#I’ve just had a yearning for the People Actually Responsible to knock some fucking sense and humility into this guy

[none-tadashi-left-hiro]

You ever have someone in your life who is just so …. Something that you don’t even care anymore in the slightest to have them understand how concerningly fucked up the way they think is

[hintsofhoney]

alright, *cracks fingers*. so. I’ve written up a transcript just to lay it all out for myself and get the most important parts. listen, everyone. for all intents and purposes and legal reasons, THIS WAS A DREAM. alright? I dreamt this. and he is literally the nicest human being ever so I don’t want to just like... put our whole convo out there like that, but I think he said some stuff that was important for people to hear so... here we go

my *dreamt* zoom call with thee crowley below the cut

The first five minutes (of my dream) was just a bunch of introduction stuff and talking about my favorite Supernatural seasons which eventually led to him telling me how they filmed the Season 8 finale (which they did over the span of three days, and in between takes the crew members were like dead silent, as to keep the moment going, which Mark thought was really cool. Said it was one of his favorite things they did on Supernatural.) Anyways, he eventually asked me if I had any questions, so, I’ll start there.

MARK: So, do you have any questions you want to ask me about aaaaaannyyyythingggg? 

ME: Um, I guess the number one thing I wanna know… um, so, I know you can’t speak for Dean and I don’t want to talk about Dean because you’re not Jensen, but, there’s like a lot of questions I guess or subtext or whatever concerning Dean’s sexuality and what not, but I want to know about demon Dean and Crowley’s relationship and if there was, I don’t know, anything like, any implied –

MARK: Well I think – I think you’re talking about… there’s a massive difference between sex and love. There’s a massive difference between, um, well, they can intertwine perfectly, that’s not the issue, but I mean you would believe with all the things that Crowley did for the Winchesters, that he was – that he very much loved Sam and Dean or loved who they are or what they are. To reduce it to, you know, a crush, or to something that – I mean, I don’t know, I think Crowley is very probably pansexual more than anything else; I don’t think anything phased him. I think, that’s why the whole stuff with Lucifer and licking the floor was kind of really stupidly boring for me because Crowley did weirder and crazier things on his own. I mean, it became this joke of trying to humiliate somebody who can’t be humiliated. There’s nothing you can humiliate Crowley with. So, that never sort of made sense, that was just a sort of writer’s glitch of thinking, “oooh, this would be funny to knock him down into subservience” and that’s what he does on a Wednesday, I mean it’s like the most un-inspiring thing. I think so much is projected onto the relationship between, certainly the four main characters, um, and, you know, look, getting comfortable with one’s sexuality and one’s identity is a massively complicated things, and if you want to live vicariously through what you believe people’s identity is and you can relate to that, great!  Who cares? I mean, can I be absolutely honest? Apart from – what I do care about, you know, don’t ever take this and piece me or misquote it, because it’s very, very specific – um, somebody stopping somebody being able to express their own identity or whatever is an issue for me. That will always be an issue for me. Um, we should all be treated equally, and we all have the rights to believe and follow those things that we wish to follow, but to project relationships onto characters is an odd thing to do. I mean, it’s wishful thinking in a lot of ways, I mean, actually it’s quite… it’s quite reasonable because in the past if you think about it, if you ask your parents or anyone else, the only way sexuality was used was to, uh, literally demonize somebody. It was only ever used to say somebody was bad because this who they’re in love with. You know, that’s, that’s the thing. And it’s a massive change in the world that we’re moving towards, I should say, uh – a lack of consequence for who one loves, apart from the obvious consequences of human nature. You know, political consequences for who one loves – I’ve just watched Pete Butteigieg being, you know, sitting in congress with his husband there with him; that’s the first time that’s ever happened in United States congress and I’m so proud of that. Not just because the man is gay and happily married – that’s not even the issue for me, it’s because he’s the best man for the job and one of the smartest people on the planet. You know, it’s like using sexual templates, as they were, or gender templates as they are, or orientation templates as they are, we always use to disclude people from things. They were always used to discriminate. You know, labeling somebody was a way of discrimination. And where as labels are very important, to ones self, and they’re very important politically and they’re very important socio-economically and they’re very important in all those aspects, I yearn for a time when nobody gives a damn. I really do. But I mean, we have to go through so much to get there. I mean, let’s be honest, you can’t, you know, right the wrongs of hundreds of years of oppression in 20 minutes by saying, “let’s all move forward”. It just doesn’t work that way, it never has. But there’s a responsibility there, that if you’re going to represent, that you represent all. That you don’t just represent you. So, one has to be careful with a television program or, or, you know, Misha or myself, or, not speaking for the boys, but just generally, um, you have to be careful that what you advocate is inclusive, not disinclusive. Not excluding people... and it’s so hard to frame these conversations, that they’re equitable, it’s so hard to do that. And so, you know, we spend years pointing out the inequity and the injustice and the unfairness of the whole situation, and… I don’t know if the trick is to rise above, or, uh, maybe it’s as simple as love and coming together as a human race and make it very difficult for people to discriminate and exclude based on gender, race, color, religion, any of the subsets of humanity that we’ve decided we have. So, I think personal responsibility is the most important thing, but if one is in a position of power on a TV show, you got to remember what you’re representing, that you have a, you know, you have to cover all or cover none. So, you know, but if you stick to a story and you have a story about a person or two people and their journey, that’s shining light on things. If you try to advocate for all, I think it becomes a little more complicated. Does that make sense?

so, i just feel like he said some important things there, but like I also don’t really understand what he’s getting at really, y’know? oh! also, he didn’t watch the finale lmao 

also! there’s this:

MARK: Because if you come down on one side or another, you’re admitting the sides, and that has its own political ramifications. If you push the ball up in the air and say, “you decide”, I don’t think that’s copping out. I think that’s, maybe not fulfilling everybody’s expectations, or not fulfilling everybody’s hopes, but at least you’re getting the question asked. You know, at least you’re getting the question asked. At least people are relating to it and going, “well, what if?”. Because it’s all “what if”, I mean, it’s a TV show, so it’s “what if”, you know? It’s not Misha being in love with Jensen, I mean as much as he loves Jensen, I don’t think that’s his thing – I mean you never know – but I’m saying yet again, I don’t exclude anything from anybody (I LITERALLY CAN’T BELIEVE HE SAID THIS LMAO). But to force my opinion or my identity belief upon a situation has a cost. It may be right, it may be absolutely right, and it may be necessary in many, many cases. But, in that circumstance, I think… there are a lot of people in the world that say that Jesus, for example, was anti-homosexual and that he was – and none of that is true, and none of that is provable in the New Testament, and I’m not talking about Leviticus and I’m not talking about early Bible and I’m not talking about the fact that more than 25,000 words have been changed in the King James edition and all of this stuff, but these things that people hold so sacred, the confusion that arises from that is being told that a man loving a man or a woman loving a woman or a man loving a man and a woman or whatever combination being there is either right or wrong because you’re being told by a pastor or the leaders of your church, is a very difficult thing to break down. I think what you have to do is at least put it out there so it’s visible, and so it becomes less and less deniable. And you know, people change over years, that’s the trouble with youth, is shit doesn’t move fast enough. “I need a decision now!”, and unfortunately, when you’re dealing with centuries of prejudice and centuries of un-enlightenment, I think that sometimes the best thing to do is reach as many people as possible and pose the question. And sometimes it’s essential to make a statement, absolutely, no question. It is essential to make a stand, in some circumstances. But to polarize a TV show, can be very disingenuous to those who need to go ask their own questions, who need to go say, “well, where does Jesus say this is wrong?” you know, if that’s your beliefs.

he also said, when we went off on a tangent about doom patrol:

MARK: There are issues that are being addressed here [on Doom Patrol] that are not being addressed on other shows, and yet again, we have the format, and I don’t know that Supernatural ever had the format because it was on the CW.

anywho, in conclusion, fuck the cw.

also, again, for all intents and purposes this was a dream I had :)))))))

[justkeeptrekkin]

1975.

Crowley crosses Abbey Road. 

It’s a quiet residential street, totally normal, other than the fact that one of the world’s most famous recording studios is plonked right in the middle of it. And, aside from all the tourists trying to re-enact the Beatles album cover. 

Crowley invents the photo bomb a few decades early as he wanders across the road behind a nice German family taking picture on the zebra crossing.

He’s here to see Freddie. Crowley hasn’t seen Freddie in a while, and he’s a little apprehensive. Only because a call from Freddie on a Monday morning means he’s got something to say, and doesn’t just want to go for a few drinks or traipse around Vauxhall or Soho in their glad rags. The message on his answering machine (which is brand new, and still a little confusing) makes it sound like it’s good news, at least. Either way, the moment Crowley’s phone chimes with Freddie’s voice saying Listen, lovey, come on over to the studio tomorrow morning, I want to show you something, there’s very little that’ll keep him from going. 

