bar talking. She cuts your sentence short “wait actually let me see your scar again I think it shrunk” without getting confirmation from you she lifts your skirt and underestimating the length it would take for her to reach the scar she overshot and instead of rubbing the scar she rubs the thigh right against one of your folds, a small whimper falls out of your throat, you didn’t mean to let it out it just kind of happened. Your stomach drops, her eyes dart up to your face, a deep blush forming that you can’t control. She cocks an eyebrow at you and slowly begins to move her hand up closer and closer to your sex, your grip on the bar counter becoming tighter “mik what the fuck are you doing” you spit out through gritted teeth. “I haven’t stopped thinking about earlier… yah know when we basically kissed in the theatre, I haven’t gotten you out of my mind since.” her words lit a flame in you, not only because of how seductive they were but because you were definitely attracted to her, you always have been but you would never dare to speak on it.

“I’ve kept this to myself for far too long don’t you think?” she asks, not able to push out any words fearing you would instead release a moan you nod, your eyebrows scrunched on your forehead, your bottom lip tucked between your teeth, eyes glossy, nipples erect and visible through your thin shirt….. She couldn’t help herself. Slipping a finger into your underwear she groans at how wet you already are “all this… for me baby?” she purrs into your ear. “Mik…. we’re at a bar, there are people everywhere… please..” you whine out, she replies with a simple “trust me”, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to face her she grabs her drink opens your mouth and pours it in “spit it out or swallow it and you’ll regret it” you wince and nod your head obediently “good girl” she purrs.

Now basically crumbling under her touch your thighs are shaky, breathing erratic as you can only breath through your nose due to the rich liquid sheltered in your mouth. She positions her fingers to shape a gun, she then points her ‘hand gun’ at you and ‘pulls the trigger’ taking that same position she pushes into you, knowing you would react to this she lets out a loud cough to cover your moan, thank goodness she did. You’re vocal she likes that. Now pushing in and out of you she takes her left hand and grabs your neck then pulls you to kiss, her tongue prodding at your lips signaling you to open for her, the deep liquid flows into her mouth dripping down your chins, she swallows the liquid but remains in contact with your face against her occasionally biting or sucking on your lip. You knew there were definitely going to be marks later but you didn’t care, this was pure bliss and just the thought of Mikasa getting aroused by this was enough to send you over the edge, your vision gone blurry, your body shaking, reaching your climax. You droop your head down breathing heavy, worried she had crossed a line Mikasa lifted your head only to see a blissful fucked out expression, eyes hazy, drool falling down your chin, your mouth in a slight smirk, tears threatening to fall. “Oh, shit” she mumbles now fully aware of the effect you have on her.

Removing her fingers from under your skirt she dips her fingers in your drinks and encourages you to take them in your mouth which you do without a fight, a low groan escapes your lips as you taste the sweet and salty mixture of your juices, her sweat, and your ‘drink from paradise’ on her digits. Pulling her fingers out with a loud ‘pop’ she pulls a napkin from under her drink and wipes them off. Still recovering from the previous climax you sit there catching your breath, Mikasa’s hand finds its way to the small of your back, she leans into your neck giving you small pecks then comes up to your ear and nibbles on it a bit “.... y’know… there’s so much more I want to do to you.. Bee.” your skin shivers at the name she had given you when yall were in the sixth grade after you got chased by a bee into a creek, you hadn’t heard it in years… she really was something.

You only had one drink so you were nowhere near tipsy, sober as can be….. Unfortunately that cant be said for some of the other ladies. Ymir, Sasha, and Hitch were all out of it fortunately enough you, mikasa, and historia were all sober so yall could drive, you decide to take responsibility for hitch and drive her to the barn. You put her arm around your shoulder “shit. Why the fuck are you so heavy hitch, youre tiny” you spit out struggling to support her weight on you as you walk her to the car “h- hey-*hiccup* hey. Im not heavy I just had done a cartwheel sometimes earlier when she asked me to”. Yup. she’s out of if you think, you’re on the road and on the way to Sasha’s family barn when hitch yells at you to pull into an empty parking lot so she can get air a possibly throw up. Y’know the basic drunk shenanigans. You pull over to what seems to be a deserted parking lot with a raccoon and some dead bushes “okay hitch hurry up” “yeah yeah I’m going I’m going” she seems to have sobered up a bit.. *click* the passenger door opens and the car lights come on “hurry up they’re wai-” you’re cut off by the image in front of you. Wearing nothing but her underwear hitch had removed all of her clothing including her bra revealing her numerous piercings including a belly button and nipple piercings, not only that but she had one hand down her panties moving around doing what you assume is masturbating and her other hand squeezing her nipple “mmph please..please.. Help me will you pretty girl?” butterflies filled your stomach “what’re you-”

Hitch climbs halfway in with her hand on the middle console and one of her knees on the passenger seat, grabbing the collar of your shirt she pulls you in for a sloppy kiss, your grip on the wheel loosens as you lose yourself in the kiss, not only that but you notice she doesn’t taste of alcohol, not even the slightest bit. In fact, you remember about a month ago when she said she was gonna stop drinking and when yall were in the club you only saw her with cans of soda when you did happen to catch a peek of her.. Was she- “faking?” your thoughts cut off by her sudden comment “you know you’re really easy to read y/n, I can tell what’s going on in that pretty little brain of yours honey.” “so were you? Faking I mean.” you say in a confused tone as if you were trying to piece it all together yourself “yeahhhhh sorry but I had to get you alone somehow, don’t think I didn’t notice how Mikasa and historia were all over you tonight, it wasn’t rocket science to figure out they probably fucked you..and to be honest I’ve thought about us together. So please… have me?” she takes your hand and shoves it down her panties, black and lacey, you retract your hand and look at her without saying anything. Worried she might have done something wrong she begins “oh my god I got the wrong idea y/n I’m so so sor-” “get in the back” you cut her off.

Climbing in the back she waits on instructions from you, you join her in the back. You position yourself on top of her laying her head on the back door, you scan over her helpless body so small and fragile under your touch, starting by kissing her breasts leaving marks on the sides of them you move down to her torso. Giving sweet and soft kisses occasionally leaving a hickey or two, you make it down to her covered pussy, kissing above the lacey garment you tease her. “Please y/n please please please I can’t” she begs “I got it I got it” you pull her underwear to the side she releases a sigh of relief not long after followed a scream of pleasure as you plunge your face into her sex, lapping up whatever juices are flowing and gently sucking on the bundle of nerves at the top. “N-not so.. fast y/n... I won’t… I won’t last!!” she manages out through broken whimpers and cries, which only encourages you to break her even more, make her cry out an orgasm, make her the best little pet you could ask for. You stick a ring and middle finger inside of her while your mouth focuses on her clit, not that pushes her over the edge. Her mind blanks and all she can see is white, you speed up to enhance her orgasm, you’re then met with the strong bursts of fluid that fall from her. “She’s a squirter huh” you think to yourself hungrily lapping up as many juices as possible, “mmhmm y/n y/n y/n ahh please you’re so-” her body twitches “you’re so amazing mmm”. You remove your fingers and place her panties back where they belong, sitting up adoring her aroused figure you spit out “you think you’d top me huh?” followed by a cheeky grin and a condescending giggle.

The car lights up and a ring echoes “Ymir” flashes on the dashboard “incoming call”...

THE EEENNNDDD pt.2

AHHHHHH IM SO OVERWHELMED BY THE POSITIVITY AND LOVELY FEEDBACK I LOVE YALL AWHHHH!!! I will continue to write and upload for this series!! Thank you for the patience *muah*

[collapsingintojupiter]

At Least I’ve Got You

The prompt for this one was drunk prinxiety, with the lines “I’m too sober for this.” ; “No. Regrets.” ; “How drunk was I?” ; and “Welcome back. Now fucking help me.”

Characters: Virgil, Roman, Patton, Logan

Relationships: The four are best friends and Virgil/Roman are dating. So this is for all you Prinxiety fans.

Warnings: Alcohol mention, injury, and cursing. Let me know if I need to add anything else.

...

"I'm just trying to help you look out for yourself! I wasn't trying to--"

"Well stop helping me! I'm sick of being babied like this, I'm not a fucking child!" Virgil snapped. "Just leave me alone!"

"But...kiddo--"

"I am NOT your 'kiddo!' Don't call me that!"

"Virgil…" He stiffened as Patton's hand touched his shoulder.

"Get away from me!" Virgil snarled and lashed out with one hand, forcefully shoving Patton away and storming towards the door.

"Wait, where are you going? Virgil please--"

He slammed the door behind him and ran into the street, Patton's wounded voice echoing in his ears as he desperately tried to get away from the house and its occupant. Then he suddenly stopped, the realization of what he'd just done smacking him in the face as if a car had hit him. Oh my God...I just hit Patton...I just hit my best friend...he swayed on his feet, turning back to his friend's house, then froze.

I can't go back there.

I can't face Patton. Not after I just did that...

Virgil stumbled forward across the street and tripped over the curb, collapsing into a heap on the sidewalk. He growled and pounded a fist into it, then scrambled to his feet once again. WheredoIgowheredoIgo...Gotta get out of here. Now.

"What's this? My dark and stormy night is...out during the day?"

Oh no. Not right now. Virgil groaned and turned around.

"What do you want?"

"Whoah, you look like someone just ran over your puppy. Are you alright?" Roman's expression quickly twisted into a look of concern when he saw his boyfriend's uncharacteristically stricken face.

"It's nothing," Virgil growled. He started walking again, but Roman would not be deterred. He raced after him, matching the storm cloud's pace once he caught up.

"Right, and I'm the king of France. C'mon, you can tell me anything Virge! You know I'm here for you!" Virgil leveled a glare at Roman, who stared back at him with that stupidly cute face of his, then sighed in defeat. His boyfriend raised an eyebrow, unsure as to whether or not his victory was certain yet.

"I got in a fight with Pat," he stated bluntly.

"With Pat?" Virgil winced when he saw the expression of bafflement flutter across Roman's face. "But...but how? You two are like...best friends...since like forever!" he spluttered.

"He worries about me too much." Well, there's probably a better way to say it than that...

"You do realize that he's not the only one who's worried about you..." Roman said slowly. He seemed more hesitant than normal, and Virgil looked back at him in confusion. "Pat's just...the most open about his concern for you."

"Oh, don't you get all sappy on me too," Virgil grumbled.

"You know I'm right, Surly Temple." Virgil hissed and shoved Roman, who easily recovered and flashed him a smile, dropping the serious expression in an instant. He was good at that; a good actor. Not to mention cute.

"I'm too sober for this," Virgil growled.

"Too sober for what?" Roman glanced at his boyfriend, one eyebrow raised.

"Talking to you." Roman grinned.

"I can fix that."

"Please."

---

Roman hummed to himself as his old red pickup truck bumped up one of the area's many mountain roads, one hand on the steering wheel while the other was wrapped around a can of booze. Virgil was curled up in the passenger seat, quietly staring out at the scenery as he sipped from an identical can.

"I don't feel like I deserve to be friends with Patton sometimes," he said suddenly, shaking his head. His tone had completely changed from the anger of earlier, and Roman glanced back at him as he spoke. Virgil sounded almost...sad. "He's always so nice to me, you know? And he's always concerned about me and checking up, asking if I've been eating..."

"That's what friends do, Virgil," Roman answered gently. "They care for each other. And you--" he set his can down in the cupholder and gently bumped Virgil's shoulder with his fist "--certainly are lucky to have someone that's so concerned about your well-being."

"I keep messing it up."

"You're human. Humans aren't perfect, you know. Not even me." Roman grinned.

"Mmmm." Virgil sighed and leaned back, neither answering his boyfriend nor acknowledging his awful joke. Instead he looked like he was thinking, that or perhaps he was about to fall asleep.

"Don't crash on me yet, we're almost there," Roman warned him.

"Mmmph."

"You're coming star-watching with me if I have to drag you up that mountain. Don't test me." Virgil rolled his eyes and finished his can of beer, reaching for another.

"Why are we going to look at a bunch of dumb stars anyways?" He asked grumpily.

"Because they're pretty and I know you like them even if you spend all your time pretending that you don't."

"Falsehood!" Virgil shouted, borrowing from their friend Logan's vocabulary for a moment. Maybe he really was out of it, he never did that. "I just think they're boring is all."

"Liar."

"Hssssss."

Roman only grinned, shook his head, and tipped the last of what remained in his beer can into his mouth. "Can you hand me another one?" He asked.

"We're out."

"Check under the seat." Virgil checked and let out a whistle.

"Fuck yeah," he hissed, grabbing two more cans; one for Roman and one for himself. Before he could right himself, however, Roman spun the steering wheel and the truck swerved, Virgil letting out a strangled yelp as the truck bounced off the road and into a tiny little parking area overlooking a cliff.

"We're here!" Roman announced.

"Bitch, gimmie a warning next time!" Virgil's angry voice sounded muffled.

"Maybe if you'd wear a seatbelt this wouldn't be a problem."

Virgil glared up at his boyfriend from where he was now crammed onto the floor beneath the truck's dashboard, his shoulders wedged into the small area between the seat and dash where the door was. Somehow, the two beer cans were still safe in his hands. Roman smiled sweetly and took both, before sliding out of the truck and coming around to open the door. Immediately Virgil tumbled out of the tight space, landing in a heap on the gravel lot.

"I hate you," he snapped.

A can was pressed into his hands.

"Nevermind." Virgil allowed Roman to help him to his feet, a little surprised when he pulled him in for a hug but allowing it nonetheless. Yeah, he was really out of it.

"Everything hurts," he muttered.

"I'll carry you."

"You wha--" Virgil's question was cut off by another yelp when Roman suddenly swept him off his feet in one swift motion, carrying him bridal style to the back of the truck. Somehow he managed to open it, though Virgil wasn't sure how given that he was already juggling a beer can and a human being. He didn't ask, though.

"This right here..." Roman grunted as he set his much smaller boyfriend down, then climbed up onto the truck beside him, "...is what I meant. Not wearing a seatbelt could get you killed, Virgil. You can't keep doing stuff like this to yourself."

"Mmmph," Virgil hadn't moved from where Roman had set him down, not wanting to upset any of his bruises.

"You're cold aren't you?"

"Definitely not." Roman sighed, moving forward and opening the window to the back of the truck. He reached in and pulled out a blanket, tossing it to Virgil. His boyfriend didn't try to catch it but Roman saw his face light up when it landed on him--though he'd deny it off course--before he grabbed it and pulled it over his body.

"Thanks."

Roman came back and sat down cross-legged next to Virgil, unable to hide his smile when the other boy shifted so that his head was in his lap. He absentmindedly ran a hand through Virgil's hair as they watched the stars come out one by one, sipping at their beer and enjoying each other's company in silence.

After a while, however, they started to chat. They talked about a lot of things; the past, the present, the future, their friends and family; hopes and dreams. Virgil seemed to forget about being cold and ended up perched on the roof of the truck, laughing at one of Roman's stories from middle school while he dramatically reenacted it on the truck bed. Once he'd finished Roman suddenly seemed to get very serious, and then a crazy smile slowly spread across his face.

"Virgil, have you ever flown before?" He asked. His speech sounded funny and slurred even to Virgil's fuzzy brain, and he shook his head.

"We don't have wings, you idiot."

"Oh you won't need wings for this."

"Need wings for wh-AT THE FUCK, ROMAN!" Virgil's unholy shriek pierced the air as Roman clumsily charged forward and crashed into him, sending the pair flying over the edge and down the steep embankment that waited beyond the truck bed. They rolled and tumbled and twisted and screamed until they finally came to a stop; Roman when he collided with a tree and Virgil when he got tangled in an impossibly huge bush.

"I DID IT! I FLEW! VIRGIL DID YOU SEE THAT?"And that was the last thing Virgil remembered before everything faded into darkness.

---

He was the first to awaken some time the next morning. Virgil only knew it was morning because the birds were singing and his back felt warm; his hood which had somehow ended up yanked over his face made it impossible to see anything at all. Everything ached and Virgil's fuzzy mind couldn't decipher why that was at all until he tried to move. A streak of pain shot up his leg when he tried to pull it towards his body and he hissed, confused by the crackling sound that followed the movement.

Are those...leaves? Am I sitting in a bush?

He tried to move his arm and discovered that, while it ached too, no shooting pain accompanied it when he pulled it towards his face. Something--or rather, multiple somethings poked and snagged at his sleeves, but he finally got his arm where he needed it to be and managed to pry his hood away from his face.

Something he instantly regretted.

"FUCK, MY EYES!" Virgil shrieked, throwing his hands up to protect them as sunlight exploded in his vision, bright and hot and painful. A headache quickly throbbed into existence behind his forehead.

"Virgil? You're alive!" Roman's happy but pained yelp from somewhere--he wasn't sure where--only made the headache worse, and Virgil groaned.

"Welcome back. Now fucking help me," he growled with all the strength he could muster. He heard thrashing nearby and then something touched his shoulder.

"How drunk was I? What the hell happened?"

"You pushed me off a fucking cliff, you idiot!"

"I did?" Roman sounded appalled. "I don't remember that at all!"

"Does it look like I pushed myself? My fucking ankle's dead and it's your fault!"

"Okay okay, shut up and hold still. I'm gonna try and untangle you, save the complaining for later."

"Cause I was gonna do what? Go for a stroll?"

"Remember the shut up part." Virgil hissed but didn't say anything more as something grabbed his arms and gently helped pry him loose from the bush, hauling him up so that he and Roman were standing side-by-side. Virgil kept all his weight on his good leg and his gaze on the ground away from the awful sunlight, slowly shaking his head. Everything was throbbing. His eyes were throbbing.

"I think that was the dumbest thing I've ever seen you do," he muttered. Roman laughed.

"No regrets!" he shouted, pumping a fist into the air and wincing at the pain that brought him. "Wish I remembered it though."

"How about I give you some regrets?" Virgil snapped. "How the fuck are we gonna get up this now? By levitating?"

"I'll help you. Lean on me and I'll help support your weight."

"Fantastic. We're gonna die."

"Oh shut up, we're not gonna die." Roman helped support his boyfriend and together the pair struggled up the muddy slope, Virgil cursing his bad luck every two seconds and Roman holding back laughter wherever he spotted flattened patches of foliage that either he or Virgil must have crashed through. Virgil's ankle could hardly support any weight and as they tackled the climb Roman grew increasingly worried that they might not reach the top, and end up having to call someone instead. If they had service. Roman didn't say anything about his worries out loud though, not wanting to scare Virgil any more than he already had.

When they got back to the truck Roman let out a shout of excitement that startled Virgil so badly he nearly fell down the cliff again, but his boyfriend caught him before that could happen.

"Sorry," he muttered sheepishly, ducking his head to avoid the death glare that was now resting on him.

"One of these days I'm going to kill you."

Roman opened his mouth to reply, but before he could he realized that his truck wasn't the only one parked in the lot anymore. A small silver car was now sitting next to it, two familiar faces seated in the driver's and passenger's seats. The one in the driver's seat nudged the other one, who looked to have fallen asleep, when he saw the pair approaching. The other one jolted upright, shouted something unintelligible when he saw Roman and Virgil, and flung the door open.

"Thank God you two are okay!"

Patton. Roman felt Virgil tense as their friend exited the car, holding an arm protectively over him just in case, but he needn't have worried. Patton didn't look angry at all; only relieved; rushing over to them and looking all over the pair for injuries.

"What are you guys doing here?" Roman asked.

"You guys weren't answering my calls and we got worried--oh Virgil, your ankle! That looks like it hurts!" Virgil's gaze flicked over to Roman, who nodded to him and then looked at Patton.

"Uh yeah...there was an unfortunate accident..." He offered unhelpfully.

"Let's get you two to my house, Logan and I can patch you up. Ki--ah, Virgil, is it okay if I help Roman get you to the car?" Virgil hesitated, then nodded slowly. Of course he could trust Patton, his fuzzy mind knew, even if he'd fucked up again. You could always trust Patton to be there for you.

"Patton I…I'm sorry for yelling at you earlier...I-I was just really--"

"Don't worry about it. We'll talk about it once we're back and your ankle's feeling better, okay?"

"O-Okay."

The three hobbled slowly back to the car and Roman and Patton helped Virgil into the backseat, before Roman climbed in next to him and Patton got back in his seat.

"I'm glad to see that neither of you were badly injured," Logan said as he started the car. Virgil and Roman exchanged glances, and Roman nodded.

"Yeah," was all he said.

The rest of the drive was in silence. Logan drove the group all the way back to Patton's house, the only conversation that occurred being him offering to take Roman back to get his truck when he wasn't hungover. He accepted, of course.

The teacher was out of the car first once they got back; calmly helping Virgil out with a firm and steady grip. Virgil frantically looked around for Roman once he was standing and of course he was there, and when he saw the look on his boyfriend's face he winked and swept him off his feet just like the night before, carrying him inside. Virgil didn't even protest, he was too tired to.

He felt surprisingly safe and secure there in Roman's arms, and he allowed himself a small smile.

"Roman?"

"Yeah?"

"I...I love you. Even if you're an idiot." Roman just grinned at him.

"I love you too, Virgil."

[animepreferences]

P R E F E R E N C E # 3 - D R U N K S H E N A N I G A N S

A K U T A G A W A

“If you ever return her to me in less than perfect condition again...Well, Y/N, wouldn’t really appreciate me finishing that statement. Just don’t let it happen again. Understood?” The seriousness that his face illustrated was even more frightening than the inflection in his voice. The two friends nodded in agreement, unable to muster up the words and courage to apologize again. Furthermore, they thought it might be better to not say anything at all at this point. Which is why after a few awkward seconds they began to back away slowly before scurrying down the porch, almost tripping over each other to get back in their car. Aku could hardly hide his chuckle as he turned to enter the house where he could hear you fumbling around in the kitchen. “Now, what am I supposed to do with you?” He muttered to himself, amusement flitting to his face. “I’m so hungry.” You pouted, arms crossed, lip jutted out. “Did your mean friends not even feed you?” Aku inquired, beginning to pull out a pan and fill it with water. “No. They took me straight home. They knew you’d probably be mad and they didn’t want to make matters worse by getting me home later. I think they’re frightened by you.” Akutagawa couldn’t help but to smirk at this, turning the heat on the stove as he began to prepare your very late dinner. “Smart friends. How does ramen sound? The carbs will be good for you, soak up some of that alcohol.” Aku explained, biting his lip to avoid the smile that was fighting it’s way through. You had curled yourself around his backside, your arms wrapping tight around his waist. He could feel your warm cheek pressing to his shoulder blade, your hot breath sending internal shivers down his spine. He was so thankful you couldn’t hear his thoughts, let alone see his face; he was completely smitten by you and it was particularly hard to control when you were acting like this. “Mmmm. Sounds good. Though, Aku, would you mind giving me a kiss first please?” He rolled his eyes, but smiled nonetheless. Sober Y/N was never this forward. “Of course,” Turning around to embrace you in a tight hug, he leaned down and brushed his lips against yours, electricity shooting all over his body in an invigorating frenzy. Your hands found their way to knot in his hair, his hands slipping to your lower back. Unlike most of your kisses that were typically very controlled and romantic, this one was wild and unpredictable. He almost let out a moan when you bit down on his lip, granting entrance for his tongue, your hand trailing down his chest slowly...“That’s enough for now.” Aku breathed, trying to recover from the whirlwind his head was currently in. “Woah,” you agreed, almost losing your footing as you stumbled backward. Aku was just in time to catch you in his arms, steadying you before leading you to a bar stool, forcing you to sit and rest. As he cooked your food, he couldn’t help but to thank the lucky stars that he could do this; that he could take care of you and be a good partner. It was a great feeling for him, being able to do this, knowing that he could be there for you when you needed. That is until he looked up and noticed you had already passed out there, head slumped in your arms. “You drunk little fox,” were his last words before draping a blanket over your shoulders while he finished cooking.

