#Part of the reason that cigarette and snuff are so bad for you is because of the processing

[merkerlerspeaks]

to everyone who headcanons simon being a smoker what is it like being so wrong

[kisskawa]

— savour it cw smoking, addiction, canon compliant sorry, reader and gojo are friends in grief, partially set during shibuya arc ; title creds

you and shoko have taken to hiding around the grounds of tokyo jujutsu high, tucked behind the back of the dining hall or halfway down unused corridors, smoke escaping your parted lips. it's for your sake more than hers.

she offers you a cigarette, flipping open the packet lid with practiced ease, and leans in close enough to fill your field of vision. your lips curve around your cigarette with a smothered laugh, wobbling ever so slightly before she lights it. you inhale deeply, happily.

it burns down your throat as you draw in a breath, tracing a familiar path. the drag is soothing, calming, as the tires of schoolwork and training and missions slowly lift from your tense shoulders.

you make it four puffs before the tree you're leaning on shifts, leaves shaking as a stray branch is pushed to the side. lazy hiding place, you've been caught.

suguru plucks the cigarette from your lips without hesistation, dropping it to the floor where its stamped out under his dark boot. satisfied, he meets your eyes with a reminder, "don't you know those are bad for you?"

"it was just the one, suguru," you offer a placating smile and beside you, shoko snuffs out her own cigarette, "it's the end of the week, we were tired from lessons."

suguru sighs, more than aware just how draining the entire dire world of jujutsu sorcery can be. it's part understanding, moreso affection, that has his index finger tracing a line from your brow to your cupid's bow. "just the one over this whole week?"

you nod, letting his finger push into your lip, "promise." you've never had reason to lie to him, genuinely trying your best to cut down the habit.

suguru hums, easily won over as he murmurs the softest "alright" before kissing you, lips sliding over yours with poorly concealed mirth. suguru kisses you like he's trying to leave a lasting print on you, ignoring shoko's exasperated huff, ignoring the lack of air, ignoring it all. just you and vanilla lipbalm and residual smoke - he doesn't mind the taste all too much.

the kiss does its job, searing heat branding itself into your memory. it's an intense impression you return to more times than you care to admit, stare glassy and mind dazed. you're not sure how you ever lived without his lips on yours, not sure how you'll ever have to. because a month later, suguru geto is gone.

you wish you'd stopped smoking when he asked. now, without his support, you know you can't.

the habit follows you through a life suguru can't, through the pains of growing and the joys of experience. you're quick to soothe your nerves with a cigarette after a mission, quicker still when your students start getting sent out, one by one. you monitor them closely, hold onto them dearly, and hope you're not missing any signs that you should've seen.

it makes you blame yourself prematurely when you're late to arrive to shibuya. the reports will mention it, you're sure. having made your way there after a tense phonecall with gojo, you feel more than sick, stomach folding over and over in on itself.

out of habit, you pull out your pack of cigarettes, thumb seperating one from the rest. when gojo finds his way to your side, it's still unlit, though filling the space between your fingers as you fiddle mindlessly, just letting the weight ground you. you'll light it when this is over, you decide, when everyone's safe.

one look at geto undoes it all. you falter.

unable to keep your eyes on him and the messy, sickening stitches that disgrace his figure, you let your focus dart to gojo, finding him already looking at you. his features remain stoic in front of the imposter, but the quick drop of his gaze to your trembling hand gives his concern away.

you will yourself to stop shaking.

it doesn't work.

you'd known what had happened to suguru, of course you had. you still love the man who lost his way, the grief persists. gojo had kept you close, kept you protected when all turned to ashes and dangerous curses preyed on the vulnerable, the misguided. because despite the pain, gojo wouldn't let you hear it from anyone else, he couldn't.

seeing geto before you hurts more than anything. smile stretching wide across his face and eyes a gloomy storm, he's so unfamiliar that your chest aches. the reality of the situation drops onto your aching shoulders like a dense weight, ugly panic building in your core as heat pricks at your eyes and you struggle to breathe.

on instinct, your spare hand makes it way deep into your pocket, fabric only just covering your worsening shakes. your fingertips find metal and you hold onto the lighter tightly, bones creaking with the force. it was geto's lighter - suguru's - before he had discouraged your habit, deciding the shortlived pleasure wasn't worth the slow damage. it wasn't like he had smoked all that often anyways, mostly carrying around the lighter for your and shoko's use.

the worn wheel from years of use, the loud clinking lid, and the scratch of your shared initials carved into the base helps stave off the growing feeling of madness, of your mind finally breaking under its burdens. it leaves only a bitter taste. you nod at gojo, letting him know you're okay for now, as much as you can be. but nothing could've prepared you for geto's attention, eyes leering and accusing and finger pointing at your long forgotten cigarette, now crumpled in your grip.

voice like nails on a chalkboard, a shudder heaves and wracks its way up your spine, "don't you know those are bad for you?"

[nerdycanible1]

the last one from domestic, kyalin pls 😊

Thank you for your ask. I written it this morning but couldn't post it till now. I hope you don't mind my crappy writing. I hope you enjoy qwq

Lin inhaled the lightly air, the chilling autumn air already signaling that it was beginning. Lin took one last deep breath of the air and soon pulled out a cigarette. She lit it and soon she inhaled the sweet and addictive taste of the pollution.

She was invited to a sleepover with the girls and Suyin was already passed out from the alcohol she was sipping and Izumi talking to Kya. Everything was supposed to be a peaceful night but for some reason the police officer was restless.

Her mother forced her to take 2 weeks off to rest her nerves. Listening to the soft lapping of water at the shore was something she never quite got used to. She missed the sounds of cars, the twinkling of lights and as odd as it was the different smells of pollutants and food.

Lin could still see the scene before her, a homicide that was a mess. It shaken Lin to her core seeing the younger woman, a girl near the age of her sisters. Lin's fingers twitched as she didn't want to think anymore more of it but of course that didn't work.

Suddenly the sounds of the sliding door being opened signalled Lin to snuff out her cigarette. Lin was ready to snuff it out she heard Kya's voice. "You don't need to put it out."

Lin turned her head to see the waterbender and she furrowed her brows. "Wheres Zumi?" She asked softly.

Kya smiled and walked towards her and draped herself agaisnt the railing. "She went to bed 2 hours ago."

Lin's brows furrowed and looked at the moon and then inside to see it dark inside. "I... the lights were just on though." She mumbled thoughtfully. She looked down to see she smoked 4 cigarettes.

Kya could see Lin start panicking and she pressed a hand to her lower back. "You're okay Lin." She said softly. "What's on your mind?" She said rubbing her back.

Lin swallowed roughly and sniffed the cigarette out and pinched the bridge of her nose. With a heavy sigh she brushed her fingers through her curls and looked back out to the moon.

"Something bad happened Kya." She brushed her fingers through her hair to try and get a grip of herself. "I usually am okay with all kinds of cases. Thieves, accidental crashes, homicide." She whispered the last part.

"I'm usually fine with them but... with the way Su's being. The constant rebelliousness... the way she sneaks out at night."

Kya watched as the nervous woman began to ramble. The job appeared to be breaking Lin's emotions and brain.

"The homicide... was a bad one. A drughead killed a girl just because she didn't have any on her. It was a mess." Lin gripped her tighter and inhaled the salty air.

"What if.... what if that happens to Su? Then there would be nothing I can do." She breathed. "She no longer listens to me. Chief doesn't do anything... what am I to do?" Lin looked over at Kya with tears in her eyes. "Not to mention the fact that I just... I feel so weak. Upon seeing the damn girl I froze. I couldn't do shit. I was taken out of there. No doubt everyone is going to start talking about me." She blew out a breath and sighed.

Kya sighed and pulled her in for a hug and hugged her tightly. "I want to tell you what I've learned on the road this past two years." Kya leaned more against Lin as she felt Lin grip onto her.

"There will always be bad guys. Always be bad people in the world to do bad stuff. And there will always be people like you Lin. People that will protect others." She inhaled gently and cupped her cheek.

"And then you have the drifters. Or people that are trying to figure themselves out. Lin... Suyin is a teenager. A girl trying to find what she wants in the world." Kya could feel Lin's jaw tense, she knowing Lin wouldn't like this at all.

"Suyin is going through tough shit. Just like you are. You remember how hard you pushed yourself just so you can be the best that you are. You used to wake up at the crack of dawn to work out, to try and please your mother."

Lin growled softly and tried to step put of Kya's embrace. But do to Kya's holding she was trapped. She never knew Kya was this strong.

"Suyin is trying to find herself. She's scared can't you see? I admit she's a brat but what can we do? The more we try to control her the more she will try and break free." Lin sighed and pressed her head into her shoulder.

"Suyin isn't that girl you saw. Suyin wouldn't let anyone touch her. Suyin would beat their ass. You know why?" Lin looked up searching for the answer in her eyes.

"Why?" She asked softly feeling a bit better having Kya be by her side.

"Because Su was able to take you down." Kya laughed.

Lin growled and pulled out of her hug and crossed her arms. "Not funny." She grumbled hating Kya now.

Kya chuckled and wrapped her arms around her, ignoring Lin's pushing away. "Kya I swear if you don't let go of me now I'll-"

Kya leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her lips. Lin's lips tasted of tobacco, and the alcohol she drank a couple hours ago. Kya pressed her agaisnt the railing as she gripped onto her hip.

"You would never let anything happen to Su." Kya murmured against her lips. "Lin Beifong wouldn't allow it."

Lin blushed in the kiss and closed her eyes. After the kiss she sighed and leaned into Kya. Her fingers fingers her dress and holding onto her, preventing her from leaving. "Thank you Kya, I really needed that."

Kya rubbed her back and cuddled her Linny. "The kiss or the talk?" Kya said cheekily.

Lin laughed and rolled her eyes. "Don't push it." She snorted.

"Worth a shot." Kya mumbled kissing her temple.

[1994sunflower]

locked out of heaven. ii (m.c)

pairing: michael clifford x reader

genre: angst, smut

word count: 23.9k

involves: bad boy!michael, college!au, jealous!michael, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, being a bit dirty in public, dirty talk, daddy kink, choking, size kink, face slapping (consensual), spitting kink, praise, degradation/name calling, innocence kink, corruption kink, violence, blood, language, mentions of infidelity, light self-deprecation, mentions of drugs, drinking

summary: months after the breakup, michael has been a wreck. not only in his mind but to everyone else on campus. he’s unmanageable without you. you weren’t faring much better. you’d lost your light and you find yourself trying anything to forget the betrayal. but will a reunion with the very man you had fought against even yourself to avoid be what you needed to fix everything and go back to the happiness you shared with him or will it be just what you needed to finally move on?

part one

Whispers had followed Michael for months.

Different from the whispers he had become accustomed to hearing for the majority of his life. No, these whispers had very little to do with him and everything to do with the sudden breaking of his relationship.

People had become used to seeing the short girl hanging by his arm next to him. They’d finally just started to stop staring every time they saw the colorful clothes and the kind, smiley face next to his glares and dark, chained clothing. But suddenly that was gone and it was all anyone could talk about.

It got even worse when rumors started spreading about the reason of the jarring split. Hushed voices, surprised gasps, disbelieving eyes were everywhere Michael went. Even whispers of the girl’s name, the one he refused to acknowledge, started trailing him. That didn’t last for long though. He went through great lengths to show just how little he wanted to hear of the person that helped him destroy the best thing in his life. And God help whoever tried to bring her, or it, up. It just served to remind him of the night he had began to think of as the ‘night when it all ended.’

Ashton wasn’t really shocked when Michael had started to hole up in his room. Without you to persuade him to go to class, Michael had no reason to. He skipped class and had sworn off parties for the rest of his life. In fact, there were times when he would spend days without ever stepping foot on campus. At that time, he only ever went out to get food. And even then, it was in the late afternoon just to a fast food place or the Union and then right back home. Ashton didn’t even know what he could do in that house, alone all day for days at a time. But Michael managed to do it faithfully for nearly two months now.

After weeks of trying to talk to you, Michael seemed to finally lose his hope. It was over and it was all his fault. He had hurt you, as if he had ever even deserved to have you in the first place. He figured leaving you alone was the least he could do for you to  give you a chance to be happy again, to forget him and move on with your life. Even if it killed him.

And boy did it feel like it was killing him. He was a mess without you, miserable. You were on his mind constantly. Not an hour went by when your beautiful face didn’t enter his mind and he had to clutch his phone painfully in his hand to keep from running out to find you and beg you for just one more chance. He didn’t even sleep the same, not without you. He kept a picture of you as his lock-screen, one he had taken back when both of you were still happy, and a part of him knew it was just to punish himself, forcing himself to look what he had lost. You were it. You were the one.

But he blew it and you were gone. He wasn’t sure he could move on without you, wasn’t sure he even wanted to. Because what was the point of dating if he wasn’t dating you?

Michael had stopped crying a few weeks after your breakup. In fact, to Ashton, the only person to see him on a regular basis, it almost seemed like he had gone empty. No emotions whatsoever. But to Michael, it just felt like he was suffocating with a permanent knot at his throat.

You were gone. You were gone. He hadn’t taken you for granted ever, but even with that, not having you around felt like his heart had left with you, leaving just a cloud of anger and loneliness in its wake with nothing to calm it.

The times Michael would go back on campus, it was just to wreak havoc. He had had a bad reputation before you but it was worse without you.  

“He’s worse now.” Was the talk of the campus. It made the seriousness of the situation obvious when it wasn’t even the students that were saying these things. It was the administration and professors. “I thought he was bad before. He’s just out of control now, it’s like there’s nothing holding him back anymore. I don’t know what we’re going to do with him.”

Before, Michael hadn’t completely stopped his violent streak. But he had restrained himself a lot more than he would’ve without you. And that was just because he wanted to be good for you, keep you happy and unafraid of him. And because, with you, he was a lot happier himself. He had less outbursts because how could he be anything but content when he had you. Now, however, he had that extra anger he wanted to get rid of (granted it was anger towards himself). He wanted to erase what he had done, he wanted you back, but that wasn’t possible. Now he was even angrier and more frustrated than he ever was before.

It only took a look now for Michael to pick his next victim. He had stopped trying to hide his tirade of violence and blood, as well. In fact, it hadn’t become so out of place for a student to be leaving their class building and see Michael beating up some poor soul a few feet away.  

Everything made it very evident that he was his best self when he was with you and without you, he was his worst.

♔

It was considered almost a miracle when Ashton finally got Michael to leave his house, in the middle of the day and for a reason other than to go release his anger. And he got him to even go to the Quad, in the middle of campus. It felt like hell was freezing over.

Now, Michael didn’t do it gladly, of course. It took a lot of persuading and an eventual screaming match that resulted in Ashton physically pulling him out of the house. Michael didn’t crack a smile the entire way there. But he hadn’t been smiling much at all lately anyway. Instead, his gaze kept sweeping the area around them silently and while Ashton didn’t ask and he knew Michael would never admit it, they both knew he was trying to catch a glimpse of you. Anything that could make his cold heart finally start up again. But you were in class.

Ashton knew that because he had started keeping tabs on you. Both for Michael’s sake, looking out for you when he couldn’t, and for your sake, to keep Michael away from you because he didn’t want to see you go through the pain you seemed to relive every time you saw him.

Ashton kind of resented Michael for hurting you in the way he did. He had considered you his friend too, and it was hard to see you hurt. Of course he felt bad for Michael and he knew he would never have done it purposely, but you were such a light in his best friends’ life and to see it be gone, snuffed out by his friend’s own stupid actions made him want to shake Michael. Yell at him for sabotaging his own happiness.

But he didn’t. Instead he watched with barely hidden worry as Michael leaned his head back to rest against the brick wall behind him, holding the cigarette tightly in his hand, the smoke pillowing out of his lips in a rising cloud. His eyes were closed as if this was the only place he received contentment (that nicotine always provided him) recently.

Calum and Chris stood in front of him, their eyes flicking over to the silent Michael ever so often in nervousness, standing apart just enough to give Michael a clear opening to look at the Quad’s center. They were in the shaded part of the area, thanks to the building in the corner they were directly under. Ashton had invited them over just to give Michael more people to be around, he knew he needed it.

Even if Chris and Michael weren’t exactly friends and even if Michael tried everything to not look at Calum; his face reminded him too much of that night, of what he had done and what Calum had stood by and let happen. But he was too good of a friend for Michael to hate, especially when, at the end, the fault fell on Michael’s shoulders. So instead, they just stood silently.