It’s a little chilly today. Crowley zips up his leather jacket and puts out his cigarette on the pavement, stamping it out under black boots. He saunters over to the studio and hops up the stairs two at a time. Nudging the door open with his shoulder, a wave of warmth and cheap vanilla air freshener hits him. Crowley wanders straight past the reception desk towards the room that he knows Freddie usually takes. 

The receptionist doesn’t look up from her computer when she announces the usual, “Hello sir, how can I-” and it’s interrupted when she eventually casts her eyes over the rim of her glasses. “Oh- Mr. Crowley, sir- go right on through.”

He’d been planning to, anyway. He flicks his hand in a dismissive wave of thanks and idly makes his way down the corridor. 

It’s filled with the sound of the band members chatting. The first thing that Crowley notices is Brian’s cloud of hair; it’s the first thing most people notice when Queen enter a room. They’re all bickering about something, or maybe they’re just talking enthusiastically; the success of Bohemian Rhapsody has made them all excited and ambitious and perhaps created a little bit of strain between them all. Crowley slows his pace and watches them pop out the back door, realising that Freddie isn’t with them. 

A stream of piano notes flows down the corridor. Crowley follows the sound and pushes open the door to the studio. 

Freddie is half hidden behind the raised lid of a grand piano, a cigarette in his mouth and a small frown as he watches his hands run up and down the keyboard. “Hello, Crowley.” “Alright, Freddie.” “Ciggie?” “I’m fine.”

His hands remain in his leather jacket pocket where they’re still warming up, and he makes a circuit about the large studio- the wooden floors and abandoned instruments, chairs where choir members might have sat for some other band. Overhead lights unflattering and bright. Crowley winces up at them through sunglasses and listens to the jaunty chords that Freddie plays on the piano. Humming something tuneful as he goes. 

“Said you wanted to show me something,” Crowley starts. 

“That’s right,” Freddie confirms, “I’ve got you a present.” “A present?” he grimaces, turning around and staring at the back of Freddie’s head. He wanders slowly over to the piano, where he can see some sheet music. Hand written, with lyrics on a scrap of paper that’s been paper-clipped to the side. “I don’t like presents.” “Let’s not call it a present then.” He doesn’t elaborate. Freddie’s always had a gently playful sense of humour, and on this occasion, it makes Crowley grumble. Without glancing away from the keyboard, he asks Crowley, “Still dressing up like Robert Smith, then?” “What’s wrong with that? I like The Cure.” “I liked your moustache. It was a shame you shaved it off. I’m thinking of growing one like it myself.” “I’d been informed that it didn’t suit me.” “Ah,” Freddie replies vaguely, again. 

Crowley leans against the piano, watches the hammers and strings inside the belly of the piano jump about. And the tune that Freddie’s humming gains lyrics. He sings quietly, as if only to himself. “I can serenade and gently play…”

“So,” Crowley presses, looking at his watch. He has some sins to sow at midday. And he needs to be in Hackney after this. “How was Japan?” “The tour? Oh, yeah. It was great. Lots of people chasing after us in the streets.” “That doesn’t sound great. Sounds awful.” “We had to be bundled up in laundry baskets in our hotel and wheeled along so people wouldn’t spot us and chase us to our rooms. That's because I'm a good old-fashioned lover boy… Ooh let me feel your heartbeat...”

Crowley releases a loud, pointed sigh, and looks about the room. Drums his fingers against the side of the piano. Freddie continues to sing to himself, albeit a little louder, his dulcet tones filling the auditorium. “You going to?” he shrugs. “Tell me? Why I’m here?”

“A present, or don’t you remember?” “Yes, alright, but what is it?”

And then he finally looks up at Crowley, a little mischievously. He removes one hand from the piano to put out his cigarette in the ashtray at the far end of the keyboard. His right hand continues to trill its sweet tune. “Haven’t you been listening?” For a moment, Crowley doesn’t catch his drift. Freddie looks down at the keyboard and keeps playing. Then:

“Dining at the Ritz, we'll meet at nine precisely

I will pay the bill, you taste the wine

Driving back in style, in my saloon will do quite nicely

Just take me back to yours that will be fine 

Ooh love,

Ooh loverboy

What're you doin' tonight, hey boy

Everything's all right

Just hold on tight

That's because I'm a good old-fashioned fashioned lover boy.”

The song comes to its satisfying, light-hearted end, and Crowley listens. Frowning, despite himself. He doesn’t know who the song could possibly be about, and why it should be of any importance to him. It’s always been clear that Freddie isn’t attracted to Crowley, and vice versa, so it can’t be about him. Suffice to say, he wouldn’t be giving Crowley that look if it were about one of his own boyfriends. Least of all, Crowley and Freddie have never been to The Ritz together, so he really can’t figure out what-

When it eventually clicks, Crowley scowls at him. “Oh fuck right off.”

“I was inspired,” Freddie says innocently. 

“Inspired my arse, you’re sticking your nose in my business and trying to profit off of it!” Crowley gestures angrily at the keyboard and paces. He paces angrily. Paces like a politician might, having found out that someone’s splurged his deepest, darkest secrets to The Mirror or The Sun. Suddenly too warm, he shucks his leather jacket and announces, “You’re a twat, Freddie Mercury.” “So, you don’t like it. I’ll have you know I wrote it, and that makes it one of the good ones.”

“Inspired,” Crowley mimics disdainfully. Turning on the spot with an irritated flourish, boots knocking against the wooden floor. “What makes you think I’d enjoy having a song written about me?” “I know you’re self-conscious-”

“I’m not self-conscious-”

“Stop it with that shit, yes you are. And I know that our conversations about your man-”

“Don’t call him that-”

“Were in confidence. And trust me, I haven’t said a word.” Crowley points an accusatory finger at Freddie, who looks entirely unperturbed. “You better not have fucking done, Mercury.” “But,” his friend continues, “A little part of me thought it might be nice for you to hear about it out loud. In the open. Something cathartic about it.”

“Oh, yeah, sure, definitely, really nice fluffy feeling. To have your unrequited love sung about and flung in your face. Cheers for that.”

“Don’t be daft,” is the all the response he gets, before Freddie starts playing again. 

He starts from the beginning. Slow and romantic and yearning. And then it picks up and takes that jaunty tone again, something fun and mischievous- like a dare, or an inside joke. And Crowley listens- to all of it. The tune, the lyrics, the way that Freddie sings it. It’s happy. It’s loving and it doesn’t sound at all unrequited, the way Freddie sings it. In this song, both the characters are old fashioned lover boys. And something about that soothes the defensive little monster in him that’s gnashing its teeth and screaming at Freddie to shut up. 

“Nobody would know,” Freddie pipes up half way through, no longer singing, rattling off a piano solo. “It’d be totally anonymous. Well, actually, I reckon people would think it was about me. Nobody would guess it was about you.” “He would,” Crowley says. But as soon as he does, he doubts himself. Because when has Aziraphale ever been that observant? This is the angel who’d inadvertently wandered into the midst of the French Revolution for crepes. 

And brioche. 

Freddie continues to play and sing. And Crowley listens. He finally listens without any retort. He sits on the chair behind the drum kit and listens to Freddie play it over and over, until he can almost convince himself that he lives in a world where Aziraphale loves him back. 

***

2019

One of Crowley’s favourite things in life is hearing Aziraphale hum. 

Crowley has lived a fairly isolated, quiet life. It’s largely self-inflicted. Some of it is Hell inflicted- which one could argue is a problem only because he’d been enough of an arse to fall from Grace. Either way, it’s quite solitary and silent. But with Aziraphale, his life is filled with sound. Not with sickening celestial harmonies, but just the sound of Aziraphale existing. 

One of his favourite sounds is Aziraphale making a cup of tea. The sound of him pottering about in the kitchen and clinking the tea spoon against the mug. Humming Mozart to himself. Asking if Crowley wants two sugars or one today (which is Aziraphale’s indirect way of begging Crowley to stop taking so much sugar in his tea). On this particular occasion, Aziraphale isn’t singing Mozart, however. Nor is he singing Liszt. 

Crowley looks up from his phone. Sat on the sofa that he and Aziraphale had argued over for three hours in DFS because neither of them could pick one that they both liked (and neither of them had managed to miracle one that they could agree on, so they thought it best to see what the shops offered as inspiration). He puts down his phone in his lap, mutes the television (which Aziraphale had also argued with him over, but Crowley had put his foot down), and listens.

“Crowley, dear, two sugars or one?” He hesitates, tries to tell himself he wasn’t imagining it. “Uh- one, just the one today- angel?” “Yes, love.”