-

D A Z A I

“Careful, my love.” Dazai chided softly, his arms reaching to steady you after he threw an oversize t-shirt on the bed for you, as you fumbled to get your heels off. “Allow me,” He smiled politely, lifting you gracefully so that you were sitting promptly on the bed now. You both had just gotten home from a celebration party with the agency and you had ingested one too many glasses of champagne. “There you go,” He sighed, chucking your shoes behind him before massaging your swollen ankles. He never really understood why you wore such poor choices in shoes when they hurt you the way they did, but he couldn’t deny how irresistible your legs looked when you wore them. Then again, you looked irresistible all of the time to him. “Dazaiiiiiiiii, help!” you whined, scratching at your back trying to unzip your own dress. It took Dazai a moment to pick up on your endeavors, the soft kisses he was peppering on your ankles halting. “Of course, yes.” Dazai obliged, scurrying from the ground to join you on the bed. Slowly unzipping the back of your dress, Dazai tried his best to be a perfect gentlemen, failing miserably as he took in your nude back, clad in only your matching bra and panty set, lust twinkling in his eyes. He swallowed the lump in his throat, letting out an exhale as he stared at the ceiling desperately trying to distract himself. ‘She’s drunk, she’s drunk, she’s drunk’, Dazai chanted to himself internally, trying his best not to touch what he so badly wanted to. “Much better.” You stated, standing to your feet, allowing the dress to drop around your ankles, leaving you nude right before his eyes. “Yes, indeed.” He bit his lip, his brain clouded when you walked over to him on the bed and straddled him. Fingers running through his shaggy locks, you leaned in and began to kiss him on the mouth with vehemence and passion. Dazai was shocked at your newfound confident nature, but wasn’t about to argue it as he reciprocated with the same fire and energy. Arms wrapping around your waist, he pulled you even closer deepening the kiss as he slipped his tongue in your mouth while you were attempting to catch your own breath. Untangling your fingers from his hair, your hands reached to unclaspe your bra clumsily. That’s when it all clicked for him. His head had been so full of excitement, that it took him a quick second to remember what was really happening. He could taste the alcohol on your breath, see the disconnect in your eyes; you weren’t all there. This was wrong. “Belladonna, I love you and I typically love when you try to undress yourself, but this isn’t right. You’re not all here at the moment unfortunately and I can’t in good concience do anything with you without your full, sober consent.” He spoke slowly so you would understand, but you only let out a huge puff of unsastisfied air in response. “This is me giving you my consent,” You leaned in for a kiss, but Dazai intercepted kissing your forehead instead, forcing your arms up as he tugged the oversized t-shirt over your head. “Y/N. You know we can’t.” Dazai reasoned, pulling the covers back as he pat the open space beside him. “But I can hold you until you fall asleep? How does that sound?” His words were like melting honey. How could you deny that even if you were drunk? You were never one to turn down Dazai cuddles. Collapsing against his chest, you let out a small ‘hmph’ in a disatisfied pout, trying to ignore how good his arms felt around your body. “I know I’m no fun, but I love you very much.” He said after a moment. You had attempted to say it back, but the drunkness was already taking over and you were already growing very tired. He laughed at your attempt nonetheless and smoothed your hair back lovingly. “You sure are a riot when you drink.” Were his last words before allowing him to fall asleep with you happily in his arms.

-

C H U U Y A

You had gone completely silent. Chuuya thought you had simply fallen asleep because typically car rides did that for you when you were drunk. Furthermore, he didn’t think much of it. That is until he heard the sniffling. And the fidgeting. And the ragged breathing. “Y/F/N.” He would say calmly, sneaking a glance over your way. He could already tell just by looking at you that you were trying to hide your face from him. You were an emotional drunk and you were definitely crying. “Y/N. Look at me,” He would demand, grabbing your hand in his and kissing your knuckles gently. Chuuya had witnessed this on so many occasions that he had grown desensitized to your overdramatic actions while under the influence. In fact, it was one of his favorite things to talk and joke about the next day because he knew it was simply just the alcohol taking its toll. That didn’t mean, however, he still wasn’t going to bust his ass to at least try and cheer you up. Your smile was priceless to him after all. “Baby, why are you crying?” He would sigh as you finally peaked at him through your hair. “Because I just-I just-I just love you so much, Chuuya!” You would gasp in between hysterical sobs, your crying becoming progressively louder as you threw your fists over your eyes. “You don’t even know how hot you are, it’s awful. I just want to kiss your stupid face all of the time.” You wailed miserably. Chuuya was quiet for a moment and then suddenly he broke out into a loud guffaw. Were you seriously crying over how much you loved him? And how hot you thought he was? Oh, how he was going to LOVE to remind you of this in the morning. Mortified wouldn’t even begin to touch on it. “And now you’re-you’re laughing at me! Do you not love me back anymore? That would suck a lot.” This made him laugh even harder, though he was making a genuine effort to calm down to comfort you even if you were being ridiculous. “My sweet, silly, beautiful girl. If only you knew how much I really loved you. Words cannot even begin to make a dent on the love I have for your very drunken self.” The car came to a halt as he pulled up to your shared apartment, turning to look at you with complete sincerity. “Why are you laughing then?” You would ask timidly, your tears now drying against your puffy cheeks. “Because It’s funny to me that you would even have to consider asking me if I still love you. I will always love you till my last breath and so on. Of course, I love you. I’ll scream it and wake up the entire neighbor hood if you want me to,” He offered opening his car door and slamming it before coming to the passenger side to get you. When you didn’t budge, he cocked his head to the side in confusion. “Well, aren’t you going to tell the neighbors?” He rolled his eyes, lifting up your unwiling body as he kicked the door shut with his foot. Oh, how he loved his very stubborn girlfriend. “I really do love you Y/N. More than I’ve ever loved anything in my life.” He soothed you, kissing the space in between your eyes as he walked you through the threshold of your apartment. “I love you Chuuya.”

[firebrands]

speak easy | steve/tony

1.9k, M (for alcohol and recreational drug use), drunk steve, drunk tony, a few kisses and an unexpected confession | stony bingo prompt fill: this comic book cover | on ao3

*

It was a normal Tuesday between the two of them, stressed and under duress and Tony needing a drink. Tony had escaped his office to work with Steve, using the excuse that a change of scenery made him more productive.

Steve was just happy to spend time with Tony, really.

“I need a drink,” Tony said over their laptops.The sun was beginning to set outside the cafe they frequented when they needed to get work done.

“Okay,” Steve said. “I think I’ll join you.”

Tony looked up from typing on his laptop, surprised. “Really?”

“I mean, once in a while is okay,” Steve said, nonchalant.

A slow smile spread over Tony’s lips, and he pulled out his phone to type out of a text. “Great. Wonderful. There’s this place I think you’ll love.”

***

They’re two drinks in before their dinner arrives, and Tony’s eyes are half-lidded with the beginnings of intoxication. Steve is along the same route.

“Jeez,” Steve says, scrubbing his face with his hand. “It’s been a while.”

Tony makes a small noise of understanding, digging into his steak.

The bar is dark, all leather and wood, with paraphernalia from the 20s strewn about. They even have lamps that look to be from that period, but tables are candle-lit. Over the speakers comes muted tinkles of jazz.

“They’re really leaning into the speakeasy atmosphere, aren’t they,” Steve says, sipping his drink.

“One hundred percent,” Tony says, settling back into the chair and sighing, cheeks pink with a pleasant buzz.

They don’t talk about work, about the little amount of sleep they’d had over the past few days, about how much they both just needed to take a breather, even if only a few hours.

When they’re done, they step outside of the bar and Tony lights a cigarette. “Where to next?” He asks.

“My place is just a few blocks down,” Steve says, eyes opening and closing too slowly.

“Oh, yeah, you’re right,” Tony says, orienting himself by looking up at the buildings around them.

They begin walking unsteadily towards Steve’s apartment, Tony’s hands occasionally holding on to Steve’s arm to keep steady.

They’re quiet, tonight. Tired, drunk, ready to lie down. They say nothing as they lean against each other and wait for the elevator to bring them up to Steve’s room.

***

Tony kicks off his shoes when they get to Steve’s apartment—he’s used to house rules by now, and plops down on Steve’s sofa as Steve bends down to unlace his shoes. Steve is setting them aside properly in their assigned space on the rack when Tony makes a small, pleased sound. Steve looks up to see him holding up a small ziplock bag.

“Oh, Tony, I don’t think—”

“Just one,” Tony grins, tapping some weed onto rolling paper. “Come on, we should unwind. There’s still so much week left in this week,” he says, rolling for a bit more before licking the joint closed.

Steve, after all these years, knows when to choose his battles.

They move toward Steve’s balcony and Tony lights up, taking a long drag before passing the joint to Steve. Steve wonders idly if Tony just has drugs on his person at all times, but wouldn’t put it past him; after all, he’s Tony Stark. Even after all this time, it’s still a marvel to him that they’re friends—that they could be more than that, if one of them decided to finally make a move.

They’d met at a charity auction by chance, Tony had won the bid on Steve’s art.

“The first one that actually caught my eye,” Tony said.

“You bought a Monet,” Steve responded, unimpressed by the come-on.

Tony blinked at him. “Yeah, and?”

Steve couldn’t help but be charmed, and that’s how it started—coffee and dinner, whenever they were free and Tony didn’t have plans with his then-girlfriend, Jan. Steve still kept his full-time job, even if Tony bought enough of his art to pay his rent for the year, but they started as friends. Steve didn’t know how to make them more than that—it feels like that ship has set sail.

Tony flicks the roach into the air, watching as it floats down into the empty alley in the back of Steve’s building.

Steve tsks, even if he’s already pretty cross-faded from the drinks and the joint. Tony smirks in response.

“I need to lie down,” Tony says, walking back inside Steve’s apartment. He was very good at acting like he owned any place he stepped into.

Steve follows and pours each of them a glass of water. “Okay,” he says, drinking it down in one go. He hands the full glass to Tony, who takes a sip as he undoes his tie; Steve tries not to stare.

Tony walks into Steve’s bedroom before Steve, yawning before lying down.

This isn’t new, either. Lying awake on each other’s beds, sometimes talking, but most of the time, not. What is new is Tony turning towards Steve and sliding an arm under his neck, pulling him close.

Steve feels pliant and loose, doesn’t really give a shit about anything so small as a cuddle, if that’s what Tony needs then, okay, okay.

It doesn’t have to mean anything, is all. His mind settles into a pleasant hum of emptiness, savoring the simple physical act of closeness. He tips his head up a little. He misjudges the angle, and their noses brush. Steve looks up at Tony, a little startled, and sucks in a breath when he sees Tony looking back at him, an intense, unreadable look in his gaze.

Tony’s eyes flick down to Steve’s lips, then back up.

Steve breathes.

He’s never been this close to Tony, close enough to see how close his shave is, to feel the faint ghost of Tony’s breath on his chin. Steve blinks, slow, languorous, before moving closer.

Thankfully, Tony meets him halfway.

They kiss gently, in the way only two drunk, stoned people do. Open mouthed and soft, luxuriating in each touch of their lips against each others’. Steve can feel every point of touch between them, can feel the heat emanating from under Tony’s clothes. Tony pushes against him, holds him close, kisses him until Steve groans.

Steve reaches up, fingers skimming Tony’s neck, before slowly unbuttoning his shirt. Tony huffs in response, kissing Steve again, again, again, and when Steve moves to unbutton the next—

Tony jolts up and backs away so quickly he almost falls off the bed.

Steve pushes himself up blearily, trying to get his bearings.

Tony holds his shirt closed, looking wide-eyed.

“What—”

“Steve,” Tony says, sounding out of breath. “Sorry. I just—I have to go.”

“Wait,” Steve sits up properly now, moves to get up, but Tony’s out the door before Steve can get any words together. Still, Steve tries, runs out the door after him and catches Tony standing in the elevator lobby, shoes in hand.

“What the fuck,” Steve manages. He feels half-sober, now, painfully so. It’s like he’s drunk and hungover at once, and rejected on top of everything.

“I can’t,” Tony says, not meeting his gaze. “Sorry.”

Steve rolls his eyes and sighs. “For god’s sake, Tony. Come back inside and put your shoes on there.”

Tony blinks at him.

Steve looks at him, then massages his temples. “I’m not going to let you leave in your socks. Come on. Have some water.”

They walk back to Steve’s apartment quietly, and Tony frowns at the glass Steve hands him.

“Are you for real?” Tony asks, sounding surprised.

Steve sits down and sighs. He drinks from his own glass before answering. “You can just tell me if you don’t like me, I can take it,” he says. For a brief moment, he goes back to what was happening barely an hour ago—minutes ago, even. Strange, how life is.

Tony sits down across him and sighs. He buttons up his shirt and downs the rest of his water.

“It’s not that.”

Steve raises his eyebrows, waiting.

Tony rests his head in his hands and sighs.

“How long have we known each other?” he asks.

“What?”

“Few years now, right?”

“Why does it matter?”

Tony bites his lip and looks away. Steve returns to massaging his temples.

“I am too fucking drunk for this,” Tony says, his voice just above a whisper.

Steve snorts. “Join the club.” Despite his words, he wants to touch Tony so badly it feels like an ache, but it doesn’t feel very appropriate.

Tony looks back at Steve, frowning.

“You know, I’ve wanted to do that for a while.”

The words punch the air out of Steve. “What?” He recovers then adds, “I mean, me too, but.” He looks away, then looks back at Tony, feeling out of his depth.

Tony purses his lips, then sighs. “I knew getting drinks with you was a bad idea,” he murmurs.

Steve shakes his head. “You always go too hard.” Then the realization hits him: he knows for a fact that Tony only ever does this when they're together. It’s never been explicit, never discussed or planned ahead, but in the times they’ve spent with other people, Tony’s as in-control as usual.

It’s only when it’s just the two of them that Tony drops the act.

“What is it?” Steve asks. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Tony frowns some more, then takes a deep breath. “I know this is going to sound crazy. But bear with me.”

Steve nods slowly in response, dubious and a little worried.

Tony slowly unbuttons his shirt, and Steve realizes he’s holding his breath. He gasps when Tony undoes the fourth, then the fifth, pulling at the hem to show his chest—and what’s embedded in it.

“I—“ Steve says, his brain failing to come up with any thought other than loud screeching. “What?”

Tony looks up at him. “I’m Iron Man.”

Steve sputters. “No you’re not.”

“What?”

“You—I. What? How? When? What is that?” The questions tumble out of him and Steve has to consciously loosen his grip on the table.

“It’s reactor tech,” Tony says. “It functions like a pacemaker, when I’m not…” he trails off.

“When you’re not Iron Man,” Steve finishes for him. He feels unpleasantly lightheaded. “All this time?”

“I’m sorry—”

This snaps Steve out of his thoughts. “Why?”

“I should have told you sooner, I was such a coward—I just didn’t know, there’s just—”

Through the static noise of his thoughts, Steve notices that he’s never heard Tony speak so haltingly. He reaches over and takes Tony’s hand, caring for him coming as second nature at this point. “You don’t have to be sorry. I don’t know if I would have told you, either, if I was in your place.”

Tony’s staring at his hand, nestled in Steve’s palm. “You’re not mad?”

Steve reaches over again, this time to tilt Tony’s head up to meet his gaze. “Of course not.”

“But I might be,” he adds, smiling a little encouragingly at Tony. “If you don’t let me kiss you.”

A small, slow, shy smile blooms on Tony’s lips. “Good thing I’d like you to keep kissing me,” he says softly.

Steve stands up from his chair, leans over, and pulls Tony close. Through the haze of it all—the swirling effects of liquor and drugs, the surprise, still, of Tony’s confessions—the real revelation comes in the way Tony’s lips feel against his, quiet as a promise.

[curiousconch]

Sobering Truth

Chapter 10 of Ricochet (An Open Heart AU)

Catch up here: Series Masterlist

Chapter Synopsis: After the fallout of Rafael and Heather, what could this mean to Bryce and the recovering doctor? 

Pairing: Rafael Aveiro x MC (Dr. Heather Song) | Bryce Lahela x MC (Dr. Heather Song)

Words: 2.1k+ | Genre: Crime, Suspense/Thriller, Romance

Rating/Warnings: Mature (16+) / hints of past violent experience and sex

Author's Notes: Almost is Never Enough by Ariana Grande and Nathan Skyes was the perfect song for this chapter, the lyrics are very fitting. Also, watch out for a cameo from a PM character 😊

Thank you so much for taking time to read this series. Please let me know if you want me to include/remove you in the tags list. Also, disclaimer: Majority of the characters are owned by Pixelberry, except the main character Heather Song and an OC Jordan Anderson.

Bryce found himself hunched alone in a bar stool downtown Boston. He swirled the brown liquid in his glass, brows furrowed in remembering the scene in the hospital room. 

His face contorted with the pain piercing through his chest, the possibility of losing Heather once again sinking like a sword. He racked his mind for an option, but it seems all is lost in that battle.

He thought back to their last outing together, and he was so certain that something was there. So why did she choose to stay with someone else instead of being with him?

His lips formed a thin line, his hand rubbing over his face in frustration. The emotions within turbulent and unnerving. Was he just too much of a fool when he thought he had a shot with her? 

This is exactly why Bryce Lahela didn't want to commit. It was far more easier for him to seek momentary connections rather than build permanent ones. He didn't want to relive the rejections-filled past from his adolescence, at the time of his parents' criminal convictions. 

Yet here he was again, suffering the same consequences of wanting something permanent in his life. Something that could bring him happiness. Something better than him being alone in the middle of a crowd of drunken patrons. 

He should've stayed in his own lane of hook-ups and one night stands instead of chasing for this relationship. 

So the first thing he did when he realized that that door is closing, was to go back to his old stomping grounds. 

But why can't he will himself to look around? 

As if on queue, an olive-skinned woman slid herself beside him, her sudden presence invading his thoughts. With a half-smirk and green catty eyes, the coils of dark hair loosely wrapping her head. The mere sight of her was mesmerizing. 

"I know you," she said, almost in a purr. 

Bryce looked back at her, and a long-forgotten heat warmed him up. And it wasn't because of the alcohol in his system.

"I guess my reputation is my charm," he replied, leaning forward. He loosened his tie whilst sipping from his glass. 

"Oh I know all about your reputation," her voice made him shiver, her fingers ever slowly trailing a path towards his arm. "You're the one with magic hands," she whispered, her brows dancing as she spoke. 

This commanding woman was pushing his buttons in all the right places, her sparkly black cocktail dress that clung on her body tightly wasn't making him feel suddenly parched. 

Her hand continued to venture up his arm, and eventually the side of his neck. As it followed the line of his jaw, Bryce couldn't help but lean closer. 

Nothing was stopping him at the moment. 

Miles away from being sober, his lips blew a short burst of air into the woman's bare neck, after which he got the chance to breathe in a whiff of her perfume. 

The jasmine scent was all too familiar. It conjured the image of the woman who Bryce fled away from tonight. 

Heather. 

Snapping out of the trance, he took a step back. Gone was the sexual tension that floated in the air mere seconds ago. Bryce only shook his head to the woman and paid his tab, before almost sprinting out into the cold rain that continued to flood the concrete pavement. 

He let the drops of water wash all over him until he was soaked. With it, the inevitable tears began to fall, which he didn't hold back. He also didn't mind how it easily reduced the numbing effect of the bottle of Jack Daniels that he just consumed. 

Like a thief in the night, the woman of his dreams snatched what was left of Bryce's vulnerable heart. He knew, deep down, that it would take a long time before he can get it back. 

*** 

"Breaking news. Declan Nash and Jordan Anderson pleads guilty as co-conspirators of the kidnapping of Senator Ed Farrugia and Edenbrook doctor Heather Song."

"This is following an intensive investigation by the joint special task force created as the public clamored to protect Massachusetts famed senator. 

"We are joined today by one of the victims, Senator Ed Farrugia, after he gave his testimony today at the Boston courthouse."

The video flicked from a female news anchor to the steps of the city's courthouse, where the politician was joined by Chief DA Tanaka. Heather's hazel eyes however wasn't on the prominent people in the screen, but instead drawn to the tall figure standing beside the older man, his intimidating stature made more pronounced by the sharp gray suit that contoured just enough to please.

Bryce. 

Saying his name, even in her mind, made her involuntarily shudder with regret, aware that between them was an undeniable attraction that she just couldn't shake off. Ever since her kidnapping, she couldn't stop herself from thinking about what could've been. Was it just too late for them? Will it only remain a connection that can never be explored? Will it ever be something more? She knew, deep down, if she could change the world overnight, she wanted to try. If there was anything she could learn from her almost dying, it was the sobering truth that life was too short to be restrained by inaction.

But she hadn't been able to speak to him for a while now. He didn't answer his phone nor returned any of her texts or messages. She hoped to get the chance when she was scheduled for her recorded testimony. To her dismay, another ADA visited her and took her witness account. 

She thought he was just busy with the case, but she sensed that he was avoiding her altogether. Her free time provided her so many hours to rack her brain for the reason why. To this day, that question was left unanswered. 

Danny raised his gaze to Heather, as he felt her pulse beat faster than normal. He turned to the TV monitor in the hospital room, stifling a chuckle as he found the reason behind her palpitations.

"Let's try to do this again," Danny said, making Heather's attention swivel to him. 

"Why? Something wrong?" she asked, obviously confused. 

This time, Danny snickered, grabbing the remote from her and switched the channel. The gesture was enough to make her fluster as it dawned on her what the nurse was insinuating. 

"I can't put your last BPM on your chart, Heather. We dont want Dr. Ramsey to not sign off on your discharge papers today. Two weeks of him pestering us is enough torture to last a lifetime," he scoffed jokingly, referencing how the senior attending relentlessly chased the hospital staff to put her case on priority. 

She curtly nodded, her mentor's crass actions embarrassing her further. 

"Thanks, Danny." she sheepishly smiled, hoping the two words were enough to express her appreciation of how the hospital helped her get back on her feet during the roughest period of her life yet. 

Danny returned her gesture, before getting back to taking her pulse. Satisfied, he recorded it to the clipboard in his hand, as her friends thundered into the room. 

Sienna, Elijah, Jackie and Aurora all stepped inside, each carrying an assortment of food items. They moved their Sunday brunch to that day in celebration of Heather's discharge. The welcome noise warmed her heart, their usual banter flowing like music to her ears. 

The thundering of her deep-seated emotions momentarily toned down, as she enjoyed the company of the small family she found in Edenbrook. 

Outside, the weather was warm with no clouds threatening to dampen the surroundings. 

It was going to be a good day. 

*** 

As the last of the questions were addressed and the cameras were turned away, Bryce sighed in relief. 

With the news crews dispersed, Chief Tanaka left to head back to the DA's office, leaving him as second chair to wrap up all the remaining paperwork. He strutted into the courthouse, the ADA facade well in effect. 

It was an understatement to say that the past few weeks were hectic. 

Interviewing Declan Nash and Jordan Anderson was like being pulled into opposite poles. Their personalities were so polarizingly different that Bryce suspected that there was a more to the case than what appears. 

So he advised the special task force to dig into that angle. The FBI's investigation is still ongoing, and he is betting against it finishing soon. 

Today was a day of accomplishments, and Bryce's mood was better than it was ever since that night. Or so he thought. 

As his mind shifted back into the present, he caught the unwelcome sight of Agent Rafael Aveiro conversing with someone in the hallways. He managed to hear a glimpse of the conversation as they got into earshot. 

"You're background would be invaluable to us, Agent Rafael," the strange man in the tweed-colored jacket said. 

"This is such a timely offer that I couldn't refuse. I'll let you know as soon as I wrap up my last case." Bryce heard Raf say. 