Calum looked intimidating, even in his sweater, and short trimmed hair. He fit right in with Michael and even Ashton but even he eyed Michael with uncertainty. Unsure of what would happen with such a broken boy in front of him. Especially a boy that placed at least some of the blame on him. Not that he had any loyalties to you in the first place, he barely knew you. But still, even he felt a little off every time he saw you on campus. You had lost the bright aura you always carried with you, everyone could see it. Your wide eyed enthusiasm for the world was gone. But you still managed to give him a (now strained) welcoming smile every time you saw him.

So while he had met you only once or twice, he definitely felt a sort of guilt inside himself that his friend had been the one to snuff it out. Which, subsequently just made his own friend get worse in his temper and feelings.

Maybe if he had been more attentive he could’ve, should’ve, stopped it. But he didn’t see it happen. One minute he had gone to get a drink and stopped to chat up some girls, the other Michael was gone. He’d like to think he would have stepped in, snapped Michael out of it, spared you from the humiliation you went through because even he knew you didn’t deserve it.

Chris was the only one who stuck out like a sore thumb in the group. A part of him was excited that he was invited to be a part of such a select group but the other part cursed that Charlie was in class and he was left alone to handle such a sensitive and explosive Michael - and situation.

And that inner turmoil was obvious by Chris’ complete lack of understanding in what okay to talk about in front of Michael and what wasn’t. The topic of you, was definitely on the not okay list.

To be fair, Chris was hesitant to speak but he pushed through the nerves to talk. “Did you hear that Luke asked Y/N out yesterday?”

Ashton shut his eyes in dread at what his friend’s reaction would be and Calum delivered a sharp elbow to Chris’ side.

It was stupid of him to think it was okay to say that. But in his defense, the only real link between him and Michael had been you. So it was the only thing he could talk about with him, really. And that didn’t change even when you broke up just as his yearning to be Michael’s friend hadn’t changed either.

Michael’s eyes sprung open wide as if he had just been punched. “What?”

Ashton’s eyes silently yelled at Chris to shut up, to not say anything more because he knew that if he did, Michael wouldn’t be controlled. He had given you up but that didn’t mean he didn’t still love you, a love that could be deadly in order to protect you and keep you safe, even if he did it quietly so you didn’t realize it. A love that was still fiercely possessive over you because no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t imagine a present where you weren’t his.

Luke was everything he wanted to keep you away from. Especially now when you were at your most vulnerable, when he couldn’t be right there to protect you. A handsome football player that seemed to be stuck in his high school glory days, he was a slime-ball through and through. Rumors of his conquests weren’t like Michael’s, no his rumors were started through his brags and disgusting cat calls. Michael’s were earned. Luke was more well known for his borderline aggressive and down right misogynistic behavior with his prior ‘girlfriends'.

He seemed to have found a one-way rivalry in Michael, though he failed to notice that Michael couldn’t care less about him or his body count. But at the mention of his and your names together, Michael finally felt that burning rage that Luke always seemed to want to induce in him. He couldn’t imagine you, sweet and moral as you were, with someone that would treat you like trash, someone that didn’t deserve you. Though of course, who was he to judge when he obviously didn’t deserve you either, with how much he had hurt you in the end. His fingers all but crushed the cigarette in his hand.

Chris kept his eyes on Ashton, nodding in understanding and was going to stay quiet. Say nevermind and end it there but Michael had his dark, dangerous eyes set on him. “What did you just say?”

Michael was not to be ignored, everyone knew that and unfortunately, Chris was not Ashton, who was the exception. It was the first time Chris had heard that tone Michael was famous for, the threateningly low one that promised pain if ignored. So it was no wonder Chris chose to listen to him over Ashton.

Chris’ eyes were shaking when he answered, “W-well, they’re in the same physics class and I guess he’s been asking for her for help during class and he finally asked her to a movie yesterday.”

And there was Michael’s heartbeat, racing. His eyes flickered every which way, unsure of how to process that. In fact, his mind literally seemed to reject it. You couldn’t have said yes. Even if you knew how much it would hurt Michael, you wouldn’t have. Right? He couldn’t handle it if he destroyed you so much, destroyed your self-worth so badly that you would say yes to be with someone even worse than he was. You were always out of his league. Now, without him, you deserved the world, the happiness Michael couldn’t give you, not to find someone so below your league it was a whole different ball game.

Michael’s mouth ran dry at the thought of you on a date with that bastard who was only doing it to get under his skin. And it was working. Luke Hemmings was finally achieving what he always wanted, to hurt Michael as much as possible - to win.

He could imagine your trusting smile and modest eyes soaking up all the bullshit lies he would throw at you to convince you he was a good guy. His heart constricted at the thought of his hands on you, wrapping themselves around your body like only his were meant to, his words that would surely offend you more than making you feel complimented, ignoring your thoughts and opinions that had always meant the world to Michael (in fact not much mattered more to him). The way he would completely disregard your boundaries and fail to give you the respect you deserved because that was just the way Luke was with women, controlling and dismissive.

It might’ve been luck or it might’ve been the universe’s cruel way of finally making karma catch up with Luke and all his sins. But just as Michael felt like he couldn’t deal with what he was just told, Luke himself walked across the Quad.

Two of his friends trailed behind him, both of them wearing similar shirts declaring which Athletic Department they were a part of. Luke’s blond hair was done up in a quiff and his blinding, charming smile hid well the fact that he was a bad person with an even more tainted heart than Michael.

Michael saw them first, staring at the leader, Luke walking just a few steps ahead of the others. As his eyes followed him, like a predator would look at a prey, he thought about his options. If you had said yes (his heart prayed for the first time in his life that you didn’t), and he beat Luke up, he knew it would hurt you. And Michael didn’t want to hurt you more than he already had. He could put aside his pride for you.

But Luke made the choice for him. And he made it extremely clear.

Luke’s eyes met his and his smile turned into a full blown grin. One filled with taunting malice. His hand went up in a faux friendly wave. “Michael, my man! Asked your girl out yesterday, don’t worry I’ll take real good care of her.” He was practically yelling to make sure Michael heard. He had stopped walking and now stood directly in front of Michael, granted several yards away, right dab in the middle of the Quad. “I bet she’ll be able to take it like a pro too, might have to break her in a bit though.”

He was laughing and his friends chuckled beside him.

Ashton shot his hand out, “Michael don’t.”

But it was too late. Michael had thrown his cigarette to the ground, stomping on it as he began striding angrily towards the smug blond.

It only took a few steps before Michael was close enough to grab the collar of his shirt and punch him square in the face. And once he got that first punch in, he didn’t stop. Punch after punch after punch. He didn’t stop when he felt the blood on his hands and he didn’t stop when he felt the hands of Luke’s friends try to pry him away.

Luke disrespected you. He felt disgusted at the way he sexualized you, like you were nothing but a hole to fuck. When you were Michael’s life, when you were goodness personified, someone who only saw the good in everyone even after the world, and Michael, disappointed you so much. You deserved to be praised, adored.

“Don’t you ever talk about her again. Don’t ever disrespect her like that, you piece of fucking shit.” His angry screams sounded through the now silent Quad.

And then it was the images Luke had planted in his head that bothered him. The thought of your small tight body underneath Luke, moaning his name, blushing beautifully as you made all the small noises you made during sex that he loved so much, calling him daddy, being submissive and letting him do whatever he wanted to you, degrade you, like you always let Michael do, giving yourself to such a piece of shit.

He didn’t want to imagine you that way with anyone but especially not with Luke. The fact that Luke thought he even deserved to talk to you let alone have sex with you. Michael wasn’t ready to think of you moving on in that way, letting someone else have you in a way only Michael had had you before, in a way Michael had planned only he would ever have you. No one knew your body like he did, he had taught you everything and he couldn’t imagine you using that with anyone else. You knew exactly how to please him. Only he knew your body, knew what you liked. No one else. His possessiveness had taken over him.

“She’s mine, you’ll never get to have her like that. You don’t…..deserve……her.”

Each bone crunch that his fists caused wasn’t enough to satisfy his anger like it usually was with others. No, each time he heard Luke’s pathetic sounds, he only got angrier. His fists punched his cheek, his nose, his stomach. Anywhere and it wasn’t enough. He wanted more. He wanted to get those imagines, those thoughts out of his head. He wanted you to have said no. He wanted Luke to never even look at you again. He wanted you back in his arms, with him.

You were his. You were still his. Even though he didn’t deserve to think that.

He had ruined that. And that just made him angrier, punch harder. Maybe if he hit Luke enough, all of his regrets would finally stop haunting him. His frustration and self destruction driving him now.

Ashton’s hands were in his hair as he watched his best friend. He watched as Michael kept punching, leaning down further as Luke’s body lost more and more energy, slouching him closer to the ground. His face was almost completely covered in blood.

“He’s going to kill him.” Those were the words he’d always feared he would end up saying.

A few professors had come out of the woodworks, moving closer, calling out for Michael to stop, as if he cared about authority, and of course, to no avail. One professor, a short psychology professor, attempted to pull Michael off but Michael was stronger and just pushed him away.

Ashton didn’t dare try to stop him himself. He was Michael’s friend but Ashton knew his limits and Michael was way beyond his. There was no doubt in Ashton’s mind that he would get beat up quickly if he tried to step in and stop Michael, especially from beating up someone that dared talk about you. Everyone knew when you started dating that you were off limits, you were Michael’s limit. No one was to talk about you, be mean to you, or say anything even resembling degrading to you or they would face Michael. It was the one thing that made him angrier than anything else, even more so if they were to directly attack him. It was a type of anger that didn’t seem to end or be quenched by anything. The rule still applied even well after your breakup. It was worse now, coupled with the anger and turmoil of losing you. Ashton couldn’t number the amount of kids Michael had pummeled after hearing your name spoken in a ridiculing or perverted manner after the break up became well known.

When Michael was beyond his limit, there was no telling what he was willing to do. It was like he had become blinded by rage. He wouldn’t hesitate to fuck everyone up that was in his way.

Well, not everyone.

Ashton cursed under his breath, digging out his phone quickly to find the schedule of the one person that he’d been secretly looking out for, the one person that could stop Michael, if you were up for it. But if it meant you could help someone while simultaneously keeping Michael out of jail for murder, he didn’t doubt you would be. You were too good of a person to say no. Even after everything.

He was still looking down at his phone, ignoring the disgusting sounds of Luke yelling through the gurgling blood in his throat and Michael’s angry grunts only a few yards away when he ordered Chris and Calum. “Try to keep him from killing Luke, okay? I’ll be right back!”

He was running when he called back to make sure they got it, “Stall him!”

He’d gotten your class building and room but to find you and get you there was a race against the clock. Or against Michael.

♔

The whispers that followed you were haunting.

They were worse than the whispers that happened when you and Michael first got together. Because now most of the time, people were talking more about Michael than about you so they didn’t bother to quiet down when you entered the room or walked past.

Instead, you were forced to listen to students and professors alike talk about your boyfriend, or ex-boyfriend now. It felt like you couldn’t have a minute of peace without hearing his name and remembering what he had done to you.

“It’s gotten so bad and no one can calm him down. He used to be a lot more restrained, wonder what happened.” You heard as you entered your small recitation classroom. One of the girls next to you had turned her entire body back to talk to her friend. She was talking animately while her friend listened coolly.

The blonde girl shrugged easily, “I don’t know but he’s literally so scary. Have you seen him walking around campus? He looks like he wants to kill someone all the time. One time I saw him push a girl out of his way. Can you imagine?”

You closed your eyes, willing any and all images of Michael to leave your mind. You knew from experience that many of the rumors of Michael’s angry and aggravated actions were just that: rumors that served to vilify him even more. But you also knew by how much you knew him, that a lot of them were true.

You never saw what everyone else spoke about, though. But you knew Michael’s new actions were a common occurrence just by the sheer amount you heard about it, everywhere. You sometimes wondered if he purposely acted out where he knew you wouldn’t be, to keep you from having to see that violence that he never liked you to be a part of when you were dating.

A part of you felt bad for him because you knew this out of control anger had emerged because you were gone. Especially when he had been trying so hard and working to manage his anger better. And you hated yourself for feeling that way.

You hated that you were the one who felt bad for him, that a part of you wanted to go back to calm him down like you knew you could. Because he was the one who fucked up, who took your heart and stomped on it. But you couldn’t help but know that you were the one who helped ground him and his emotions a lot of the time when you were still together. You knew this outburst was at least partially because you weren’t there anymore.

The worst part was why did you want to help him? You wanted to be with him, you wanted to help soothe his anger and his hurt behind that. It hurt to know he was in pain, to know that, even though you knew he cheated on you, he must’ve felt at least something. He wasn’t completely heartless to your pain. Maybe he had loved you enough to at least regret it. He was making it obvious.

If it wasn’t by how long he had tried to talk to you, gone out of his way just to catch a glimpse of you, it sure was by how he had lost control without you, how his emotions were all over the place with regret and longing for you. But that too stopped after a while. Part of you was thankful for it, you could finally put him behind you, but the other part was hurt even more now that he was giving you the opportunity to forget him. But how could you do that so easily when you had spent so much of your years loving him, seeing a part of him no one else did. The kind, accepting, loving version.

You weren’t sure how much of it was real love and regret and how much was from being caught and losing just a constant in his life he was used to having, a comfort. Any benefit of the doubt and patience that you usually gave Michael had dried out.

Even if it was real, it wasn’t enough to erase what he did, erase your memory of it.

The girl was still ingrained in your thoughts. Michael had made it quite clear that he resented her or maybe associated her with his mistake that he hated so much to remember, avoided all whispers of her name, her face. Avoided her like the plague since then. Even went as far as to warn everyone that mentions of her were to be met with pain, and a lot of it. At least that was what the rumor mill had brought you. You didn’t know who she was and while, at the center of Michael’s wrath, she decided to stay silent, underground and pretend nothing happened, you couldn’t forget. She knew you were dating Michael, everyone on campus did. But she didn’t care and she chose the moment Michael didn’t either.

He didn’t respect you enough, didn’t give a regard to the consequences, what you could have felt in the aftermath. Maybe because he had never intended for you to find out. You had always been okay with his past but maybe that was just a naivety of your part, one he took advantage of. You wondered just how long he had been betraying you while you followed along like being pulled on a string. Maybe that was what had him so messed up, he had still wanted to keep you along for the ride. Just a toy to pick up when he didn’t have other plans. Maybe the Michael you knew wasn’t the real Michael. Just an illusion he wanted you to believe to keep you around.

You hated yourself for still loving him. Despite everything your mind was conjuring up about him, images and thoughts that clashed so violently from the Michael you had known. You still remembered how much he meant to you, how beautiful your relationship was, full of love, protection, acceptance and opening each of you up to new parts of yourself, more adventurous and centered parts. Tainted only by the giant gash at the very end.

You were tainted with it as well. And not in the titillating way Michael had always promised to corrupt you with during sex. No, now, you weren’t the bubbly life loving girl you had been since before you met him. Now you were irreparably different. Life felt gray, as if nothing was what you thought it was. If the man you thought was the love of your life, the one you trusted everything to (including your love and your life), the one you would have been willing to marry, to mother his children, betrayed you in such a painful and humiliating way, what was stopping the rest of the world from doing the same.

The worse thing was that he had given you ever indication of being just as equally devoted to you. How could a man that had been planning so many beautiful things for the two of you end up being such a cheater, a liar?

The relief you felt when your strict TA waltz into the room, forcing the girls into silence was unmeasurable. In fact, you were almost happy to learn about calculus and have only that occupy your mind for the remainder of the hour.

But it seemed like the world didn’t want to give you that happiness, especially when the door behind you was yanked open. The whole class jumped in surprise and swiveled around.

You wished you hadn’t when you turned and saw an out of breath Ashton, grabbing onto the doorway in a sort of panic you’d never seen on him before. His curly hair bounced dramatically as he stepped inside the room.

Even your TA was silent, confused as to what exactly was going on.

Ashton’s eyes search the rows of desks before his gaze finally landed on you. He had definitely ran there as his words came out breathless. “Y/N. I…..I need you to….come…” He leaned forward, his hands on his knees as he tried to even out his breathing. “I need you to come with me right now.”

Your eyes watched him, unamused. You hadn’t seen him since the breakup and you couldn’t deny the hurt you felt at him icing you out, as if you were the villain for breaking it off with Michael and sending him into a spiral of hurt and regret. Especially when you had considered him your friend as well.