“Were you just singing Queen?” There’s a quiet, knowing chuckle, and the sound of Aziraphale shuffling in his slippers from the kitchen to the living room. He’s wearing corduroys, and his bowtie has been abandoned in favour for a cable knit jumper and shirt. A relaxed look that Crowley had rarely had the luck to see, until recently. Aside from all that, the angel is also wearing a pleased little smile as he hands Crowley his tea and sits beside him on the sofa. “Oh, yes. It seems I was.”

“That’s bebop, that is,” Crowley jokes dryly.

“I know. You must be so proud of me. It’s all that time in your Bentley, it’s a bad influence on me.”

“Just the right amount of bad, clearly.”

Aziraphale smiles. That smile he has when he knows just how adorable he’s being and is supremely proud of himself. He buries his feet under Aziraphale’s bum to warm them up, and Aziraphale tuts, shuffles to get more comfortable. 

Crowley steels himself. Clears his throat. “You do know what that song’s about, don’t you?” He prompts.

Aziraphale’s rings clink against the mug he’s holding. He looks up at the ceiling as he thinks. “Just a very nice love song, really, isn’t it? You knew Freddie well, you probably know better than me.”

Crowley blinks at him. This might take some time. “Ye- yeeeees,” he encourages slowly. “I did know him well. Well enough that he might even write a song for me.” That little o-shaped gasp. “Really, Crowley?”

“Yes. And. You. You have listened to the lyrics, yeah?’

“Absolutely. It’s my favourite song by Queen, you know. The lyrics are perfect. So lovely. And relatable- you know it’s a song that reminds me a lot of us.”

Crowley looks at him with a wide-eyed, pointed gaze. Aziraphale looks back, eyes darting about the room in confusion. 

“You’re staring at me,” Aziraphale accuses. 

“You’re being really thick,” Crowley replies.

“Excuse me?”

“I knew Freddie. Very well.” “Yes, I’ve understood that much.”

“He wrote a song for me.”

“Right. You had mentioned that.”

“It’s. Uncannily relatable. Talks about old-fashioned lover boys and The Ritz.”

“Yes, I follow so far.” Crowley sighs and rubs his face. ��Aziraphale, when are you going to realise that Freddie Mercury wrote a song for me about you?”

He peers at Aziraphale between his fingers. Aziraphale’s eyes widen comically. And he makes the very business-like decision of putting down his tea to give Crowley his full, undivided attention, turning towards him.

“Crowley. Really?”

“Yes, really, you silly bastard, how did you not put two-and-two together?” “Because it’s me, what were you expecting,” Aziraphale complains, a little flustered. 

It makes Crowley take pity on him, putting his tea aside too and leaning forward so he’s kneeling beside Aziraphale. “Well. There you are. Now you know. Whole song, dedicated to you. And, um. A few more out there too. Without lyrics, so it’s less obvious.” Aziraphale’s expression softens and brightens all at once. Something totally indescribable and beautiful. Like the sun behind a fluffy cloud. It’s miraculous. “Oh, Crowley. No.” “Yes, ‘fraid so.” “Will you tell me-?”

“Nah. Make it more fun to see if you can figure out which songs they are.”

Aziraphale smacks him playfully on the arm. 

“I do have a small confession,” Aziraphale says a little coyly. Eyes looking up at him, then away again. Then back at Crowley. Teasing. 

“Go on,” he says through a smirk, anticipation building. So much so he finds himself leaning in for a kiss before Aziraphale can speak. 

“There may be one or two out there dedicated to you, too.” “Oh, really?” he murmurs against Aziraphale’s cheek. Hiding his face, because he’s not quite ready to show how happy that makes him. How much Aziraphale completes him. 

“A few,” Aziraphale replies. Then, “A fair few.”

Crowley places the gentlest kiss he can on his cheek. “Do I get any clues?” 

He feels him smile against his skin. “That would ruin the fun.”

***

happy birthday to my darling @duocreatix!!! Here’s some Freddie Mercury inspired ineffable husbands content for your consumption <3

[koalitypop]

inevitable

summary: no matter how much pain your relationship with jimin can bring to you, you can’t stand the loneliness anymore.

pairing: jimin x reader

tags: loneliness, crying, mentioned sexual activities

word count: 2.9k

a/n: guys, i've been working on this one shot for such a long time, i’m so happy to finally post it. it has been inspired by a few songs and i’m thinking about making a themed playlist. i hope you like it! please share your thoughts about it with me, i am always grateful to see what you like and what you don't. thank you for the time spent! 

The morning when you woke up in the hands of your lover for the first time and the memories of the night before tore your mind apart, you felt like you were betraying everyone in your life. It was supposed to be simple and only for once – you needed to receive and give some love for the night and he felt the same way too. But then, you saw that fallen angel with his hands hugging you tightly as if he never wanted to let you go, as he needed you, and all the gods above knew it – you felt at peace for the first time in an eternity.  

You had to leave immediately. You took off his shirt, which you wore to sleep, and got dressed up in the clothes you had worn last night when you came to his place. You wrote him a quick note, kissed his sweaty forehead and left.  

“This is the last time that something like this happens,” you promised yourself.  

Lie.

That morning, after leaving that fallen angel of yours, you tried your best to continue with your life – working on your upcoming album, learning choreography and having meetings with your managers, pretty much everything an idol life could offer. Despite your efforts, while you were in the studio, at the agency or in the practice room, your soul remained in his bed, his hands were exploring your body, your whole being soaked in his gorgeous scent.  

After meeting Jimin, all your nights were spent dreaming of him. Sometimes loving you, sometimes making out with you, sometimes just standing close to you. You were waking up feeling exhausted, weakened by the absence of his tender touch. Your days weren’t any easier either – your thoughts were occupied by him, making you yearn for his touch.  

A month after that ardent night, you finally met your lover again. His face even more divine, walking around confidently, making your knees feel weak. Making you lose your breath, he just once glanced at you, smirking. You smiled slyly and only when you made sure that he wasn’t looking at your direction you let a huge grin to take over your face.  

During the ceremony, you were constantly looking at him. The way he cheered on his friends while they were performing, his sweet smile that made you melt. The way he sang and danced, the control he had over his body, every move he made – so magnificent and precise. Your eyes were undressing him, saving every moment, every breath he took, hoping and praying that he would call you later.  

Not long after the ceremony was over, you got a call from him, and this night he was in your bed. Kisses down your spine, heated skin brushing yours. That's how your maddening relationship began.  

Well, the thing you had with Jimin wasn't an actual relationship. Nobody knew about the time you spent together, not even his members.  It was all based on the need of your bodies – needs of physical love, care, affection. No feelings. No attachments. Just some make-out sessions, sex and maybe some cuddling.  

There wasn’t any promise about not falling in love with each other or of any feelings at all. You both just knew it. Jimin was a member of the biggest group in the world, you were also a solo singer with a big fanbase. There wasn’t any place for dating and actual love in your lives. So, having a sex-buddy was your best option.  

As time went by, you began to get to know each other more and more. Of course, you knew basic things about him and he also had heard of you and your career, but every time you met each other, you got closer and not only in a physical way. You see, he saw how fearful of spiders you were and you helped him out during an allergic reaction. You both loved mint-scented perfume. You shared the same unconditional love for Harry Potter and were both in Slytherin, despite having some Ravenclaw tendencies. You had many things in common and in general you kept each other good company. When you weren’t keeping each other busy with other things, of course.

You never shared these thoughts with Jimin, but you knew from the very beginning that you will end up in pain. You didn’t mind. Not anymore. Pain was inevitable. You spent your entire adolescence keeping in mind that you are training to become an idol and you don’t want to involve anybody else into this hectic life. You were ready to keep on meeting him, even if you start to grow feelings for him. Even if rumours start spreading around. Even if he turns out to not be the kind and warm-hearted guy you think he is. At this point, you didn’t want to feel sad because you’re alone. You preferred to cry because of a broken heart, because you couldn’t confess, anything else but not because of loneliness. You had spent too much time feeling all alone. You wanted to continue having such comfort sessions, you didn’t want more.

As pain, falling in love was also inevitable. The first few times your thoughts were occupied by the pleasure Jimin gave you. He was caring, passionate. He took care of you, made sure that both of you were satisfied. And as the time went by, you knew every inch of his body, but his mind, his soul and his heart – that’s what you weren’t familiar with. And you just wished to know these parts of him, the true him.  

At first, you didn’t want to believe that you were falling in love. And how could you, you had never fallen for anybody before. Friends knew each other. Friends shared what they worry about. And numerous friends had sex with each other. People had bestie crushes. That’s what it must be. That was the best explanation. Even though you had made a deal with yourself that you can continue doing this with him, you didn’t believe that you will actually happen to fall in love with him. You thought you’re in control of your emotions, after all.  