"Of course. But please don't keep us in the Interpol on our toes, Agent." 

"Of course, Agent Nazario." 

Taken aback, he stopped, trying to understand what had just transpired. Why was Rafael taking a job with the interpol? 

Once Bryce saw that the special investigator was alone, he approached him, words blazing. 

"Interpol? Seriously, Raf, this soon?" 

Raf turned to face him, surprised at Bryce's sudden interjection. 

"I don't see the need to explain myself to you, ADA Lahela." He politely said as he begun to walk away. 

"But you just got back together! Why leave for an overseas job this soon when she needs you the most?" Bryce's voice rose, echoing into the nearly full hallway. He honestly didn't mind, weeks worth of bottled up frustration threatening to surface. 

A more puzzled expression filled Rafael's face, the line of interrogation making him turn around and stare back at the prosecutor. 

Rafael recognized the look on Bryce's face. It was a mirror of his own haunted reflection. Of a lost love, never to return. The confusion gave way to understanding. 

It made him soften his stance, and place a brotherly hand on the lawyer's shoulder. 

"Look, I don't know why you think that, but Heather and I..." he paused, taking a deep breath as he tried to bury the painful memory of their goodbye into the back of his mind. "We broke up. The same night that she was admitted to Edenbrook after her kidnapping, we talked and agreed to go our separate ways." 

Bryce couldn't believe what he was hearing, his knees weakening with the revelation. Amber eyes widened in shock and feeling like an idiot at the same time. 

He smiled despite himself, the nightmares of his imaginary rejection transformed into a wonderful dream. The door that he thought was closed is now unlocking, and he was determined to blow it wide open. 

With a hasty thank you and goodbye to Raf, he turned the soles of his leather shoes and raced to the door of the courthouse. 

Bryce didn't dare waste another minute to look back. 

Tags: @ramsey-lahela @eleanorbloom @openheartfanfics @choicesficwriterscreations

[ryik-the-writer]

The Audacious Storybrooke Mirror Advice Columnist (Wednesday Paper Edition)

In which Lacey French is a smutty advice columnist for the Storybrooke Mirror.

Ch. 2: Gold discovers he sent Lacey the email

This took way too long guys, sorry!

A03

                                                   *-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-*

When Mr. Augustine Gold opened his eyes he had a three-to-four second grace period before he remembered who he was and where he was before his body announced its condition.

And, as always after a night like last night, it started with a blinding, pounding headache, followed by a wave of nausea, and soon, the cold sweats.

Groaning pitifully, he pushed through the stars flashing before his eyes and slowly eased out of bed sideways, holding his head. The room was dark as a tomb, but he could see he was still wearing yesterday’s suit, abet a bit more rumpled. He’d even worn his shoes to bed.

He kicked them off, his body jolting in pain from the movement, and he felt for his cane, having to practically crawl across the floor to get it.

The little light that greeted him in the hallway felt like a snakebite to his senses, and he almost screamed when he cut on the bathroom light.

He turned on the cold water but could not bend over without his head killing him so he cupped his hands and splashed the cold water in his face.

His hands were shaking as he opened his medicine cabinet and crammed down two Alka-Seltzers, three aspirin and a Valium.

Now all he needed was an ice-cold beer and he might live.

He felt his way to the head of the stairs and wondered how the hell he was going to get down them in his state.

Then he heard Jefferson snoring from the living room and he immediately returned to the bathroom and drank water from the tap.

Now slightly stable, he removed his clothes, crawled into bed and jacked his electric blanket on high, quickly drifting off to sleep.

It was just after noon when he awoke again. Now his stomach was hot and burning, screaming for carbs. He quietly unlocked his door and made the careful trip into the living room.

Jefferson was gone, thank Gods, and Gold grabbed his phone and called in an order for two grilled cheese sandwiches, a large fries and, for the hell of it, a chocolate shake. He rolled his eyes when granny charged him double for delivery, obviously sensing his massive hangover and choosing to punish him from it.

He devoured the food in barely five minutes, feeling disgusted with himself for more than just his eating habits. He fell into such bad habits when he was falling off the deep end again, and boy had he fell.

It would be easy to blame it on Jefferson, his tacky business associate and friend on a good day.

Last night had not been a good day, but somehow still lead to Jefferson coming by for drinks as he tried to help him create an online portal for his tenants to pay their rent.

It would take out the need for him to run all over town on rent day, Jefferson had explained, and Gold half liked the idea of not having to soak his leg for a week straight, so he said fine.

The website was forgotten about as soon as the hat-making fiend found the good scotch, and frankly Gold couldn’t remember what he did after that.

His computer was still on in his study, Gold discovered when he wondered around his home, picking up the remnants of the night before. An unfolded blanket here, several crystal glasses there.

A blurry memory was tugging at his brain and demanding he sit at his desk.

He obeyed, only because his body still hadn’t recovered. The memory was becoming clearer. Jefferson’s chaotic laughter as Gold did … something. He was sending out an email to someone, and no doubt had received a response by now.

Gold rolled his eyes and waited for his email to load. No doubt he had sent a grueling message to the mayor, probably something immature that Jefferson had egged him to send.

He blinked and saw that he had no responses, so he went to his Sent emails. One look at the last one he sent and his stomach lurched harder than any amount of alcohol could warrant.

“No…no, no, no!” Gold panicked, her name alone heating him and draining him all at once.

Racy Lacey. Lacey French. His tenant and the target of his desires for well over three years now.

He dared read the contents of the email and started shouting. He was going to kill Jefferson and then himself!

He grabbed his cane and marched back to his room, throwing on his rumpled clothes back on. Damn a hangover.

He’d tear Jefferson’s head off first, he decided as he descended down the stairs.

Then he’d dip his entire body into a vat of acid and use his skeleton as a prop in his shop, he agreed as he opened the front door.

All thoughts left him when the piercing blue eyes he often dreamed about met his, and her curled up fist knocked him in the mouth.

“Whoa! Sorry!” Lacey apologized.

Gold rubbed his lip, staring at the girl that had his heart in a painful knot.

“Miss French,” he greeted, trying to lay on an air of sophistication despite his appearance. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Lacey gave him an incredulous look. She recognized a hangover anywhere, and this one, judging by the tint of green to his skin was pretty bad.

She managed to keep from laughing and remain serious. After all, she was here to figure out if he really meant in his email, among other things.

Cruella had suggested she “jump his bones” at a hastily set up breakfast between them the morning after she had gotten the email.

She hadn’t revealed the name of her current admirer, just the text of it.

It could have been Leroy Miner for all she cared.

“This one looks serious, darling,” her equally lewd co-work had pointed out as she snuck a dose of Kahlúa into her coffee. “If you don’t grab him, I will.”

Cruella would need a whole cabinet of the stuff if she knew her “admirer’s” true identity.

A look over at Mr. Gold didn’t quite turn her on. Mind you, the rumpled look was indeed alluring, and the shadow of facial hair and mused hair had its own appeal.

But she wasn’t her to gander at her landlord, she was here to set him straight and bury this whole thing, no matter how it ended.

She held up a printout of the email he had written and watched as his mightier-than-though look quickly faded.

“You’ve got quite the talent,” Lacey said. “Though it’s a bit Harlequinn for my taste.”

“Did you come all the way here to insult me,” Gold growled. The email may have been a drunken spur, but he had meant every word he said. He did find her attractive, but that didn’t mean he was going to let her say whatever she wanted to him.

“Not at all,” Lacey returned. “I just wanted to know … well … what are we going to do about this?”

If Gold had more courage—or at least if he were les sober than he was now—he would tell her exactly what he wanted to do about this blunder. However, he was hungover and still in his bathrobe of all things and far from confident.

“Nothing,” he said, grabbing the email from her. “Forget about it and have your rent on time this month.”

Before he could slam the door and push her out of her life, her heeled shoe divided his door and the glare in her striking blue eyes threatened to do the same to him.

“Are you bloody kidding me?” she hissed, a bit loud.

“Miss French, control yourself,” he warned, sure he heard one of his neighbors doors open.

“I am in complete control, you wanker,” she shouted. “You’re the one that caused all of this.”

Gold fought the flush creeping up his neck.

Lacey crumpled the email in her hand, sick of this nonsense already. “Whatever, like I’d want to be seen with the likes of you.”

Gold scoffed, solidifying his hurt. “Same to you, dearie, Gods only know what you have at this point.”

Lacey paused and stared at him, the blush on her cheeks from embarrassment.

Gold shut his mouth. Why the hell did he say that? He didn’t mean a word of it! Not to her, never to her.

Lacey turned on her heel before he could say anything, and he almost went after her, but there were spectators watching them from their porches, and he only had the courage to slink back into his living room.

Lacey clawed at her face as she stalked back to the office, Gold’s email still curled up in her hand. She wouldn’t cry over him. Lacey French did not cry over men, though she could occasionally get them to cry over her.

The Mirror was mostly empty due to the lunch hour and Lacey allowed herself to stew in anger without having to explain herself.

She was grateful for the hum of her old computer through the silence. It was a comfortable familiarity. Many people hated their day-to-day jobs or even just lasted long enough to get their paychecks and leave.

Lacey legit liked her job. She didn’t live to work by any means, but she loved her role in creating the little glorified newsletter they pushed out every other day, like that people read and liked what she wrote and came back for more each week.

She liked the admiration and the scrutiny in all forms it came as. It made her life an adventure.

And currently her adventure had reached a stalemate.

Mr. Gold was an obstacle she could cross easily, but Mayor Regina fucking Mills was not.

The woman controlled the town, and one word from her would get her cast out.

Lacey felt sick as she logged into her account and gazed over the subject lines of her email.

All of these were too delicious damn it! How the hell was she supposed to keep this clean!

She threw her head back with a groan. All of these were too delicious! She was finished if she didn’t have something in by Friday.

She turned her head onto her cheek, glaring at the crumpled up email she wished she had thrown at Mr. Gold’s head. She picked at the ball until it unfolded to reveal its contents.

She reread it again, ignoring the little twist in her belly at the words.

Gold had a way with them, she’d give him that. She was sure he had the ability to woo a few women once upon a time.

Lacey lifted her head and scanned over the note again, an idea coming to her.

Gold wrote her a mesmerizing, flattering letter. Sultry, yes, but a few tweaks could have fixed that.

She wondered, what other words did Mr. Gold have under his belt, and just how well could he use them?

[parkeraul]

the sweetest hello, the saddest goodbye | part 2

a/n: tshtsg is back by popular demand because some people wanted a closure and who am i to deny it? i wasn’t expecting so many feedbacks (specially on angst, i really suck at writing angst and this was so??? surprising???) & i’m so grateful for it all, it warms my heart so much. anyways, grab some tissues (extra tissues because i intend to earn more than tears from your eyes only, if u know what i mean) because this is gonna be a rollercoaster and let me know if you like it. by the way, wrap it before u tap it (yea bish u know what i’m talking ‘bout) — do what auntie ann says, not what auntie ann writes.

warnings: angst, drinking, swearing & smut. words: 8k [worth the wait i guess] recommendations: read part 1 to understand better.

Empty. This is how he was feeling. Up at the stage singing to a huge amount of people; alone at home with his thoughts messily written all over the papers — taking over every single hour of his day; among his crew on the backstage; regardless of the situation, he felt unfilled like everything he’s seeing is slowly turning black and white and dull. He noticed that this aching feeling was suffocating him in all the possible ways when he started letting everything pass by. He’s forgotten lyrics during the shows countless times, he’s forgotten to reply the messages popping up on his phone all the time, he’s forgotten even to eat properly sometimes. He’s forgotten himself somewhere lost but, worse than that, he’s forgotten about her. 

But moving on is definitely not the place where he’s at right now. 

He’s forgotten the little details, the ones that are printed on every page of his notebook so he can at least read about it and try to recover any memory, although all of this wasn’t as nearly as satisfying than remembering about those details vividly. Shawn came to the point where just having a slight piece of reminiscence would ease his stinging soul — the way her perfume and the scent of her hair mixed greatly together and used to get stuck on his clothes from the million times they used to hug and stay in there for a while, body—to—body as they appreciated the moment to keep quiet for a while, just enjoying the feeling of having their frames pressed against each other with a couple of caresses coming across his muscular back or a gentle head-rub right above the nape of her neck. The taste on her lips, incomparable and so captivating that he could keep his mouth on her for an eternity and write innumerable songs about it — every now and then he just rests his head against the closest surface and closes his eyes, searching for one of the times he had her splayed on his bed all to him, waiting for his red lips to love her body in that tempting way that only Shawn can because he takes his time to cover every inch with his mouth and hands over and over again until he earns desperation from her, an unstoppable desire to unravel underneath his body at the point she can’t control her shaking limbs. Her smile, her eyes, her sweet laugh and calming voice were all gone, replaced by the image of the tears streaming down her face when she last looked at him to walk away without promising to come back before he went insane. Insane might be right word to describe the state of his mind, he swears he’s nearly going crazy because it seems like it doesn’t matter what he tries to do, nothing’s going to complete him so perfectly like she does. Nothing.

The pub is loud and filled to the rafters, the strong beat of the music reverberating through the walls and the floor underneath his body that doesn’t sync with the rhythm. Everything’s slower, everything’s cloudy and meaningless but something made him think that a glass or two of whiskey would probably get him into it, consequently avoiding the annoying commentaries coming from his friends questioning ‘are you good?’ or ‘what’s gotten into you?’ and ‘are you still thinking about that?’.

Even if things aren’t the way he’d usually like — who is Shawn Mendes to negate a good party? — He’s trying his best to let this atmosphere hit him. Gradually, the song sounds nice, a drink leads to another and he tries to connect with the people around him dancing to the beat like the music has thrown a spell and everyone’s progressively giving in as he makes an effort to follow, eventually singing the songs he knows and loosening the tension on his body. Shawn feels comfortable to look people in the eyes, nodding towards the ones who knows him and smiling to the ones he’s recognizing from afar as he swallows his drink down his throat, not minding the burning sensation anymore. “’M gonna get another one. D’you want something?” He says closer to Brian’s ear, pulling out his wallet from his pocket. “Yep. Want you to slow down,” The redhead answers, handing him fifty bucks. “And some tequila shots, if you may.” Shawn laughs thinly, getting the money and pulling away from his friend to hide the money inside his wallet and fix his hair back, undoing a couple of buttons of his dark shirt. Finally that unavoidable effect of the alcohol. The hotness grazing his skin and turning it rosy, only able to be seen when perkier lights illuminated his frame in the middle of so many purple and red setlights shining through the crowd. He ignores what his best friend just said — it makes no sense to ask him to slow down and be funnier at the same time, he can’t perform both all at once — and makes his way to the bar with difficulty due to the many people blocking the way and the place going very brightened and then totally dark in a matter of seconds, increasing not only his confusion but also the dizziness upon his head. The journey to get their drinks is filled with hundreds of excuse me’s and mild touches, silently warning the people that he needs to move forwards and they’re on his way. Still tipsy, he manages to act kindly meanwhile his body submits to the laziness of his movements and leaves the sober-state behind somewhere among the public, approaching a chair in front of the counter step by step where he can sit down to wait for the drinks. “A glass of bourbon and... How many shots can you fit into fifty bucks?” He shouts to the barman, quickly pulling out his credit card. “Three shots, buddy.” The guy responds, typing on his screen to register the order. “Add eight more, please,” He could use some of these shots later, he thinks. “Credit card.” Shawn’s toying with the card, tapping it against the marble while the man before him is still giving away his request and setting the little machine in front of him. It’s all very fast and he doesn’t even listen to the barman after he removed his card and got his note. “What’s your table?” “Table 88,” He blinks rapidly, processing the things happening around him. “Thanks, man.”

It lasts almost three songs until he’s done with the glass he took five minutes after he ordered it, having the drink still at the bar and seeing the shots going to where Brian is standing along with the other guys. It’s almost inevitable to end up reserving himself at some point of the day, his brain asking for some time alone so he could think things again and progress from this looping of reliving his heartbreak that wouldn’t go away so soon. He wanted so bad to let her know that he’s entirely over that person from the damn song everyone’s made sure to remember him about in every interview, remember him how careless he was with the one person that actually matters the most to him. “Such a dick.” He thinks to himself and it happens literally everytime he’s on his own re-experiencing those bitter memories, it’s instant: a bad moment leads to a prompt chastise because he’s never going to forgive him for letting her escape through the spaces of his fingers for the exact reason that he had her on his hands, that’s something that she even dared to say sometimes shyly with her face hidden on his chest and he could never help but roll her over and kiss her face repeatedly, so happy to have someone who wore the feelings on the sleeve just like he does. They do fit together, but there was this huge pile of unsolved things standing in between and it was no one else’s job to disentangle the remained knots than his. It was so innocently unconscious of Shawn to keep going on like he was wholly recovered from that previous relationship and he caught himself laughing at his own actions after realizing how dumb he was, how stupid. He got way too blinded by that hurried wish of belonging to the girl who had to move past his hotel room door and ended up carried away to the middle of nowhere, having his frustration and guilt as company.

Some curious eyes were watching him and he decided to watch back, finding distraction on a few smirks towards him and all the bodies swaying from side to side addicted to the sound and some others were staring at him with their silhouettes standing still, a single pair studying his frame from afar and getting covered by the people coming across.

“We have the fate by our side, remember?”

A voice pops up on his head, his ears focusing on nothing more than this tone banging violently inside his brain as he props himself to stand on his feet, leaving the heavy glass aside on the counter. His vision is too blurry to process what is he exactly seeing and his head is also whirling, not helping him for a bit even though he’s blinking rapidly to brush it off somehow. A hand comes up to wipe the liquid standing on the edges of his lips, instantly flying to his shirt so he can fix the way he’s looking and give his chest a glimpse of fresh air to cool the boiling sensation of the alcohol. He tilts his head up, standing on his tiptoes and he goes from side to side in order to clear the view.

“If it’s supposed to happen, we’ll find a way.”

Shawn feels his knees failing and his throat drying, breathing heavier through his mouth, lips parted and he scrunches his eyebrows, wondering if he’s seeing things or if someone put an extra on his whiskey — and concluding that he actually just drank way too much but that answer doesn’t make the shape of her disappear. He’s not daydreaming, he’s not hallucinating.

“You gotta let me go, sweetheart.”

And just like this, her eyes leave his and she trails her way through the crowd, making it hard for him to follow her with his sight so he immediately moves. It obviously wouldn’t be easy. The excuse me’s are being said all over again, his soberness showing up for a moment now that he’s decided to go after what’s been driving him insane over the past months and ask for a chance to simply apologise if she’s not into hearing all the stuff he had put into new unreleased songs, saying goodbye to the rest of sanity that he had left. Through selfie requests and people pinned down on their spots, he rushes his steps and he’s not going to waste any more time on asking ‘please, can I pass?’ and mumbling thank you’s — it’s unmanageable but he literally acts like there’s no one else inside that pub than him and her, who’s reaching the stairs and climbing them rapidly. Shawn would buy her game with no complains, he’s a fool for this type of love-story and it’d be a wonderful situation to turn into poetry if he hadn’t so many people blocking the two meters separating him from the first degree.

 Among twisted lines trailed by his feet and eyes peeking out every corner, he crosses the hall above the stairs after going up. There are couples making out, one or two people smoking and empty glasses leading to a semi-opened door at the very end of the corridor. He’s glad everyone else is probably drunker than he is, so he looks back when he arrives the door to rotate the yellow sign hanging on the door — hiding the indication of ‘Rooftop’ to show the ‘Interdicted’ behind it, soon stepping out of the dark place.

 The roof is illuminated by the moonlight and occupied by some chairs and small couches distributed along the big space, the wind blowing colder as the sky could barely get dark by the moon so bright up in there among the stars and thin clouds. The lights of the apartments shutting down here and there, but not weakening the beautiful sight standing in front of that unique silhouette. Her hair is being blown lightly and so is the big coat covering her entire back until the beginning of her thighs and he has to stop himself from running directly at her; from approaching her body in the neediest embrace that he knows he’s capable of. “You know that hide-and-seek was my least favourite game when I was little?” He chuckles softly. As per usual, his unmistakable voice gets her vulnerable. His sweet tone, always floating between low and raspy to harmonious and joyful seemed to entice her and there was no turning back. Not that she wasn’t expecting him to follow and find her, but she needed at least two good minutes to settle down and think about what to say because it was certain that Shawn would hit her with questions and thoughts of his. She turns around; too shy to face him after what happened a month ago so she keeps on looking at her own feet, smiling to the ground and supporting both elbows on the balcony meanwhile he closes the door behind him. His nervousness starts to show up and it makes him smile too as he undoes the buttons of his dress shirt to roll up the sleeves, revealing his tattooed arm and letting the air cool the parts of his body. “Don’t you have a tour to take care of?” Still staring down, she asks and she doesn’t mean to sound rude. For someone who barely has time to hang out, it’s a surprise to see him outside the studios and backstage. “I didn’t expect to see you here too,” Shawn jokes, knowing that this is what she actually meant. He hides his hands on the pockets of his pants and walks slowly towards her, not wanting to get near enough to scare her away — but dying to get near enough to watch the moonlight lightning up her face. “I have a few days off, just needed to distract myself… Get some air, do different things, you know?” Stopping two or three steps away from her, he keeps on waiting for her to look at him since that’s what he’s been craving for several days. “Yeah,” She mumbles, breathing deeply before tilting her head up and seeing that he’s closer than she thought he was — the signature chocolate-fallen-curl contrasting with the colour of his skin and matching his eyes at the same time, so locked on the shapes of her face like he had found her for the first time. “How’s everything?” “How’s everything?” He questions back, voice squeaking a little and he giggles. Like it isn’t obvious. “Everything’s been terribly awful,” This time, his intonation falls an octave and his stride comes forward a little bit more and he surprisingly doesn’t stagger, gulping before moving on now that her eyes just founded his. “Everything’s been dreary ever since you left,” The wind hit them harder and, when she closes her eyes to avoid it, Shawn sees a teardrop moistening her eyelashes and her bottom lip being hidden by her teeth sinking down on the plump skin so fiercely. “You feel the same, don’t ya?” How can see right through her like this? It’s so unfair, she thinks, and so dumb of her to show such weakness this immediate. She opens her eyes and blinks quickly to dissipate the tears, sniffing faintly and holding her own arms to warm her body somehow, also to comfort her own shaky limbs instead of giving in and throwing herself at his strong arms. “I know you do,” He emphasizes and he’s 100% sure that he’s right. They’ve never broken this connection between them. Call him crazy, but he could swear that her heart is beating as heavily as his even when she was far away from him during this whole time — their respiration have the same hurried pace, both their minds work together like they depend on each other and it’s undeniable that their chest flutter with the same feeling. “Listen,” He starts, pausing to lick his lips and close all the space between them, the tips of their feet nudging as he holds his hands together to stop the urge of caressing her arms and pulling her to himself. “There’s so much I wanna tell you. Would it be okay if we talk?” She takes in the way he’s looking concerned at her, internally hoping he hadn’t asked for too much. “Sure,” She says and he looks around to find which one of the seats is the most comfortable. “But not here, ‘s way too cold.” Ending with a soft smile, she suggests and Shawn literally melts inside when seeing a happy expression of hers, even if it’s not fully sincere.

This sparkled something in Shawn, he wants to see more of that and he wants to be the reason behind her happiness. During the time they were walking past the stairs and the dancing bodies to reach the exit door, he begun to list all the important things he’d been thinking about to show her how sorry he feels for making her feel like a backup, for making her wait, for hurting her feelings and for not being the perfect guy for the perfect girl that she is. He doesn’t know how he managed to focus on her sat down beside him on the passenger seat and on this list at one go, but it worked for the time they were inside his Jeep driving to the apartment he got in Toronto with the radio turned on — so when there wasn’t a red light for him to stop and glance at her through the corner of his eye, he could rely on her tone singing the songs along in a timid volume. Shockingly, there wasn’t a tension. The anxiousness was certain, but the fact that they wanted and needed this moment got higher than any other type of intimidating emotions. It felt so good to be together again, even if it’s only physically speaking — they don’t know where this is going, there might be no reconciliation but being close feels right, feels like home.