“Ash, I’m kind of busy right now.” You gestured to your almost frozen TA at the front of the classroom, standing in front of the whiteboard.

But Ashton was already shaking his head, “No, you don’t understand. Michael, he’s-”

At the sound of Michael’s name, everyone turned away from Ashton and towards you, staring at you in awe. You were Michael’s ex-girlfriend, the one who broke up with him and had started his reign of terror on the campus. The one who made it scary to even just walk to class without the fear of getting beat up or threatened.

Ashton, for his part, looked like he was shaking with how almost afraid he looked. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. What was going on?

You shook your head before he could finish, just the sound of Michael’s name had your breath catching. “Ashton, we broke up. I don’t want anything to do with whatever he’s is involved in.”

Ashton looked at the pleadingly door like he was debating if he should just carry you against your will. You were the only one who Michael would listen to, he knew that.

“Michael’s about to kill Luke.”

You blinked, your blood running cold. “What?”

“He’s beating him up at the Quad right now, he’ll only listen to you, you know how he is.”

You knew Michael was mad, that he was hurting, but you never thought it would get to this point. And that feeling of sadness for the man you had cared so much for just spread further.

You were silent for a moment. Unsure if it was that you couldn’t process what you were being told or if you didn’t know what to say.

“Y/N we have to hurry before he does something he’ll regret. I can’t let my best friend ruin his life…again. Please. I know he fucked up - he’s been suffering because of it - but he loves you and you know that, he’d do anything for you. Please.” Ashton was talking fast but none of it registered in your mind.

Because as soon as you understood the gravity of the situation, the very real possibility that Michael had lost himself so much that he could do something he couldn’t take back, you were up. You got up off of your seat quickly, running to Ashton and, when he ran out of the room, guiding you to wherever Michael was, you ran after him too. You didn’t think, you left all your stuff, you left your TA yelling out your name. All that was going through your mind was Michael.

The fact that this would be the first time you saw him in months was very present in your mind. But the dominant thought was his angry face, hitting someone without pause just like you’d seen multiple times before but this time, so much worse. Because this time he had nothing to lose.

You hated yourself a little for caring so much. After what he had done to you, you should hate him. But you tried to convince yourself that you did and that you’d do this for anyone, it was the right thing to do. It was for Luke’s sake too, save him and his health.

But as you finally reached the Quad and saw the back of Michael’s looming figure, it was hard to deny the increasing thumping of your heart beat, the way your breath was taken away at seeing him again. In all his glory.

From afar he looked great. His arms were toned, decorated perfectly with his tattoos, that still made your cheeks flare up in a light blush. He looked as gorgeous as always. In fact, you would’ve appreciated him and his appearance a lot more if his muscles weren’t flexed due to the current beating he was delivering to the boy in your physics class.

If Ashton hadn’t told you it was Luke, it might’ve been hard to recognize him with all the blood. And the fact that he was basically lying on the ground, held up only by Michael’s tight grip on the boy’s shirt.

The sight stopped you cold. You saw everyone else in the Quad, frozen and staring, at the fearsome sight as well.

You’d seen Michael being violent, but Ashton was right to be panicked, you’d never seen it be this bad. Maybe you had a little do to with that; you hated violence and would preach peace religiously, especially to Michael (though he never quite understood your position, he definitely respected it enough to restrain himself). Could this outbreak really be because of your break up? Was he really this uncontrollable without you? A part of you couldn’t imagine him caring so much about something he caused that it would drive him to this point.

But the evidence was right in front of you. As Michael’s face was scrunched up in pure fury and as professors and students alike yelled out his name to no avail. Nothing was stopping him. The only thing that was restraining him from fully exploding was a very strong Calum grabbing around his shoulder blades pulling him back and successfully slowing the assault down as much as possible while Ashton arrived. It wasn’t much, just slowed Michael down but it was enough to possibly stop a tragedy.

You had no idea what Luke could’ve possibly done to him to cause this. They’d had a few run ins before but Michael never seemed to take an interest in him, let alone allow himself to be bothered by his existence.

Ashton stayed behind you and you realized that you were meant to do something. But as you watched the much bigger, both physically and in authority, people surrounding Michael, unable to do much of anything you weren’t sure what. What were you meant to do? Especially as the ex-girlfriend who he obviously didn’t have much respect for. Not enough to stay loyal to anyway.

You took a few timid steps forward, still really unsure of what your purpose was. A part of you felt stupid for running to him as soon as he needed help, when he never even asked for you. What if he didn’t even want to see you?

But as you stared at the violent scene in front of you, you had to do something. You felt sick at it, there was no good in violence even in anger and you knew that wasn’t a feeling Michael reciprocated but when you were together, he had at least started to adopt similar thoughts. He always stopped when he was going too far. But perhaps that was more for your benefit than it was his beliefs. It was hard to believe someone you loved so deeply was capable of being violent to this point.

“Michael!” You yelled out, loud enough for him to hear you over the other voices and his own angry, incomprehensible yelling.

It was magical, almost, how quickly all of his actions stopped. How he froze up at the sound of your voice. You could hardly believe you were the reason, the one who held that power over him.

But it was undeniable as he let go of Luke abruptly, causing the poor guy to drop to the ground with no strength to hold himself up.

Even the professors next to Michael stared at you, wide-eyed. Unsure of how this short, scared looking girl managed to stop the angry giant in front of them. You were just as surprised as they were.

That surprise quickly turned into a deep set concern, one you couldn’t turn off no matter how much you wanted to, when Michael turned around. He turned slowly, almost as if he was afraid his ears had deceived him, given him something he had so desperately wanted to hear: your sweet voice saying his name again.

But it wasn’t a mistake. There you were, in front of him again. You looked gorgeous, though you always did to him. You were finally starting to wear colors again, a light pink dress with small cherries decorated over it. Michael’s heart constricted and his airway felt just a little tighter as he stared at you. You were actually there, for him.

You, on the other hand, furrowed your brows as you looked at Michael’s beautiful face. It was marred with blood (you weren’t sure if it was Luke’s or the blood from his knuckles) and the hints of frustration were still there, along with his red, tear rimmed, eyes. He looked tired, an almost ghostly pallor colored his face. It looked like he hadn’t slept well in weeks. You’d never seen him look this destroyed. You wished you didn’t feel that yearning to throw your arms around him, kiss him and make him feel better.

“Y/N…” Michael’s voice was hesitant yet gruff.

Then he moved forward, quicker than he had in a while, and enveloped you into a tight hug. He wrapped around your entire body and seemed to engulf you entirely. Your head was at his chest and you could feel him nuzzling his face into your neck as much as he could, inhaling your scent. He was finally touching your skin again and that alone let him feel connected to you. Reveling in everything he had been deprived of for months. He missed you so much.

He couldn’t even tell you everything he wanted to say. The million ‘sorry’s he had wanted to say to you since you walked out of his life, the ‘I love you’s were lost to the overwhelming feeling of gratefulness. Grateful that you were there for him, that you didn’t even go to check on Luke. No, the first thing you said was his name.

You, on the other hand, were frozen in his arms. You didn’t move, didn’t reciprocate the hug. In fact, you felt your lip start to tremble. You felt suffocated. Having him this close just reminded you of everything you had lost, everything Michael had thrown away. For a girl who he never even looked at again (he made a point of that).

Wiggling, you hoped he would get the message and let you go. But he was too mesmerized by the situation, wishing to never let you go again to notice. You had a small nagging sentiment that urged you to just let go, enjoy this moment. But the painful hurt that you still felt at just the thought of Michael had you pushing firmly against him.

This time he did loosen his grip on you, giving you opportunity to step back out of his arms. He didn’t want to, you knew it from the pained expression on his face, an expression that told you the last thing he wanted was to let you go.

“Y/N…” He started but your sharp eyes cut him off.

You looked much more sure of yourself than you felt. Your expression was stern and your voice was level. You were really proud of yourself for that.

“We’re over Michael. Don’t.”

How sad was it that even at your harsh words, he took solace in the fact that you had finally spoken to him. Your beautiful voice was finally being directed at him again.

And it was such a small thing compared to your sentence as a whole, but when you called him Michael, he felt a part of him break. Ever since your relationship had gotten serious, you called him Mikey. Such a cute little name for a boy that was anything but. If anyone else called him that, he would hate it and probably hurt the person saying it so they’d know just how much he hated it. But it was a nickname from you, something no one else called him. He’d come to love it just as much as he loved you, because it was something the two of you shared and embodied just how different Michael was with you. He was Mikey.

But it appeared he had destroyed that the moment he had destroyed the relationship.

Sure, you had called him by his full name plenty of times. But never quite with the betrayed and angry eyes, the ones that looked at him as if he was a stranger, as if he was a monster that brought nothing but destruction with him.

His heart felt like it was being constricted to the point where he was afraid it would burst. You walked directly past him without even looking twice at him, as if him having you so close to him for even just a millisecond didn’t kill him inside. He wanted to drop to his knees when you squatted down to check on Luke.

This wasn’t supposed to be happening. This shouldn’t have happened. He should’ve had you with him forever, loving each other for the rest of your lives; never worrying about you getting asked out by another man, always feeling loved and needed because that was just how you always made him feel, never missing you because you’d always be there and never feeling alone because all those feelings of abandonment and loneliness he used to feel had disappeared the second he met you.

“I’m so sorry…” He heard your chiming voice say down to Luke, your hands hovering over his face but not touching because of the amount of blood, you didn’t want to hurt him more than he already was.

Michael had to look away. Couldn’t handle seeing your worried eyes, your cutely concerned face directed to the jock. His entire body felt electrified with regret but he wasn’t sure if it was regret at what he had done to you or regret at having beaten Luke, because if he hadn’t, maybe Michael wouldn’t have to witness first hand you solidifying just how much he ruined everything. His entire body was slumped, drained of any energy and any anger he had moments ago. Now all he felt was a deep set longing and regret.

He didn’t think those feelings would ever go away. It felt like they were eating at him.

So when Ashton stepped forward, taking a hold of his shoulders, and began pushing him away; away from you, from the trouble he’d caused, the blood (and away from the responsibility as he knew no one would testify against him), he allowed it.

♔

Your fingers were tapping the edge of your phone nervously. You weren’t really sure what you were thinking, if you were at all. But you had sent the message anyway, forgoing any of your usual overthinking.

You flipped the phone over to illuminate your face in the dusk sky when you felt the vibration of a notification. You held your breath as you opened the text from the man you had been texting nonstop for months now; your sense of security and understanding.

justin

Are you sure? I thought you didn’t like parties much.

Your heart was beating out of your chest. He was right. You didn’t like parties and since Michael cheated on you, it had grown to a full blown hate. You didn’t tend to hate things, it wasn’t who you were. But every time you thought of what happened, the way Michael took a girl home from a party, the way he forgot completely about you because of it, there was no other way to describe the cold feeling pulsing through your body.

So when the invite to a frat party was airdropped to your phone, your first desire was to delete it, throw your phone across the room and cry (or scream, or both). But then you thought about it. Maybe facing the very thing that made you sick to the stomach, made you want to vomit, would be the closure you needed. It could help you finally get over the misguided love and care you still felt for the guy that broke your heart. Even if it didn’t, you were willing to try anything. Maybe you could finally get him out of your mind, get rid of the soft spot, the love you had for him once and for all. Maybe you’d finally be fully happy again, feel like yourself, then.

me

I don’t. But I think it might do me some good to go to one, especially right now. I know you don’t like that scene either but since you’re in town…do you want to come with me?

In town he was. He had flown down for the long weekend and a part of you wasn’t sure what to think about the fact that he had booked the flight right after you told him about what happened with Michael and Luke.

It wasn’t something you liked to think of much. It was jarring to finally see Michael again in that way. To see the man you had been with for so many years, the one you still loved, be so violent and aggressive. You’ve seen him mad, you’ve seen him fight before, but never to that extent. You couldn’t quite get Luke’s bashed face out of your head. You wondered exactly what Luke had done to deserve that, if anything, considering just how much more short tempered Michael had become. At least he was alright now.

It was also a little frightening to see the power you held over Michael, confusing as to why. Who were you to be able to stop him when no one else could, it wasn’t fair to feel as though you were important to him when he had shown you very vividly that you weren’t. That you were replaceable. It was scarier even to have been in his arms again. You hated the way your body betrayed you by longing for it so much, the way you felt instantly calm in his arms, never wanting to leave. The way you still loved him and wanted to go back to him. You pushed those thoughts away as deeply as you could.

When Justin told you all those months ago that you could text him for anything, you took it very literally. And it made you feel so accepted that he didn’t mind you texting him at 3 in the morning to rant about whatever was on your mind. It was what you normally would’ve done with Michael but it felt just as good to do it with Justin. Better even because your memories with the blond boy weren’t tainted. The kiss hadn’t made anything awkward because he was just that great of a guy to know it was something that you did when you weren’t in your right mind. Justin had given you a safe space, one where you could let out all your feelings without being judged or pitied. And you appreciated him for it.

Justin wasn’t one for parties, just like you. In fact, in high school, the two of you would often be together talking about exams, college and homework while the rest of your friends were out celebrating life. And neither of you minded one bit. You were still like that and you definitely knew he was as well. Which is why when his typing bubble came up, you were worried he would deny you and you would have to go by yourself. You’d have to face the shame of going to the scene of the crime alone.

justin

I’ll be right over.

You tried to ignore the fuzzy feeling that was erupting in you.

♔

Michael stared at Ashton incredulously.

“No, I don’t want to go to a fucking party.” He growled at the brown haired boy standing in the doorway of his dim room. He preferred to keep the lights as low as possible, if not off. The last time his room was fully lit was when you were in there. And he wasn’t quite sure he could take that piece of memory and replace it with this much lonelier reality.

Michael had sworn off parties and stopped drinking. In fact, he refused to even hear about it. No one invited him to parties or handed him drinks anymore either because they knew just how sensitive of a topic it was for him. It might’ve been misplaced anger. But it was there nonetheless. As much as he blamed himself, he blamed that culture for what happened. And he refused to be a part of it anymore. Especially when he couldn’t even pass by a frat or sorority house without being hit with the fact that you weren’t his girlfriend anymore and that the reason happened right there. He couldn’t even have a drink in his hand without wanting to chuck it across the room - preferably at someone’s head.

He wasn’t only on a party ban but also on a girl ban. It wasn’t something he was consciously doing but he couldn’t imagine doing anything other than that. And celibacy was not something Michael was used to doing, before or with you. But his body was physically rejecting any girl that came near him, anyone other than you. Not like he went out to find girls, in fact with the way his mind was constantly on you, remembering the good times (before everything went to shit), other women never crossed his mind. Michael only remembered that he was still attracting attention when they approached him and even then, nothing they said ever processed in his mind. All he saw was someone that wasn’t you and he moved along.

Ashton sighed, the only light coming from the living room behind him. He understood where Michael was coming from, he did. Which is why he never forced him to go anywhere, even if he thought it could cheer him up, just like this Epsilon party - his favorite. But after the thing with Luke, it had been hard to get him out of the house at all. It was like he was traumatized from the whole thing, he couldn’t even step on campus.

It had nothing to do with Luke, of course. In fact, when Ashton filled him in that you had in fact, not gone on a date with him, Ashton saw a look of relief on his friend’s face that he had never quite seen before. But it had everything to do with the feeling of drowning, suffocating, coming back after seeing you again; after seeing you and being frozen out of your forgiveness and love. He really fucked up.

Ashton considered his next words. He didn’t want to give his friend false hope, only for it to be snuffed out again. But he knew Michael wouldn’t get up off of his bed if he didn’t, he would stay in that position, listening to angry, sad music alone until he fell asleep and was able to dream of you, dream that everything was like it used to be. He needed out of the house and to confront his sins, instead of wallowing in them.

“Y/N might be there.”

He’d never seen Michael sit up as fast as he did then. And all his hesitancy in giving Michael false ideas had gone to waste, it was evident in the way his face lit up, the way his eyes had the far away look that showed all the what-ifs running through his mind.

“How do you know?”

“Cal invited her.” Ashton murmured, hoping that if he spoke soft and slow, then Michael’s hope might pop, he might come back to reality. “It’s at his frat, Epsilon so he sent her the flyer. I’m pretty sure he said she was interested.”

Michael was already standing up, “What are we waiting for then.” He could put aside his aversion to parties, especially greek life parties for you. He’d do it because of you. If it meant he could see you again, talk to you. Maybe even be able to beg for forgiveness like he’d always wanted to. Like he had been unable to fully do after the fight because he had been too stunned by your presence, at having your beauty in front of him again. It had rendered him too useless to even think.