It was after the second concert of the Love Yourself Tour in Seoul when it finally happened. He made a small mistake while performing Fake Love, something so tiny you as a professional couldn’t even notice, what about the fans. But as always, he beat himself about this. And you knew that you have to make sure he doesn’t spend the night alone. After an hour of passionate loving, Jimin lay down, his hair in a beautiful mess. He turned around to face you and caressed your cheek.  

“Oh, how you deserve to be worshipped,” he murmured and fell asleep right after.  

“It is you who deserves to be worshipped”, you thought.

And then you knew, you’ve fallen, you’ve fallen hard.  

You never told anybody about the way you felt towards him. There wasn’t anybody to talk to about this and even if there was, you didn’t want to say it out loud, because it would have made it fully real. Nobody had to know about the sweet pain that shattered your soul every time he kissed you goodbye. It should stay a secret, you thought, because, in the world of idols, not only pain and falling in love were inevitable. Taking responsibility was also inescapable.

Somewhere in between the harsh thrusts and the sweet praises sometimes you imagined what a relationship with him would be like. How free you will feel if you were able to confess your love for him. Thank goodness, somewhere in between the goodbyes and the calls for arrangements of meetings you came back to your senses. You had promised yourself sex, cuddles, kisses. Physical affection, not love, not support, not friendship. You had to keep this promise.  

There were times when you thought that Jimin has found out your secret. However, you reminded yourself that he would have done or said something, he wouldn’t have continued to meet and have sex with you. You waited for his call and tried to ignore the thought of Jimin ever finding out about your little secret, despite it coming a thousand times a day.  

Jimin and you had spent a little less than a year as fuck-buddies when the rumours started spreading. Are BTS Jimin and Red Velvet Seulgi dating? It was all over the media - hashtags were trending on Twitter, videos on YouTube, which somehow were meant to prove that Jimin and Seulgi were dating, were constantly recommended to you.  

It wasn’t the possibility that this was true which broke your heart. You knew that there was nothing between Jimin and Seulgi. It was the fact that one day this rumour will be true and this girl wouldn’t be you. Those amorous moments would no longer be a reality. You’d no longer be able to moan his name, telling him how good he is to you. You would never again feel his lips all over your body and the worst – you would never fall asleep cuddled to Jimin ever again.  

Three days after rumours started spreading around Jimin called you.  

“Do you want to come?” He asked, his voice giving away how exhausted he is.  

“Yes, I want to.” you smiled, somehow relieved.

Some hours after his call, you found yourself in front of the door of Jimin’s apartment. You checked your make up and made sure your hair looks fine, as, who knows, maybe this was going to be the last time you have sex with him. Taking a deep breath, you were about to knock on the door, when suddenly Jimin opened it.  

“Felt your presence,” Jimin smirked, gesturing you to get in.  

Typical Jimin. He probably was watching you since you came to his door and tried not to laugh while you put another layer of lipstick on. Did he like what he saw? Was he thinking about what he was going to do to you, how he is going to erase that lipstick from your lips? Did he open the door because he was too impatient to wait for you to knock? Was he waiting at the door even before you came, hoping you will come sooner?  

“Wine?” he whispered in your ear as he helped you undress your raincoat.  

You turned around to look at him and nodded, completely speechless as you watched him disappear into the kitchen, quickly moving to the sofa as your knees grew weaker.  

Jimin looked so celestial. Those majestic eyes focused solely on you, lips so gorgeously plump and yours for the night, the way he walked and moved so gracefully and his voice, oh, his voice only could make your body shake with pleasure. There wasn’t a single part of him, you didn’t crave for.  

Carrying two glasses of red wine in his hands, Jimin came back to the living room. Slowly he reached you with a concerned expression taking over his face and sat on the sofa, making sure there was a significant distance between both of you.  

“I know what you may be thinking.” Jimin sighed, giving you one of the glasses.  

“Enlighten me.” you tried to hide your bitter smile behind the glass.

Jimin’s eyes started wandering around the room. The troubled expression on his face began to seem more sad than worried.  

“Y/n, I have nothing to do with Seulgi,” Jimin said and drank a huge sip.

Surprisingly, you felt at ease. Why though? You knew that there was nothing between them. You felt at peace and couldn’t even try to hide your smile from Jimin.  

“I am well aware of that,” you replied, getting closer to him.  

Suddenly, Jimin turned around, so quickly he nearly made you drop your glass. His eyes were fixated on your face and made it obvious to you that he was hesitating to say something. He licked his lips, closed his eyes, his hand went through his brown hair – right there and then you were ready to embrace him and never let go.  

“I’ve been thinking about the night we first met each other,” Jimin said, his eyes still shut tightly. He gulped loudly and continued, “I’ve been thinking about how good you are to me. About how half of the times we can barely reach the bedroom. About the way, you say my name. The way you moan it. The way you saved me from me.”  

Your lover was the gentlest and the most thoughtful human being you had ever met, but this was the first time he was so generous with his praises without having even kissed you. He hadn’t even touched you, but, oh, you were already giving in. And the fact that he was getting closer and closer to you with every word he said.

“And about making love to you. And about all of this stuff that happened this week. I’ve been thinking about how it affected you. About what you’ve been thinking, how you’ve felt” and then he kissed you.

Despite having kissed just three boys in your entire life, you simply knew that Jimin’s kisses were one of a kind. Always beginning softly and with each second getting more and more eager. The way his fleshy lips engulfed yours made the butterflies in your stomach go wild, as he was trying and honestly succeeding to breathe your entire consciousness in.  

“Tell me what’s on your mind. Tell me how you feel about everything,” he whispered before licking his lips and attacking yours once again.  

It took you all of your mental strength to break the kiss and lie to him, “I was fine. I knew the truth.” you gasped into Jimin’s lips so that you can get straight to the sex instead of talking about this mess. You couldn’t bear to think about another girl kissing him, another girl being in his arms, replacing you.  

Jimin, on the other hand, didn’t think so.  

“I wasn’t fine. I felt horrible.” Jimin replied, leaning his forehead on yours.  

“Do you want to talk about it?” you gulped, worry instantly being poured all over your body.  

“It’s not about the agency. Everyone at the agency handled this rumour so well,” he claimed.  

You both kept your eyes closed, but deep in your heart of hearts, you felt that he was about to start crying. As you were about to caress his cheek, he held your hand tightly.  

“It’s that... All I could think about w-was you.” he sobbed, “I felt ter-terrible... and a-abominable, because I-I wanted you to feel terrible too.”  

You couldn’t feel anything. You could barely process what he had just said. You couldn’t even start to overthink, you didn’t even have the time to pull away when he continued.   “I wanted you to call me and a-ask if it was true. To be mad, jealous even. Because I figured out that if this happened with you, I’d be mad. I’d be so mad, Y/n, you-you don’t even know,” and with those words, he completely broke down.

As Jimin nuzzled his head on your neck and cried, you embraced him gently. A part of you, rooted deep into your very core, understood what he meant and celebrated. However, you still couldn’t understand. Your mind forbade you to believe that this was real, that what had just happened wasn’t a dream. Lost in your thoughts, you couldn’t stop yourself from subconsciously saying, “I know, Jimin, I know.”

Right away your lover pulled away and asked you through his sobs, “You know?”  

You had barely nodded when he started kissing you. And right there and then it hit you. Hit you so hard you started crying happy tears of relief. It was real.  

Jimin pulled you into his lap, in desperate need to feel you as close as possible. He kissed you as if only your lips keep him alive, his arms grasping your shaking frame. Sweet tears fell freely on your face and your lover drank them as if they were some kind of an elixir. It wasn’t a sexual desire, it was the bond between you both speaking. The bond you both had tried so hard to hide behind quickies and make-out sessions.

You sucked his trembling lower lips as he sobbed into your mouth, his torso pressing forward, making you feel his need for you not with your body, not with your brain, but with your soul. He licked his lips and eagerly kissed you once again. Somewhere in between those kisses you felt your consciousness slip through your fingers and quietly fell asleep in the arms of your lover.  

In the morning you were woken up by the feeling of being watched. Struggling to open your eyes, your hands started to roam around, only to be stopped by the masculine body of your lover. He giggled and moved you closer to him. You couldn’t even think about getting up and leaving him.  

“I am sorry, Y/n,” Jimin said, kissing your temple.  

This moment made all the suffering from the past and of the future worth it, you thought. You snuggled yourself closer to him and breathed in his alluring scent.  

“I am sorry, too.” you exhaled loudly, making small circles on his chest.  

“I was afraid you didn’t share my feelings,” Jimin caressed your cheek.

Fear. Of being alone? You knew that feeling too well.

“I thought pain is inevitable.” you murmured.

Your lover kissed you softly and whispered, “It is. But so is loving you.”