At the elevator, he leaned against the cold wall and she turned to the mirror to fix all the imperfections (perfections, to Shawn) as his eyes burned all of her in a compelled stare. She’s too beautiful to be true according to his conclusions, too precious not to be held the entire time and too sweet to waste her time with someone who can’t treat her right. They kept on stealing glances here and there, earning smiles and sighs from each other like when she stepped inside the elevator on his building at their first date — when he took her to see the Christmas lights after dinner, and he’d tour the entire Canada with her if she asked to. He remembers being now exactly the way he was back at this day: heart beating faster, eyes glued on every action of hers with his brain electing all the emotions he needed to let her know.

The apartment is as cozy as she remembered. The couch is white, the view is still very beautiful and the living room is slightly disorganized. On the center table there’s a few pages sharing the space with a pick, a pen, a half-empty bottle of water and a mug. The window is open, curtains swaying as the wind invades the room and gives both of them chills. “Get yourself comfortable,” Shawn says, shutting the door close and locking it just in case someone decides to leave the pub sooner. She takes off her shoes to leave next to the door and walks bashfully; feeling the softness of the mat sprawled in the middle of the room under the wooden table as she sits down on the couch. He drops his keys on the counter of the kitchen and follows her with his eyes. “God, I’m sorry! What a fuckin’ mess—“ “We’re not here to talk about the mess,” She cuts him off, getting up to reach and grab him by the arm to join her. “We’re here to talk about something else, aren’t we?” “Of course, of course,” Being dragged by the arm, he lets her pull him and he tugs at his curls before holding her hand more forcefully, impeding her to sit down again. “You look pretty in this dress.” He smirks but not dirtily — on the contrary — it’s a grin filled with the purest joy. “Yeah?” Asking, she keeps standing on her feet and spins around with the help of his arm raising to whirl her by the hand. “This guy gave it to me on my birthday. Pretty cool, right?” “Awesome!” He chuckles, holding and caressing her hand while he dares to get nearer. “He’s got taste, eh?” “He wore Saint Laurent to the Met Gala so, yeah, he’s got a whole lot of taste.” They laugh simultaneously, allowing themselves to ignore the seriousness of this meeting for a moment. As they’re both people who hate confrontation, that feels like a good start before discussing things over. “Can I hug you?” With puppy eyes, Shawn asks her impulsively and she feels completely unable to say no. Tiptoeing to hold him by the shoulders, she snuggles in and he embraces her middle leisurely from the very edge of his fingertips to his palm, ending up trapping her with his thick arms. They both close their eyes and their breathing get calm. Their hearts, on the other hand, are beating insanely and banging each other’s bodies, their upper halfs pulsating from finally getting back to where they belong. “I missed you so much.” That’s all it takes for her to start crying. “Missed you too.” She murmurs, clutching at his body harder and the tears are wetting her cheeks. Shawn feels a huge knot forming on his throat, begging to be released in a cry and, holding her tighter, he lets it out. He can’t disguise if it’s from having her there against him, or if it’s the fear consuming him and reminding the possibility that she wants to go on without him, if it’s both, if it’s none of these things… It’s all very blurry but this torture has to end, and it has to be now before he goes madly insane. “C’mere,” He says, letting go of her partly to sit down and drop his hands: one to hold hers and the other one to wipe away his and her tears. “I… Well, first I want to apologise. I’ve been nowhere close to what you deserve, I was an asshole and—“ Shawn uses the hand that’s not holding hers to rub his face, covering his mouth at the end of it so his following words start to come out muffled but audible enough for her to listen. “And I know that nothing in this world can fix what I did to you. God, and I’ve tried — I’ve tried to fool myself and accept that this would never happen again but not for a single moment I found myself able to get you out of my head,” His hazel eyes are deeply connected with hers, occasionally dropping to see her lips parting and her eyebrows frowning in the pain they’re sharing of struggling so much to find a way to give this relationship the decision it needs. “What is this that you’re doing to me?” Questioning kind of angrily, Shawn seems to get more and more lost. He’ll never figure out exactly what gets him on his knees for her, it’s every little thing about the girl in front of him.  “I can’t get you out of my mind. When I’m sleeping, when I’m singing, when I’m writing… You’re there all the fuckin’ time. I can’t… I can’t do something that’s not related to you anymore and you can totally tell me to shut the fuck up right now before I do something stupid, but I love you. I… Holy shit I love you so much it hurts,” He leans closer, moving a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear and touch their noses and foreheads together. “And I’m not sorry for this.” It’s too late for her to notice his lips coming because it happens suddenly. About two seconds ago he was standing distant and now their lips are pressed against each other as both his hands hold her face with an urgent need. She lifts her eyebrows in surprise but doesn’t back off — instead, she brings her hands to hold his arms and feels his entire body trembling, holding back the cry with all his strength. Nothing else seems to matter now. They’re finally fading into the touch they’ve been missing so much and it feels so right and so wrong at the same time. He reschedules the thought of deepening the kiss for some other time, pecking her lips repeatedly and slowly at the same time, enjoying the tender graze of their mouths brushing together. “No one wants this more than I do, trust me,” She mumbles, sighing soon after. “But how am I—“ “There’s nobody else,” Shawn interrupts, knowing that he failed her trust. “It’s you. It’s only you.” “Shawn,” Nodding in denial, she tries to move away but his hold won’t let her. He doesn’t mean to come off impolite, but it’s practically unconscious. “It’s easy to say.” “Then tell me what do I do,” He looks her deep in the eyes, tracing her bottom lip with his thumb. “Tell me what I can do to make you mine for a lifetime.” His words are a trap, cornering her and making it hard to avoid her most sincere desires. Her mind can’t form an instant choice and the only thing she knows is that she’s dying to say yes, as many times as needed. Too bad it isn’t simple like this, there’s so much to heal and yet a big lack of patience. “Just say the words, babe,” He sinks his fingers into her hair, tugging at it lightly to tilt her head back so he can have her mouth at his mercy right in front of his. “I’ll do anything if it means I’m never going to see you leaving me again.” He whispers, at the merge of sobbing as he feels his head starting to ache from the whiskey and the crying. All that he wants now is her. She’s the only one that can ease all the agony that’s taking over him. “Jeez!” She hisses, defeated and weak for him. “Shawn, I—“ “Stop me if you don’t want this,” He understands how difficult it is for her to put into words by the way she’s having issues to breathe properly. “But I need you so bad, babe, so bad,” Mouthing at her lips, he loosens the grip on her hair so she can relax and lean against him. “Let me show you how much I love you, how sorry I am…” And like this he descends to the curve of her shoulder, planting wet kisses up to her neck — taking from the base to the skin under her ear with all the passion he’s got. “Let me make you mine again.” She doesn’t wait when he reaches her jaw to move his mouth to the corner of hers, capturing his lips in a deep kiss filled with all the emotions burning inside their bodies. He holds the nape of her neck and her waist with strong hands, pulling her to himself as he breathes harshly, searching for all the air he can get to keep kissing her with all that he’s got. Shawn slips his tongue past her lips and she reciprocates, letting their kiss mix together at the point where she moves forward to straddle his lap and, before his back can hit the couch, he’s grabbing her by the back of her thighs and rushing to his room.

He doesn’t care to turn on the lights, taking advantage on the moonlight breaking through the window to see the bed where he puts her body down on gently to promptly get rid of his dress shirt without undoing the buttons — he holds onto the fabric and simply stretch the edges apart and pull it out from his jeans, throwing the now-ruined cloth away and kicking off his boots and socks. She’s still shifting her frame on his bed but he doesn’t waste time on lying above her after she takes off her coat to leave it aside, traveling his tattooed hand through the side of her silhouette covered by the black velvet dress separating the warmness of her skin from his graze while he finds her lips again. They’re devouring each other’s mouth, letting loud smacks fly throughout the room and she starts to grab his arms for dear life, encouraging to push his instincts farther, profounder on her, not stopping for a second to care about bruises and hickeys — it’s distractingly intense, dripping lust and an unstoppable compulsion to kill this distance with the love that runs through their veins; spreading an enormous heat all over their skin. Shawn traces her clavicle and presses his fingers down as they move to the thin strap of her dress, going under the piece of cloth and hauling it down her arm and immediately doing the same with the remaining strap. She’s tugging at his thick curls ferociously and he bites her bottom lip, pulling it to himself and watch it spring back in place when he releases it. They’re frantically inhaling and exhaling noisily, her arms coming back down just for him to expose the skin of her stomach and chest and flying back to where they belong: him. She’s squeezing the muscles of his shoulder as he goes down to attack her neck with hot and needy kisses, the curls of his hair tickling her chin and soon moving away with his head going down so he can mark her skin with suctions and love-bites, embellishing all the way from her throat to her collarbones with red stains turning into purple already and she can’t help but squirm everytime his teeth graze her icy body, getting lost in the way he’s consuming her entire being like it’s the last time he’s ever going to cover her middle with his skilled mouth. “Fuckin’ missed this,” Shawn mutters between smooches and bites, his hand everywhere all at once while her back starts lifting off the mattress as she shivers. “Fuckin’ missed your body all to myself,” With the black velvet on his hands, he keeps on loving every inch he started revealing while her tight dress was being removed, pulled down to her hipbones and then legs, soon joining his long-gone dress shirt on the floor. “Fuckin’ missed you, babe,” Hovering over her again after throwing her cloth away, he whispers close to her mouth and clings their frames against each other gently, not wanting to smash her with his front. It’s electrifying the touch happening in this moment, their touches stringing and giving them all the answers they’ve been searching for: this is where they’re meant to be, this is the right thing to do. “I love you.” “I love you more,” She whispers back, wasting no time on replying him and venting her aching heart out shamelessly. “Been missing you so much…” And she has no more space to speak. He smiles widely and brings his lips back to hers, overwhelming her whole body with a heated kiss. The pressure between their lips is perfectly added as they lock and unlock their mouths with more patience, tasting each other’s tongues lazily like there’s no tomorrow — and even if it has, Shawn doesn’t wanna leave this moment; he wants to stay in this bed and make love to her until the sunrise so he’s going to have an eternity fitted in these hours to make her moan and tremble underneath him as many times as he wants to, definitely keeping this night eternized somewhere inside his heart and soul, materializing this eternity. She needs more of this, so she threatens to inch closer and stand on her elbows but Shawn is quicker to press his palm down on her middle and pin her on the bed. They’re both breathing deeply into the kiss and he lowers to trail a long stripe with loud kisses from her cheeks — loving one side with his lips and grazing the other side with the back of his fingers;  to her jawline — tickling the skin above it with his teeth, unable to hold a smile from this joy of being with her again; neck — switching between kisses, licks and suctions, leaving a curved line of hickeys drawing her sweetest spots; chest — pecking the expansion without leaving a single space behind as he drives his hand to her back, unclasping her bra and tossing it somewhere away so he can capture one of her nipples with his lips, fondling the other one with his index and middle finger while the other ones work along with his palm to massage her breast; stomach — applying a heavier pressure on his kisses in order not to tickle her and keep on taking away those low whimpers she’s giving to him, her skin showing goosebumps under his touch as he gives all the inches the love they deserve, the love they’ve been craving with his eyes fluttered closed, mind deeply concentrated; hipbones — feeling the curve of them against his swollen and wet lips and catching her underwear in between his teeth to pull it away from her just to release and let it softly slap her body, opening his eyes only to look at her utterly fucked and having issues to maintain her breathing patterned; thighs — covering the smooth skin with his mouth like he’s french-kissing like they’re her lips, heating the inner parts with his touch and not breaking eye-contact with her this time, his curls starting to fall down and eyes attentive on her; and her covered heat. She’s helplessly dripping wet and groaning, barely keeping her body in place from this torture. Bucking her hips forward, she meets his tongue coming up her pussy and a loud moan escapes her parted lips, her hands flying to his curls and grabbing the locks and punishing them between her fingers. Shawn embraces her thighs while watching her becoming a mess, grasping the sheets and looking back at him with desperation, needing him to do something, anything. It’s a wild dream that he doesn’t wanna wake up from. Holding her legs forcefully, he stops her from squirming too much after taking off her soaked panties. She quivers a little, feeling the colder air blowing her dripping core before he covers it with his tender tongue, licking boldly from her entrance to her clit repetitively — yet slowly — and attaching his lips around her bundle of nerves to suck on it, pulling to his mouth the taste of her that he’s been starving for ever since he realized the hurried urge to consume her body blooming inside his mind. She’s letting out broken sobs, nearly suffering from how delightful it feels to have her throbbing clit being caressed by his soft lips and wet tongue, making her go even wetter if that’s possible. Tilting her head, she sees the curve of his upper lip molding perfectly the beginning of her lower lips and her heart starts to miss the beats, she’s not sure she can take this amount of pleasure but surely wants to keep going at the moment he digs his short nails into her thighs and eats her out mightily. Shawn tugs the skin of her sensitive clit between his red lips and licks it devotedly to suck it more roughly, making her eyes roll to the back of her head as she gives up on the bed to finally let her body feel the moment relaxed against the mattress, the tingling sensation down on her entrance and knot on her lower stomach growing more and more messing with her senses. The noises coming from his actions are driving her insane, crying out his name like it’s the only thing she knows and God knows how much this is making his member get close to explode inside those tight jeans, also warming his chest and spurring his heart to beat agonizingly fast in happiness, love, relief and the other countless emotions that he’s not decently conscious to name. “Shawn, I need you,” She manages to say among the growls. “I can’t take it anymore, please.” Honestly, neither can Shawn. It’s speedy the way he gets up to unbutton his black jeans and pull it down with his underwear, his cock springing up and bouncing after leaving the constricted fabrics and she’s ready to get up and knee in front of him but when she sees, he’s already above her and grabbing her wrists together upon her head. “I just gotta feel you,” Sticking their foreheads together — with that obstinate s-shaped-curl between them — he lies down on her silhouette slightly to feel her temperature mixing with his. “Is that okay?” “Yes,” She pants close to his mouth. “Just please, babe…” He lines himself up, brushing his angry tip against her clit and entrance and moistening her with pre-cum, both their parts craving that first thrust going deep inside of her as he bottoms out almost immediately. It’s hard to suppress a moan so he lowers a little bit more, supporting himself on one arm besides her as the other one goes under the nape of her neck to grab at the hair upon it, lightly scratching when his fingers curls inside to hold her strands and tilting it back to expose more of her skin for him to descend and suckle that region under her ear with a fiery desire. “Love you,” She murmurs, scarcely noticeable and holding his face and moving it towards hers while she says it. “Not more than I love you,” He replies instantly and brushes their noses together before stealing a frantic kiss.

Now it’s all slow.

He pushes his hardened member back and forth deliberately, making her feel all his length millimeter by millimeter meanwhile they’re kissing unhurriedly. She moves her hands to his shoulders, taking a good handful of them whenever he buries himself inside of her completely and then traveling to his muscular back, scraping at it and leaving red lines along the expansion of his prominent muscles, bringing his body impossibly closer. When Shawn breaks the kiss is just to sink his cock strongly, in a deafening roll of his skin slapping hers, to groan stridently as he contorts his face in pleasure. The air seems to leave her lungs when he tries it again, doing it even deeper and tougher practically knocking the sanity out of her when he hits her spot with this much force. Her mouth falls in agape, eyebrows frowning and he looks at her doing the same expression, driving into her more and more aggressively, their bodies smacking and filling the room with that incomparable sound. At the same time it’s raw and rough it’s unbelievably delicious — every thrust of his sliding easily in and out and although it’s steady, it has a raced pace: he goes all the way in very fast and powerfully to let her tight walls hold his cock closely at the point it makes him go lightheaded, veins in his arms darting out and his hairline is getting wet but not for a split second he thinks about stopping. He only wants more: more of her back arching, more of her legs shaking uncontrollably, more of her nails digging into his back, more of her mewls and eyes rolling profoundly… “More,” Shawn hears her begging, promptly relying on that hand that was on her hair to use his right arm to grab her leg and bend it up, giving her a new angle. “Give it to me,” He’s rumbling and pushing ferociously, the hazel eyes never leaving hers as he hits her in every thinkable way. She starts to squeeze his dick harder and he starts to twitch, grazing her g-spot even more lusciously and he can feel his orgasm at the merge of washing him off. It’s so hard to hold himself when he’s gliding so easily, so deliciously that it makes both their heads spin while everything around them seems to fade away. There’s nothing else than their sex overriding them, there’s nothing else than their moans entwined in the most beautiful symphony and their highs exploding inside their bodies. She feels her entrance pulsating and he’s already low-growling with his raspy tone into her divided lips, filling her with hot ribbons that are fading into her orgasm following not long after and he collapses onto her frame, trembling and holding her as they try to recover their respiration. “Fuck,” He whispers, thrusting very slowly still. They’re wasted but he doesn’t want it to end, doing his best to respect her sensitiveness and suggest a round two at the same time, typical boyish grin highlighting his small scar. “Please, never leave this bed.” “Will not,” She answers, eyes fluttered close as she palms his flushed chest.

 When the sunrise breaks into his bedroom with no further warnings, he feels the bright light trying to invade his eyelids and turns around to face the other side of the bed. He lazily stretches his arm to touch a body that’s not there. This is what spurs him to open his eyes. Eyelids lightly squinted, he eyes around the bedroom to find the floor clear like not even he stepped inside this place for the last 12 hours. The space beside him on the bed is perfectly made, the pillow is fluffed and free of any signs that someone had rested on there for the last night until now and he still has his dress shirt on with his black Calvins and only one sock on his foot. “What the fuck?” He mumbles, sitting and rubbing his face. This doesn’t make sense, there’s no way. How the hell she could’ve managed to sneak out without leaving a trail behind it’s a question that has no coherent answers. And it’s so not her type to go out and dress him instead of stealing his shirt to keep it to herself. Shawn tosses the blanket away and gets up to knock on the bathroom door and get no responses, flicking the doorknob open and finding the place just the way he left last night: his cologne is on top of the sink, his toothbrush in the right spot and the towels are correctly arranged just like the mat. He enjoys the moment to splash some cold water on his face and brush his teeth, looking at his own reflection on the mirror and seeing that his skin is normal — no hickeys, no scratches, not a single bruise or bite. His eyes are reddened though, kinda swollen and very tired. He takes long strides to the living room, where his notes are still above the black center-table with the bottle of water completely filled and untouched and the mug besides the pen. Chewing on his bottom lip, he looks at the whole room spinning in place and there’s not a damn indication that she’d been here. Maybe he was wrong, maybe someone did put an extra on his whiskey and the effects are happening just now. She has to be here, she has to be somewhere inside this condo. Shawn rushes back to the bedroom, grabbing his phone and searching for a message or whatever gives him a warning of where the fuck she’s hiding herself.

iMessage from Brian: hey dude. left ur keys on the counter last night and i’m gettin some breakfast n bacon to take care of this hangover. don’t die, brb!

Scrolling down, he sees nothing more than the usual. He scrunches his brows, opening his Instagram and instantaneously seeing a post from her in Toronto from 10 hours ago somewhere not even close to the pub he went to last night. She’s wearing the same dress he gifted her, though — hugging her shape dreamily and just from looking at it Shawn can feel the fabric in between his calloused fingers, and he smiles painfully.

 Under the steamy water, he runs his fingers through his hair a thousand times like the rubbing would make his brain dissipate the clouds from his thoughts. Nothing makes sense, nothing fits, nothing belongs together. When he’s sitting down back on bed with his soaked hair dripping waterdrops onto his back and chest, Brian pops his head inside the semi-opened door of his bedroom with a cup of coffee on his hand. “Hey, man!” Shawn looks at him and silently allows him in. “Feeling better?” “Guess I…” He frowns, eyes focusing on nothing. “Did we smoke yesterday?” “No, dude,” Brian answers, chuckling lightly. “But it looked like you did.” “What’s that?” “You were yelling her name in the middle of the pub for everyone to hear and that was so fucked up.” Then reality shoves a punch on his face. Hard. “So fucked up…” It was all a motherfucking dream from the moment Brian held him and forced him into the Jeep to come back home. The tears were wetting his face crazily and he couldn’t stop calling out her name from that second to when his best friend put him on bed, so drunk and so fucked up. “This shit’s all over the internet, isn’t it?” Shawn asks, facepalming with both hands. “Chill, bro,” He hears Brian responding. “We got you out of there coolly, don’t worry,” He takes a sip of his coffee, watching his friend sitting down and feeling miserable, wishing he could do something more. It’s almost motherly the way Brian stares at Shawn. “Got you breakfast, c’mon up—“ “Thanks, man, I’m good.” “You gotta eat, bitch,” Brian says playfully. “I’m not really into saving your ass from another catastrophe that soon.” This time, Shawn laughs exhaling through his nose and gets up. “Thank you for yesterday,” They smack hands together and pull each other for a side hug. “I owe you one,” After they release, Shawn fixes his towel around his v-line. “If you don’t mind I’d like to—“ “Be alone, yup,” Brian winks at him, stepping out of the room. “Gotcha. Good luck, man. If you need me I’ll be at Ian’s.”

As soon as he hears Brian closing the front door, he finishes putting on his boots and unlocks his screen open to find a chat and press onto the voice recording button. Holding it, he goes to the mirror to pass his hand on his hair for the last time. “Hey, uhm… I know this is random but… Can you meet me down on Adelaide Street?” And even though the message hasn’t been seen yet, he goes to the kitchen to take his keys and drive all the way there.

 And sitting down on his favourite café, he orders that meal he knows she likes to share with him while he tries to come down from the most gorgeous nightmare of his life, admiring the view from the ambient out there as he efforts his nerves not to feel empty anymore, expecting her to show up and fill his hollow being with the pleasure of having her presence physically, out of the mess that his mind has become.

He’s seen that she listened to his voice memo about an hour ago but didn’t respond. Shawn can’t stop staring at the chat wordlessly, gulping and breathing deeply before he’s snapped out of his own little world by a sweet-unique tone coming together with that enticing scent only he knew better than anyone else.

“Wanted to see me?” 

[sweetcatmintea]

He’s Only Hurting Himself

Hello hello ^u^ Back again for Flash Fiction Friday!  (I know I’ve missed some and have messages to reply to and I promise I’ll get to them soon! I’ve been running around chasing my own tail lately @A@;;) 

This is @bookenders flash fiction prize for the giveaway I did. Thanks so much for your patience and I hope you like it!

Feedback is very appreciated!

Prompt: I'd love for you to write in a style that you've always wanted to try but haven't yet, for whatever reason, on any subject! 😊

I decided to try a meaningful, future tense story

TW: Alcohol, Alcoholism, Dementia, Death, Brief mentions of illness, Sad

Words: 1351

____

A long day, a deep sigh, sinking slowly into the battered and overstuffed couch cushions, an icy beer safely in hand. The children were asleep, the day was close to over. He leaned back, letting the tiredness seep from his pores. The tv flashed one program or another, whichever was required to complete the Thursday ritual. Weekday programs never really caught his interest. His wife, lovely, his rock, was invested in the prime-time dramas, so he sat while she watched. He toyed with the bottle, briefly rolling it in his palm, absently drawing out the anticipation. The first crack was always the sweetest. Bitter bubbles scratched the building itch in his throat. A sip, then a mouthful, then a new bottle, then he woke up. Friday repeat.