Ashton struggled to find the right words when Michael pushed past him in the doorway and headed to the front door.

“Right…but, dude, remember she still probably won’t-”

“Don’t say it.” Michael didn’t stop walking but his words were warning. His tone didn’t pack the usual punch though, it was too tinged with choked back sadness to be as threatening as he wanted.

He glanced down at his phone, didn’t unlock it, just stared for a moment in silence. Ashton wished he didn’t see the flash of Michael’s phone before he put it in his pocket, didn’t see your smiling face reflected back at him. Maybe then he wouldn’t have a pit in his stomach at what exactly he was taking his friend to and bringing to you. More heartache?

♔

Michael’s heart was beating a million beats per minute. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt nervous but this was definitely it. Just the thought of seeing you again just for you to brush him off, say you were over him, for you to have finally figured out you were too good for him that entire time. All of that was enough for him to want to go back home, try again some other time. Because he didn’t know if he could handle you not forgiving him and finally losing you for good.

He didn’t care about the calls of his name as soon as he entered the room. He slipped right past Calum who had waited up front to greet Ashton and Michael. He had one goal in being there. To find you. Everything else was irrelevant

He just didn’t expect to find you against the wall, a drink in your hand and Justin standing in front of you, talking to you animately. In the same position you and him had been in multiple times. Justin was leaning down so you could hear him better; the music was so loud. Your lips were slightly parted, your big eyes sparkling like they used to when you looked at him as you nodded at whatever the blond boy was saying to you.

You looked beautiful. You were wearing the short, white dress that contrasted so beautifully with your skin tone. The one he always said made you look like an angel. The one he loved to fuck you in especially, to really solidify him taking away that pureness. But now you didn’t wear it for him.

Michael was already broken hearted. But nothing compared to the feeling of his heart being ripped out of his chest when he saw you with the one man Michael had always felt insecure next to. The one you knew so well, the one who was perfect inside and out and wanted you the same way Michael did though not nearly as intensely and deeply. He hated the blond boy. Why did he always have to be around?

To add insult to injury, Michael watched with frozen horror as you raised the alcohol to your lips and sipped. Your face scrunched up at the taste so at least it hadn’t become a vice of yours. But still, you had slipped into something you never wanted to before. Even if it was just to give you the extra push to let loose, to give you the comfort in a setting that brought you so much pain. Michael pushed you to do something you had been so against. His sweet pure girl. It was his worse nightmare, being such a bad influence in your life. But he had succeeded. And he felt like everything was wrong in the world.

Michael felt a bad taste in his mouth as he saw Justin move closer, too close, so he could whisper in your ear. He wanted to rip off the hand he had on your bare shoulder. When he saw your red cheeks, he wanted to kill something. Your blush was one of Michael’s favorite parts about you, it made your already cute and innocent face look even more so and it did wonders for Michael’s libido and ego, a fact you were very much aware of. A fact that was still true now, even if it wasn’t directed to him. No now, you were blushing for him. For the man that Michael had to fight against in order to keep his relationship in the first place. You had rejected Luke but now it was Justin in front of you. Had he just pushed you back into the rich boy’s arms? Did he give him a free space to finally win your heart?

The bastard was too much of a pussy to even keep that stupid drink away from you like he knew you wanted. He couldn’t protect you like Michael could.

His only solace was when he finally watched Justin move away from you. He watched with jealous eyes as he rounded a corner to find a quiet place to take a call. His phone was already at his ear and his free hand covered his other ear to help him hear the line better.

Michael hadn’t even moved when Ashton and Calum came up beside him, patting his shoulder. “We got you, bro.” And then they followed Justin out of the room, giving him the security that they would buy him some time.

His heart accelerated again, coming alive. Here was his chance, you were alone, right in front of him and he had all the time in the world. But if he didn’t move now, he might lose you forever to the persistent man you came with.

♔

It was so hot.

You weren’t sure if it was the amount of people in the packed house or the drink in your hand. Granted, you’d only taken a grand total of 2 sips and while you definitely figured out it was not for you, the ability of it to help you forget your misfortunes was still to be determined. You were sure it was because you weren’t drunk, if just a bit buzzed, but you had no intention of getting to that level anyway. So for now, it would just be a decoration in your hand.

You touched your cheeks a little after Justin left. They felt burning and you had no doubt you were blushing wildly. More than half of it had to be because of Justin. He was standing so close with those kind blue eyes. He made it so easy to forget.

“Y/N.” But it was impossible to forget completely when you were always within the same campus as the man you were trying so desperately to get out of your head.

It was disheartening the way your stomach dropped at his voice. Especially because this could only mean one thing, he was still partying. Even after what he did, he was still attending, still finding other girls probably. While you were trying hard to forget, he had already forgotten you.

You felt your lips quiver and your ears burned with heat and humiliation by the time he stood in front of you. You were backed into a corner already so there was no way to escape. That didn’t stop your eyes from looking around you from some sort of exit, for Justin to come back, anything. As if his body didn’t block the majority of your eyesight.

So you were forced to just look up, your neck craning to fully look at him. You’d almost forgotten how tall he was, you had stood so far away from him at the Quad it didn’t give you the time to fully appreciate his height.

He looked just as different as he looked at the Quad. His hair was a mess, as if he had just gotten up from bed. Deep purple circles ran alongside the bottom of his eyes from lack of sleep.

But, wearing a black bomber over a black t-shirt, his silver chain contrasting perfectly against the dark fabric, he still looked great. And then you saw them. The tattoos encircling his entire neck were shadowed just right so you could appreciate their dark colors. Then one of his hands moved, allowing you to fully see the artwork that traveled from the edge of his sleeves to the edge of his finger, the ones that drove you especially crazy. Particularly when they were holding your much smaller hand gently, so different from what would be expected. Or when they were around your neck.

You blamed the alcohol for how your body stiffened, a pooling of wetness between your legs. Had it really been that long, were you really so sex-deprived that even just a look at him had you horny? He really had corrupted you. Before, you didn’t think of sex much but you’d gotten too accustomed, spoiled, with the way he made you feel, something that happened so often that just a few months without had left you feeling more lonely than ever.

His eyes explored your face, trailing especially onto your full pink lips before they met your eyes. It was like a trance you were both in and you weren’t completely sure you were breathing.

He took the gross cup from your hands, tossing it aside as if it didn’t contain liquid.

“Who the fuck gave you that?” His words were so familiar and for a moment, you could almost imagine that nothing had happened. That he was still the protective boyfriend you loved so much. “You don’t drink.”

Normally the drink would never reach your hand, Michael would make sure of it. He always wanted to preserve your innocence from any hard substances he partook in. But Justin was just as out of his element as you were, just as nervous. So when you were handed a drink, Justin didn’t do anything to stop it besides looking at you nervously. You wished you didn’t feel the bit of disappointment at just how different he was from what you wanted, from Michael.

The trance was broken as soon as he lifted his hand to your face, to touch your cheek like he had always done without question. But this time you pulled your head back before his fingers could touch your skin.

“Don’t touch me.” Because you were still very aware what him being there meant. The humiliation and betrayal he caused you was still a very fresh wound.

You wished you could take pleasure in the pained look that flashed across his face. His face dropped, much like it did in the Quad, and settled in your neck. He wasn’t touching you but this was his only chance to get you to listen and he wasn’t going to throw it away. Right then, it felt like his entire future was hanging on by a thin strand. He didn’t care what he looked like to anyone watching, didn’t care if he looked weak or whipped. He’d go down on his knees to beg for you back if that’s what it took.

You were blushing again as soon as you felt his breath on your skin. You had to close your eyes and force yourself to breathe, otherwise the breath would be stuck in a knot at your throat.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered so only you heard, his voice was dripping with sincerity. It almost sounded sad. “I was drunk and I thought it was you. I would’ve never….fuck, if I was conscious enough to know, it wouldn’t have happened. It meant nothing. She was nothing. I love you so much, baby girl.” He felt you flinch at the name. “I love you. Too much to do that knowingly and too much to want to. You’re it for me. I know I fucked up, but I’m sorry.”

He repeated his love for you as if there wasn’t enough times that he could say it that would come close to encompassing just how much he did. His heart was thumping so hard he was sure you could hear it. He inhaled your scent, taking pleasure at being so close to you after so long. He finally felt at home again, his heart and body felt like they were buzzing with electricity. You made him feel alive.

“That’s not an excuse.” And then his heart deflated in a way only you had the ability to make it. “If you couldn’t handle your alcohol, that’s your fault. It doesn’t matter if you love me if the way you act the minute I’m not beside you shows the complete opposite. When I did nothing but support and love you, when I was fine even when I knew that you had screwed half of the girls on campus, I trusted you even then. I didn’t deserve that. You humiliated me, Michael, to the entire campus. You betrayed me. I’m not sure you know what love is. Because you’re not the man I thought you were.”

You pushed him away at that point and took solace in the way he let himself be pushed away. Now there were a good couple inches between you and you finally felt like you could breathe again, the fuzziness in your mind at having him so close was fading slowly. Your quick heartbeat, which had started racing the moment he said I love you again, three little words you thought you’d never hear again from his mouth, was still going hard.

Your eyes were watering over, tears threatening to fall but your face screamed anger. The anger you had felt for months finally letting out. But it was an anger mixed with a sad frustration which couldn’t be taken out of your expression. And that was what hurt Michael the most.

Seeing you look so in pain, so broken when all you deserved to be was happy and loved. He had done this. But even when his heart stuttered as he looked at you, he wanted nothing more to hug you, kiss the pain the away. He was selfish. Too selfish for you. But he loved you too much to let you go. You were the best thing thats ever happened to him, the best thing in his life.

His hand moved again, this time, taking a hold of your upper arms. He only meant to hold you, test the waters to see if maybe his touch could bring you back to him. But he didn’t expect the gasp that escaped you as soon as his cool fingertips grazed along your warm skin. Michael watched with wonder as your eyes widened and your blush deepened. You were a goddess.

A goddess with a reaction that Michael knew more than well. Michael watched you carefully, the way your teeth caught your bottom lip, the way your pressed your thighs together as you attempted to step back. He had missed the way your body reacted to him. How could he have ever mistaken you when you were so obviously awe-inspiringly beautiful and magical to watch unfold. Just watching you was enough to get him off.

Sex was what got him in this mess in the first place. But it was also the one thing he knew you would still want him for, need him for. And he was desperate enough to fill in that role, even if it would just result in more hope and heartbreak for him, even if, for you, he would only act as a means to an end. Anything to have you in his life for a little while longer. Anything to hold back to inevitable and nonreversible separation you no doubt wanted. He would take what he could get.

He had said to you once that he would ruin you for all men so that eventually you would always need him, always run back to him, even if it was only to get off. Neither of you had expected to get to the point where it would come true. But here you were.

Michael knew you so well, knew what you liked, what you reacted for. So it was no big surprise when he closed the gap between you two, pushing you against the wall with his lips directly at your ear, taking advantage of your state.

“Missed you, little one.”

The way he ducked down, the way his hands were trapping you in place. Everything made you feel so small, so dominated that you couldn’t help the whimper that escaped your mouth. And he loved it too, seeing your small frame so tiny and fragile, helpless. His for the taking, his to break. His.

You hated feeling this weak in front of him but it’d been too long, you needed it, you needed him. Because no matter how much you hated him at that moment, there was no doubt that no one could make you feel as good, as satisfied as he could. Not that there was anyone else you trusted or loved enough to try.

“You’re still so good for me, bet your body has missed me, missed my cock. Do you remember how good it feels?” You were sure he chose his words carefully. Saying what he knew had you weak to the knees so you couldn’t deny him.

Michael watched your small figure, looking up at him with innocently hungry eyes. His hand on your arm trailed tantalizingly upward and downward. Your skin burned wherever he touched. His other hand rested firmly on your hips, holding you as if you would disappear if he loosened his grip. All he could think was that he was actually touching you again. It was like he could breathe for the first time in a long time.

But this was wrong. You were giving in and you could feel your self control slipping from you. It was replaced with an urge to let him do whatever he wanted to you, to let out all your pent up emotions through one night that you knew would blow you away.

Michael’s eyes focused on your lips, his thumb moving up to them and this time you let him. His thumb played with your bottom lip while the rest of his fingers rested on your jaw. You felt his thumb move into your mouth superficially. Your gaze never left his as your tongue slid on the pad of his digit before he brought it back out, using it to drag your bottom lip down.

You were ethereal and he was nothing short of hellish. But it was the type of destruction you couldn’t seem to stay away from.

“It’s been so long, baby girl. I’ve wanted you for months, missed your tight little pussy taking my cock so well. Jacked off so much thinking about it.” Michael’s words were filthy, too filthy for a public party where the only thing between you and the rest of the partygoers was Michael’s large frame draped around you. In fact, you weren’t sure anyone could even see you as Michael’s broad shoulders covered you entirely. It just seemed as if he was standing hunched over nothing. That particular thought drew a moan out of your mouth.

“Bet you’ve been needy. My spoiled girl wanting to get her pussy wrecked by my big cock like you’re used to, but your fingers just don’t feel the same, do they?” Michael nipped at your neck slightly making you nod out desperately.

You’d missed this so much, the feeling of complete domination over you, the way he treated you so roughly yet lovingly at the same time. That feeling was complete when his lips found your neck while his hand came down to the base of your throat and squeezed. He didn’t kiss your neck, not yet, not without your words. But his lips feathered over your skin like a ghost, enough for you to just get a taste. Enough for you to want more.

“Come on, little one. Let me help. Let me make you feel good.”

Michael groaned out as he saw your blush deepened and one of his knees came up between your bodies, prying your legs open just enough for the fabric of his ripped jeans to touch your damp panties. One of his hands tugged sharply at your hair.

“M-Michael…” You couldn’t think straight. You were turned on in a way only he was able to do. All you could think was of his scent, the way his strong shoulders felt when your hands finally touched him for the first time in months. His muscles felt firm and powerful, the intimidating and possessive aura that seemed to scream at everyone to stay away was held there and as you squeezed them, feeling his body, the fire burning beneath your heart and your sex was scorching hot. You were clenching helplessly around nothing. You needed him.

But then you saw him, the boy you had come to the party with. The one you had invited. The one who had stayed by your side and cared for you. Justin was staring at you with wide eyes. His hand was in his ruffled hair, unsure of what to do or say as he watched you come undone just by Michael’s presence. Calum was right behind him, flustered at having him slip away.

It was almost shameful to think of what you must look like to him. Weak, desperate, lustful, submissive. You felt bad, even after everything, you were choosing Michael again. Even after Justin comforted you, even after that kiss. And he had front row tickets this time. Your face burned as you breathed out for Michael to stop.

Michael moved away, his focus entirely on you, his large hand entwining in yours as he pulled you back from against the wall. “Let’s go.”

Your heart was stuttering when you stared at Justin. There were so many mixed emotions in your mind. You were desperate for Michael at that point, if you hadn’t been gazing at Justin’s hurt face, you would’ve left without question. But Justin was there and worse he was there for you. You were the one that invited him, you were the one who took him out of his own life so he could be there for you. And now you were abandoning him for the guy that hurt you in the first place.

You hoped your eyes translated all the regret you felt at how you were making him feel at the moment. You didn’t meant to play with his feelings or lead him on, in fact you were sure your own feelings were starting to be messed with in the process. But you were too far gone to reject Michael, to think logically. You needed something only he could satisfy you with and you needed that gratification.

When you saw a small nod come from Justin, you almost sighed in relief. You didn’t need his permission but his understanding, or at least acceptance of what you were doing made you feel less guilty when you nodded up at Michael. Not for the first time were you struck with his beauty, he reminded you of danger in a way. But you weren’t scared. Instead you were letting him lead you wherever he wanted. His dark hair swept across his forehead perfectly. His deep eyes still stared at you with the same adoration they always had and the secretive smile that was only for you was still there as well.

It felt especially familiar when he pulled you into his side, wrapping one arm protectively around your shoulder, keeping you there and proudly showing off who you still belonged to, to the entire party. He knew that in the state you were in right then, the horny mess he had left you in, you wouldn’t resist. Michael was on cloud nine. He was finally getting what he wanted, had been desperately needing this whole time. You were back in his arms like you were always meant to be, where you belonged and after finally claiming you again, getting to feel your body again, you could finally listen to him, forgive him even. But you found it ironic; how you came to the party to get closure but you were leaving in his arms.