* * *

taglist:  @omg-sol-s-dreamland​ @latina-nerd​ @forff101 @hodginss @purpleheartsfortae​ @salomea27​ @ireallylikefoodandyoutube​

[mitchmarnier]

i took too many hits off this memory [i need to come down]

pairing: eddie kaspbrak/richie tozier [reddie] & beverly marsh/kay mccall [mcmarsh] rating: teen audiences and up chapter warnings: q slur, internalized homophobia, sexual content, word count: 4,777 chapter count: 2 of ? summary: Eddie Kaspbrak doesn’t remember much from his childhood. He doesn’t really know he doesn’t remember. He also doesn’t know why he’s so drawn this terrible comedian on tv, but when Eddie runs into him in a bar, and they spend the night together, Eddie’s life is changed forever. It’s finally back on track- and he doesn’t know anything about it

read on ao3. moodboard by @kaspzier​

perma taglist: @jwilliambyers​, @stebbins​, @kaspzier​, @s-s-georgie​, @chaotickaspbrak​, @eddiefuckinkaspbrak​, @edstozler​, @emgays​, @anellope​, @thorn-harvester-ven​, @wheezyeds​, @vipertooth​, @tozierking​, @billdenbrough​, @sydinastans​ @itfandomprompts​, @loserslibrary​​ (let me know if you want added!) 

TWO YEARS LATER

Eddie Kaspbrak cringed as the stench of the place hit his nose. He turned his face away and tried to discreetly press the sleeve of his sweater to face to ward it away. Kay McCall turned to face him and grabbed hold of his arm. “What have I been telling you?” She said sharply. “Stop passing judgement before you’ve experienced anything.” 

Eddie rolled his eyes. In the two years since he’d walked away from his relationship with Myra- or more accurately, forced her to walk away from it- Eddie had grown to accept that part of him he was sure he’d been running away from since his youth. There were dim, blurry memories of being a kid with sweaty hands and a pounding heart but he could never touch them. Sometimes, in his dreams, Eddie was sure he did- but they were gone when he woke up, leaving only a vague feeling of yearning left behind. 

He’d met Kay McCall nearly a year and a half earlier at the community center when Eddie had been having meetings to help with some ongoing mental health issues. It seemed that over decades of repression couldn’t just be turned off by coming out of the closet and ran much deeper. Kay had been an irreplaceable piece of Eddie’s self acceptance. Without her persistence that Eddie go out, that Eddie experience all these positive things, Eddie didn’t doubt for a second that he would have been sitting alone every weekend for the last two years.

And he hadn’t been, that was a beautiful thing. Eddie had gone out, he’d gone to clubs and bars and parades. He’d painted his body in neon colours and danced under black lights. He’d had a few short lived relationship with men Eddie would have allowed himself to look twice at before. Eddie had come to trust Kay blindly in every activity she suggested. Until tonight.

“I fucking hate comedians.” 

“So you keep saying,” Kay said. “But you refuse to give me any sort of reasonable explanation to why that is, so I’ve chosen to continue to ignore you.”

Eddie shook his head, and scowled at the ground. He wasn’t entirely how to begin to explain his animosity towards comedians. How could he explain the broken, faded memory of a comedian, a hotel room and a name that always seemed to be on the tip of his tongue?

 “I’m only doing this for your stupid date.” Eddie said stubbornly. “You say this girl is the real deal, and I’m choosing to believe you. This better be serious.” 

Kay rolled her eyes. It was, of course. Eddie knew that Kay had had many partners since they’d become friends, some lasting for weeks and Eddie possibly even getting a name, but Kay had never - not once- invited Eddie to meet one of her girlfriends before now. 

“I don’t know anything about this guy. I Googled him, he’s some white dude. Reggie or something. Very mixed reviews.” Kay said simply.  “Beverly seems to think he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to comedy, and I’m letting her pick the date so here we are.”

Eddie raised his brow but knew better than to say anything.  Kay grabbed Eddie by the arm and didn’t so much guide him through the crowd as yanked him. This was fine. This was used to and expected. What wasn’t expected was the soft, almost bashful smile when a short, redhead girl pushed her way through the crowd and ran up to them. 

‘Hey,” she said, almost out of breath. She and Kay held long eye contact until Eddie cleared his throat. When Beverly turned and met Eddie’s gaze, his breath caught suddenly in his throat and he wondered for the first time in many years if he’d need to use his inhaler. Beverly’s eyes blew wide for a moment, her mouth opened then clapped back shut just as suddenly. She seemed to almost shake herself, then offered her hand out. 

“Beverly.” She said with a sweet smile. “My friends can call me Bev.”

“Eddie.” Eddie shook her hand quickly, and Beverly didn’t say anything when Eddie immediately pulled a small bottle of hand sanitizer from his jeans pocket. “Tell me more about this bozo, but Kay is not convincing at all.” 

“I understand the skepticism.” Beverly said as she draped an arm around Kay’s shoulders. Eddie watched for a moment and waited for Kay to shrug her touch off, but no rejective motion happened. “But trust me, this guy Richie is actually good. He’s come a long way in the last couple years, and I don’t know, he talks about chicks a lot but I get a bit of a gay vibe-”

Eddie’s hearing buzzed out, brain seemed to float right out of his ear and out of the bar. Richie… comedian… his heart was suddenly at risk of exploding right out of his chest. He pressed his hand against his hand to his chest, able to feel his heartbeat through his shirt and sweater. Blurry memory began to ring into focus.

“I fucking hate comedians.” Eddie lied under his breath. Nobody listened. They moved to their seats that was being held by a tall, thin man with blonde hair that seemed to already be balding at the top and an orange stain on his shirt. Eddie stopped and turned to the two women.

“I didn’t agree to a double date.” Eddie said sharply. “Especially not a blind, surprise double date.”

Beverly glanced away, biting at her thumb nail but Kay held Eddie’s gaze without a flinch. “Eddie. You haven’t been laid in what- four months? Just give him a chance.” 

Eddie glanced back at his supposed date and watched as wiped snot from his nose on the sleeve of his hoodie. Eddie and Bev pulled mirrored looks of disgust. “Not fucking happening.”

“Sorry.” Beverly said quietly to him. “He was kind of the only person available and Kay didn’t tell me until tonight that she wanted a date for you and-”

“And you don’t have to fuck that guy, because he’s pretty disgusting.” Kay broke in with exasperation. Eddie glared at him. “But are you getting some tonight, I’m going to make sure of it.”

Eddie thought of how his stomach had been in butterflies since he’d heard Richie’s name, and how his face was still burning, and wasn’t so sure that was going to be an issue. The lights began to dim before Eddie could give any sort of response, negative or positive, and they all quickly moved to their seats. Eddie silently thanked a God he wasn’t sure he believed in that there wasn’t time to introduce him to the dirty date before the show began.

In complete honesty, Eddie couldn’t tell you much about the show itself. He thought at one point, he’d noticed that Richie’s jokes had gotten better than what he’d listened to years before but he didn’t have enough memory of the old stand up to be sure. It still wasn’t good by any means, but the crowd seemed to eat it up. He thought maybe Richie seemed a little more passionate, a little more comfortable, and that made a world of a different even with shitty dirty jokes. 

“That guy was hilarious.” Eddie’s “date” said as he wiped the barbeque sauce from their chicken wings his hands on his jeans. 

Eddie looked through the crowd at nothing, simply for an excuse to not look at the date he hadn’t bothered to learn the name of. In his haste to keep his eye line away, it took Eddie a moment to realize where it had landed. Not until he realized that he’d accidentally caught the eye of none other than Richie Tozier himself.

Eddie as good as vomited his heart up into his mouth when Richie winked at him. His stomach fluttered and he broke out into a cold sweat across the back of his neck. Richie whispered something to the shorter man by his side- a boyfriend? His manager, maybe- and then he was walking towards them.

“Heya, Eds.” Richie said with an easy grin. “Long time no see.”

Kay turned to Eddie with wide eyes, mouth half open, and Beverly had a confused frown on her face. Eddie wanted the Earth to open up and swallow him whole. “Yep.” Eddie said begrudgingly.  “Richie, this is my best friend, Kay, and her friend Beverly.”

“Friend?” Richie challenged as he took and shook Kay’s hand. 

She raised her brow at him. “Girlfriend.” She said angrily. “Is that a problem?”

Eddie pursed his lips to hide a smile as Richie let out a soft laugh. “Trust me, ladies. It is the opposite of a problem.”

Beverly gasped and slapped at Richie’s shoulder. “Hey, hey! Careful, Red!” Richie said, but he was laughing. “If security sees you knocking me around, it won’t be too good for you.” 

Beverly just laughed at him. “I knew you were gay. I fucking knew it.” An odd expression came over Richie’s face then, and Eddie almost felt bad for him. “We gays have a sense about this. You’ll get there. It comes with coming out.”