He could say he loved the malty flavour in the evening, that he was a man of taste, sampling the local beverages. He could say a lot of things. He was beginning to think the longing was a problem, but he would never say that. It was his body after all. His choices weren’t hurting anyone but himself. There were issues beneath the surface – aren’t there always? Maybe it was the stress, maybe a simple need to placate the thirst, maybe his childhood came into play. He didn’t need help. He told his wife so many times. His pride wouldn’t allow it. So what if he went a little over sometimes? Everyone has their vices. At least he was a happy drunk.

So he sank into his favourite chair, air warm and beer cold. The children were asleep, and his wife was watching the weekday program. He knew he wouldn’t remember the rest of the night but that doesn’t stop him from raising the bottle. He took a sip.

What he doesn’t know is that there will always be enough money for alcohol, even when the pantry is slim. That his wife, lovely, his rock, is left alone when he comes home, her words falling into nothing so often she stops talking.

He couldn’t imagine that, a few weeks from now, his son will be preparing for an important recital. He will be so excited. Months of practice all leading up to the big performance. The struggles, the triumphs. His son can’t wait to show his parents how hard he worked. And then he will slip. Ankle broken and heart shattered, he will wait in the emergency room with his mother. His father will be too drunk to come to him. He will never be able to look at the man the same way. He will forgive him, but the stain of abandonment will never come out. Bottles collect to dampen the failure. He hates the noise.

A few years later, the man’s daughter will come to him. She’ll be laughing, burnt red from the sports festival and waving a blue ribbon in triumph. She’ll be so proud, telling him that she’s going to be the best in the world at the javelin throw. He will agree, as any parent would. As long as she’s happy, that will be the future he wants for her. When she starts feeling unwell on the drive home, it’s chalked up to heat exhaustion. An ice block, water, and an early night to fox her tiredness. He and his wife discuss their worries over drinks while their kids are in bed. Heat stroke is a genuine concern but it was a stable of growing up here. She should be fine in a few days.

His daughter’s skin tans golden while she stays tired and dizzy. The vomiting sends them to a GP. He makes sure he is present this time. He will wish he wasn’t. The diagnosis is troubling, but unlikely. They’ll have to run some tests just to rule it out. The tests are positive. They determine acute liver failure four days before her fifteenth birthday.

Donors will be scarce. She’s on the waitlist but her blood type is a complication. She’s always been the spitting image of her mother, sharing only two traits with her father – his oak brown eyes and his O- blood. He will offer his liver. He will offer over and over and over. Take it, take the while thing if you can salvage one piece, please, take my liver. The check box glares back

🔲 No active substance abuse

In the twist of a cap, she’s gone.

He will never recover. Night after night, he will drink his sorrows, drowning his wife in the process. The final straw, an ultimatum. Sober up or be alone. He can’t lose anyone else. The pain is too much. It will be hard, one of the hardest things he will ever do, but he will sink into that old couch, son in college, and the tv playing the weekday program. He will share a tea with his wife. The house feels empty.

It’s sad when the damage is invisible, the result inevitable. Wrinkles will set in a little earlier than expected. Grey overtaking blond. Sometimes he forgets his appointments. Old age, they laugh. His wife will age much more gracefully. There’s a tiredness in her eyes, one that she hasn’t been able to shake for years now. But she’s still beautiful. The crow’s feet set in beside them, deepening with every smile. It’s one of his favourite features. Sometimes, he gets irritable. He will yell without meaning to. He was never really one to yell. She smiles less.

When he panics in the shopping centre, she will know something is wrong. He was lost, scared, frail. She will see the diagnosis before the doctor says it, his face a written apology. Dementia. She will hold herself together well, all things considered. He will not. The road paved for him was one that terrified him. With each detail the doctor will paint, he wishes he could look anywhere else. Ten years to lose himself. Ten years to die. His son will come home immediately. They will get through this. One day at a time, they’ll be ok. The promise was made in the late evening, the family holding each other on the old comfortable couch, tv playing the weekday program in the background.

Confusion will come more and more. Week and disoriented, he will struggle as the days blur on. One morning in the early spring, he approaches his wife in tears. He can’t remember the feel of her hand on his cheek. She will hold him tight and cry.

Time becomes fuzzy. He will shift between selves. On good days, he will be him. On bad days, he is angry. He yells and storms, drinks and swears. He hates the old woman who pleads with him to stop. On terrible days he begs the strange man to let him see his boy. He’s so proud of his son. He hasn’t seen him in so long. He doesn’t want to miss his recital. He’s so, so happy when his wife visits him. She’s older now. He doesn’t know when that happened. But she will still be so beautiful. He loves the crinkles around her eyes. Sometimes, he will remember he needs to pick up his daughter from the sports festival. She always tries so hard, you know. The old woman and the strange man cry when he tells them.

He will die. Quietly, in his sleep. The disease finally corroding his brain stem, stopping his heart. The guilty relief tears his wife apart. She stands at his grave, praying he finds peace. She will spend her entire life waiting for him to get better.

His son is hollow. He will have been for a long time. In the quiet evening when work is done, he will pour another glass of wine. He doesn’t want to be alone with his thoughts.

There is no way the man could predict all of this as he takes another sip of his beer. His wife, lovely, his rock, gives him a worried look. He smiles and kisses her cheek. A few beers weren’t hurting anyone. Besides, he was a happy drunk.

-----

To be real for a second, Australia has a really prevalent drinking culture. It makes me worry about both the people getting drunk on the regular and the people around them. This story is in no way intended to shame people who drink, it’s supposed to highlight the false belief ‘it’s fine if I harm myself because it doesn’t hurt others’. 

----- 

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call me Izzy, that's what I go by.

Ps: Mental Illnesses Are Not A Trend; STOP MAKING THEM TRENDY PEOPLE. It's real fucking shit. Trust NoOne. Haha. I'm the weirdest girl y'all will ever meet.

Don't Judge Anyone/Anything Unless You Have Already Walked In There Shoes. You Know My Name, Not My Story.

I love my mom to death. She also keeps me alive. She's my world.

It's Midnight here. So just stay safe. Goodnight xx

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.Got love4the streets and all of you. Stay Up Fam x “If Y0u Talk En0ugh S3nc3 Than Youll Lose Y0ur M!nd” #SilenceIzB3tt3rThanBullsh!t🥀

Hi idk what the fuck I'm doing? xx

Goodnight my amazing lovelies xx

Every Rose Has Its Thorn xx

You Grow Stronger Everyday xx

Izzy, shut the hell up, your being negative again xx

🖤🥀Fake Smiles All Around🥀🖤

🖤🥀It's A Very Very, Mad World🥀🖤

💛🥀Goodbye Reality, Welcome To Dreamland🥀💛

💛🥀Would Y'all Shut Up, Your Disrupting My Train Of Thought🥀💛

🦋🖤Go To Sleep Izzy, Try Again In The Morning🖤🦋

God Is Good, Amen!

Pray For Me, My Love

I Miss You Anthony, My AngelEyez

I Miss You Izzy, Your Not You Anymore

R.I.P xx _ xx Izzy Magdalinoz-Martinez xx_xx She's Not Dead Physically.

__Let's Have A Minute In Silence, For The Addict That's Still Suffering__

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

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L0ADiiNG;

██████████████]99%

System Malfunction; Errors: Brain Possession, Sanity Loss, Mind Damage, Overthinking, Too High Maintenance, Loss Of One's Mind, and Killing Of OnesSelf Slowly.

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ﾟ･*☆¸¸.•*¨*•ﾟ･*☆¸¸.•*¨*•ﾟ･*☆¸¸.•*¨*•

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🖤🥀Updated A Lil Part Of My Life Story Summerized🥀🖤

.♪★I am a recovering drug addict and alcoholic, on Step One &10 MonthsClean.

♪★My deceased father tortured me since I was 4 (I fought back at age 9, when my dad's torture got worse, (on multiple occasions on our he injection me with Meth and Heroin (inside a parked car at Carl's Jr

♪★now I've been homeless 13 times

♪★I rose a 9 year old kid (now 14 years old) named Anthony Castillo-Martinez, he was In an abusive foster home (the same one I was in), so me and my motel roommate and ex girlfriend of One Year. Kimberly Marie-Olivarez took him in

♪★I was mentally unstable and unfit so CPS took him away, (under Kimberly's false accusations that I "gave him drugs")

♪★im known for police, fire department, AMR, sherriffs etc.

♪★Jeremy Baraz & Ismhael Baraz, got shot && I saw the entire thing , and I almost got killed as well

♪★I was Prostituting/got sold, got drugged up and abused for money for us (To raise Anthony, and have a hotel for me Kim and him to live) and she killed herself (right in front of me and I tried to st0p her, but I was to late

♪★ I've been raped by my drug dealers which also drugged me up.people on the streets, Kimberly && many more)

♪★I was in Foster Care a couple times, ×°the 2nd time i was in abusive/Drug addicts, Angela and Jimmy Miller (they tortured, force fed, raped, abused, but me, drugged me up, had multiple people (over 40 a day) come in an rape me one by one

x°first a foster called GHS with staff instead of parents

x° and with Lisa (who was like a grandma to me but she passed away later on so I moved , later finding out that she attempted suicide)

♪★I’ve been in 215 mental hospitals (ETS, Loma Linda, Arrowhead, Cedars Cienai, San Bernardino Community, Delamo, The Willows "CRC", Auoura Charter Oaks, Auoura Las Encinas, UCI, Canyon Ridge, Kaiser, Kaiser Sunset, College Hospital)

♪★lock down treatment centers,1in Utah called Copper Hills Youth Center, ♪★multiple treatment centers

crisis centers (Crisis Stabelization Unit a 24 hour crisis center [CSU] over 80 times)

♪★2 week mental health and drug/alcohol programs (STAY Program (2x), Jumpstreet, Excelsior House, Rancho West, and Telecare Lagos...2x each)

♪★group homes (Rancho Domocitas), ♪★Boarding Cares (Golden Girls, a SSI paid house of all girls)

♪★rehabs (Cedar House 2x, CHYC, and multiple others)

♪★shelters (House of Miracles, Lutheran Mission, Set Free Ranch, Path Of Life, and many otherz)

♪★the streets (13 times homeless/on the streets, LA, OC, Menifee, Riverside, Murrietta, Mission Viejo, Corona, irvine and San Bernardino)

♪★been in car accidents (over 10 times)

♪★i have anger issues (extremely bad), been kicked out of multiple schools since 7th grade

♪★I’ve attempted suicide over 50 to 100 times

♪★I’ve self harmed on multiple occasions (in all kinds of different methods)

♪★I have bipolar (manic depressive disorder type 1 mixed episode).

♪★depression (major depressive disorder).

♪★paranioa.

♪★anxiety.

♪★Buliemia.

♪★insomnia.

♪★Dissociative Identity Fued.

♪★skitzoaffective (extreme skitzophrenia && bipolar mixed) ♪★PTSD.

♪★ocd.

♪★attachment disorder.

♪★Autism.

♪★borderline personality.

♪★amnesia.

♪★multiple personality disorder. ♪★anorexia.

♪★&&..i helped the homeless and people In hospitals (I help everyone way toooo much)

♪★been 0n all mental Health medication (I mean ALL)

♪★ People Tried To Send

Me To Metropolitan State Hospital(highest level of Care)

♪★IMD (Institution For The Mentally Diseased) on multiple occasions

♪★ive been to many therapists, physciatrists, ER's, and been on 51/50, 52/50 holds , concervertaship

♪★and lastly ive got taken away from my mom on four occasions (personal reasons)

♪★I’ve never had a stable home since 2011, now on Augest of 2018 I’m finally home

♪★I help others cus im used to people not caring about me

♪★I have trust issues, im always there to help to care to make sure there OK.

[whatdoyoumeanitsnotawesome]

Ship meme: Wayne and Katy 5, 9, 10

ship headcanon meme from THIS POST (check it out if you haven’t already)

5. Who says ‘I love you’ first?

That depends on how you’re counting. Katy says the words, easy as breathing, has done since she could talk, no problem. It’s never a formality or a reflex, it’s 100% genuine every time she says it. Wayne only says it a handful of times, but he shows it every day, cooking and doing dishes together, planting her favourite flowers in the vegetable patch, carrying the basket of wet laundry for her so she can peg it out, bringing her coffee in bed for their traditional Sunday morning lie-in.

Once Katy told him she was thinking about keeping bees, to save them some money instead of hiring them every Spring for pollination. So he looks up plans and builds her some boxes the very next day. He calls around town to find a hive that someone wants shot of, and buys a secondhand but still-in-good-nick spinner and a beesuit and veil. It’s worth it, the splinters and stings and running around, all of it, when she pops the first bite of honeycomb into his mouth and smiles at him.

9. What is the most embarrassing thing they have done in front of each other?

This one’s tough, because they’re never really uncomfortable enough with each other that they get embarrassed.

The first time they get drunk, like, properly drunk, they’re in their study room, chilling on the secondhand loveseat they got from Uncle Eddie and Aunt Marian. They’re sixteen tomorrow, and consider themselves very grown up, capable of handling pretty much anything, including liquor. Their parents are the lax sort, so they’ve had a wee dram here and there, usually in tea, or warm milk with honey if they’re ill.

Tonight though, it’s the day before their birthday, they’re supervision-free, it’s the height of summer, and their parents are away on a date, so the twins decide to start their revels early. They nick the whiskey from the kitchen and make sure to load up on snacks to bring upstairs with them so they don’t have to chance sneaking back down to the kitchen after their parents get home. Very responsible, very forward-thinking; they’re totally nailing adulting. They’re not even going anywhere, so they can’t possibly get into too much trouble, right?

Wrong.

They’re getting quietly tanked, chirping an old episode of MST3K, and booze is as booze does, so Katy has to wee. She stands up to go, or rather, she tries to stand up. All the alcohol goes to her head all at once, and she immediately over-balances. The only thing that saves her from taking a header into the coffee table is Wayne throwing his arms around her and pulling her back into his lap. Concussion successfully avoided, yay, but the pressure around her middle only exacerbates her original problem.

‘Wayne, you gotta let me up, I gotta go.’ She pats his arm, tapping out.

‘You gonna be alright?’ Wayne seems sceptical, but releases her nonetheless. It’s not fair he sounds so much more sober than she feels.

‘I’ll be fine, I just wasn’t expecting it.’ To be honest, Katy’d expected being drunk to feel kinda similar to smoking pot, which she’s pretty used to by now. She stands up much more slowly this time, moving very deliberately, and makes her way to the washroom between the study and their bedroom. Her fingers refuse to cooperate with the pocket door and the button of her shorts, but she does eventually get things sorted before she gets too desperate.

While she’s sitting there, she decides to make things easier on her future self and change into pyjama shorts. She’s a genius, she’s handling this so well. The pocket door to the bedroom gives her just as much trouble as the one leading to the study. Rather than tempting Fate by attempting to stand on one leg, Katy sits on the bed to get changed. She’s just pulling her shorts up when Wayne chooses that moment to bang on the door.

‘Are you okay in there?’ he calls through the door.

‘I’m just putting on some pyjamas.’

Wayne sounds disgruntled. ‘It’s been twenty minutes. I thought maybe you’d fallen again.’

Awwwwwww. He was always looking out for her. Katy slides the door open and leans against the frame, smiling. ‘Were you worried about me?’

Wayne’s habitual squint is a bit uneven, so maybe he’s not as unaffected as she thought. Good to know. ‘I don’t wanna hafta explain to our parents that I’m suddenly an only child, no.’

Witty as ever. ‘C’mon, let’s go back to the sofa.’ Katy slides an arm around Wayne and they lean against each other as they walk a little unsteadily back to the loveseat. Once they’re settled back down, they keep absently nibbling their snacks and passing the whiskey back and forth. It gets late enough that they hear the truck coming up the laneway, and they share a moment of visceral, heart-stopping paranoia, like somehow their parents are gonna just know, via telepathy or some other Spooky Parent Power.

Normality reasserts itself when after a couple of minutes, there’s a complete lack of doors opening and shutting. Wayne barely leans out the window before he registers the slight sway of the truck, and for the sake of his sanity he launches himself backwards before he can see anything unfortunate, but he hadn’t counted on Katy being right behind him and he bowls them both over in his haste.

‘Oof,’ is all she says, staring up at the ceiling. A moment of silence passes between them before Wayne speaks.

“They’re gonna be in the truck a while.’

Another moment of silence while this works its way through Katy’s brain. ‘Oh my God,’ she moans, voice full of despair, ‘we have to ride in that truck!’ She rolls over next to him and buries her face in his shoulder. ‘I really, really wish you hadn’t’a said that.’

Wayne sighs, puts his arm around her shoulders, and pats her sympathetically. ‘Sorry, kiddo, but if I have to suffer, so do you.’

‘That is not covered under for better or for worse,’ she says, muffled.

‘Twins for life, honey. No getting divorced.’

Katy raises her head to look at him and digs her pointy little chin into his ribs extra hard, just ‘cos she can. ‘You’re a terrible person. I’m gonna trade you in.’

Wayne adopts the snootiest Customer Service voice he can muster. ‘I’m afraid the sixty-day return policy has lapsed.’ He grins. ‘You’re stuck with me.’

She hums, ‘Well, if that’s the case. I suppose you do have your uses.’ Katy snuggles closer and lays her head back down. ‘You’re pretty comfy, for a start.’

‘Oh, well. As long as I’m useful.’

‘Like a good piece of furniture. Decorative and sturdy.’

They giggle quietly until they hear the back door open and shut. There’s the sound of feet on the stairs, and then a quick tapping at the study door as their parents wish them goodnight in passing, and they warmly return the sentiment from their spot on the floor.

When they hear their parents’ door close, Katy whispers, ‘There’s one way to try and erase that image.’

Wayne nods. ‘That’s a Texas-sized 10-4.’

They relocate back to the sofa again, piling pillows on one end and stretching out across it as they resume passing the bottle back and forth. Eventually, the television switches over to a new programme, and by that time, their parents’ snores are echoing through the house. They’re both so relaxed it almost feels like a Sin, breaking the peace, but Katy’s had the most excellent idea and it would be rude and selfish if she didn’t share it.  

‘Hey, Wayne,’ she queries.

His hand pauses petting her hair. ‘Katy Kat?’

‘Wanna go have a smoke on the roof?’

Oh, that’s class. ‘I’d have a dart.’

The biggest benefit to their room being on the complete opposite side of the house from their parents’ is that it’s practically soundproof. They don’t hear any night noises they don’t wanna hear, and they get easy access to the roof via the porch gable and the big window in the study. Wayne gets the gear from the sock drawer and they climb out on top of the porch, only a little wobbly. From there, Wayne hoists himself up onto the roof proper, then pulls Katy up after, and they settle in for a dart and a joint respectively. They’re flushed and warm from the drink, and the smokes go straight to their heads, leaving them dizzy and giggly; but the night air is bracing and helps cool them off.

They lay back together and point out all the constellations they can remember, then start making up new ones and giving them the most ridiculous backstories they can come up with. After about half an hour, the whiskey jacket wears off and Katy gets cold enough she wants to go inside. Getting down is a lot more of a challenge than getting up had been. Any other time they’d just jump for it, or else they’re sneaking out and shinning it down the tree, but those are both too noisy to be real options. They eventually work out that they have to sit down and then lower themselves in a weird sort of reverse pull-up type manoeuver. Or, well, Wayne has to lower himself and then lift Katy down. There’s a close call as she shifts her weight forward when he’s not expecting it, but they recover and no one falls or breaks anything, so they carefully climb back in the window.

Safely ensconced back on the couch, they’re in that space between drunk and sober where judgement has left the building, but you’re absolutely certain you’re making an unbiased, totally objective decision to have another drink. Killing the last third of the bottle seems like a brilliant idea. Things take a sharp nose-dive from that point. Where before they’d been slowly sipping at the whiskey, now they take gulps; after all, they’d handled it so far, right? The television plays softly in the background, but they’ve long since lost the plot. Whatever’s going on, it involves a robot, a Cat-man, an idiot, and some prick with an H on his forehead. Drunchies are no joke, and before they know it all the snacks have mysteriously disappeared and they’ve no memory of finishing them.

That was the tipping point, it seems, because the nausea comes on, creeping up like a thief in an alley, the heartburn and the churning bile and the spins, and oh fuck, the spins. Katy’s head feels tight like a migraine, but also weirdly floaty, like she’s too high. Wayne’s not doing much better himself, breathing slow and heavy and focussed on one spot on the ceiling to try and quell the urge to spit. If they’re very, very still, they might be able to power through this.

Luck is not on their side. Katy needs the bin, now. She turns to ask Wayne to grab it and-

A strangled ‘Wayne,’ is all the warning he gets before Katy hurls right in his lap. For a moment, he’s too stunned to do anything, but then she retches and does it again, and that’s what triggers his gag reflex, the sound and the smell and the warm liquid splash, and Wayne tosses his cookies even as he’s reaching for the rubbish bin. That sets Katy off again, and they’re caught in a vicious cycle of calling Huey until there’s nothing left in either of them to bring up.

They have to use every towel in the bathroom to clean up the mess, dry heaving the whole time, until it’s as good as they’re going to get it in the middle of the night. They rinse their mouths out and brush their teeth very gingerly, trying not to set off another round of gastrointestinal rebellion. Katy still feels hot and woozy and not a little gross, and she refuses to get in bed like this and mess up the nice, clean sheets. Wayne doesn’t exactly smell like a bed of roses either, so they sluice off and get into fresh, non-puky pyjamas. Katy’s head is clear enough by then that she has the foresight to make them both drink some goddamn water and take some aspirin before they get in bed.

The next morning is a special level of Hell, ‘cos it turns out their parents are totally on to them. Busted. As if being wretchedly hungover weren’t punishment enough, their parents make sure to be extra loud and unsympathetic to their misery. Birthday pancakes bring no joy, the smell of frying bacon is revolting, and the very idea of anything as acidic as orange juice has them both on the razor’s edge of being ill again.

Wayne and Katy Suffer through breakfast and cleaning up the kitchen after, until some buckets, brushes, and heavy-duty surface cleaner are shoved into their hands. They trudge upstairs and start scrubbing the puke out of the floorboards. Every part of the sofa needs to be cleaned as well; the cushions, the upholstery, the cover. Even the remote for the television. All of this on top of their regular chores leaves them shaky and exhausted by lunchtime.

The bollocking they get is definitely well-deserved, but neither of the twins has the strength to tolerate it. Wayne just crawls under the table and lays face-down and still, waiting for death, and Katy pillows her abominably sore head on her arms and tunes out until it’s over. They’re grounded for the foreseeable future, and just to make sure they don’t have any time to get into any more mischief, they’ll be doing chores over at Uncle Eddie’s as well as at home. The only pity they’re shown is a sleeve of dry crackers and some ginger beer to settle their bellies. The rest of the day is spent hauling bales and mucking stalls.

After dinner they go straight to bed, no shuckin’ and jivin’. They pinkie swear that next time, they’re gonna take about fifty percent off the whiskey and double down on the water. They grow up to be champion lushes, the pair of ‘em.

10. What two songs, two books and two luxury items do they take to a desert island?

Katy:

Music: House of Tom Bombadil by Nickel Creek, ‘cos Katy’s secretly a huge Nerd, and A Thousand Years by Christina Perri even though it’s so Basic White Girl, because no matter how cheesy, she genuinely loves it.

Books: The Secret Garden by Francis Hodgson Burnett (her favourite since childhood,) and How to Invent Everything by Ryan North, a surprisingly useful survival guide.

Luxury Items: A tarpaulin, because Katy’s nothing if not Practical, and sunscreen for Wayne, ‘cos he’ll never think of it and he burns like paper.

Wayne:

Music: Wayne actually has the most rubbish taste in music. If he likes anything good, it’s purely by accident. He brings a cover of Can’t Hold Us by Macklemore as Gaeilge and Animals by Nickleback.