You didn’t miss the stares your little reunion was getting. It was no secret on campus the breakup had been messy, so messy Michael had become unmanageable. So to see your small figure right next to him again was surprising, even more so to see him looking so content in a way no one had seen him look in months.

The only thought that could make you feel less pathetic was the knowledge that this wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t mean anything. You weren’t docile, he was just a good fuck. Once you got it out of your system, once you got him out of your system, you could officially move on. Just one more night for the books. That’s what you told yourself at least.

♔

Michael pushed you against the corridor walls as soon as he closed the front door. He had his hand where your jaw met your neck, holding your face up to him. The chain around his neck dangled between you due to the height difference of him having to very much lean down and over to reach your lips. You were so small. But you fit so perfectly with him. The kiss was hot and heavy. It was mixed with everything: longing, regret, desperation and lust. He held your jaw still so he could control the pace and you were more than happy to let him. His tongue explored your mouth expertly and you moaned against his lips. You had missed him. He felt like he was in a dream, getting to kiss you again. You wished you didn’t still feel the completeness, the security you always felt with him.

“Missed you so much.” He said as he pulled away, pecking your lips once more before stepping aside. “You have no idea how much I love you, princess.”

Your breath was taken away at the sound of the loving nickname. You could almost cry at how good it felt to feel his love and sincerity again, coming right from his mouth. You had lost so much.

But you didn’t answer, you weren’t there to forgive him. So you didn’t. Instead you walked to where his door met the living room. He let you, following behind you closely but not without the setting of his jaw. But still, he couldn’t shake the disbelief he felt that you were finally back home. He was finally back home with you.

The house felt like you were coming back home. Everything was just as you left it, if not just slightly messier. It was bittersweet walking the familiar corridor to the living room.

That is where you stopped cold. The couch. The stupid couch.

There it was, the black, cracked old couch where Michael had cheated on you. It was still in the living room and you felt as you did when you first walked in on them. To think he didn’t even care enough to get rid of it. Probably sat on it everyday without even caring what happened on it. Physically recoiling, your mind cleared up just a bit to scream at you to leave. What were you even doing back there? Hurting yourself more.

You wanted to run, to go back home and cry your feelings out but you were frozen in place. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the sofa. You’d never hated an inanimate object more. You were humiliated all over again.

You didn’t realize you weren’t breathing until you felt Michael slide his arms around your body from behind. One of his hands moved down to hold your hand while the other arm was around your waist. You felt his upper body on you, his chest touching your back. You even felt his hardness poke your thigh. He hunched down enough to place his chin on top of your head. You didn’t want to be comforted, not by him. But you couldn’t help but close your eyes and take in a fresh breath at the security his embrace provided you.

“I’m sorry.” He repeated and you almost wondered if he was going to say anything beside that the entire night. “I’m going to get rid of it, I promise.”

You swallowed thickly, “I don’t care.”

His grip on you tightened and the butterflies in your stomach fluttered, “Don’t say that. I can’t even look at that thing without hating the memory of it.” His thumb drew circles on your hand, “I barely leave my room so I won’t have to pass by it.”

It felt like your heart skipped a beat. You could almost bring yourself to believe that he regretted what he did, that he ever loved you like he claimed. But you weren’t there for that.

So you stepped out of his grasp easily and moved to go into the room that you had come to know so well but had become nothing more than a memory. You had a feeling that, as you turned the lights on in his otherwise dark room, it was the first time in a while his room had been illuminated with light. His room was messy, strewn with cigarette buds on every surface, some blunts laid out in the open. Unidentified pills strewn every once and a while. You stopped looking after a while, it hurt too much to think of just what exactly he had been resorting to without you. You had used academics to take away the pain, Michael had evidently chosen a different route.

Michael did not miss a beat following you into his room like a lost puppy (a way he would only be like when following you), closing his door behind him in anticipation. He didn’t want to risk losing the mood, the spark that was currently burning bright between you two.

When you reached up and, by his neck, pulled him down to kiss you again, he let you. He let himself be guided back to his bed until he fell on top of you. Holding himself up with one hand, the other traveled down to push the straps of your dress off of your shoulders. A part of him wondered how hot it would be to fuck you in that dress, to see you coming undone for him in such a unblemished design. But he needed to see your body, see you bare and vulnerable for him after so much time.

And the sight was everything he remembered it being. The way you were so responsive to him, the small whines of pleasure leaving your kiss-plumped lips. His lips traveled down your familiar body, basking in the fact that you weren’t pushing him away but instead begging for more. You had gone home with him, you had abandoned Justin for him. He was feeling much like a starving man getting his first taste of satisfaction in a while.

“Who’s pussy is this?”

When you first felt Michael’s tongue on you, your back arched involuntarily, a gasp leaving your lips. It’d been so long. You had almost forgotten how good it felt, how good he was at everything. But your body hadn’t forgotten, it had been yearning for him and now that it had him back, you couldn’t help the way you reacted so easily to him.

“Yours, daddy” The words came to naturally to you even then.

Your words were a lot for him. You were submitting to him so beautifully in a way he wasn’t sure you would anymore. But you felt so blissful with him again, more than you’ve felt in a while, you couldn’t help it. To hear you call yourself his again had his stomach in flutters. He hadn’t lost you. Even more so to have you letting him dominate you like he deemed fit again.

You felt his tongue flick up your slit, between your folds. Vibrations sounded pleasurably as he moaned at your taste. He swirled his tongue around your clit as his open mouth encased it, sucking it at just the right moments that felt your eyes almost rolling back into your head.

Your moans were high pitched and desperate as you grabbed onto his dark hair and kept him right where he was. Not that he would’ve tried to stop anyway. He was at wonder with how good you tasted, your body’s sweet reaction to him, and how wet you were - for him. The bulge in his pants was infinitely bigger and more strained than it was before, if that were possible.

He wrapped his arms around your thighs, keeping your writhing form still so he could stay in between your legs. And it wasn’t something you wanted to be thinking about but seeing his tattooed hands and fingers around your own untouched skin, a sight you had missed so much for so long, had you whining, pushing your hips against his face.

Michael took his mouth off of you only for a second. Using his index and middle finger, he spread your lips to leave you completely exposed to him. In the way you only ever were with him.

His glance at you had you biting you lip, “You’re soaking, baby girl. I missed this cunt so much.”  

And then his lips were back on you. His tongue licked your hole and your back arched when he dipped inside you just a bit. But it was enough for you to be pulling at his hair roughly and for you to hear him hiss and curse out in pleasure at the hint of pain.

He teased your entrance just a bit longer before going back to your clit, nibbling it in the slightest way. And you wish you could have the decency to be embarrassed at how quickly you came all over his face afterward.

But you didn’t feel embarrassed. How could you when all he did was lick up your juices before coming back up to his full towering height over you, taking a hold of the back of your neck and smashing his mouth to yours. You tasted yourself as his tongue explored your mouth. Michael’s eyes were dark with his pupils almost blown out with the euphoria of not just having you back with him but having you just cum again because of him. It was like all his dirty fantasies he had dreamed of since the breakup, but this time he wouldn’t have to get off with his own hand, annoyed and alone. This time it was real.

His hand found its way your neck, choking you just so. Both on your knees, your smaller figure had to look up at him by craning your neck. He was still fully clothed while you were in front of him, completely naked. You felt one of his fingers prod your lips open and as he stared down at you, his hand squeezing your neck a little more, you knew what he wanted to see.

“You taste so good.” You opened your mouth easily, trying not to think of the way you were too turned on by what was going to happen. When he spit in your awaiting mouth, you saw him rubbing himself through his jeans at the sight of you swallowing. You were still his. “Dirty girl.”

His words, your submission, it was almost like nothing had changed. Your small hands even reached out and unbuckled his belt and seeing that, coupled with your shy eyes staring up at him, made him sigh in bliss as he helped you get his pants and boxers off.

His dick was harder than it had been for months and he almost forgot the feeling of your tight walls around him but he had definitely still remembered the overwhelming need to be inside you, to be connected with you in such an intimate way that he only ever experienced with you.

He wanted to cherish the moment as much as he could because he wasn’t sure what time would bring after it. But at the same time he wanted to completely ruin you, fuck you until your mind was only filled with his name, until you could barely walk, so much that you wouldn’t leave him, if only for the pleasure he brought you. And you made those dark needs easier with your innocent wide eyes and cute whines leaving your writhing body.

But it was as if the delicate moment was broken the minute Michael laid you down completely and moved on top of you, held up only by one of his hands. Both of you naked, you couldn’t help but stare up at him and only see what that other girl saw the night of the party. You thought only of the same words Michael was using with you tonight being directed to her. She experienced something that was only ever meant for you. And suddenly you felt dirty. His hands trailing up and down your body, the same ones that had felt the blonde’s body, felt as if they were burning you.

“Wait, stop.” You laid your hand on his shoulder before he could even start lining up to your entrance. And a part of your heart melted in appreciation when he did stop, without question. You had lost a great boyfriend that respected your boundaries, consent and wishes. But then you caught yourself. He lost you.

Michael’s eyes snapped to you immediately, looking for any sign of what he did wrong. An apology was already at his lips when your eyes started watering.

“I ca-I can’t. I’m only picturing what you did with…with her.” Michael felt his shoulders sag at the way his actions were breaking you apart, preventing you from even feeling the love he had always been able to translate through to you with sex. “This isn’t special anymore Michael, you-you gave this to another girl, I feel gross.”

But Michael was shaking his head, his eyes never leaving yours. He felt a sense of urgency and sadness strike in him. Sadness that the girl who he loved, the only one who has ever owned his heart more than even himself, felt like she wasn’t special. As if Michael didn’t need to breath you in to feel alive, to feel anything but the anger swirling in what seemed like a constant storm within him. And urgency to get you to see that he didn’t give what you and him had to anyone. No one has ever and will never experience what you experienced with him. How could they? Nothing feels right when it’s not with you.

He leaned as close as he dared, “I didn’t…I didn’t touch her or talk to her like I do when I’m with you. I’ve never done that with anyone else…I’m only like that with you. You’re the only girl I’ll ever show that side to because you’re my girlfriend, you’re the only girl I’ve been with that I love. No one else.” It was the first time you’d heard him stutter. You weren’t his girlfriend, not anymore. But you didn’t correct him.

You felt Michael’s lips on your neck, kissing right where your pulse was. One of his hands moved your hair out of the way gently and that felt more intimate than anything else you had just done. His lips trailed to your ear.

“It was only one time.” He continued and both of you cringed at that. Once or not, it didn’t matter and he knew it. The deep, soul wrenching regret he still felt was proof of it. But still he continued, “And it was a mistake, I regret it. It’ll never happen again. I fucking went soft halfway through because even when I was drunk out of my mind I couldn’t be like that with anyone but you. She’s nothing to me. I haven’t touched anyone else. I haven’t wanted to.”

It was hard for you to wrap your head around; that something that seemed so intimate and special to you, could mean practically nothing to him if it wasn’t with you.

Despite your best efforts to deny his effect on you, his affection had calmed you. Your breathing had evened but you still looked hesitant, “But you still go out partying…” You wished you didn’t sound so jealous when you said it. You wished you could even look him in the eyes.

He nipped at your ear, sending goosebumps down your arms. “I don’t. I only went tonight for you.”

Your eyes set on his at his confession. “You’re more than special.”

You weren’t sure you believed him, or if you even wanted to consider his words and their implications to everything you had thought was true during your breakup; was he actually just as in pain as you were all this time? It was such a break from what you expected him to be, the player who just saw you as another notch in his belt. Either way, your heart felt as if it fell still at the sincerity and intensity in his voice.

When you pressed your lips against his again, it wasn’t in forgiveness. It was a kiss that was more for you. Whether he truly believed it or not, you were going to make him see just what he had given up, just how irreplaceable you were. Because after years with him, you were no longer inexperienced, and you were Michael’s only girlfriend. He was able to teach you everything he liked, in vivid detail.

“Just fuck me.” You whispered through your heated kisses. You allowed his tongue to explore your mouth further as you moaned.

Michael had no issue giving you just want you wanted. How could he not with the way your naked body clung and rubbed deliciously against him. He had the sneaking idea that it was impossible not to be hard around you, constantly. He missed you so much.

He loved how easy it was to control your small frame, throwing you under him without much effort. He dominated you so easily. It was one of the things he most missed about you. The memory of your little body had been enough to get him off during the lonely nights but the real sight was so much better. He cherished the way you gasped slightly as your body bounced after being dropped.

He almost felt giddy as he ran his tip over your wet slit. But that couldn’t compare to the feeling of completeness he got when he finally slid into you raw. He was finally home. After so many months without feeling your pussy around him, he leaned over you as he groaned out. His hand had been nothing compared to this. It took a bit for you to take him in all the way. It’d been so long since he’s been inside of you, your body had grown accustomed without him.

You already felt so full of him when he was only halfway inside of you and he didn’t know what was hotter, the way your small body looked stuffed already with just half of his cock or the way you were still begging for all of it. He pushed fully into you, enjoying the way you mewled and pressed closer to him, finally being relieved a bit of the ache you’ve had since the break up. This was exactly what you needed. He was right, you would always need him to find that release.

It had been too long.

It was punishment to have forgotten just how it felt to be inside you, how tight you were, how you hugged him so deliciously that it almost felt like he could cum right then and there. His hands twisted the bedsheets next to you as he tried to control himself. He needed to relish this, he didn’t want to finish too early.

But then you started whining under him and he gladly began thrusting into you, his hips bucking at the feeling of being squeezed while he fucked into your warm and wet hole. He couldn’t prevent the pleased moaning and growls that escaped him at how good you felt. It was obvious in his mind that nothing was better than this, nothing was better than you. And he felt like a fool, more so than he had felt for months, for having lost you, for fucking up. He was addicted to you.

He hoped you realized that this was so different from anything else he could’ve experienced without you, that you shouldn’t feel gross or unimportant because the way he was touching you, the hands he held you with, the way he fucked you was so different than he was with anyone else. He almost felt like a teenager having sex for the first time, the feeling of wonder and nervousness at finally being able to be with you again, the self doubt, desperate need to please you and of course, the hope.

Your beautiful gasps and moans called him to pick up his pace. He felt his heart constrict at having you moan for him again. Your noises were like music to his ears and he was desperate to keep you making them, get you louder for him, make you feel as good as possible. Because for that moment, seeing your face washed in pleasure because of him, he could almost imagine that you were still his. That you didn’t feel those negative feelings of betrayal, distrust towards him. That you didn’t see him as a monster like everyone else did. This was what you still needed him for and he would make sure he wouldn’t disappoint. That this wouldn’t be a one time thing. Even if that’s exactly where your mind was.

You had forgotten how much of an expert he was at this. How his thrusts seemed to be timed just perfectly that they always reached so deep and rubbed against your walls just enough that your hips were moving alongside with them without you even realizing. You felt stretched out, filled to the brim with his girth for the first time in a while, it almost burned. But it was the perfect sort of feeling. It was a feeling that had you wanting more, begging for more.

At your responsiveness, he seemed to have gotten back the confidence he had always had when having sex with you. He had one of your legs in his hand, spreading you more open for him in a way only he had ever been able to control your body. His eyes never tore away from your withering body under him. He needed to see everything, everything he had been missing so badly. Your innocent little body being tainted by him once again.

“Fuck me harder.” You whimpered out. You couldn’t even bring yourself to be embarrassed. At each thrust, you felt a pit of pleasure pooling hotly in your stomach. You were already moaning loudly, holding on to Michael as you finally felt the delicious drive of him into you after months of deprivation. Each time his skin slapped to yours, at each glance you saw him take to the point where you two were connected, where his dick was currently disappearing into you, you were nearly spasming at the heightened feelings. He was looking at you like he worshipped you.

“You’re taking me so well, little one. You’re so fucking tight.” He murmured, his voice strained as he gripped your hips tightly. He followed your orders, his thrusts became faster, more punctuated and so rough you were clenching onto him. Michael growled under his breath at the feeling of your already tight grip get even tighter. Your skills certainly weren’t lacking, even with your lack of recent practice. He wasn’t sure just exactly how long he would last with you.

You were amazing, and he had been so lucky to be able to not only have you like this now but have had you for so many years beforehand. “Missed it, didn’t you? Haven’t had a cock in you for so long, right? Wanting my dick in your tight cunt. Haven’t been able to get what you wanted without me.”