Richie’s face blocked them out. “I’m out to the people who matter to me.”

“And portraying yourself as straight asshole for the world to see.” Beverly said with a shrug. “Sure, it’s funny and it sells, but don’t you think it would be more impactful if you were a gay comedian?”

“I AM a gay comedian.” Richie said sharply. “And if I started telling jokes about being gay and fucking men from bars, I’d be an unemployed gay comedian.” 

“Hey.” Eddie said softly. His eyes were on Kay and Beverly, put he hoped that Richie could sense that the words he directed at them were for his benefits. “It’s not an easy thing to do. You should know not to push people.”

A silence settled over them, the buzz of the bar behind them, and Eddie began to fidget where he stood. Richie cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck. “Listen-” he said, pursing his lips. “I’m supposed to go to some sort of big name after party now, stupid publicity garbage.”

Eddie tried not to feel disappointed, but Richie kept talking.

“But that’s not really my thing. I’ve never cared about publicity before.” Richie said with a grin. “So, I’ve got a bunch of better ideas. If you guys are down.”  

Beverly’s eyes blew open wide. “For real? Are you serious?”

Richie reached out and pinched Eddie’s cheeks. “Course. Any friends of Eds are friends of mine.” Eddie swatted Richie’s hands away, stubbornly refusing to look at Kay despite how much of an effort she was putting into meeting his gaze. 

“Well, hell yeah!” Kay said as she pushed on a dazed Beverly’s shoulders. “Let’s fucking go!”

“Let’s fucking go!” Richie repeated, looking at Kay with a mixture of awe and wariness. Richie wrapped an arm around Eddie’s waist and squeezed his hip once. Then let go quickly, gesturing wildly towards the back door. Richie walked towards it and Beverly began to immediately skip after him, her face light up like that of a child. 

Kay turned slowly to Eddie, brows raised and a soft smirk settled on her lips. “So… does he have anything to do with you hating comedians?”

Eddie frowned. Did he? Eddie hadn’t thought about Richie Tozier since… well, probably since Richie had gotten on that plane in New York that same day. He had vague memories of meeting a guy in a bar who prompted his spilt from Myra, a weird twinge in his stomach that told him it was the best sex he’d ever had, but until tonight he hadn’t been able to put that memory to a face. But now? Yeah. That face was Richie Tozier. But Eddie didn’t hate that experience, not at all, it was a good one. A life changing one. Not one that prompted hatred or hard feelings.

“No.” Eddie said with a roll of his eye. “I hate comedians because they make their living being not funny about minorities and as a marginalized person,-”

“Alright.” Kay tossed an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and started guiding him towards the back door. “We all get it. You’re a big-time activist now, we did a good job with you, Kaspbrak. Now our next task is getting you to let your hair down.”

“My hair is always down.” Eddie said with a smile. Kay bounced on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. They pushed out the back door at Eddie’s mouth dropped open at the sight of the limo parked out back. Beverly was inside, her head poking out the sun roof. Richie was leaning against the car door, smoking.

“Hasn’t anybody ever told you those things will kill you?” Eddie asked, knowing his voice was all too cheerful. Richie looked up at him and grinned. 

“With the lifestyle I live?” Richie asked with a wave of his head. “Something is going to kill me long before my smoking habits do.”

Eddie didn’t like the twinge that settled in his stomach at Richie’s joke and he forced a smile. Richie clasped Eddie on the shoulder and he helped usher Eddie into the back. Kay dove in after them, and Eddie found himself pressed right up against Richie’s side. He could feel the heat radiating off him and Eddie’s heart began to race in his chest. He fought the urge to lean up against him completely, telling himself that he needed to maintain at least the slightest hint of dignity in this situation. 

Beverly kept her head out the sun roof for the first several minutes of the ride, and her hair was a bird’s nest when she dropped back inside, grinning from ear to ear. Eddie couldn’t help back grin back. “So where are we going?” Beverly asked, messing with her hair in a furitious attempt to tame the mess. “Never did tell us.”

Richie let out a long, exhale of smoke from the joint between his fingers and grinned lazily at her. “You get into car’s with strangers and it takes you nearly fifteen minutes to ask where they’re taking you?”

Beverly shrugged, still grinning. “I’d get in anybody’s limo, stranger or not.”

Richie shook his head, eyes half open. He offered the joint over to Eddie, who’s breath caught in his throat. “Oh, no, I have-”

“ASTHMA, ASSHOLE.” Eddie cried, smacking at Richie’s shoulders. Richie laughed, and fell backwards against the dirt and grass. They were sitting up at the top of the Quarry, feet dangling over the edges, as the sun went down in front of them. Richie had been working at a joint for the better part of a couple minutes, and Eddie had been choosing to ignore it until Richie had offered it over to him. 

“I think we both know that you don’t.” Richie replied, and there was something all too appealing about Richie when he was high. Eddie supposed he always found Richie appealing, though he’d never admit it to another living, breathing human (and certainly not to Richie) but the way Richie almost seemed to turn into lower power mode when he was high just held Eddie’s interest so intensely. It was Richie he was still getting to know, barely beginning to understand. And that captivated him.

“Put that shit out.” Eddie demanded. “Put it out or I swear to God I’ll throw it over the edge.”

“Oh, really? And you’ll buy me more then.” Richie said and waggled his eyebrows. “For all you know, Eds, this could be all I’ve got left.”

“I don’t care how much you have!” Eddie cried. “And I would not be buying you more because it’s illegal and you shouldn’t even have this in the first place, you know? You know all about the health risks just as well as I do!”

“Nobody knows any health risks as well as you do, Eddie Kaspbrak.” Richie pointed out, before taking another hit of the joint. Eddie watched his lips intently as the smoke blew out through him and he tried to force his heart race to slow down. This was a new feeling for Eddie, over the last few months. Richie doing little things that made Eddie feel like he’d just run a marathon. It was harder to pretend that Richie Tozier didn’t affect him deeply. 

“You know things people tell you about health is bullshit, though.” Richie continued, but Eddie was a little more focused on Richie’s fingers pulling on his own bottom lip as though he’d just remembered he had one. His legs and hands kept occasionally twitching and Eddie’s eyes followed the motion each time. “It’s just what the man wants you to think. Weed is good for us, and they want to keep it from us because they can’t make money off it.”

“You’re such a fucking a stoner, Rich, oh my God.” Eddie rolled his eyes but he couldn’t help the little giggles that were building up in his chest. 

“So you really aren’t going to have any? Not even for me? Your bestest friend?” Richie held the joint out towards Eddie, and spending so much time with Richie, Stan and Beverly the smell of the weed didn’t bother him as much as it used to. That fact made him uneasy. 

“Bestest isn’t a word.” Eddie replied, turning his eyes back to the sky.

Richie scoffed. “Oh, okay. Whatever. You aren’t gonna have any at all? Eddie? Eds? Ed-”

“Earth to Eddie!” Kay’s voice suddenly caught through his mind. 

Eddie jumped in the seat, suddenly aware that the limo was moving and Richie was still holding the joint out in his direction. Eddie looked slowly over Richie’s face,  his heart hammering in his chest and his brain reeling to find a grasp on reality. Real or not real. “What?” He asked, voice coming out almost a hoarse whisper.

“Do you want a hit?” Richie asked him lazily, the paper burning and wasting between his fingers has he watched Eddie. 

“No, I have-” Eddie broke off again, brain buzzing inside his head and heart picking the pace back up. 

Richie raised his eyebrows. “Have what?”

Eddie cleared his throat and reached his fingers out for Richie’s joint. “Nothing. Give it to me.” Richie handed it over willingly and as Eddie put the joint between his lips, something deep inside told him that this wasn’t his first time smoking weed. 

Richie patted his back, and made soothing sounds as Eddie coughed and his chest burned. “It’s alright, dude. The more you cough, the higher you get.” 

A familiar phrase. Familiar. A word that Eddie Kaspbrak would like to stop applying to Richie Tozier, because it never failed to make him feel on edge. Before Eddie could feel anything besides the tightness in his chest, the limo was suddenly taking a left and skidding across something that felt much more like dirt than any real road. 

“Where are we going?” Beverly asked, from where she’d draped herself across Kay’s lap once returning inside from the sun roof. Eddie thought that maybe this weed was laced with something, because there was no way Kay McCall was just letting some girl lay in her lap and there was zero possibility that she was actually running her fingers through the girl’s long red hair. And yet-

“We’re not going anywhere.” Richie said with a grin. He popped the back door of the limo open before the vehicle had slowed to a complete stop, and Eddie rested his head against the seat of the limo to watch him. “We’re already here.”