Books: Le Petit Prince by Antoine De Saint-Exupery. It’s his favourite, and it’s set in a desert, so. And since he knows every word off by heart in English and in French, to keep him engaged he’ll also bring Seven Pillars of Wisdom by T. E. Lawrence. Sure, it’s on-theme and all.

Luxury Items: A flint and a hammer hatchet. With these he can make simple tools, and with simple tools he can make complex tools, and with complex tools he can make anything.

(Edit: I only just now realised that perhaps this meant two total, as in one of each item for each of them, rather than they both bring two of each item. Oh, well. What’s done is done.)

[effyeahzimbits]

Title: Beer Pong Penalty

Rating: M

Pairing: Zimbits

Summary: Anyone who loses beer pong must face the penalty. The day comes for Eric Richard Bittle to put his money where his mouth is.

Warnings: Swearing. Description of piercings. Many hangovers.

Read on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14061129

     He’d been hit by a truck. That was the only possible explanation for the ungodly pounding in his head. He was going to open his eyes and find himself in hospital and covered in bandages and being doted upon by his beautiful Canadian Adonis boyfriend. Said Canadian Adonis boyfriend was going to be dressed in nothing but the tightest little underwear and spoon feeding him his dear old Moomaw’s Georgian peach pie.

     So, when he did finally wrench his eyes open, Bitty was thoroughly disappointed to find himself staring up at the peeling grey ceiling of the Haus’ lounge area. It took a moment for the realisation to sink into his hungover brain, but when it finally did, he let out a disgusted squeak and quickly rolled off the germ ridden couch and onto the floor. The grubby carpet was littered with plastic red cups and empty plates and other remains, but it was still preferable to that green cesspit of Hell.

     Bitty groaned miserably and pressed the heels of his palms to his aching eyes in a futile attempt at forcing the headache away. Memories of the previous night’s party came flooding back, including the gross tequila that had cost Ransom a grand total of six bucks and the cocktails that Shitty had fervently claimed to be mimosas but had contained the distinct burn of cheap vodka. Sober Eric always declared that he was going to have an easy night and wouldn’t get too drunk. Sober Eric was a dirty liar.

     He sighed heavily and let his arms flop to his sides, gazing up at the ceiling with all the energy of a dead fish. Truthfully, he couldn’t remember any of the finer details. He knew there had been beer pong in there somewhere (he always lost catastrophically), a little crazy dancing to Beyoncé had also happened at some point (Holster always liked to indulge him), and Bitty wasn’t entirely sure at this point but he might have taken a lot of tipsy selfies and sent them to Jack. When he had the strength to sit up he’d check his phone.

     He spent ten whole minutes convincing himself that the headache was going to miraculously vanish if he laid still long enough. It didn’t of course, and he finally decided to drag himself up with a dramatic groan. The room spun so violently he thought he was going to blow chunks. The couch would look considerably better soaked in vomit, he mused, but the thought of cleaning it up made him think better of it. Instead he used it to haul himself up and onto his unsteady feet. He wobbled only a little, and after a couple of deep breaths the nausea settled enough for him to make it into the kitchen.

     He kicked more cups and plates and – was that a bra? – out of the way as he padded through, and he was pretty sure he could hear someone snoring somewhere, though he didn’t see any limbs sticking out from underneath the furniture. His beloved kitchen was completely trashed, though he hadn’t expected any different. If he’d recovered enough by this afternoon then he would blitz the whole place top to bottom with industrial strength bleach, but for now he’d suffer through the mess to get a cup of coffee.

     The coffee beans took ages to grind and he stared at them with a dead expression, the steady drip drip of the black liquid hammering into his brain. It had only meant to be a few casual drinks to celebrate their latest winning game, but things grew dark when Ransom pulled out that stupid tequila. The bottle stood half empty on the counter, it’s plastic moustached sombrero lid practically mocking him. He had a sudden burst of energy and tossed the alcohol deep into the trash, hiding it under a stack of Chinese takeaway cartons. If Ransom asked, he’d play dumb and pretended he had no idea where it went.

     He dug his old faded mug out of the sink and poured steaming hot coffee into it without even rinsing the porcelain. And because he would never be broken inside enough to drink it black, he dumped as much sugar and caramel creamer into it as he could stomach. He sat at the table to slurp it, trying to blink away the cobwebs. He scalded his tongue more than once and the sting woke him up a little more.

     It was only after the second cup did he start feeling more human. He’d heard the front door open and close a couple of times and assumed some of their guests were starting to rouse and realise they were in the wrong house. He hoped someone reclaimed the bra. Holster had turned the last one into a hat of shame for whoever came last at beer pong. Bitty had had to wear it for a whole half an hour last night. Remembering he probably sent Jack a picture of that too, he took up his phone and scrolled through his messages. Of course, there was a selfie of him in the bra hat. There were lots of selfies in fact. He started out looking quite cute and presentable, until the last one where his hair was sticking up in all directions and his cheek was smeared in Lardo’s purple lipstick and his nice blue shirt was drenched in the vivid orange fake mimosa concoction. Luckily Jack had only seemed to grow even more amused as his sobriety deteriorated.

     Jack had of course already sent him his usual good morning text three hours ago. Sleeping in for Jack meant waking up at seven am, and he always went for a run half an hour later. At first Bitty teased him for it, calling him an exercise freak, but then he’d learned that Jack’s anxiety medication had a bad habit of making him feel drowsy, and the morning runs helped to wake up his foggy brain. Bitty continued to chirp him for it, but only because it made Jack laugh. He was still learning a lot about Jack, and each nuance he discovered only made him fall in love with his former captain even more.

     He was just tapping out a reply with his own good morning and apologising for the ridiculous selfies when the Haus started to come back to life around him. Ransom and Holster descended the stairs first, looking like they’d taken in a bath in neat vodka and then slept in a ditch. The frogs and tadpoles followed them, and Bitty assumed they’d all crashed on Chowder’s floor because the last he’d seen of them they were playing ring of fire with the volleyball girls in Chowder’s bedroom. Then finally Lardo and Shitty crammed themselves in the tiny kitchen too, helping themselves to the rest of the coffee and whatever food they could scrape together from the remnants that were left from the night before.

     “So, Bits,” Shitty chirped in a voice that was far too disgustingly cheerful for Bitty’s delicate head.

     He was naked as the day he was born and perched on one of the counter tops. Bitty wondered if there was a bleach that was stronger than industrial strength and where he could buy five gallons of it.

     “When are we heading into town, ya crazy little fucker?”

     Bitty lifted his heavy head and narrowed his eyes at his friend.      “What?” he asked eloquently, his voice hoarse from the alcohol abuse. “Why would I want to go into town?”      He wasn’t going to step one foot out of the Haus today. He was going to go straight up to bed and sleep until his head exploded and he died, or the hangover wore off. Whichever came first.

     “Dude, don’t you remember the bet?” Ransom asked gleefully. “You know, the beer pong bet?”

     Bitty wracked his cotton wool filled brain but could definitely not remember any bet relating to his spectacular loss. He remembered the honour belch, that was difficult to forget, but certainly no bet. He shook his head, creasing his brow in a frown.

     “Bro. Bro,” Ransom seized his shoulder, looking like all his birthdays had come at once and not like he’d had a disgusting hangover not two minutes ago. “You have to go get a piercing.”

     “I have to get a what?”

     Bitty blinked at him, straining his eyes through the fogginess to frown at his friend’s ecstatic face. He had to have misheard him. There was no way he would agree to anything like that, no matter how shitfaced he was. He shook his head, ignoring the throbbing between his temples.

     “You heard the man!” Shitty crowed, grinning just as widely. “You were going on all night about how you’d always wanted a piercing, so we decided to make you put your money where your fucking mouth is.”

     “He’s right,” Lardo told Bitty with a smirk, and around them, the rest of the team were laughing as they recalled the events from the night before. “You promised, Bits. If you lost the game, your penalty would be to go and get that piercing.”

     “Y’all’re lying,” Bitty said slowly, glaring at them all when his friends just cracked up laughing. “I agreed to no such thing. Prove it.”

     “Bits,” Shitty said gleefully, clapping a hand over his shoulder. “Bits. My sweet, spicy southern beauty. You have just asked a motherfucking lawyer to prove something.”

     Bitty’s glare dropped slightly when he realised exactly that, but he attached it back into place a moment later. He folded his arms obstinately, watching Shitty scroll through his phone with a huge grin on his face. A moment later, his own voice filled the kitchen, a little high pitched and definitely tipsy.

     “I, Eric Richard Bittle,” the recording began, making Bitty cringe. “Hereby announce that my penalty for suffering a crushing defeat at beer pong, will be to obtain exactly one piercing in a place of my choosing, tomorrow the fifteenth of May.”

      Bitty’s mouth dropped open. He had clearly been reading from a handwritten sheet, as he’d stumbled over words between drunken giggles. The others roared with laughter at Bitty’s horrified expression, and Shitty smugly put his phone back onto the table. Bitty stared at it as if it had personally thrown out all the butter in the house.

     “Shall I get my car keys?” Lardo smirked, slinging an arm around his shoulders.

     Bitty couldn’t speak. It’s true, he had always entertained the idea of a piercing, but never seriously. His mother would kill him for one. And he never thought he’d ever actually have the guts to go through with it. But a bet was a bet. He couldn’t back out of a beer pong penalty. It was written in the Haus rules. He sighed in defeat. At least he could choose where he was going to have it.

      “Lord, I must have been so drunk,” he groaned, sinking his face into his hands.

     The others’ laughter drilled through his brain, reminding him of his crippling hangover. He wasn’t stupid enough to get a piercing with so much alcohol in his system, so he waved his coffee cup in Holster’s general direction. It was instantly plucked from his hands and refilled. It appeared by his side a moment later, filled with wonderful creamy caramel flavoured coffee.

     “If I’m doing this, I need food,” he pouted, dragging the mug close and inhaling the fumes in the hopes that it would bring him back to life.

     Ransom leapt towards the fridge for ingredients comically fast. Bitty couldn’t resist the smirk as he watched his friends scramble to make a hearty breakfast. He took his phone again and swiped open the front facing camera, appraising his face in the screen. His ear would be the obvious option, but Bitty figured if he was going to do this then he might as well go all out. He turned his face to the side, humming thoughtfully as he tried to imagine a shiny stud in various places.

     By the time breakfast appeared in front of him – a large plate of eggs and waffles and bacon – he was starting to feel excited. Now that he was more comfortable with himself, he had started playing around with his own personal style, and a piercing would be an extension of that, albeit a little more extreme. He figured if he didn’t like it, he’d just take it out, though he’d hate to waste money like that.

     “Eyebrow,” he finally announced, putting his phone down and picking up his fork instead. “I’m going to get my right eyebrow pierced.”

     “Dude,” Ransom whistled, lifting his own eyebrows. “You will look so hot with an eyebrow piercing. Good choice.”

     The others all nodded and offered their own words of encouragement between shovelling food into their mouths. Bitty grinned widely and tucked into his own breakfast, practically buzzing with excitement already. He realised he hadn’t finished his text to Jack and took up his phone again, chewing as he typed. He wondered what Jack would think and considered asking for his opinion, but eventually decided against it. He loved Jack, and valued his thoughts, but he didn’t want to risk his boyfriend putting him off the idea. It would be a surprise instead.

     After breakfast, Bitty took a long shower. The hot water washed away the cobwebs and he stepped out into the steamy room feeling fresher and brighter. He dressed and dried his hair in record time, meeting Shitty and Lardo in the kitchen. Luckily, Lardo hadn’t drank the night before, and was perfectly chipper. A little while later, they all piled into her tiny car and headed off into town.

     There was a small tattoo parlour on the outskirts, popular among the Samwell student body for it’s friendly staff and attractive prices. Lardo knew it well after accompanying a few of her course mates, and had assured Bitty that it was a safe and trustworthy place. As they neared town though, Bitty’s nerves started to kick in and he began tapping his fingers impatiently on the door handle. It wasn’t the pain he was worried about. Not much, anyway. He was more worried about how he might look with it, what Jack would say, what his mother would say.

     By the time Lardo pulled into a parking space, he was starting to feel a little sick.

     “Hey, Bits,” Shitty murmured, catching his attention.

     Bitty looked up to see both Shitty and Lardo turning towards him from their front seats, both wearing soft expressions that he couldn’t quite read.

     “If you wanna back out, we won’t say anything brah,” Shitty reassured him.       “Right. We’ll say they were closed or something. We don’t want to force you into doing this if you really don’t want to,” Lardo added.

     Bitty looked at both of their faces, touched by their obvious concern. As much as they’d encouraged him back at the Haus, they weren’t about to coerce him into something like this if he genuinely didn’t want to do it. Bitty smiled, his heart swelling with a warm affection for the pair of them. He felt his nerves melting away, leaving that excitement once more.

     “Let’s do this,” he grinned widely, laughing when both of their faces lit up.

     He hopped gracefully out of the car, having to resist the urge to scamper into the shop like a thrilled child heading into a toy store. Instead he strode through the door confidently with his head held high. A shrill buzzing noise that irritated his ears came from the back of the shop, where he could see a big, colourful woman hunched over a client, her hand moving rhythmically over their arm. There was a man at the counter by the large window, and after a nudge from Lardo, Bitty headed over.

     It was a small room, and the walls were adorned with hundreds of flash designs and posters. It smelled strongly of antiseptic too, and Bitty focussed on that instead of the awful buzzing. The man at the counter was young, tanned and heavily tattooed, and flashed them all a wide smile as they approached. He nodded at Lardo, obviously recognising her.

     “Hey, what’s up? How can I help?” He asked, when he realised that it was Bitty who was interested in getting something.

     “I’d like a piercing please. My eyebrow,” Bitty grinned, the excitement evident in his voice. Both Shitty and Lardo snickered at his lack of chill, sinking into a row of seats on the far wall.

     “Sure. I just need you to fill this form for me,” the assistant replied, sliding a sheet of paper over the counter towards him. “And I need to see some ID too.”

     It was tempting to skim the boring questions about allergies and scribble his signature, but Bitty forced himself to read it properly and answer honestly. He was that keen on getting this done now that he didn’t want to ruin it by doing something stupid. Once he was satisfied, he signed his name and pulled out his driving license, along with the forty bucks required.

     He perused the selection of body jewellery available while the assistant read over his form and made a copy of his ID. He was already fantasising about the elaborate and brightly coloured bars he could wear after it had finished healing. At the back of his mind he worried about what his mama and Jack might say, but he quickly squashed the thoughts down. He was a grown man and could make these decisions for himself.

     The assistant called him over towards the back of the shop. Bitty flashed Lardo and Shitty one last excited grin, then headed around the counter and into the sterile workroom. The colourful tattooist looked up from her work and winked playfully at him even as her client grimaced in pain. Bitty walked past them towards the large, paper covered bench and lithely hopped up after the assistant gestured towards it.

     “My name’s Danny,” the man smiled, taking supplies from the shelf and placing them on the small trolley beside him. “My job isn’t to hurt you, okay? I’ll be as gentle as I can. While sticking a huge needle in your face,” he grinned widely.

     Bitty laughed and nodded, grateful for Danny’s humour. It settled his nerves a little bit. He calmly placed his palms flat down on the bench, focussing on the rough paper beneath them. He watched Danny meticulously clean his surfaces and readied the equipment.

     “Here’s a selection of eyebrow bars we can use. Any take your fancy?” Danny asked, showing Bitty a small selection of jewellery in a case on the wall.

     Bitty hummed thoughtfully as he inspected them. There were a few plain ones in different colours, and others that were adorned with crystals. He didn’t want anything too flashy, but none of the plain ones interested him either. At the end of the row was a small curved bar in a metallic rainbow that he instantly thought was perfect. The colour was subtle, but was one that resonated with him.

     “That one please,” Bitty grinned, pointing it out.

     Danny took the required piece of jewellery and sterilised it carefully before unscrewing a ball at one end, ready to be inserted in the fresh piercing. With that done, he took a marker and carefully placed a dot above Bitty’s right eyebrow.

     “Does that look like the right spot?” Danny asked, nodding towards the huge mirror that ran along one wall.

     Bitty turned to look, examining the small green mark. His stomach churned with nerves again. He caught Shitty and Lardo’s faces in the glass and they both gave him huge grins and thumbs up. He laughed, he took a deep breath and nodded.

     “Yep. Looks good. Let’s do it.”

     Bitty found it easier if he watched Danny’s hands pulling on gloves rather than focus on his racing heart. He wasn’t going to look in the mirror, and he really wasn’t going to look at the needle waiting in its sanitary container. Danny carefully pinched his brow between two fingers and secured a tight clamp over the skin. It wasn’t painful, but it was uncomfortable, and when he saw Danny go for the needle, Bitty closed his eyes.

     “You ready, dude?” Danny’s voice came gently from somewhere in front of him.

     “Ready,” Bitty replied in a voice that was surprisingly steady.

     He felt Danny stabilise the clamp, and then a moment later a sharp, stabbing pain blossomed in his brow. Bitty inhaled abruptly, but did his best to stay still. The shooting pain faded almost instantly to an intense sting that flared a little as Danny fiddled with the bar, and then settled down again. When Danny gently released the clamp, Bitty opened his eyes and let out a relieved laugh, his shoulders slumping. He hadn’t even realised he’d been tensing them.

     “All done,” Danny announced with a bright grin. “It really suits you, take a look.”

     Bitty turned to examine his face in the mirror, ignoring Shitty and Lardo’s loud and excited hoots of celebration from the other side of the counter. His right eyebrow was already swelling around the curved bar, but Bitty already loved the shiny metal that accentuated the curve of his brow. Danny was right, it really did suit him.

     “It looks amazing, thank you!” Bitty laughed, turning to give Danny his biggest grin.

     “No problem, I’m glad you like it,” Danny laughed, disposing of the needle before tugging off his gloves. “Okay so that’s gonna sting for a bitch for a few days, take an Advil if it gets too bad. You should clean it at least twice a day with warm saltwater and avoid touching it at all. The swelling should go down soon, but don’t change it for a smaller bar for at least eight weeks.”

     “Got it,” Bitty nodded, determined to listen to Danny’s every word. He had the whole summer to let it heal, and hopefully it would be fine long before he had to put on a hockey helmet again.

     “I can do it for you if you don’t want to try it yourself. And if you have any questions, just give me a call, okay?” Danny took a small business card from the counter and offered it out.

     Bitty took it and hopped off the bench, sliding the card into his back pocket. He thanked Danny again and made his way back around the counter. Shitty and Lardo instantly started hollering and grabbed him the moment he was in reach.

     “You motherfucking stunner,” Shitty gushed, sounding weirdly choked up. “It’s perfect.”

     “It looks good on you,” Lardo agreed with a wide grin, slinging her arm around his shoulders as they headed out of the shop.

     “Thanks,” Bitty laughed, starting to feel a little drained from all the adrenalin. “It didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. Stings though.”

     “Let’s go get lunch,” Lardo suggested, guiding him towards a nearby Subway restaurant instead of her car. “We should get some sugar in you.”

     Many hours later, after lunch, a raucous drive back to the Haus, and answering questions fired at him from the other members of the SMH, Bitty finally found himself perched cross-legged on his bed with his laptop open in front of him. He’d refrained from taking any selfies until he’d shown Jack despite being desperate to flash it all over Twitter. Maybe he’d take one before bed, but right now all he wanted to do was talk to his boyfriend.

     Jack picked up after three rings. He was freshly showered, his damp hair curling as it dried. He had a sleepy smile on his face, worn out from his game. Bitty’s heart swelled with affection just from the sight of him.

     “Hi, Sweetpea.”

     “Hey Bits. How was-? “

     Jack broke off his sentence midway, his mouth forming a perfect little ‘o’. He frowned and leaned forward, squinting at the screen. Bitty didn’t say anything and smiled calmly. His eyebrow was red and swollen, but he knew the piercing would be clearly visible.

     “Did you get your eyebrow pierced?” Jack asked softly, his blue eyes wide.

     “Yep!” Bitty chirped with a laugh, feeling overwhelmed with giddiness when Jack seemed more in awe than anything else. “It was my pong penalty from last night. What do you think?”

     Jack was quiet for a moment, eyes scanning Bitty’s face again. He smiled widely and nodded, completely unaware he was making Bitty’s heart flutter.

     “I really like it,” he admitted softly. “You look really good.”

     Bitty could argue that Jack always thought he looked good, but the compliment made him beam all the same.

     “Thanks, sugar. I really love how it looks. I can’t wait for it to be all healed up. Lord knows what my mama will say about it,” Bitty laughed, a little too high pitched.

     Lots of men had pierced eyebrows, it wasn’t like it was a ‘feminine’ piercing, but he was still a little worried that it would only emphasise his sexuality. He was still getting his head around the idea that he was allowed to be proud of who he was and what anyone else thought wasn’t his problem. Though feeling that pride was a lot harder when he couldn’t muster up the courage to come out to his mother. Staying with Jack for the summer was sounding more and more appealing.

     Jack could tell him that he was an adult and could make decisions whether he had his mother’s approval or not, but he sensed that it wasn’t the right time for that conversation. Bitty had had a fun and exciting weekend, and Jack didn’t want to ruin his good mood by bringing up such intense topics. They could talk about it another day. So, Jack just smiled and told him he looked nice again.

     The bright smile on Bitty’s face meant it was appreciated.

     “Are you going to get any more?” Jack wondered, shifting into a more comfortable position.

     “I’m not sure,” Bitty hummed. “I haven’t thought about it. I don’t think I’ll be like you and your tattoos though,” he teased playfully.

     Jack had booked himself in for a tattoo session in late July, just in case the Falconers made playoffs. It would be his first, and was working with Lardo on a small and meaningful design that was top secret. The trouble was once he’d started thinking about them, he found himself thinking of possibilities for more designs and where they might go on his body. Lardo had warned him that getting your first tattoo was a slippery slope, and he was starting to see why.

     “Hm, shame,” Jack joked with a lopsided grin.

     Bitty gracefully raised an eyebrow and smirked. It was hard to tell through a computer screen, but he knew Jack well enough by now to tell when he was starting to get excited. His pale cheeks were beginning to flush, and his eyes seemed dark and even more smouldering than usual.

     “Mr. Zimmermann. Is my piercing turning you on right now?” Bitty purred lowly, carefully moving his computer off his lap and onto the bed in front of him.

     “It’s not the piercing,” Jack argued with a laugh. His cheeks went even pinker after being called out. “Though it does look amazing. It’s you. How confident you are and how you know you look good.”

     Bitty inwardly softened a little, smitten with how Jack looked at him. It was something he could revel in later, when it was dark and he was ready to go to sleep. For now, he deftly whipped off his thin t-shirt, careful not to catch his new piercing.

     “Well then, honey. Make your handsome self comfortable and I’ll show you just how confident I am.” The End

A.N: Please do not get piercings after nights of heavy drinking. I took creative license with this lmao.

Thanks for reading!

[collapsingintojupiter]

4, 27, 28, 61 Prinxiety drunk fic, Virgil runs off after arguement with Pstton about Virgil's well-being. Patton and Logan find them the next morning. Love ya stuff!

I got a lot this time! Let's see what happens. Enjoy my trash y'all.

Characters: Virgil, Roman, Patton, Logan

Relationships: The four are best friends and Virgil/Roman are dating. So this is for all you Prinxiety fans.

Warnings: Alcohol mention, injury, and cursing. Let me know if I need to add anything else.

***

"I'm just trying to help you look out for yourself! I wasn't trying to--"

"Well stop helping me! I'm sick of being babied like this, I'm not a fucking child!" Virgil snapped. "Just leave me alone!"

"But...kiddo--"

"I am NOT your 'kiddo!' Don't call me that!"

"Virgil…" He stiffened as Patton's hand touched his shoulder.