Your back was arched and you couldn’t answer him. Your moans had increased with his rough thrusts, broken as your body moved in sync with his, bouncing with each thrust. You felt the tip of his cock brush your g-spot and you jolted in his arms before grinding as he bottomed out into you again, desperate for everything he was making you feel. It was hard to breathe. You couldn’t even moan anymore, your mouth just open uselessly at the stimulation.

“Yes, Michael, yes.” You weren’t sure if you were answering his question or his actions.

Either way, Michael wasn’t satisfied. His hand went to your neck immediately, choking you just enough in warning. “Tell me you haven’t been with anyone else. Tell me I’m still your only.”

It was downright sinful for you to see the visual of his tattooed hand encircling your neck. It adorned you perfectly, like you belonged right there in his palm and you spread your legs further to get him deeper inside of you. Your moan was a mixture of his name and a desperate whine.

When you didn’t answer, he slapped you once on your cheek. The sting was so familiar and it was what had you remaining silent knowing what would happen, begging for more. As if he could sense that, Michael chuckled darkly under his breath. He slapped you again, harder this time. His aggressive thrusts never faltered.

“You’re still such a fucking slut for me, still mine. Even your body knows it. Say it.” He needed you to say it again. After so long, he wished he could draw you to say that forever.

“H-Haven’t been with anyone else.” You whimpered, “Fuck…so good…Y-you’re still the only one who’s ever had me. Still yours.” Your hand was on his wrist, keeping his hand to your throat, choking you so mouth-wateringly.

It was so easy to forget with him thrusting into you like that. So easy to pretend that the nightmare of the past few months had never happened and that you were still together, still happy. That this was just one of the many times you had sex that happened so often during your relationship.

“Even Justin?” He said the name like it left a bad taste in his mouth.

“He could never have me, couldn’t make me feel as good as you can. No one can.” Your words were cruel. But your head was so clouded that you didn’t care. All you cared was telling Michael exactly what he wanted to hear, to please him like you couldn’t help but want to. Besides, you couldn’t deny that your words were true. Justin was kind and he had a big role in your life and heart but you didn’t feel that magnetic connection with him that you felt with Michael, that all encompassing love and desire. Michael really had ruined you for all other men, no one could come close to him. You needed him. At least for this.

The sigh he let out was of unexpected relief. His smile nothing short of devilish. He hadn’t doubted what the answer would be but he loved to hear you say it. Especially when he had you like this, it fed into an animalistic pride, a possessive pit in his being that had his grip on you tightening and his mouth leaning down to take in one of your tits, licking at your nipple before circling it with his tongue.

“You’re mine.” To hear you say that about the man who had been causing him so many issues, insecurities, felt more than good. He would never get the chance to have you like this, touch you like Michael had just done.  Your body would only respond to Michael. The only thing you could do was push your chest up to give him more access, moaning loudly and wantonly.

Your legs were nearly bent all the way back and he went deeper and harder than before, if that was possible. Your hand went down to your pussy but all you did was feel each driving thrust under your hand as you screamed out obscenities to the air. You wondered briefly how you had been able to go so long without him when it felt this good.

You were both so sweaty already. The heat of your reunion, the entanglement of your bodies, had you frenzied against one another and breathing hard. Somehow he, glistening, looked even hotter than before. His tattoos on full display stuck out even more and you whined, moving to help him move deeper into you.

“Say my name.” His voice was barely a whisper but there was an edge to it. One that screamed to not be defied. Because he needed to hear his name from your mouth while you were under him and moaning for him again. Needed to feel like you had come back to him entirely. His hand was kneading your boob, still glistening from his spit. He loved the way he could do whatever he wanted to you. That you were letting him. Hope blossomed in him uncontrollably.

He stopped his thrusts for just a second before going back to slamming his hips into yours into an unrelenting vigor. And you were sure he did it on purpose to hear how broken and weak your voice sounded when you spoke his name. It ended up being a scream with much more added syllables to his name than necessary.

“That’s right…moan for daddy.” He smirked.

Your cheeks were dusted pink but it wasn’t embarrassment. It was the look of complete submissiveness that Michael loved to see. His hips stuttered at the sight of you. Blushing and ruined.

“Fuck.” He cursed under his breath. “Such a good girl.”

You shouldn’t feel so happy at his praise, especially after everything. But your heart soared regardless. Because at the end, you still yearned for him and that included pleasing him.

“Look at how perfectly you fit with me.” You felt his hand in your hair, pulling it harshly to pull your gaze onto his cock thrusting into you. Your mouth fell open and you could only moan at the sight. The way you were spread open, the way his cock was glistening from your wetness each time he pulled back. His pace seemed to have quickened impossibly so as you watched. “You were made for me.”

You were gasping, your head tilted back again, a particularly loud moan leaving you as he hit just the right spot inside of you once again. You were unashamed at the noises you were making for him. You didn’t care if it made you seem weak, desperate. You were being pleased like you hadn’t been in months, in a way you had once been accustomed to being pleased, a way only Michael could do to you, and your body was helpless but to respond to it. Only he stretched you out so completely, filled you out perfectly as if he were your missing piece. Your body only responded to him. He was right, your body was made for him. You were made for him.

When he hit that spot again, you came around him almost instantly. It was a shattering orgasm, one that rocked your body until you felt it at the very tips of your being. You finally reached a release, in a violent shake, that has been evading you nearly since the time you broke up, one you couldn’t quite reach by yourself. The one only he had ever been able to give you because he had been right at the party, your fingers weren’t enough. Not when you had already gotten a taste of him and what he could give you.

And this was it. This was exactly why you had given into him tonight and you didn’t regret it one bit. Your body pulsed. Your second orgasm of the night and as he kept thrusting through your release, never slowing down, you felt your third just a few moments later. You were whining against him at the overstimulation but he held on to your weakening figure.

“Where…” He grunted at the feeling of you clenching around him, your juices painting both of your thighs messily. The feeling of you breaking down under him, the feeling of your walls tightening around him impossibly and your cum around him was too much. “Where can I cum?”

He hadn’t said that to you in years. It brought you back tearfully to your first time together. How had things gotten so wrong?

“Cum in me.” You didn’t hesitate to answer. You hadn’t stopped taking the pill, mostly out of habit. Maybe you should have, not giving him the chance you knew he desperately wanted, to claim you completely again. To cum inside you, taint your walls with his cum and watch with possessive fervor as it trickled out of you once he pulled out. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care, you wanted it just as badly as he did. You wanted to feel his cum in you, get the feel of him entirely which you had been missing for so long, feel as if he was still yours just for a while. It was one of his favorite things in the world. Even more so knowing he was the only one to have done that to you, to leave you in that glistening, weak, submissive mess. To fill you up.

It was what he had been wanting you to say, needing to hear from your mouth.  He didn’t know if you were still on the pill. Frankly, he wouldn’t have cared either way. He’d be more than happy with filling you up even with the likelihood of getting you pregnant, maybe even more so. If you wanted that.

You weren’t surprised much at the deep, pleased groan that erupted from deep in his throat. He leaned down, careful not to crush your little body under him, and buried his face in your dark hair. “God, I love you so much.” His elated, adoring voice was raspy at your ear.

He came as he said it and you moaned lowly at the feeling as you milked him completely until he finally pulled out of you. And the feeling of emptiness you felt without him inside of you had you whimpering.

Michael pulled out slowly, regretfully almost. He would stay inside of you longer if he thought he still had that right. But he didn’t so instead he tried to be satisfied with just watching the way his cum oozed out of you, covering your inner thighs and cunt so beautifully he almost felt himself wanting to get hard again. His cum inside of you, it made him feel like you were his again. As if he had ever stopped considering you his.

You didn’t answer him. Even if your heart flopped at his words, his tone. You still loved him, you couldn’t deny it. Especially after all this. But you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Not when thinking to all he had put you through, what he had done to you. It wasn’t fair that he could say it so freely while you had tears in your eyes just thinking how you used to trust him, love him and where that had gotten you. Hurt, betrayed and alone.

It was bittersweet when he cleaned you up and laid down beside you. His hands were gentle on your skin, as if you would break. Despite everything, you felt your heart warm at the knowledge that you were the only girl he cared enough for to treat so sweetly. The only girl he had enough regard for.

When you felt his lips at your cheeks, you shot up. This wasn’t what you came for. You came for the closure the party hadn’t been able to give you, to cross off that final vice he had left you with.  Not to forgive him or pretend like what he had done never happened. You tried to ignore the ache in your legs. “I should go.” Your tone was wavering.

You didn’t regret what you had just done. It was amazing and being so close to the man you loved made you feel alive again. But you shouldn’t have done it. It had just made everything messy. All the progress you’d made without him, the closure you had wanted so badly was even further from your grip because now all you wanted was to stay in his arms and love him freely. You cursed your weakness. You should have walked away at that party. But instead you had ended up in his bed. Now, you felt like another one of his quick conquests at the end of each party. When, once upon a time, you had been so much more. Or at least that’s what you believed. You weren’t sure anymore.

“What? No, stay.” His hand caught your arm as you swung your legs over the edge of the bed. His tone was panicked. You couldn’t leave. He couldn’t watch you leave his life again, this time, likely forever. Not after he finally got to have you again.

You swallowed through the knot at your throat. But still you stood up and threw your clothes on messily. “You don’t like it when your one night stands stay over.”

Your words were mean and you didn’t mean to sound so bitter when you said it. But you had gone years being okay with his past just for it to have been the exact thing that had come back to destroy your relationship.

Michael’s eyes widened and you saw him rear back in surprise. “That’s not - this isn’t…You’re not a one night stand.”

How you could compare yourself to those other girls was lost on him. He didn’t want to believe that he had really ruined everything so much that you couldn’t see your value in his life, how much he loved you. You were his everything, his heart, his home, his life. Tonight felt like his world was finally coming back together. So much more than one night.

“But I am. That’s what this was Michael.” You said, suddenly angry. “Because we’re not together and this was just something to help me finally get over you. It won’t happen again.”

He put on his pants in a hurry, following you quickly when you walked through the doorway of his room. His limbs felt cold from the anxious feeling numbing his body. He was going to lose you again and he might just go crazy if he did. It was hard for him to breathe.

He caught you right at the corridor leading to the door. The same one you had been making out in at the beginning of the night. You stayed in place but your eyes looked in pain.

“I wasn’t lying when I told you I don’t go to parties anymore. I haven’t been to one since we…broke up.” He hated saying it out loud. “They never really mattered to me anyway, I always rathered a night in with you over them. I only went tonight because Ashton told me you’d be there. There’s been no other girls. No one could replace you. I-I stopped drinking too because that’s the shit that lead me to fucking up. I wouldn’t have done it otherwise, I love you too much to even want to. But I promise you, I don’t forget you or cheat on you the minute you’re not around like you think. You’re it for me, once I met you, I stopped sleeping around. I stopped everything because I want to spend the rest of my life with you. It never happened before and it won’t happen again. I just hadn’t gotten that drunk in so long and I really thought you were…”

He took a deep breath, stopping to gather his thoughts. He needed to say everything right. It all came out in a rush because he felt as if he didn’t get it all out, everything would unravel. This was his last chance. You’d never heard him sound so worked up. The great Michael, the one the entire campus feared, was coming undone in front of you.

“I regret it. I’ve never fucking regretted anything more. I wish I could go back and stop everything so that you would still be with me and we’d be happy together, like we were meant to. I thought it was you. I couldn’t even fucking see straight enough to know it wasn’t. I’ve never even thought of other girls because you make me feel more than happy and pleased. I know you’ve always been insecure about that but you don’t have to be, no one else has ever made me feel so good. I don’t need or want anyone else, never did. As soon as I found out what I did I kicked her out, I haven’t seen her since. You have to believe me. I’ve been shit without you. I’m angry all the time, I feel alone without you. I need you.”

You weren’t sure what to think of his words. Whether or not you believed him. You wanted to. So badly. You saw firsthand just how badly he had treated himself since the breakup. He didn’t look like he slept much, he isolated himself and he had taken to smoking and fighting so much, you worried for his health. He no longer went to class, he stopped caring a lot about bettering himself or keeping his temper in check. You had heard rumors that he stopped partying but you never thought it was because of you.

He repeated the same story; he was drunk, he wouldn’t have cheated on you if he was in his right mind. The thought was only a bit comforting. Because it meant that his mistake had nothing to do with you or how much you did or didn’t please him, how pretty you were. You hadn’t been wrong about him all along. He did love you and he did regret it. More than you could imagine. None of your relationship had been a lie. He wasn’t that cheating player you had convinced yourself he was. He wanted his girlfriend back. He missed you, he wanted to live his life with you.

You missed him. The laughs, the love, the safety, the warm feeling in your belly every time he was with you.

But you didn’t want to be with someone that you couldn’t trust anymore.

Somehow though, the thought that he had given up everything he was known for because it was something that hurt you, that took away his relationship that he cherished so much, made you long to wrap your arms around him. Even more so because he hadn’t continued his wild behavior with girls when he could have, his heart and thoughts still remained on you. If he had stopped drinking and partying for you, you could believe everything would be different, be the way it had always been before. That it wouldn’t happen again. At least now you were sure that you still knew him enough, knew how much he loved you, to know that. He loved you.

You felt the wavering of your heart as you stared at him. It was impossible not to be reminded of the good times or to feel yourself yearn for him. His words filled in the puzzle pieces you had been missing, the ones you had filled in for yourself in the worst possible way and had brought you a final piece that showed you the Michael you had known from the beginning, not the evil one you had conjured up in your head. One you could almost forgive.

But that didn’t stop the pain you had been through. It didn’t erase the memory of walking in on him.

“That doesn’t take away what you did, Michael.”

“Stop calling me that!” His voice rose and you cringed back. Your reaction was the only thing that had him softening his tone. He didn’t want to scare you, that was the last thing he wanted. “Mikey. You call me Mikey…I’m Mikey to you.”

His voice sounded so broken, so sad that you felt tears spring up to your own eyes. You wished you could put everything aside and hug him, allow him back into your heart easily and go back to how happy, secure, not alone you had been before everything blew up. But you shouldn’t feel bad when you were the one he had wronged. So you stayed in place.

“You cheated on me. I walked in on you getting dressed while she sat there on your couch! I still think about it every day.” You were crying, tears running freely down your cheeks. The satisfaction you had from your night together was wearing off. “How could you do that to me? I loved you, I trusted you. I was planning to have a future with you. You hurt me.”

Michael took hold of your arms and you let him. “I only found out what happened when I woke up, you walked in before I could even figure everything out. You never should have seen that. I looked everywhere for you after. I tried talking to you, fuck, I would do anything to even just get a glance at you going to class. Anything to just see you again.” He moved closer to you, holding you against him and willing your eyes to his light ones, glistening just a bit with unshed tears. His knees were bent, lowering himself to your height. “It will never happen again.”

When you didn’t answer, when you looked away from him and eyed the door, he grew desperate. He had to bring you back to him. “Tell me what you want and I’ll do it. Do you want me to get the shit beat out of me? I’ll find the biggest guy on campus and let him pummel me. I know I deserve it. Do you want me to go on my knees? I’ll do it. Just please, don’t leave me.”

His voice cracked at the sheer vulnerability of his voice. The sadness, regret and begging seeped in his words so intricately you wondered how you could have the strength to continue fighting him and his love. Because the truth was, even now, you had him wrapped around your finger. He would do anything you asked.

“I want for it not to have happened!” You did anyway. You snatched your arms away from him and took a step backward.

Michael flinched. He actually flinched at your words because it was the one thing he couldn’t give you, no matter how much he wished he could.

“How would you feel?” You asked, “What would you do if it were you in my shoes. If you walked into my apartment and saw a guy getting dressed while I lay there naked next to him?”

Whether he regretted it, understood how wrong it was, whether he even still loved you and did it by accident was irrelevant. He had to understand why, despite your love for him, you couldn’t forgive him so easily. What exactly he was asking you to forget and let go of when he asked you to take him back.

And that’s exactly what your question did. You saw it in the way his eyes darkened and his shoulders stiffened. Just like with Luke, the thought of you with anyone else, worst that he should be there to see the remnants, had him shaking. The anger that had been swirling inside of him since the moment you left seemed to multiply to a level he didn’t know it could get. He didn’t want to imagine the anger, pain, hurt, betrayal that he would feel. To know the woman he loved more than anything else in the world had gone to someone else, let him have something, experience you and your responsive submissiveness and innocence, that was only meant to be between the two of you. He couldn’t imagine the way his body would completely shut down the moment he opened the door and saw. His body went cold at the thought.