Eddie tumbled out the limo on Richie’s tail, with Kay and Beverly following and whispering behind them. Eddie squinted out the darkness around him, unaware that he was leaning against Richie’s side. “Central Park after dark? So you’ve taken us here to be murdered?”

Richie let out a little awkward half-laugh, hand unconsciously going to spread around the small of Eddie’s back. “Nothing so sinister as that.” Richie said. “Just that most of the times I’ve spent in New York have been spent in a bar or in a hotel room.” 

Eddie’s face burned, but even more than embarrassment over Richie speaking of the night they’d spent together, Eddie felt a weird sense of jealousy of the verbal acknowledgment of other people being with Richie like he had been. Before him, and worse, after him. Eddie knew perfectly well that he couldn’t be mad that Richie had slept with people before they’d met, and he had even less right to be mad about Richie may or may not had slept with after their literal one night stand. He had been the one to say no, to go home and ignore what he’d also felt. 

Eddie shivered almost violently as he walked through the grass, knowing it was getting his shoes wet and likely ruining them completely. Oh well, Richie’s career was starting to really take off- Eddie could bill him for new shoes. Something fancy and expensive no doubt. He could afford it. 

Arms wrapped around Eddie’s middle and he startled as he looked down at Kay, who grinned back up at him. “Oh, Miss Kay gets cuddly when high? Nice to know.”

She laughed, and squeezed Eddie’s middle until he coughed then released him. She turned away and moved over to Beverly, taking her back the face and kissing her deeply. Eddie frowned awkwardly to himself, and turned back towards the dark park. He felt Richie walk up beside him but he didn’t turn to look at him.

“You know, it’s kind of weird.” Richie said, but he wasn’t looking at Eddie either. “Until I saw you tonight, I don’t think I even remembered you. Which makes me sound like an absolute monster, but-”

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” Eddie said lightly. “I didn’t remember you, either. At least not… specifically. I remembered an intense dislike for comedians, but it wasn’t you that I remembered. Until your show started at least.”

Richie snorted and took a drag of a cigarette. Eddie watched the smoke flow through the dark, and tried to pretend he thought it was gross rather than attractive. “Don’t know why you’re walking around hating comedians. You’re the one who ripped my heart out at an airport, all I did was give you some sweet, sweet loving.”

Eddie made a rough noise at the back of his throat. “You sprialled my entire gay crisis and prompted me to have to change my entire life. I think I deserve a little bit of resentment here, man.”

“Man, I met you at a gay bar. I don’t think I started anything. You were already on your way there yourself.” Richie laughed. “Besides, don’t you feel better now? Rather than marrying some chick because you thought you had to, and playing the role of some straight husband when you were really miserable and craving some good dick. I think you owe me a thank you, actually.”

Eddie shook his head and finally turned to Richie. “You’re right. Thank you, Trashmouth, for being just hot enough that I confessed fully to myself that I wanted to suck dick.”

Richie grinned at him. “Well, you’re here with me now, aren’t you? There must be something about me you like. Besides the fact that I have a dick.”

“You also have a limo, and I didn’t have anything better to do tonight.” Eddie said slowly, letting the words roll off his tongue. Richie continued to look at him, head tilted with a goofy smile on his face. “Did it… I’m not going to apologize for not getting on a plane with a stranger that day. I still think I made the right call.”

“Yeah, you probably did.” Richie said slowly. “I knew that even as you did it, but Eds… God, I still can’t shake the feeling that I knew you. That we’re somehow supposed to meet.”

Eddie didn’t say anything, keeping his eyes on Richie as Richie dropped his cigarette and crushed into the ground. Eddie didn’t even lecture him on the littering, waiting for Richie to finish whatever train of thought he was going down. “And what are the odds that your best friend would just so happen to drag you to see that comedian who asked you to drop your life for him two years ago? On the one night I performed at a small bar for nearly a year.  Come on, that can’t be coincidence, Eds.”

“You’re a believer in the universe, I admire that.” Eddie said dryly.  “You’ll ask a stranger to run away with you after one night. It’s sweet and it’s insane. Sometimes coincidences do exist.”

Richie looked at him, face suddenly somber. He reached out and took Eddie’s hand in his. Eddie tried to ignore the electric shock it sent running through him. “It’s not just any stranger, you know. There’s something about you, Eddie Kaspbrak. And I think, for you, there’s something about me, too.”

“Maybe.” Eddie agreed. “But I still don’t know you, you don’t know me. Our lives are so different, it’s like we have anything in common or even live on the same side of the country. We ran into each other twice in two years. That’s not exactly some great romance story.”

“It could be if we let it be.” Richie said wistfully. “But don’t fret, Eds. I’m not asking you to run away with me this time. I tried that, but it didn’t work. I don’t offer up potentially life changing decisions to the same dude twice, no matter how drawn I am to him.”

For whatever reason, disappointment settled itself in Eddie’s stomach. He’d already worked himself up, gotten himself ready to tell Richie no, and to find that Richie wasn’t going to ask was a let down. Why he wanted Richie to ask him, he had no idea. Probably the same reason he had no idea why he was more comfortable around Richie Tozier than he was around people he’d known most of his life.

Richie turned around and grinned at Kay and Beverly, who were running through the park fountain. “You’ve got a good thing going here. Much better than last time I met you. Good people in your life. You shouldn’t turn your back on that, and I don’t even want you, too. Like you said- you don’t even know me. And maybe I don’t know you. But they-” he gestured to Eddie’s friends. “They’re good people. Keep them around.”

“I plan to.” Eddie said, throat suddenly dry. “You’re good people, too, Rich.”

Richie turned to look at him, a soft smile on his face. “Thought you said you didn’t know me.”

Eddie shrugged one shoulder. “I’m good at reading people. You put on some big show, but you’re the kind of person who’d stopped to pet a cat no matter how late he was running… and he believes in romance. Soulmates. You’ll find yours, Richie. Someday.”

Richie let out a loud sigh as something in his suit pocket started beeping loudly. He rolled his eyes. “My team has officially realized that I haven’t made it back to my hotel yet. They’ve got me on a tight lease these days.” He held his hand out and Eddie took it without a second thought. “Hey, ladies! If you want a ride back, let’s move it.”

Beverly and Kay stumbled into limo, giggling, and Eddie tried to ignore their kisses as Eddie gave Richie the directions to Kay’s apartment- and Richie gave the directions to his driver. It wasn’t a super far drive, the streets of New York surprisingly calm as they drove through. Eddie kept his eyes trained out the window, and his hand resting on Richie’s bouncing knee.

He watched Beverly and Kay tumble back out of the limo outside Kay’s apartment and moved to follow them, but Richie’s hand wrapped around his wrist. Eddie turned back to him, and his heart fluttered as Richie leaned forward and tucked a piece of paper into the front pocket of Eddie’s jeans. 

“If you ever find yourself wondering about the universe,” Richie said, his voice cracking through a dry throat. “Give me a call. I think I’ll be seeing you again, Eddie Kaspbrak.”

Eddie reached out, cupped the side of Richie’s face and kissed him deeply. He let their foreheads press together for a moment before pulling back and climbing out of the limo. He watched the limo drive off until it completely disappeared from view.

[daydreamindollie]

m.yg | The Innocent and The Sinful

Fragments Series: Just another incomplete written piece/plan/idea - not edited, not proofread, just raw writing w/ my notes 

|| opposites attract oneshot series ||

A/N: Yoongi’s one, I actually dusted up quite a bit so there aren’t any notes, just pure writing. I was ready to write an extended, very steamy scene in this but I guess that intimidated me and made me mentally shut down when writing this knowing that I had planned such a scene for the future of this oneshot. Don’t get me wrong, I was really excited to be writing smut for the first time...but, I also get nervous really easily and I’m a perfectionist+procrastinator - not a good combination! 

WARNING: May contain some conflict and violence nothing 

✚          ✚          ✚

The probability that two drastically opposing worlds should collide was highly unlikely, even more so the fact that they should harmonise under aesthetic melodies, and yet, despite this common perspective, it seems as though the path of two repelling ways of life magnetise along their way, and consequently, cross directions.

Such an innocuous stammer within one's path appears as irrelevant as the frequent act of unnamed strangers brushing shoulders, but an interaction must never be underestimated as the world's way of making an individual's tilted stage right again, can be a very peculiar thing.

☆

A night out with the usual gaggle of friends was well underway, falling upon its second hour the instant the clock ticked past eleven thirty (evening).

It was clear from the many blokes, who flashed ill grins upon catching the glint of uncertainty in your eyes, that this was an unfamiliar atmosphere for you, and suddenly, your friends' offer for free food and subsequent peaceful nights-in, no longer seemed worth-it as the sweat of discomfort tickled your brow.