"Get away from me!" Virgil snarled and lashed out with one hand, forcefully shoving Patton away and storming towards the door. 

"Wait, where are you going? Virgil please--"

He slammed the door behind him and ran into the street, Patton's wounded voice echoing in his ears as he desperately tried to get away from the house and its occupant. Then he suddenly stopped, the realization of what he'd just done smacking him in the face as if a car had hit him.  Oh my God...I just hit Patton...I just hit my best friend...he swayed on his feet, turning back to his friend's house, then froze.

I can't go back there.

I can't face Patton. Not after I just did that...

Virgil stumbled forward across the street and tripped over the curb, collapsing into a heap on the sidewalk. He growled and pounded a fist into it, then scrambled to his feet once again. WheredoIgowheredoIgo...Gotta get out of here. Now.

"What's this? My dark and stormy night is...out during the day?"

Oh no. Not right now. Virgil groaned and turned around.

"What do you want?"

"Whoah, you look like someone just ran over your puppy. Are you alright?" Roman's expression quickly twisted into a look of concern when he saw his boyfriend's uncharacteristically stricken face.

"It's nothing," Virgil growled. He started walking again, but Roman would not be deterred. He raced after him, matching the storm cloud's pace once he caught up.

"Right, and I'm the king of France. C'mon, you can tell me anything Virge! You know I'm here for you!"

Virgil leveled a glare at Roman, who stared back at him with that stupidly cute face of his, then sighed in defeat. His boyfriend raised an eyebrow, unsure as to whether or not his victory was certain yet.

"I got in a fight with Pat," he stated bluntly.

"With Pat?" Virgil winced when he saw the expression of bafflement flutter across Roman's face. "But...but how? You two are like...best friends...since like forever!" he spluttered.

"He worries about me too much." Well, there's probably a better way to say it than that...

"You do realize that he's not the only one who's worried about you..." Roman said slowly. He seemed more hesitant than normal, and Virgil looked back at him in confusion. "Pat's just...the most open about his concern for you."

"Oh, don't you get all sappy on me too," Virgil grumbled. 

"You know I'm right, Surly Temple." 

Virgil hissed and shoved Roman, who easily recovered and flashed him a smile, dropping the serious expression in an instant. He was good at that; a good actor. Not to mention cute.

"I'm too sober for this," Virgil muttered.

"Too sober for what?" Roman glanced at his boyfriend, one eyebrow raised.

"Talking to you." Roman grinned.

"I can fix that."

"Please." 

---

Roman hummed to himself as his old red pickup truck bumped up one of the area's many mountain roads, one hand on the steering wheel while the other was wrapped around a can of booze. Virgil was curled up in the passenger seat, quietly staring out at the scenery as he sipped from an identical can. 

"I don't feel like I deserve to be friends with Patton sometimes," he said suddenly, shaking his head. His tone had completely changed from the anger of earlier, and Roman glanced back at him as he spoke. Virgil sounded almost...sad. "He's always so nice to me, you know? And he's always concerned about me and checking up, asking if I've been eating..."

"That's what friends do, Virgil," Roman answered gently. "They care for each other. And you--" he set his can down in the cupholder and gently bumped Virgil's shoulder with his fist "--certainly are lucky to have someone that's so concerned about your well-being."

"I keep messing it up."

"You're human. Humans aren't perfect, you know. Not even me." Roman grinned.

"Mmmm." Virgil sighed and leaned back, neither answering his boyfriend nor acknowledging his awful joke. Instead he looked like he was thinking, that or perhaps he was about to fall asleep.

"Don't crash on me yet, we're almost there," Roman warned him. 

"Mmmph." 

"You're coming star-watching with me if I have to drag you up that mountain. Don't test me." Virgil rolled his eyes and finished his can of beer, reaching for another.

"Why are we going to look at a bunch of dumb stars anyways?" He asked grumpily.

"Because they're pretty and I know you like them even if you spend all your time pretending that you don't."

"Falsehood!" Virgil shouted, borrowing from their friend Logan's vocabulary for a moment. Maybe he really was out of it, he never did that. "I just think they're boring is all."

"Liar."

"Hssssss."

Roman only grinned, shook his head, and tipped the last of what remained in his beer can into his mouth. "Can you hand me another one?" He asked.

"We're out."

"Check under the seat."

Virgil checked and let out a whistle. "Fuck yeah," he hissed, grabbing two more cans; one for Roman and one for himself. Before he could right himself, however, Roman spun the steering wheel and the truck swerved, Virgil letting out a strangled yelp as the truck bounced off the road and into a tiny little parking area overlooking a cliff.

"We're here!" Roman announced.

"Bitch, gimmie a warning next time!" Virgil's angry voice sounded muffled.

"Maybe if you'd wear a seatbelt this wouldn't be a problem."

Virgil glared up at his boyfriend from where he was now crammed onto the floor beneath the truck's dashboard, his shoulders wedged into the small area between the seat and dash where the door was. Somehow, the two beer cans were still safe in his hands. Roman smiled sweetly and took both, before sliding out of the truck and coming around to open the door. Immediately Virgil tumbled out of the tight space, landing in a heap on the gravel lot. 

"I hate you," he snapped.

A can was pressed into his hands.

"Nevermind." Virgil allowed Roman to help him to his feet, a little surprised when he pulled him in for a hug but allowing it nonetheless. Yeah, he was really out of it. 

"Everything hurts," he muttered.

"I'll carry you."

"You wha--" Virgil's question was cut off by another yelp when Roman suddenly swept him off his feet in one swift motion, carrying him bridal style to the back of the truck. Somehow he managed to open it, though Virgil wasn't sure how given that he was already juggling a beer can and a human being. He didn't ask, though.

"This right here..." Roman grunted as he set his much smaller boyfriend down, then climbed up onto the truck beside him, "...is what I meant. Not wearing a seatbelt could get you killed, Virgil. You can't keep doing stuff like this to yourself." 

"Mmmph," Virgil didn't move from where Roman set him down, not wanting to upset any of his bruises. 

"You're cold aren't you?"

"Definitely not." Roman sighed, moving forward and opening the window to the back of the truck. He reached in and pulled out a blanket, tossing it to Virgil. His boyfriend didn't try to catch it but Roman saw his face light up when it landed on him--though he'd deny it off course--before he grabbed it and pulled it over his body.

"Thanks."

Roman came back and sat down cross-legged next to Virgil, unable to hide his smile when the other boy shifted so that his head was in his lap. He absentmindedly ran a hand through Virgil's hair as they watched the stars come out one by one, sipping at their beer and enjoying each other's company in silence.

After a while, however, the alcohol loosened their tongues and they started to chat. The two talked about a lot of things; the past, the present, the future, their friends and family; hopes and dreams. Virgil seemed to forget about being cold and ended up perched on the roof of the truck, laughing at one of Roman's stories from middle school while he dramatically reenacted it on the truck bed. Once he'd finished Roman suddenly seemed to get very serious, and then a crazy smile slowly spread across his face. 

"Virgil, have you ever flown before?" He asked. His speech sounded funny and slurred even to Virgil's fuzzy brain, and he shook his head.

"We don't have wings, you idiot." 

"Oh you won't need wings for this." 

"Need wings for wh-AT THE FUCK, ROMAN!" Virgil's unholy shriek pierced the air as Roman clumsily charged forward and crashed into him, sending the pair flying over the edge and down the steep embankment that waited beyond the truck bed. They rolled and tumbled and twisted and screamed until they finally came to a stop; Roman when he collided with a tree and Virgil when he got tangled in an impossibly huge bush. 

"I DID IT! I FLEW! VIRGIL DID YOU SEE THAT?"

And that was the last thing Virgil remembered before everything faded into darkness.

---

He was the first to awaken some time the next morning. Virgil only knew it was morning because the birds were singing and his back felt warm; his hood which had somehow ended up yanked over his face made it impossible to see anything at all. Everything ached and Virgil's fuzzy mind couldn't decipher why that was at all until he tried to move. A streak of pain shot up his leg when he tried to pull it towards his body and he hissed, confused by the crackling sound that followed the movement. 

Are those...leaves? Am I sitting in a bush?

He tried to move his arm and discovered that, while it ached too, no shooting pain accompanied it when he pulled it towards his face. Something--or rather, multiple somethings poked and snagged at his sleeves, but he finally got his arm where he needed it to be and managed to pry his hood away from his face.

Something he instantly regretted.

"FUCK, MY EYES!" Virgil shrieked, throwing his hands up to protect them as sunlight exploded in his vision, bright and hot and painful. A headache quickly throbbed into existence behind his forehead.

"Virgil? You're alive!" Roman's happy but pained yelp from somewhere--he wasn't sure where--only made the headache worse, and Virgil groaned.

"Welcome back. Now fucking help me," he growled with all the strength he could muster. He heard thrashing nearby and then something touched his shoulder. 

"How drunk was I? What the hell happened to you?"

"You pushed me off a fucking cliff, you idiot!"

"I did?" Roman sounded appalled. "I don't remember that at all!"

"Does it look like I pushed myself? My fucking ankle's dead and it's your fault!" 

"Okay okay, shut up and hold still. I'm gonna try and untangle you, save the complaining for later."

"Cause I was gonna do what? Go for a stroll?"

"Remember the shut up part." Virgil hissed but didn't say anything more as something grabbed his arms and gently helped pry him loose from the bush, hauling him up so that he and Roman were standing side-by-side. Virgil kept all his weight on his good leg and his gaze on the ground away from the awful sunlight, slowly shaking his head. Everything was throbbing. His eyes were throbbing.

"I think that was the dumbest thing I've ever seen you do," he muttered. Roman laughed.

"No regrets!" he shouted, pumping a fist into the air and wincing at the pain that brought him. "Wish I remembered it though." 

"How about I give you some regrets?" Virgil snapped. "How the fuck are we gonna get up this now? By levitating?"

"I'll help you. Lean on me and I'll help support your weight."

"My life is in your hands again? We're gonna die for sure now."

"Oh shut up, we're not gonna die." 

Roman helped support his boyfriend and together the pair struggled up the muddy slope, Virgil cursing his bad luck every two seconds and Roman holding back laughter wherever he spotted flattened patches of foliage that either he or Virgil must have crashed through. Virgil's ankle could hardly support any weight and as they tackled the climb Roman grew increasingly worried that they might not reach the top, and end up having to call someone instead. If they had service. He was lucky that he was as strong as he was and Virgil as small as he was, otherwise this would've been nearly impossible.

When they got to the top Roman let out a shout of excitement that startled Virgil so badly he nearly fell down the cliff again, but his boyfriend caught him before that could happen. 

"Sorry," Roman muttered sheepishly, ducking his head to avoid the death glare that was now resting on him. 

"One of these days I'm actually going to kill you."

Roman opened his mouth to reply, but before he could he realized that his truck wasn't the only one parked in the lot anymore. A small silver car was now sitting next to it, two familiar faces seated in the driver's and passenger's seats. The one in the driver's seat nudged the other one, who looked to have fallen asleep, when he saw the pair approaching. The other one jolted upright, shouted something unintelligibe when he saw Roman and Virgil, and flung the door open.

"Thank God you two are okay!" 

Patton. Roman felt Virgil tense as their friend exited the car, holding an arm protectively over him just in case, but he needn't have worried. Patton didn't look angry at all; only relieved; rushing over to them and looking all over the pair for injuries.

"What are you guys doing here?" Roman asked.

"You guys weren't answering my calls and we got worried--oh Virgil, your ankle! That looks like it hurts!" Virgil's gaze flicked over to Roman, who nodded to him and then looked at Patton.

"Uh yeah...there was an unfortunate accident..." He offered unhelpfully. That one earned him another glare from his boyfriend, one that he pretended not to notice.

"Let's get you two to my house, Logan and I can patch you up. Ki--ah, Virgil, is it okay if I help Roman get you to the car?" Patton looked up at the injured boy with questioning eyes.

Virgil hesitated, then nodded slowly. Of course he could trust Patton, his fuzzy mind knew, even if he'd fucked up again. You could always trust Patton to be there for you. 

"Patton I-I…I'm sorry for yelling at you earlier...I was just really--I mean--" the words tumbled from Virgil's mouth in a rush, but before he could finish Patton shook his head and held up a hand.

"Don't worry about it. We'll talk about it once we're back and your ankle's feeling better, okay?"

"...O-Okay."

The three hobbled slowly back to the car and Roman and Patton helped Virgil into the backseat, before Roman climbed in next to him and Patton got back into his seat.

"I'm glad to see that neither of you were badly injured," Logan stated as he started the car. Virgil and Roman exchanged glances, and Roman nodded.

"Yeah," was all he said.

The rest of the drive was in silence. Logan drove the group all the way back to Patton's house, the only conversation that occurred being him offering to take Roman back to get his truck when he wasn't hungover. He accepted, of course.

The teacher was out of the car first once they got back; calmly helping Virgil out with a firm and steady grip. Virgil frantically looked around for Roman once he was standing and of course he was there, and when he saw the look on his boyfriend's face he winked and swept him off his feet just like the night before, carrying him inside. Virgil didn't even protest, he was too tired to and his head hurt too much.

He felt surprisingly safe and secure there in Roman's arms, and he allowed himself a small smile.

"Roman?"

"Yeah?"

"I...I love you. Even if you're an idiot." Roman just grinned at him.

"I love you too, Virgil."

[userlando]

assumptions || sebastian stan

Summary: You’re vacationing with your friends in Romania and whilst clubbing, you meet a guy who you assume only speaks Romanian. Turns out, you’re completely wrong. Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, partying. A/N: This has been in the making for like five days but I really just love this concept. Dedicated to the love of my life (and pain in the ass) @babylevines. One month of friendship, hooray! Also, please excuse the incorrect Romanian language, I used Google translate so it might not be correct. I speak four languages but Romanian is not one of them, so if someone who’s fluent in the language wants to correct me then feel free to do so <3 xo

Constanța. The beautiful coastal town continued to surprise you, no matter how reluctant you were to take this trip in the first place. Your friends had booked a hotel room in a swanky neighborhood, overlooking a gorgeous beach and it was refreshing to wake up to a view that beautiful.

Lately you had been overworking yourself, almost driving yourself into a wall and drowning in work; Anything to get your mind off of the fact that the people closest to you were getting married left and right, getting pregnant and moving on with their lives. It wasn’t that you were miserable, you liked your life and the steady pace it was taking, but there was something missing.

So when one of your best friends - Liv - had gotten engaged, it didn’t take long for you to fall into the black hole of self-pity when she insisted on planning the wedding with you. The misery didn’t end there though, because a few months later and she’d booked a trip to Romania with the whole group of friends. If anyone even tried to back out, she’d hit you with the glare. You only knew this because you’d tried to make excuses, knowing where she was going with this trip.

You had been here for two days now and you were enjoying yourself, even though Liv continued to point out every decent looking guy who happened to look your way. It never stopped, she even went as far as to try to hook you up with a bartender that worked at your hotel.

And now? Now you were sitting on your bed, dressed in nothing but your underwear and make-up overdone, looking around as the four girls ran around and dodged each other, getting ready for a night out. It was amusing to see, and you busied yourself with pretending to be in a reality show.

“Y/N!” Liv snapped her manicured fingers in front of you, and you blinked. “Come on, get dressed because the taxi will be here in ten minutes.”

With a sigh, you heaved yourself up from the comfort of your bed, scowling when Liv gave you a triumphant grin. She thrusted rumpled, black fabric into your hands and you stared defiantly at it.

“Do I have to?” You asked, trying to ignore how whiny you sounded. Liv nodded. “Isn’t my skirt and tank enough?”

Liv brought a hand up, pinching the bridge of her nose - A habit she’d picked up since early childhood. It reminded you of her mom, who used to do the same whenever she caught the two of you in some mischief.

“Look, we’re all in dresses and you’re gonna stick out like a sore thumb. No one is even planning on buying our drinks tonight, people are gonna buy it for us.”

You gritted your teeth at the comment, opting to just do as you were told and put on the dress. The fabric was flimsy as you stared at it, but you found it to look expensive as you pulled it on, lifting the straps over your shoulders. It hugged your every curve and you tried not to feel exposed as you adjusted your cleavage, eyebrows pulling into a frown when the girls in the room whistled and hollered.

“You look amazing!” Your friend yelled from across the room and you flipped her off, lips pulling into a grin as she laughed.

The club was packed and stuffy, sweaty bodies moving along to the heavy beat of the music. It was some sort of techno and really not your style, but it was heavy enough to almost make you feel drunk in the tight space. The club itself was an open area with no roof, two bars on either side of the dance floor and a flight of stairs leading to an open area where you could take a seat and look out over the dance floor.

You held onto Liv’s hand as the six of you paraded through the club, trying not to slip on your heels as she dragged you along to the stairs. A gust of wind blew past as you climbed higher up, finding your booth in the back that the girls’ had apparently booked beforehand. Drinks were already being set up by the workers and Liv tipped them before you all took your seats.

The girls were chattering excitedly over the music, but you could barely hear anything so you settled for watching their mouths move, nodding with a stiff smile as if you could understand them. You grabbed a glass filled with something frosty-looking, anything to distract yourself from the unease you felt crawling up your back.

It wasn’t long before you’d downed three of those tall drinks, head feeling fuzzy as you fell into conversation with your friends, laughing at things that weren’t even that funny. You felt good though, body warm and happiness radiating by the time you all climbed down the stairs, ready to dance.

The night wore on, the steady techno beats being switched out to sultry and heavy R&B songs that you immediately started dancing along to, grabbing onto Liv’s hands as she swayed in front of you, mouthing the lyrics. You paid no attention to the sweaty bodies amongst you, not until you felt a pair of hands touch your waist. It wasn’t a grab, just a touch that had you spin around, hands in front of you.

A pair of blue eyes were watching you, lips pulled into an apologetic smile and you couldn’t help but slow down your dancing; Entranced with the way his lips were moving and the magical swoop of his dark hair. It took you a while to realize that he was talking to you.

“What?” You yelled out over the music, nose scrunching as you waved with your hands to show him that it was too loud. “I can’t hear you.”

The handsome stranger’s eyes slid over your face and you watched as the skin by the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. It took your breath away, and you wondered briefly if it was because of you being under the influence of alcohol or if it was the heady smell of his cologne and sweat. Maybe it was both.

The man bent forward, lips brushing against your ear and you couldn’t help but lean forward as his beard tickled you, hands automatically grabbing onto his shoulders - and wow, he was well built. It wasn’t hard to tell because the dress shirt he was wearing was sitting snug against his upper body, hugging his arms like it was a second skin.

“Imi pare rau,” The gust of his breath tickled your ear as he spoke. “N-am vrut să te sperii.”

I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.

You laughed breathlessly, not understanding a word but the way the foreign words were tumbling out of his lips made you want to squeeze your legs together.

“I’m - I’m sorry, I’m not from around here. I don’t really know any Romanian.” You pulled back to give him a sheepish smile, but he smiled as if he could understand you. “Do you know any English? English?”

He frowned, shaking his head as if he had a hard time understanding you and you sighed in defeat. Of course, the only attractive guy that seemed to be interested in you turned out to be in a completely foreign country with absolutely no knowledge of the language you could communicate in. As you stood there brooding in the middle of the dance floor, the handsome stranger reached out to touch your arm, the pads of his fingers running over the skin of your naked arm. Goosebumps pebbled your skin and he seemed to notice because he locked eyes with you, perfect eyebrows rising as he stared you down.

“Dans?” He asked loudly enough for you to hear, and you nodded with a smile. That word, you did know.

He stepped forward hesitantly as if he didn’t want to impose on your personal space but you decided that tonight, you’d throw caution to the wind and stop listening to your brain. Your arms reached up to lock around his neck, forcing him to step forward until your chests were touching. His eyebrows shot up in surprise but he seemed to quickly recover, pink lips pulling into a sly smile as he circled his muscular arms around your waist, hands touching the skin of your back as he spanned them. In your muddled mind, you made a mental note to thank the girls for forcing you to wear the dress with the scandalous open back, feeling drunker than you probably should as the man’s hands touched you.

The music changed, morphing into something much heavier and you couldn’t help but grin at the way the universe was slowly getting on your side, starting to move along to the beat and pressing yourself closer to the stranger. The smell of him was intoxicating and the way he was looking down at you made you feel weak in the knees.

He was a great dancer, body moving smoothly to the side as he slotted himself to you perfectly, like two pieces of a puzzle. His hands stroked your back, one of them wandering to your hip to grab it and you looked away as you let your fingers slide through the back of his hair, messing up his perfectly styled hair in the process but he pushed himself closer to you, sighing into your ear so you counted that as a win.

You felt drunk with his warmth, closing your eyes as he skimmed his lips against your neck, breathing you in as your bodies moved as one. The music was loud in the club, louder than usual but you still caught the whispered words against your neck, breaking into goosebumps as his scruff scratched your skin.

“Frumos..” He whispered and you didn’t know what that meant, but it sounded heavenly coming from his gorgeous mouth.

As the song slid to its end, you seemed to be sobering up a bit as you pulled back enough to look around; Trying to spot your friends. They were nowhere to be seen and you figured they’d probably retreated to the booth. You looked back at the handsome stranger, breath stuttering as you found him already looking at you, eyes blue and intense.

“Um, do you want a drink?” You asked, leaning forward so he could hear you. It was fruitless, he didn’t even speak English but you still tried. “Drink?”

You mimicked drinking and the man smiled, showing off his perfectly white teeth. He nodded and you grabbed his hand, dragging him along to the stairs. It took some effort because you were still feeling lightheaded from all the dancing, drinking and being in the close proximity of his intoxicating stranger. And not to mention, the heels were absolutely killing your feet.

The gang was sitting where you expected them to sit, this time joined by three other guys that looked equally as handsome. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes when Liv looked up, spotting you holding the stranger’s hand. The girls were giving you curious looks, almost looking envious and you refrained from sticking out your tongue in a mocking fashion. You didn’t though, because you had no idea why this handsome man, who looked like he’d walked straight out of a fashion magazine, would even pay you any attention.

You sat down in the booth, grinning when the man plopped down beside you, sitting closer than one normally would. He slung an arm around the back rest, hand resting on your naked shoulder as he smirked at you.

“So, um... What’s your poison?” You asked lamely, gesturing to the table.

He followed your gaze, looking perplexed before his mouth formed into an ‘o’ in understanding. You watched, almost as if in a trance, wondering how he’d react if you leaned forward and kissed the hell out of him.

You watched in silence as he leaned forward, grabbing two clean glasses before pouring some rum into them. He handed you one, which you took with a smile, and then he proceeded to lean back.

“So...” You paused, not really knowing what to say. “What’s your name?”

“Name?” He replied, as if he was tasting the word. “Ah, nume? Sebastian.”

You hummed, happy to finally put a name to that face. It fit him, he really did look like a Sebastian.

“Tu?” He asked curiously and you couldn’t help but smile when he pointed at you. The urge to throw caution to the wind and climb into his lap recklessly was getting stronger the longer you stared at him. He didn’t look like any other guy you’d ever met before, and you would’ve usually transform into a stuttering mess if it weren’t for Sebastian speaking nothing but Romanian.

“Y/N,” You answered when you’d pulled out of your little daze, blushing when you realized that he was studying your face intently; As if he wanted to take in every mole, scar and imperfection of your face.

You turned your head down, teeth sinking into your lips as you swirled your drink around with the pick.

“Minunat.” He said over the music and you wondered for a second how the hell you could hear him so clearly. A quick glance up confirmed your suspicions that he’d leaned in even closer, so close that you could smell his heady cologne.

Very beautiful.

You were getting frustrated over the fact that you couldn’t understand a word he said. And if you’d known that you’d meet an outrageously handsome man on this trip, then you would have made an effort to learn some basic Romanian. Anything to have a conversation with him that didn’t end up with either of you frowning in confusion.