But it was what you experienced. And he felt his heart break all over again at what he put you through. Again, he felt the flash of resentment at himself. How selfish he was to be there, demanding you back as if he had any legs to stand on.

“I’d kill him.” It was almost scary, the sincerity in his voice and the dark angry look in his eyes at just the thought. He was so different like that than he was with you. Than the boy currently desperately begging for you. Why had he let himself slip? You could have been so happy right then if that night never happened, if he hadn’t gotten drunk, if he hadn’t gone to the party.

Your resilience was breaking. The happiness you had felt with him was all that was running through your mind. He finally understood you, at least as much as he could. You had convinced yourself he was a lying cheater but as he told you everything, poured out his feelings and regrets, made the changes necessary while still yearning for you even while being ‘free’ and single, you couldn’t help but rewrite what you had classified him as. You were tired of fighting him. You wanted to walk into his arms again and work to move forward, see him fight for you.

“I kissed Justin.” You didn’t know why you said it. Maybe it was to hurt him, one final attempt to fight against what every fiber of your being was screaming at you to do: take the leap of faith, give him another chance, go back to him, be happy and loved again in the way you had only experienced with him. If it was, then your words definitely hit the mark.

Michael felt his throat close up and dry out. Those three little words made his world feel like it was caving in. The room was spinning. So he hadn’t been just jealous at the party, there had been something in the air between you two. Justin had been given a little taste of you, a taste Michael had given him access to. A taste he never should have had. Michael wasn’t the only man who had felt your lips anymore. There would always be Justin, the boy that seemed to be the perfect fit for you. The one Michael knew would probably be better for you.

“When?” He was breathless. A deep pain ran along his chest. He should have driven Justin away once and for all when he had the chance. Instead, he drove you to him.

“After I caught you.” You whispered back. “It was just once.”

You had meant to make him feel bad but at seeing him look so defeated, so utterly sad at your words, you wanted to cushion the blow. You still loved him too much to hurt him, even if he hadn’t given you the same consideration.

It didn’t work. But, you watched in wonder as, instead of blowing up, getting angry and going after Justin, he just hung his head. He looked repentant, guilty, self-accusing. You saw a tear rolling down his cheek. He was crying. You’d never seen your ex cry, never thought he would even be capable of it when he was so strong and so defiant. It almost looked wrong on him, when his body art screamed ‘scary’, ‘obscene’, ‘aggressive’ to have him look so powerless, so defenseless, exposed. But the knowledge of what you had suffered, what he had done, how much he finally understood your side of it had him being vulnerable to you.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured softly. Because it was his fault. He knew it. He drove you to drink, to kiss Justin, to everything that wasn’t who you were, to self destruction. Because he had destroyed your trust, your happiness. He ended up bringing you down just like everyone warned. And he would blame himself for it everyday.

He was mad, of course he was. His temper was flaring and he had his fists clenched tightly at his sides, shaking just slightly to know that your soft lips, your pure smile after a kiss, had been experienced by someone else. If he felt as if he had the right to, he’d go back to the party and show Justin just how much that kiss didn’t matter because you were still his and he’d never get that chance again. But maybe, despite his efforts, despite tonight, he really had lost that right.

It was that vulnerability, that putting aside of his pride, his temper and anger because he put first your feelings, your hurt, that had your knees feeling weak, your heart and mind finally connecting again to the possibility of going back to him. He had hurt you, didn’t consider your feelings when he did, but it was becoming apparent that it wasn’t from lack of caring or love for you. Because when he was himself, when he could think straight, you were the only thing in his mind. The only thing he cared about, and the only person he was willing to submit his being and heart to. Even in the face of the one thing that hurt him most.

The large, scary, cold, and sometimes cruel, man in front of you would go to his knees and accept anything for you. This man wanted a future with you, wanted to have a family with you, love you ’til death do you part, he always had. He had never stopped. And he always will.

Your hand reached out and cupped his cheek hesitantly. You were shaking when you did. Michael leaned into your touch as soon as he felt it, his eyes fluttering closed and you felt your heart constrict even more. Right then, he seemed so harmless. He wasn’t a violent man, he wasn’t a cheater. You weren’t sure if it was at the sight of him or the pain that you still felt, probably would always feel at least a bit.

But you didn’t doubt Michael would fight for you, work to make that pain go away as intensely as if he felt it himself. He would work to show you his love, his complete devotion to you. He’d take the pain for himself if he could, he would shield you from any memories, any whispers, any doubts, any insecurities that you ever might have had. He resented everything he had done already so much more than you could ever imagine, he’d never add to it. Because he was so sure you were it for him, that he’d never do anything to hurt you or pull you away from him again. He loved you too much, he’d never want to cheat, never want to do anything that wasn’t to worship you entirely. He adored you.

“It’s going to take me some time to be completely okay.” It wouldn’t be an easy road, the sting of betrayal will be a shadow following you for a long time. But you were willing to take the time, the effort, the risk of future pain. Because, staring at the man who stood in front of you, the one who resembled the man you fell in love with, you didn’t think you would have a problem. He loved you, he was patient, kind, with you. He’d do anything to keep you at his side, the girl who loved him despite his flaws. He would protect you, now knowing what he’d lost already, he wouldn’t hurt you again. He wouldn’t let anything hurt you again.

What he had done was a choice he would still have to be confronted with, still pay for, but it was one he could learn from, one he would cast aside and never experience again because he wouldn’t let himself ruin his relationship again. He was devoted completely to you, had never stopped. Even still, even this heart broken version of him.

Michael’s eyes snapped open at your words. His eyes were swirling with impossible hope, his mouth open in surprise. He was too afraid to ask but he had to anyway, had to make sure he wasn’t hearing things. “Does that mean-”

“Just one more chance. One more and if it happens again, Michael, I swear I’m gone. For good.” It wouldn’t be the same either, for a while at least. He would have to keep fighting for you. But he’d at least have that opportunity.

It was a strict condition. But one you wouldn’t have to worry about. Because while you knew Michael regretted his actions, you’d never really know just how much that regret ran. Enough that, if you had even a hint, you’d know just how much of a mistake that girl, that night was. One he never wanted to even think of again, let alone repeat. He wouldn’t even dream of it when he had you and no one else could compare to how you made him feel, both in and out of the bedroom. No one could feel as good, respond as well, make him so happy, loved and as if he finally had a home.

“It won’t. Never again.” You could barely hear what he said before he wrapped his arms around you and held you tightly. He held you like his life depended on it, like this would turn out just to be a dream if he let you go.

Maybe you were making a mistake. But as you closed your eyes and breathed in his scent, allowed yourself to relish the feeling of being in his arms, you didn’t think so. You’d missed him so much, and right then you felt the warmth, adoration and complete safety you always felt with him. You finally felt calm and happy again at the prospect of a future with him at your side again, not on edge completely and sad all the time. You didn’t feel apprehension of what you had just done, at forgiving him.

You felt hope. Hope that things could be different, that you could go back to the relationship and man that had given you so much, including a feeling of home, belonging and love. And this time learning without the shadow of the past behind you because you’d eventually move past it, he’d show you only your present and future. He’d make you finally understand that despite his past and his awful mistake, you’d never have to compare yourself to other girls. Because your experience with him was unique and no one else would see or feel the mean, violent, tattooed boy in front of you the same way you would.

“I love you so much.” He murmured again and you could hear the pure emotion through his voice. The gratitude. The awe. You were so forgiving, such a good person. And he still didn’t deserve you.

This time you took a deep breath before conceding what you had tried to keep hidden for all these past months, even from yourself. To no avail because it had never wavered, never withered. Just hurt the more and more you tried to cast it aside.

“I love you, too.”

You felt the sigh of relief pull through his body and when he pulled away from you, it was just enough for him to place his forehead against yours. His eyes were still closed as if he was trying to ingrain this in his memory, the feeling of your merciful forgiveness, your body against his against, your love back on him. He would never let this go again, he’d never take it for granted (he never did).

“But no more drinking so much.” You said, half joking, as you ran your fingers through his soft hair. Michael wanted to cry out at the feeling he thought he would never get to experience again. He had more time with you, more chances to have you in his arms, be vulnerable, be happy without the cloud of anger swirling in his heart because he could never be angry with you around.

His laugh was good natured, one he had lost for a bit without you. His eyes and smile brighter than they had been for a while. He looked alive, happy. The way he’d only ever been with you. Your eyes were still strained with hurt, but you were sure your expression matched. His face buried itself in the crook of your neck, shielded by your dark hair.

“I promise.” And you’d have to learn to finally trust his word again. But you could, especially when he would prove his loyalty, his love like never before. He’d work for your trust back and he was willing to do anything to do so just like you were willing to let him. “I’ll prove to you that you never have anything to worry about ever again, that you can trust me. You’re the love of my life, princess. I’ll never let you go again. I want a life with you, forever.”

When his lips found yours in a slow, loving kiss, you let his hands cup your face, one in your hair. And you kissed back. It was a kiss that translated his disbelief of having you back, his repentance and his adoration of you that transcended everything else in his life. He picked your small frame up, holding you so he could reach you and kiss you as deeply, hold you as closely, as he wanted to. You weren’t looking at him like he was a bad guy anymore. You looked so cute and happy with that big smile he had missed so badly, held up by his arms, your white dress hanging off of you loosely and contrasted starkly against the black tattoos lining his arms. He was the luckiest man in the world.

The very thing he now held a deep resentment for was what had brought you back to him. If you hadn’t gone to the party, if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t be his girlfriend again. And while he was determined never to look back at them, he couldn’t help but thank the heavens that you were back to him, back in his arms. Everything felt just as it was meant to be.

It was still there. The overwhelming chemistry between you. The click that sounded whenever you two were together because you were just so right together. You were soulmates.

You would be alright.

♔

the end.

♔

thank you to everyone who has read and followed this series! i loved it so much and bringing the story out of my mind and to life has been so exciting. i can’t say how happy it makes me that you have read it, liked it, shared it, and even talked to me about it. i appreciate you all so much.

i loved their little world and following their relationship & dynamic so much and leaving it makes me so sad.

hopefully we can see more of it in the future (am i hinting at an ash story…..maybe)

[muchtohope]

Now that it’s like two weeks after I said I might do it, FINALLY sitting down to talk about Subcutaneously, My Dear Watson by Jack Tracy and I’m just gonna head it off with a read more because I ALREADY KNOW it’s gonna be excessively long ✌ KIND OF half review half summary, all infodump, u know how it is.

content warnings, of course, for drug use and needle mentions

So if you’re unfamiliar, Subcutaneously is a nonfiction writeup on Sherlock Holmes’s cocaine usage in the context of the time period. It takes into consideration everything that was known and/or believed about coke in the 70s (because this was published in 1978) and applies it to Holmes’s behavior throughout the stories to try and understand exactly how affected he might have been by his addiction.

Along with prefacing this by noting the year it was published, it’s ALSO worth pointing out that Jack Tracy is part of the Baker Street Irregulars, so there are points in this book where he refers to Sherlock Holmes and Doyle as if they were BOTH actual people who might have met in person at one point or another, also bearing in mind that the BSIs have some notoriously hot garbage takes.

Coke in Victorian London

So first, the stuff that’s already pretty commonly understood: drugs in 19th century England were not terribly regulated, dangerous addictive substances like opium and morphine and cocaine were legal and readily available. Cocaine first entered the general public’s sphere of awareness around 1884, popularized by our favorite deeply fucked up psychology dad Sigmund Freud. Medical professionals pretty immediately recognized it as a toxic substance and warned against it, but he insisted it was Totally Fine and Not Addictive At All until 1887, when he Stopped That for reasons Tracy does not specify but One Can Guess. Still, same as cigarettes and junk food, just because the doctor says it’s bad for you doesn’t mean you’re not gonna do it, so cocaine wasn’t terribly frowned upon by the average person.

It was only in 1916 that cocaine was restricted to prescriptions. This was, in part, a reaction to events in the US; in 1914, we put up the Harrison Narcotics Act which effectively criminalized addiction (that’s like, another post, I won’t get into it here) and over time, that had a pretty significant impact on the public’s perception of drug users. In the early 1920s, the UK passed the Dangerous Drugs Act which was a similar idea, allowing the government greater control over illicit substances and attempting to advise doctors when not to prescribe them, although overall that act wasn’t quite as invasive as Harrison. Up to THAT point though, cocaine was commonly prescribed to wean addicts off their other vices -- opium and morphine namely, but also cigarettes and alcohol. GENERALLY SPEAKING, doctors really didn’t know much more about these substances than their patients.

Cocaine itself was available in multiple formats: snuff, edibles, cigarettes, ointments, Coca-Cola as we know, and of course, injectable solutions, as was our boy’s preference. Since Victorians didn’t really have much in the way of germ theory, hypodermic needles were treated NOT QUITE as cautiously as they should have been, and a lot of morphine users ended up with really bad bacterial infections at the puncture sites -- Tracy suggests Holmes avoided this SORT OF through dumb luck, as it was likely his cocaine solution was some part boracic acid, added to slow the cocaine’s deterioration in the water and which acted as an antibacterial agent. 

Watson describes Holmes’s coke intake at one point as somewhere around three times daily for months, which Tracy points out is pretty moderate. He does some interesting math based on Holmes’s supposed height and weight, along with the solution cap at 7%, to determine he was probably using 20mg with each dose in order to achieve any sort of satisfying high. Like, it’s Not Great, but Tracy writes that a severe addiction would probably not have that sort of cap on either solution percentage, dosage amount or frequency of dosage. This also makes it believable that Holmes would be able to put the needle down long enough to work a case without getting high. Another fun fact: Holmes’s annual cocaine budget was PROBABLY roughly what you might spend on a year’s Netflix subscription today.

SO. That’s the gist of the factual shit, the rest of it revolves mostly around the chronological timeline of the canon stories and Holmes’s changing relationship with the drug over time. Tracy uses the Baring-Gould timeline as a base, which afaik is the most widely accepted chronology. 

This is where things become LARGELY subjective, and we’re reminded that the author is chronically heterosexual. I HAVE TO preface this by saying that while a lot of his suggestions are interesting to me purely for the sake of Angst, a lot of them are also A LITTLE upsetting to consider. So like, take it all with an entire rock of salt -- this guy does not know that the series ends with them retired together keeping bees in Sussex, he can’t help it.

The Coke Chronology

The first point Tracy makes that immediately threw me was the suggestion that when Watson and Holmes first meet, Holmes has not ever used cocaine before, but rather he picks it up somewhere around the time of Sign of Four. From 1878 (the year Musgrave Ritual takes place) to 1886 (two years before Sign of Four), Holmes is clean, if SUPER depressed. There are a few points here he uses to support this -- first, in Study in Scarlet, Watson describes Holmes as a pleasant roommate. He’s orderly, quiet, mostly keeps to himself despite laying out on the sofa for days at a time. This is in pretty stark contrast to the Holmes popular culture is familiar with, the manic disaster detective he came to be recognized as, and Tracy attributes the change to Holmes taking up coke. 

Another is that Holmes’s opinion of himself and his career was SORT OF lower than dirt when he met Watson. He was convinced he’d already peaked and would never achieve more success than the SPARINGLY little amount he’d already tasted. Watson’s publications undeniably boosted his career, but Tracy looks at the frankly insane amount of stories published which take place between 1887 and 1891 as a result of the energy Holmes got from using coke. The idea, I think, is that rather than spending his down time relegated to a days-long depressive episode on the couch, cocaine offered him the energy and motivation to look for more work. This time period, according to Baring-Gould, encompasses TWENTY-SIX cases (out of the like 60 stories that exist!!) and ends with Final Problem. Watson either directly mentions or alludes to Holmes’s coke usage in six of these stories, most blatantly maybe in Sign of Four, where Watson leaves for married life and ends with Holmes’s alarmingly cavalier comment that I’m good, you got a wife and I got this here cocaine 👌

Tracy’s next take is that Holmes was absolutely clean during his entire post-Reichenbach hiatus. He feels like Holmes’s travels paired with his mission to eliminate Moriarty’s empire was sufficient distraction, and when he returns to London in 1894, he stays clean until the end of 1895. That’s 8 cases he works clean, and his sobriety could easily have played a part in convincing Watson to move in with him again in Empty House. Tracy frames those 8 cases as exemplary work, at least in comparison with some of the cases later on in the timeline, because he works them totally sober. This is kind of a hilarious way to @ Doyle that his later work wasn’t as good, but okay, we’ll work with it.