"You look very tense there sweetpea!" Jia, the usual 'mother' of the group and your roommate, shouted from beside you, barely succeeding in overcoming the suffocating blare of music, "Have a drink and lighten up!" she encouraged, being strangely negligent to the obvious consequence of alcohol, especially in your circumstance. Not only were you a lightweight but everybody else within your group was drunk beyond the line of no return and someone needed to be responsible. 

It wasn't going to be Jia, definitely not - leaving only you.

"No thank you Unnie, I think I'll just go out for some fresh air." hefting a heavy sigh, you flashed a reassuring smile before making your way out. A clearing of the mind requires a cleaning of the air.

☆

"You're telling me," Yoongi stressed, an influential figure despite his diminutive build, "that nothing can be done to solve this." his voice hard and his eyes cold, a visible shiver rattled the spine of his unfortunate man of business.

"I'm sorry b-" the man attempted, only to be talked over by a booming voice.

"'Sorry' isn't going to fix things you little bastard, now, if you don't want my men coming after you, and the people you care about, then you better shut that bullshit-talking mouth of yours and get things done because I don’t pay you to hear crap fall out your asscrack of a mouth - got it?" the fire in his eyes was raging and untamed, hoping to rampage and set ablaze all that dared confront it - the poor man before him being the first victim, with licking flames already setting his toe-curled feet ablaze.

"Y-Yes S-“

"Now get the fuck out of my sight." once the stammering man had finally left, pudgy face sweating bullets of liquid fat and spindly thin hair clumping at his expansive forehead, Yoongi turned to his men. There was evident stress knotting his usually undisturbed brows. "I'm going for a smoke. I'll be back in thirty minutes.”

☆

Hissing at the bite of your stiletto heels, you attempt to savour the crisp night air without grimacing at the filth surrounding you, only able to fully disregard it by tilting your head towards the star-dusted night sky. Slowly, your mind began to clear and a small smile pinched your flustered cheeks, bad experiences truly brought out the good in all the little things - much like the majestic beauty of the night.

So spellbound by the charm of the late evening, you were innocent to the approaching danger, coming at you in the form of an intoxicated, stout man, drenched in a scented smog of liquor. He had no real intention of anything ill and would've let you be if he hadn't drowned himself in the immoral fluid beforehand.

Now, all acts and thoughts were unfiltered and ethics were cleared off his table of prioritised considerations.

At the sight of your figure, hugged tightly by the dark fabric of your dress, an animalistic growl of unadulterated desire left his chapped lips and, noticing your impervious state, he strides forward carelessly.

Taking a chance on his luck, he smiled satisfactorily when he stumbled into your frail figure and smirked at the vulnerable squeal that left your delicate lips when his heavyset frame fell onto yours and forced you against the cold brick wall.

☆

Regardless of Yoongi's pronounced reliance on nicotine during times of distress, he never truly liked the act of smoking; he always grimaced in the seconds leading up to lighting the cancer stick before inhaling a breath.

Another thing that he absolutely detests, in spite of his criminal line of work, was the sight and racket of harassment, especially now, when his wick of tolerance had already been burned up to only a hair's breadth from the night's deficient chain of events. Using up the last of that wick, Yoongi could only stand for less than a minute before he stuffed the cigarette back in its packet and approached the inebriated attacker.

"Hey, asshat," he grumbled, waiting for the man to turn before landing a heavy blow to his jaw, knocking him out cold with the propelled force of his frustrations. It was definitely a good way of de-stressing and Yoongi would have taken up boxing if he wasn't so indolent with the burdens of his position. Hence why, when Yoongi knew the harasser was down for the count, at just one hit, he stepped away and finally lit his cigarette - he probably wouldn't finish it completely after such relief. 

He didn't care for the girl the man was molesting, he only wanted peace and quiet when having his smoke but probably secretly wanted to punch a man as well - any man - after such vexing news was delivered to him tonight. For that reason, he didn't pay you any mind and selfishly savoured the silence as he took a drag. 

This man was something unworldly to you. He had taken on a bozo twice his size and won with just a single hit, now, he was lighting a cigarette, going about his business as if what he had just done was nothing out of the ordinary. 

Stepping closer and scrutinising his anatomy within the moonlight revealed how truly exquisite he was. His lean, ample limbs were garbed in a fitted black suit, darker than night and appearing silky under the rough stare of yellow street lamps. 

Supple ivory skin stretched over the features you were able to see bare: his face, neck and hands. The milky expanse of his nape silently pleaded for the sinful mark of bruising kisses, unsatisfied with the ink of a spiralling tattoo that climbed three delicious inches up the side of his neck, leading your mind to darkly ponder where it starts under the collar of his shirt. The hand he had holding the cigarette had long fingers with bulging veins decorating its back, leaving a simply intricate ring to embellish one elegant finger. His mysterious eyes were half hooded by a shadow containing undisclosed secrets that you yearned to acquaint yourself with, loving how the breath of smoke he exhaled spiralled into distinctive art before disappearing. 

Building up the courage, you stepped further forward, "u-umm..." you timidly began, “Thank-"

"Go home." he blatantly hissed, not sparing you a glance and, instead, took the time for another puff. Your morals weren't as such, however, because you needed to thank someone whose actions were worth appreciating, but as you stuttered to protest, he brushed you off once more.

"C-can I at least buy you lunch?-“

"Look, I didn't do it to help you, I just wanted some peace and quiet. Now, if you have half the brain that I think you do, then you'll take this chance to get the fuck out of here.”

Naturally, you were hesitant but complied with his harsh command. You didn't think any less of him because of his confession; it doesn't change the fact that he saved you from a traumatising experience, so he still deserved your proper gratitude. He wasn't willing to accept it and it's his decision whether or not he does, yes, but you were determined to repay him.  

☆

It was unusual for you to frequent a bar, even more so if the bar was the one where you were physically assaulted at. Your behaviour was very suspicious and your friends were quick to catch on, confronting you the night you're about to leave your shared apartment once more. You always left at the same night, at the same time with the same intentions in mind - you just need to see him again. 

"I'll be leaving now," you announce, slipping into your heels as your reflection stares back at you with satisfaction. 

"Babes, you've told us what happened to you that night, right?" your roommate confirms as she stood beside the door, causing you to raise a brow as you gave a reassuring nod. "Everything?" she pressed as you gave another nod, “Then…why do I feel like you're leaving one very crucial detail out?" her eyes are piercing you judiciously as you struggle to maintain a calm demeanour.

"Jia, I've told you everything," you promise a white lie. 

"Oh really?" the stare she sends you is chilling, "Because, it doesn't really make much sense if the first time a girl goes out in forever, gets harassed and suddenly makes it routine to visit said bar on the same night, at the same time, weekly!" avoiding her eyes, you attempt to cover your endeavours, "Well?...Did this guy threaten you or something? (Y/N), you know that I'm here for you." the hard front she puts forth slowly wore down with concern until only watery agony was present in her eyes.

"I-It's not like that Jia.”

"Then please tell me, Sweetie. You know how I hate being kept in the dark about these things." clearly, the stress was getting to her and you felt extremely guilty for causing such strain on her everyday deliberations; she already had many other things to reflect on, she didn't need you forcing more stress atop that. You remember how you told her your altered story of the night - one where there was now a mysterious, cold-hearted stranger saving you - and she was close to tears, apologising for not being a good enough friend, proven in her failed act of saving you. "I''m not here to judge you...I'm just concerned. Please tell me so that I'm self-assured that you'll be fine…and that I don't need to stalk you just to make sure you're safe." it was a joke that you embraced with a half-hearted laugh, encouraging you to tip the scale in favour of her apprehension. 

"Alright...I'll tell you," and that, you did. As promised, she didn't judge you but put forward her own advice, the lines of stress no longer creasing the space between her expressive brows. 

"Is he so handsome that you have to go so badly?" she jests, her enquiry still half-serious. 

"Very!" you giggle. Staring up at the clock on the wall, you gasp, already half an hour late.

"Sorry for keeping you but I'm thankful that you've finally told me." 

With a hug and a quick farewell for the night, you were off, taking care not to fall in your adequate stiletto heels. 

☆

It was the same scenario. This had become so routine that you were running through the upcoming events of the first few minutes into the club in your head. Everything flowed like clock work, which would be - to a normal person only wanting the norm - perfectly fine but you didn’t crave the norm, you were craving, yearning, and pleading to a non-existent god that he be there tonight. And yet, what should you do if he did show? In his mysterious, slender frame, enveloped in it’s cloud of mysterious musk that you were only barely able to savour briefly in your even more brief encounter. That night seemed to occur eons ago and it was eating you up inside. 

please remember that this is, unfortunately, not going to be continued as it is a part of my ‘Fragments’ Series, where I just post works that I have discontinued, maybe still in its drafting/notes-infused stage. I know it might seem like a pointless series but I’m proud of all my works and love to share more than I should.