A tapping on your shoulder made you look to the side, and you realized that it was Liv who was trying to get your attention. You gave her a puzzled look and she leaned in so she could talk in your ear.

“He’s hot! Climb him.” She yelled and your eyes widened in mortification that maybe he’d hear her, but then you remembered that he didn’t even understand her.

“He doesn’t even speak English, I don’t even know how to communicate with him.” You sounded miserable even to your own ears. “I’ve wanted to kiss him since I laid my eyes on him.”

Liv giggled, covering her mouth with her hand before wiggling her perfectly plucked eyebrows in your direction.

“Then do it? It’s not like he’s gonna say no, he hasn’t stopped staring at you since the both of you sat down.” She said with a shrug and leaned back to engage in conversation with the others.

She had a point. You turned to look at Sebastian, feeling a spark of confusion as you found him gazing back at you with a teasing smile playing on his lips. The very lips you wanted to press yours against.

You frowned, thinking that you must be drunker than you thought because you were turning into a hormonal mess. It was embarrassing.

“Okay?” He asked, as if to check if you were doing fine.

You sighed, balling your hand that wasn’t holding the drink into a fist before releasing it.

“Look, I know you don’t speak English and you probably won’t understand me but that’s fine,” You paused, realizing you were rambling when he raised his eyebrows at you. “My friends are insisting on me getting laid and frankly, it’s getting tiring to hear it. So, what do you say?”

You didn’t know what the hell you were thinking, he didn’t understand you. Somehow it made you feel relieved because honestly, you were proposing sex to a complete stranger that you’d met only an hour ago. But something told you to not let this man go.

Sebastian moved the arm he’d slung around, hand spanning over your naked shoulder so he could bring you closer to him. You went easily, breath stuttering when he brought his other hand up to your knee, fingers wrapping around your meaty thigh before moving up, nudging the material of the dress. His white teeth sunk into his lower lip as he gazed, and in the darkness of the club, he almost looked drunk. As drunk as you felt. But he didn’t look drunk on alcohol, he looked drunk on something else.

You didn’t realize that you were holding your breath until he neared your face, anticipating a kiss but he was quick to press his lips close to your ear, teeth nudging your lobe. Shivers went down your spine and you felt him squeeze your thigh, his fingers almost bruising your inner thigh in a very delicious manner.

“How can I say no to that when you asked so nicely?” His voice sounded smug and you almost sank into his warmth when it registered what he’d actually said.

What he had said in English. With perfect English, no broken words, no accent tinging his low voice. You pulled back, shock written all over your face as you stared him down. He was smirking, eyes shining with mirth and you didn’t know if you wanted to kiss him or slap him for playing you.

“You’re? You’re English?” You asked, astonishment clear in your voice.

“Yes I am, prinţesă.” He replied with a nod, smirk transforming into a breath taking smile. You didn’t know how to react, eyes wide as you stared at him in shock and mortification.

Everything you’d said to him, he had understood. He had heard you venting to Liv and that’s why he had smiled, because he knew what you two were talking about. Sebastian was fluent in English, and suddenly you felt heat creep up your neck and blood rush in your ears, drowning out the loud music.

“You lied to me!” You cried out, feeling stunned and slight betrayed.

Sebastian’s eyebrows shot up and he pulled back to look at your face. He must’ve seen the million emotions flickering in your eyes because the corners of his lips tightened.

“To be fair, you assumed that I didn’t know the language and you were being too cute so I decided to play along. You know... See where it takes me.” He explained, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in. “Hey, look I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you’d offer yourself up like that.”

Your mouth dropped open at his words and his face split into a teasing grin. You couldn’t help but slap his arm, resisting the urge to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“You’re an ass.” You bit out with no real malice to it, making him laugh while leaning forward.

A faint squeeze around your thighs made you freeze up a little bit, realizing that his hand was still curled protectively around the flesh. He seemed to notice what you were looking at, quickly uncurling his fingers to loosen his grasp but your hands shot out before you could stop yourself; Placing them over his rough hand. You looked up and met his eyes, not knowing if your mind was playing tricks on you or if his eyes actually looked darker. More heated.

“So, how come you’re here?” You asked, voice hoarse but clear enough to hear over the sound of the music. “In Romania I mean?”

Sebastian’s eyes made a quick sweep over the upper floor, almost as if he was taking in the people and the atmosphere before turning to look at you.

“I’m a New Yorker but I have family here. Was born here myself.” He said with a shrug, shooting you a charming smile your way that you couldn’t help but reciprocate.

He was absolutely gorgeous, it wasn’t hard to notice that about him.

“So you know your way around here?” You raised your eyebrows, hoping he’d catch on to what you were implying.

Judging by the look in his eyes and the smirk, he’d caught on faster than you could blink.

“Of course I do,” He nodded, leaning so close that your eyes almost went cross-eyed. This man wasn’t playing around. “There’s a beach not far from here, if you want to check it out? It’s quite beautiful.”

You studied his face for a few seconds before nodding.

After assuring your friends that you’d be in good hands and that he’d return you home safely, Sebastian proceeded to guide you out of the club. His hand was clasped tightly in yours as he gently pulled you along, mindful of your tall shoes that you were struggling to walk in. Your feet were starting to ache from all the previous dancing and in your hazy mind, you had to work hard to not double over and fall flat on your face.

Sebastian talked about memories he had from this town and you listened intently, smiling when he’d point out different spots from his childhood that meant a lot to him. He then went on to ask about yourself, interest glowing in his eyes as he nodded along to whatever you were saying.

Eventually, the two of you got quiet as you walked along the sidewalk hand in hand. The breeze was warm against your skin, and you were so focused on the beautiful buildings surrounding you that you squeaked embarrassingly high when he suddenly pulled you by the hand he was holding, making you crash right into his chest. He huffed out a delighted laugh, spinning you around so he could trap you between the stonewall and his body.

“Can I kiss you?” He murmured quietly in question, eyes hooded as he hovered over you, lips pulled into a half-smile.

A smile stretched your lips as you snuck your arms around him, letting him fit right against your body before tilting your head upwards to catch his mouth with yours. He breathed in deeply through his nose as soon as your lips touched, pressing against you before deepening the kiss. You went easily, feeling your fingers dig into his shoulder blades as the kiss gradually turned filthier and filthier.

He smoothly placed his thigh right between your legs, your dress riding up in the process as he cupped your cheek with one hand, pulling you even closer if possible with the other placed on your lover back. His beard was scratching your face, rubbing it raw but it didn’t bother you one bit - it only seemed to spur you on even further.

The both of you eventually pulled away, panting heavily as he rested his forehead against yours. His eyelashes were resting against the apples of his cheeks as he fluttered his eyes shut, and you couldn’t stop staring at him, heart thudding heavily in your chest.

“Wow, that was something else, iubi.” He pecked your lips sweetly one more time before pulling back completely.

You were feeling dazed, having to lean against the concrete of the wall to keep yourself from swaying like a lovestruck idiot. Sebastian grinned at you, mouth looking deliciously pink and raw as he bit into them. You watched as he stepped forward again to pull your dress down and smoothen it, crooking a strand of hair behind your ear before holding his hand out for you to take.

“You good to walk for another block?” He asked and you grimaced.

“I think so? Wait,” You paused and placed one hand on his shoulder before bending your leg so you could unclasp your heel.

Sebastian let out a laugh, “Let me do it, hold on.”

You set your foot down, watching in stunned silence as he went down on his knees in the middle of the street to help you unclasp your shoes. You held onto his shoulders as you stepped out of the first shoe, and then the other; Sighing when the soles of your aching feet felt the coolness of the concrete.

Sebastian made a pleased sound in his throat and leaned forward to press a small kiss to the inside of your knee before standing up straight again. You bit back a smile when he reached for your hand again, opting to wrap yourself around his arm, hugging it closely to you.

“Thank you.” You murmured quietly, as if to not disturb the peaceful quiet in the air.

In response, he turned his head to press a small kiss to the side of your head.

You walked for a few more minutes, Sebastian filling in the silence every now and then before you reached the beach. It was almost deserted, only a few people on the far other side of the beach and it was dark by the shore. The lights from the streets helped you as the both of you wandered down to the shore where the waves were crashing.

“This is gorgeous.” You sighed out in awe, looking down at the white sand where your feet were buried. “And the sand... Wow.”

Sebastian laughed from behind you, getting rid of his shoes and socks before joining you right by the edge of the shore. The way he’d folded his jeans was adorable and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Never get tired of it.” He said, eyes gazing out over the ocean before landing on you. You gave him a smile. “Want to dip your legs?”

You gave him a shrug, nodding before he took the both of your hands in his. He guided you into the water, humming to a familiar tune as the cold water his your naked legs.

“It’s not that cold, darling.” He laughed and you narrowed your eyes at him.

“Why don’t you be the judge then?” You gave him a teasing smile and you saw as confusion fell over his face, eyebrows pulling into a frown.

Before he had time to open his mouth and ask what the hell you were talking about, you’d let go of his hands and gave him a hard shove. If it weren’t for him being completely taken aback, he’d never have moved with the upper body strength that he possessed. But you watched gleefully as he fell into the water with a splash, laugh erupting from your mouth as he resurfaced; Gasping and shivering from the cold.

You didn’t have time to gloat too much, because a few seconds later and he had grabbed your legs, pulling so the sand disappeared from underneath you. A scream left your lips as you fell into the water, gasping as you wiped your face from water so you could shoot Sebastian a glare. He was cackling, head thrown back and giving you a nice view of his throat.

“Your face.” He let out a small laugh, sounding out of breath as scooted closer to you. “That was amazing.”

You slapped the surface, sending water flying right over his face and he let out and indigenous, drawn out ‘hey’. He wiped water from his eyes, pouting in your direction and you couldn’t help but giggle.

“You deserved that.” You huffed, wiping under your eyes because you were sure that you looked like a raccoon with all the make up you had on from before.

Sebastian watched you with a smile, wading further towards you until your chests were pressed together. And before you could say another word, he’d leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips.

Tags: @babylevines @timemngmtoptimisationproblems @ssweet-empowerment @lxdyred @mizz-kraziii @justhappydays @lisq @funnylau

Message me to be added/removed to my taglist! <3

[joellbarham85]

South Florida Alcohol Rehab - Transformations Treatment Center

What To Do After Alcohol Rehab

Table of ContentsWhat Do They Do In Rehab For AlcoholicsDoes Alcohol Rehab WorkHow Long Is Rehab AlcoholHow To Get Alcoholic To RehabCan Alcoholic People Successfully RehabHow Long Are Alcohol Rehab Programs

How Does Rehab Help Alcoholics

The alcohol-free living units house individuals in recovery who support one another during the initial months or years of recovery. Many recovering alcoholics continue attending support group meetings for the rest of their lives. Others slowly stop attending as they create other reliable forms of support, such as relationships with friends, family members and co-workers.

Most people are more likely to quit drinking after rehab if they’re motivated to get sober. If you are skeptical or hesitant about sobriety, your chances of recovery are low. People who work hard and believe they can stay sober are most likely to stay sober after alcohol rehab.. therapy.

How Long Does Rehab Take For Alcohol

When considering your treatment options for an alcohol use disorder (AUD), you may come across a wide variety of programs and offerings. Various factors such as medical history, length of prior alcohol use, and frequency of drinking will play a role in what form of treatment best fits your needs.

Sometimes, if the warning signs of alcoholism are caught in the early stages, an outpatient setting may provide sufficient treatment. This allows you to carry on with daily activities such as work or school, family obligations and other responsibilities. However, if you have struggled with years of heavy drinking, an inpatient treatment center may provide the best recovery options.

It involves checking into a rehab facility and staying there for the duration of your treatment. You will have access to medical professionals and other specialists 24 hours a day, allowing you to rest easy knowing help is always available. can you have your cell phone in alcohol rehab. Additionally, inpatient rehab programs have a set schedule which consists of breakfast in the morning, followed by therapies, counseling sessions and activities for the remainder of the day.

How Does Rehab Help Alcoholics

However, there are several causes and risk factors that play a role in treatment recommendations: Individuals over the age of 60 tend to struggle more during the detox phase. The painful withdrawal symptoms can lead to various health complications and may be life-threatening if not treated properly. An inpatient treatment facility will offer the special medical care that seniors need in order to overcome a drinking problem.

Inpatient rehabs have specialists on site who will be able to treat both conditions separately. Counseling sessions will teach the individual how to cope in various real world situations and prevent falling victim to triggers. Mixing drinking and drugs can lead to extremely dangerous interactions. A person who wants to overcome a substance and alcohol abuse problem should seek professional medical help.

Inpatient treatment is often highly recommended for people with a medical history of heart, breathing or liver problems. If any part of the recovery process interferes with a medical condition, treatment providers will be able to make the necessary modifications. A person’s health can impact what medications are used and their overall treatment plan.

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Drug And Alcohol Rehab Center

The cost of inpatient rehab varies based on location, amenities provided and length of time in treatment. However, many facilities accept different forms of insurance or offer financial assistance to those in need. A person can seek treatment close to home or out of state. Out-of-state rehabs provide many advantages such as distancing you from triggers and allowing you to focus solely on getting better.

Your doctor may recommend one type of rehab over another based on the severity of your alcoholism, how long you’ve used alcohol, your financial situation and other considerations. Before making your decision, weigh each option by thinking about its benefits, the types of therapies offered, the duration of the program and if financial assistance is available.

You will be required to stay on site during your treatment. As this is the most intensive form of treatment, it proves most successful in helping those with severe alcoholism. Your first week in an inpatient residential rehab will generally include detox, the first stage of the recovery process. This eliminates alcohol from your body entirely so you are no longer under the influence of its effects.

Alcohol Rehab

A partial hospitalization program is a cross between inpatient and outpatient treatment options. It can be as intensive as a full hospital setting, but partial hospitalization programs allow you to be home every night. This treatment option works best for people who live close to the facility and have a stable home environment.

Even though individuals are able to go home each evening, they are still closely monitored for signs of a potential relapse, withdrawal symptoms and other health conditions. The length of time for inpatient alcohol rehab varies by person. The shortest program at many treatment facilities is 30 days; however, some individuals need additional time and stay for several months.

Individuals with less severe forms of alcoholism may choose a shorter inpatient program as a way to eliminate any daily distractions or triggers (detox). After completing rehab, they can continue recovery maintenance by attending local support groups, like Alcoholics Anonymous and AI-Anon, or meeting with an alcohol counselor. It takes a huge commitment to not fall back on old habits once they get back to a daily routine with challenges and stressors.

How Long Does Rehab Take Alcohol

This is due to the effects that alcohol has on the body. Heavy drinking begins to rewire and restructure how the brain works. It also gradually begins to affect other major organs such as your heart, lungs and liver. Once you quit drinking, it takes time for your body to get back to a normal state.

Each day, you’ll need to apply the tools and techniques that you learned in rehab to various situations. Just because you’re done with rehab doesn’t mean you won’t face challenges on your journey to long-term sobriety. how long is rehab for alcoholism. Take your life back by getting started in a treatment program today. When researching inpatient rehab options, you will discover a wide variety of treatment centers available.

For instance, some inpatient rehabs come with basic rooms, the bare essentials and a few amenities. However, if you’re looking for more specific types of therapy or certain amenities, you should narrow your search to include what fits your needs. Several questions to think about before selecting an inpatient alcohol rehab center are: Is the program licensed and accredited in the type of treatment I’m looking for? How long is the program and what should I expect from treatment? Does the program offer the specific types of therapy and activities that interest me? What is the program’s success rates within one year, five years and 10 years after treatment? Will your treatment provider help transition you into ongoing maintenance programs after completing rehab? Does the facility accept insurance or offer other options for financial assistance? Will you be able to contact loved ones during your stay (phone call, email, etc.)? What types of medical specialists are on site? Do they provide 24-hour care? It’s time to get the help you deserve and kick your alcohol use to the curb.

Where To Go For Alcohol Rehab

How To Beat Alcoholism Without Rehab

Start on your new path to a healthy, rewarding and alcohol-free life. Speak with a treatment provider now about top-rated recovery programs (what to expect in alcohol rehab).

If you have developed an alcohol addiction, understanding your options for treatment is important. Alcohol rehab centers can offer you the medical attention and support you need to obtain and maintain sobriety. May consist of either inpatient or outpatient treatment. Outpatient treatment is most appropriate for people who have a mild to moderate addiction, strong social supports, and reliable transportation to the facility.

Transformations Treatment Center 14000 S Military Trail, Delray Beach, FL 33484 FV9H+MC Delray Beach, Florida https://www.transformationstreatment.center/delray-beach-fl/ South Florida Alcohol Rehab Find Transformations of Google Maps! Further information: https://transformationstreatment1.blogspot.com/2020/11/south-florida-alcohol-rehab.html https://www.buzzsprout.com/1029595/6329917-south-florida-alcohol-rehab-addiction-in-south-florida-transformations-treatment-center

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South Florida Alcohol Rehab - Transformations Treatment Center

What To Do After Alcohol Rehab

Table of ContentsWhat Do They Do In Rehab For AlcoholicsDoes Alcohol Rehab WorkHow Long Is Rehab AlcoholHow To Get Alcoholic To RehabCan Alcoholic People Successfully RehabHow Long Are Alcohol Rehab Programs

How Does Rehab Help Alcoholics

The alcohol-free living units house individuals in recovery who support one another during the initial months or years of recovery. Many recovering alcoholics continue attending support group meetings for the rest of their lives. Others slowly stop attending as they create other reliable forms of support, such as relationships with friends, family members and co-workers.

Most people are more likely to quit drinking after rehab if they’re motivated to get sober. If you are skeptical or hesitant about sobriety, your chances of recovery are low. People who work hard and believe they can stay sober are most likely to stay sober after alcohol rehab.. therapy.

How Long Does Rehab Take For Alcohol

When considering your treatment options for an alcohol use disorder (AUD), you may come across a wide variety of programs and offerings. Various factors such as medical history, length of prior alcohol use, and frequency of drinking will play a role in what form of treatment best fits your needs.

Sometimes, if the warning signs of alcoholism are caught in the early stages, an outpatient setting may provide sufficient treatment. This allows you to carry on with daily activities such as work or school, family obligations and other responsibilities. However, if you have struggled with years of heavy drinking, an inpatient treatment center may provide the best recovery options.

It involves checking into a rehab facility and staying there for the duration of your treatment. You will have access to medical professionals and other specialists 24 hours a day, allowing you to rest easy knowing help is always available. can you have your cell phone in alcohol rehab. Additionally, inpatient rehab programs have a set schedule which consists of breakfast in the morning, followed by therapies, counseling sessions and activities for the remainder of the day.

How Does Rehab Help Alcoholics

However, there are several causes and risk factors that play a role in treatment recommendations: Individuals over the age of 60 tend to struggle more during the detox phase. The painful withdrawal symptoms can lead to various health complications and may be life-threatening if not treated properly. An inpatient treatment facility will offer the special medical care that seniors need in order to overcome a drinking problem.

Inpatient rehabs have specialists on site who will be able to treat both conditions separately. Counseling sessions will teach the individual how to cope in various real world situations and prevent falling victim to triggers. Mixing drinking and drugs can lead to extremely dangerous interactions. A person who wants to overcome a substance and alcohol abuse problem should seek professional medical help.

Inpatient treatment is often highly recommended for people with a medical history of heart, breathing or liver problems. If any part of the recovery process interferes with a medical condition, treatment providers will be able to make the necessary modifications. A person’s health can impact what medications are used and their overall treatment plan.

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Drug And Alcohol Rehab Center

The cost of inpatient rehab varies based on location, amenities provided and length of time in treatment. However, many facilities accept different forms of insurance or offer financial assistance to those in need. A person can seek treatment close to home or out of state. Out-of-state rehabs provide many advantages such as distancing you from triggers and allowing you to focus solely on getting better.

Your doctor may recommend one type of rehab over another based on the severity of your alcoholism, how long you’ve used alcohol, your financial situation and other considerations. Before making your decision, weigh each option by thinking about its benefits, the types of therapies offered, the duration of the program and if financial assistance is available.

You will be required to stay on site during your treatment. As this is the most intensive form of treatment, it proves most successful in helping those with severe alcoholism. Your first week in an inpatient residential rehab will generally include detox, the first stage of the recovery process. This eliminates alcohol from your body entirely so you are no longer under the influence of its effects.

Alcohol Rehab

A partial hospitalization program is a cross between inpatient and outpatient treatment options. It can be as intensive as a full hospital setting, but partial hospitalization programs allow you to be home every night. This treatment option works best for people who live close to the facility and have a stable home environment.

Even though individuals are able to go home each evening, they are still closely monitored for signs of a potential relapse, withdrawal symptoms and other health conditions. The length of time for inpatient alcohol rehab varies by person. The shortest program at many treatment facilities is 30 days; however, some individuals need additional time and stay for several months.

Individuals with less severe forms of alcoholism may choose a shorter inpatient program as a way to eliminate any daily distractions or triggers (detox). After completing rehab, they can continue recovery maintenance by attending local support groups, like Alcoholics Anonymous and AI-Anon, or meeting with an alcohol counselor. It takes a huge commitment to not fall back on old habits once they get back to a daily routine with challenges and stressors.

How Long Does Rehab Take Alcohol

This is due to the effects that alcohol has on the body. Heavy drinking begins to rewire and restructure how the brain works. It also gradually begins to affect other major organs such as your heart, lungs and liver. Once you quit drinking, it takes time for your body to get back to a normal state.

Each day, you’ll need to apply the tools and techniques that you learned in rehab to various situations. Just because you’re done with rehab doesn’t mean you won’t face challenges on your journey to long-term sobriety. how long is rehab for alcoholism. Take your life back by getting started in a treatment program today. When researching inpatient rehab options, you will discover a wide variety of treatment centers available.

For instance, some inpatient rehabs come with basic rooms, the bare essentials and a few amenities. However, if you’re looking for more specific types of therapy or certain amenities, you should narrow your search to include what fits your needs. Several questions to think about before selecting an inpatient alcohol rehab center are: Is the program licensed and accredited in the type of treatment I’m looking for? How long is the program and what should I expect from treatment? Does the program offer the specific types of therapy and activities that interest me? What is the program’s success rates within one year, five years and 10 years after treatment? Will your treatment provider help transition you into ongoing maintenance programs after completing rehab? Does the facility accept insurance or offer other options for financial assistance? Will you be able to contact loved ones during your stay (phone call, email, etc.)? What types of medical specialists are on site? Do they provide 24-hour care? It’s time to get the help you deserve and kick your alcohol use to the curb.

Where To Go For Alcohol Rehab

How To Beat Alcoholism Without Rehab

Start on your new path to a healthy, rewarding and alcohol-free life. Speak with a treatment provider now about top-rated recovery programs (what to expect in alcohol rehab).

If you have developed an alcohol addiction, understanding your options for treatment is important. Alcohol rehab centers can offer you the medical attention and support you need to obtain and maintain sobriety. May consist of either inpatient or outpatient treatment. Outpatient treatment is most appropriate for people who have a mild to moderate addiction, strong social supports, and reliable transportation to the facility.

Transformations Treatment Center 14000 S Military Trail, Delray Beach, FL 33484 FV9H+MC Delray Beach, Florida https://www.transformationstreatment.center/delray-beach-fl/ South Florida Alcohol Rehab Find Transformations of Google Maps! Further information: https://transformationstreatment1.blogspot.com/2020/11/south-florida-alcohol-rehab.html https://www.buzzsprout.com/1029595/6329917-south-florida-alcohol-rehab-addiction-in-south-florida-transformations-treatment-center

Videos: https://youtu.be/JAmimxwZPik https://vimeo.com/478189141

from Transformations Treatment Center https://transformationstreatment1.blogspot.com/2020/11/south-florida-alcohol-rehab.html