From late ‘95 to late ‘96, Holmes does not work a single case, at least not any which Watson deemed worth publishing. Tracy refers to this hiatus as Holmes’s first relapse, and suggests that Watson spends this entire year caring for Holmes and helping him recover. Tracy calls back to Watson’s comment in the Missing Three-Quarter that Holmes’s drug use “threatened to check his remarkable career”, which up to that point had not really been true, assuming his usage was as moderate as it sounded pre-Reichenbach. So that KIND OF implies it must have gotten worse at some point, probably here during this relapse.

From this point to spring of ‘97, Holmes works at least 5 cases (including Missing Three-Quarter). This stretch of time ends with Devil’s Foot and goes immediately into another year-long hiatus -- another relapse, maybe, but given that Devil’s Foot has Watson bringing Holmes to Cornwall for some Convalescence™, he had probably already relapsed and the rest of this empty time is spent in Cornwall, away from the stressors of the city, helping him recover again. The implication here is that, despite what Watson says about having already weaned him off the drug, Holmes is still dealing with his addiction and Watson is trying to get a handle on it in the face of changing public attitudes toward addicts. Basically, there’s nothing to see here, he’s all better, please just let us work through this privately.

The last bit here is honestly, in my opinion, the hardest to think about. Tracy writes about the stretch of 9 cases from mid-1898 to mid-1902 as some of Holmes’s worst work, and there’s two parts to why I really hate this.

First, like, it is of course painful to think of Holmes suffering any irreversible consequences of drug abuse. It’s harder, maybe, to think of it as affecting his cognitive abilities, but that’s exactly what Tracy says is happening: Holmes displays symptoms of “cocaine psychosis” (I’m not sure that’s still a relevant medical term, but that’s what he uses here). He specifically points out the too-close-for-comfort resolution in Lady Carfax and calls it a totally avoidable error, had Holmes been as mentally present as he should have been. He also points to the later case, Mazarin Stone, as evidence of Holmes’s love of practical jokes morphing into something “tasteless” and, as Lord Cantlemere says, “perverted”, and attributes all of it to said psychosis.

So that’s rough, and I high key hate it, but the second part is really the knife in my heart, and it has more to do with the relationship between Holmes and Watson at the end of Holmes’s career. Those 9 cases up to 1902, Tracy describes as alternating between near failures, showcases of Holmes erring sometimes GRIEVOUSLY, and impressive examples of what he was still capable of. This, he says, speaks a lot to Watson’s opinion of him during that time, that throwing in those unflattering cases was done A LITTLE BIT out of spite, suggesting that they weren’t really on great terms anymore.

There is a small reprieve in the otherwise totally depressing notion that Holmes and Watson became estranged in part due to Holmes’s addiction, and that is that Tracy believes in that summer of 1902, Holmes quit cocaine for the final time, and the very next case is Three Garridebs. Yes, the great heart beyond that cold mask was 100% sober and that shared moment of deep affection was just that and nothing else.

Around this time though, according to Baring-Gould, Watson has left Holmes, also for the final time, to remarry. Finding himself alone, with no support should he relapse again, Holmes retires at the ripe old age of 49 so as to remove himself again from the stressors and triggers of London and detective work. This doesn’t account for the work he does post-retirement, but it’s assumed he remains sober for the rest of his life.

SO ANYWAY

OVERALL, this is an interesting read, but the further in you get, the bleaker the picture becomes, and I kind of fundamentally disagree with this guy’s view of the relationship Holmes and Watson have. I’ve sort of intentionally skirted a romantic take on it because in the end I’m not sure that would necessarily impact how Watson felt about the entire thing -- romantically involved or not, I completely believe Watson would give years of his life to helping Holmes through his addiction. It’s a cold, sort of utilitarian perspective, but if nothing else, even if he otherwise totally resented Holmes, I still believe he would do what he could to keep him in working order, if only as an act of public service. Like I KNOW. I know. But that’s kind of my point: they were absolutely more to each other than that.

I have a really hard time reading Watson as intentionally publishing stories to tarnish Holmes’s reputation; not that he’s never spiteful, like, we know our boy is fully capable of being a bitch when he wants to, but I just can’t see him being that kind of malicious about what he HAS to recognize (because it was recognized then, and even today in the UK WAY MORE than in the US) as a disease. Like there’s a huge difference between expressing disappointment or disapproval and publicly dragging him. That is Not My John Watson.

I don’t like the idea that some of the most recognizable aspects of Holmes’s personality are because of his coke usage, not just because it sucks to think about but also because a lot of those same attributes are ones I’d more likely chalk up to neurodivergency. There’s too much overlap in the traits Tracy believes are a product of drugs and the traits I recognize as ADHD, manic depression, autism, any number of ND flavors that are a lot more meaningful in a character like Holmes than ascribing all of it to a coke addiction.

And there is of course the otherwise canon disappointment of the notion that Holmes and Watson become estranged after Holmes’s retirement, which for my own sanity I wholly reject, and I reject even harder when it’s paired with the implication that it had anything to do with Watson just trying to close that chapter of his life.

tl;dr, Subcutaneously, My Dear Watson -- interesting, depressing, terminally hetero, as probably expected, you can find copies relatively cheap on Amazon, not sure if it’s available digitally though. It is at the very least something to chew on, especially if you’re out there writing ACD Holmes fics.

Anyway if you made it this far I’m VERY SORRY but I’d love to hear your takes anyway, reactions, questions, whatever SORRY AGAIN HOPE YOU’RE HAVING A GREAT EVENING 💖

[dmgdstar]

Warning: slightly Nsfw, implied sexual content. Mobile cannot add read more.

Jotaro sat on the hotel bed with his back pressed to the wall, one knee raised and his hand dangling from the top of his kneecap. A cigarette dangled from his lips as he reclined back, relaxing. It had been a little while since they had been able to stop at a hotel. The air outside was hot, dry and wearing all that black in the heat had proved to be a little much. But he had refused to change out of his clothes. He didn’t care if it made sense to dress better for a trip going to Egypt. This was what he was comfortable with wearing and besides he wasn’t one that was keen on getting much sunlight in the way of tanning or anything like that. It just wasn’t his style. Call it pure stubbornness or whatever, it didn’t matter to him he was determined to keep it that way. But damn, if it wasn’t so hot outside. Even inside the hotel room it was warm. Sweat was falling down the side of his face from underneath his hat. His hair felt damp under it. He was doing his best to try and ignore the warmth of the room and relax while he had the chance. The thermostat on the wall opposite of him told him that it was the coolest it could be in the room. How annoying could this be? It wasn’t going to be easy to try and relax and rest if he was too damn hot to actually do it. He sighed, swinging his legs over to the edge of the bed. Reaching up, he took the cigarette from between his lips, pausing for a moment to snuff out the lit stick. He had to do something about this.

He reached up to remove his hat. Setting free the black hair that was always kept hidden under it. The single strand that usually hung down from the front of his hair was stuck to his forehead. A sheen layer of sweat beaded along his hairline. He set his hat down on the nightstand next to the bed, sighing at the little bit of relief that taking it off had given him. Although the comfort was only temporary. Still feeling warm, he stood from the bed the covers over it not exactly helping in keeping cool at the moment. With a little reluctance then, he shrugged off the long heavy coat that he wore, letting it slide slowly from his shoulders before he caught it with his hands. Jotaro laid his coat along the bed, staring at it for a moment as he did. It felt strange to have his arms bare since he always wore it but having removed it had relieved some of the heat from his body. Finally, he had gotten some relief that was better than suffocating himself. Jotaro had a mind to make sure that nobody knew that he had to break down this way and remove some of his clothing just so he could cool off. The smug expressions he would get from Polnareff or his grandfather alone were annoying to think about. Just thinking about it made him regret now having already put out his cigarette. Sometimes being around those people just stressed him out to the point where his only solace was the nicotine. Honestly, the whole damn trip had been nothing but a pain in his ass. Part of him couldn’t wait to get the whole thing over with. At least back in Japan they didn’t have to deal with this damned heat. At least, not like this—it never got this hot back home.

His shirt was sticking to his skin now. Although it wasn’t completely soaked through, it was enough to be uncomfortable. Good grief, could this get any worse? If he was going to strip down that far, he might as well just go take a cool shower to try and bring his temperature down, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to wash away some of the sweat either. With that thought in mind, he took hold of the bottom of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head, exposing his upper half to the room. Just as he had done with his jacket, he tossed the tank onto the bed, taking a moment to just take in the way the air felt now that it was able to freely touch his skin. The clothing removal had helped a little bit, but he still thought it might be a good idea to rinse off. He didn’t get that far though before he heard something behind him. Jotaro hadn’t heard the door click open a moment ago. The room he was staying in was a double, but he shared it with someone else. It was the usual for their travels and as per usual the person he was sharing it with was Noriaki Kakyoin. Probably the only other person who might be able to relate to how disgustingly hot it had gotten as they drew closer to the desert. At the time he had started removing his garments, Kakyoin had stepped out and not yet returned. He hadn’t been gone that long, so he figured he probably had the time to himself. However, it seemed he had misjudged how much time he had. Either that or he had just taken too long to do anything about it.

Turning to look over his shoulder at Kakyoin, the red head had paused in the doorway, his hand was pressed to his mouth and lavender eyes had widened just a little bit. His gaze didn’t quite meet Jotaro’s though and he knew why. It was because he was standing there without a shirt on, not necessarily something that he had ever done around him. They were both guys though, so that shouldn’t have been too big a deal. It shouldn’t have been but Jotaro noticed the change in Kakyoin’s body language. He was tense and his face had become flushed. It wasn’t too dark of a blush, but enough to lightly dust across his cheeks. Jotaro also noticed that as soon as he realized that he was looking at him, his eyes had darted towards the floor. This was interesting, he couldn’t say he had ever seen Kakyoin react this way to anything that he did. It had Jotaro tilting his head slightly, his way of expressing a slight bit of curiosity and interest. Now the fact that they were both men meant that his being shirtless shouldn’t really be a problem, it wasn’t anything special or different. But it seemed that it had stirred something for Kakyoin, this reaction was only something that Jotaro usually saw in the annoying clan of girls that would follow at his heels. How they would swoon and blush over him even if he paid the slightest bit of attention to them. The only difference was that Kakyoin seemed to be reserved in this reaction, closing in on himself and withdrawing from Jotaro. They had been traveling together a good while and shared a room every time. He would have said that they were decent friends by now, even if their beginning had been a little strained. In all the nights he shared a room with Kakyoin he had never seen this reaction out of him, never noticed that something was different. But maybe this was something he would do when he wasn’t looking. Maybe… Kakyoin had something he wasn’t telling him.

“Am I bothering you?” Jotaro asked finally, keeping his eyes fixed on the red head.

Kakyoin shook his head, though he still wouldn’t make eye contact and he kept his hand close to his face in an attempt to shield some of his blush from his stare. “N-no of course not! I didn’t realize you were… forgive me Jotaro, I’ll just come back a little later.”

“Kakyoin.” His name had left his lips in almost a demanding tone. His name being enough to have the other stop where he had turned on his heel to leave the room.

In the silence that fell between them, Jotaro crossed the space between them coming to stand in front of him. Kakyoin didn’t move from where he was standing, but he kept his back to him. His stance was still tense, his back rigid and by the way he hung his head, he knew that he was still staring down at the floor. What was bothering him so much that he felt like he needed to rush out? The answer seemed obvious to Jotaro, it was clear that his appearance had done a little more than startle him. Jotaro stood staring at him for a moment, just letting that sink in. The fact that he was bothered by this, it didn’t look like he was mad about it or even upset. His body language had left him flustered, which could only tell Jotaro that he was disturbed in the way that someone might be if they were attracted to someone. His only reference were the girls that annoyed the shit out of him and whereas that was similar, it was also very different to the way that Kakyoin was acting right now. Did Kakyoin like him? He had to wonder if that was the case with his reaction now. There was only one way to find out for sure and that was to stop him from trying to retreat or withdraw any further. As if to reinforce this idea, he reached out and took the wrist closest to him. Finding that the other was resisting his tug slightly, his shoulders only becoming more tense. Did he not want him to even touch him? Maybe he was reading his reaction wrong—perhaps instead this scene had a negative impact on him after all.

“Please, don’t…!” Kakyoin said frantically. His voice was shaking as he spoke. Finally, he lifted his head to glance over at Jotaro over his shoulder. His face was still red and lavender eyes were wide, but tears had pricked the corners of them. “Jotaro I… I can’t lie to you. So, if you don’t—if you can’t feel what I’m feeling then please, don’t ask me about it.”

“Who said I didn’t?” Came the response. Jotaro’s expression hadn’t changed despite his words which had Kakyoin staring at him, a few stray tears falling down his cheeks. With some gentle urging then, he was able to get him to turn to face him, keeping a hold on his wrist. As soon as he had turned to face him though, his gaze had averted once again looking towards the floor, his face as red as his hair.

Jotaro raised his free hand up to wipe away the tears that had fallen down his cheeks. So, he was right in his assumption then. Without even asking, he had picked up on what he might be thinking and feeling. All because he was able to catch the small changes in his behavior. Kakyoin did have feelings for him and the reason he had froze up when he walked in the room to find him like this was because of that fact. It was still uncomfortably hot in the room, but he couldn’t just leave him like this. And he couldn’t just let him walk out of there looking the way he did. Besides to say that he had no interest in him would be a lie. An unspoken interest on Jotaro’s part, he didn’t hate the idea of seeing how things could play out. That’s why after he had wiped his tears away, he carefully placed his fingers under his chin to lift his face up towards him. Finally, lavender eyes moved back meet his blues and even though his expression didn’t change—he could feel his heart skip a beat whenever he met his eyes. Wordlessly then, Jotaro leaned down to press his mouth to his, capturing his lips fully with his own. As he kissed him, he released his wrist to instead meet his other hand while both came to cup the sides of his face, keeping the other from pulling away from him while he kept his lips connected to his. Tiers moving just a little aggressively against his, which were unresponsive at first until his shock had faded and he was kissing him back.

Jotaro didn’t pull away until he felt Kakyoin’s palms touch his chest. His hands felt cool against his skin. It wasn’t getting any cooler in the room now. Maybe this was nerves. Breaking the kiss, he looked over his reddened face once more, his breathing coming in quiet huffs. He watched him for a moment before picking up the cues to continue, placing another brief kiss to his lips, as his hands made quick work to unbutton the high collar of the uniform he wore, so he could trail his lips down his neck. The only way either of them were going to cool off now was with a shower. But he figured if they were just going to get sweaty anyway—they might as well indulge in the unspoken feelings that existed between them. The mutual attraction that had been picked up on by Jotaro, even if Kakyoin had yet to admit it. This kind of heat was different than the blazing warmth of the sun outside. He could probably get used to how hot Kakyoin made his body feel whenever he touched him like this. And besides… removing clothing had helped.

//Drabble inspired by main jotakak storyline: @gdbyenstalgia

[xbunnybunz]

stay here with me [underswap!papyrus x reader]

Summary: You and papyrus enjoy the quieter moments of life together.

Genre: Fluff, Friendship or Lovers

Date: April 26, 2017

-----

Streaks of the sunset painted the city before you in a palette of orange, red, and pink.  As the sun dipped lazily behind the curve of the outstretched horizon, both monsters and humans alike made their journey back home, mothers calling to their children for supper, and soulmates reuniting after a long day apart.

The calm prelude of night draped over the city and bled into your skin, the cool twilight air tranquil and slightly damp, hypnotizing you into a peaceful trance.

From this spot on the roof, time seemed to slow down. Life passed by slowly, leisurely, before your eyes in the form of a hazy sunset accompanied by the dull hum of conversation from below.

You allowed your eyes to slip shut, your ears picking up on a bypassing conversation involving the weather, and pieces of prattle speaking of a lightbulb in need of replacing. Basking in the fading light of dusk had always exposed you to the gentler parts of life, the life that was larger than anyone could ever fathom, but appeared to be so delicate that even the slightest whisper could disturb it’s serene lull.

It was humbling, you had decided a while ago, during one of your first visits to this roof. Life was abstract and immense, uncontainable and ever-spontaneous. In the groggy haze of the morning and the tumultuous noise of the late afternoon, it was hard to focus on anything but yourself. It was difficult to stop and admire the risen sun, bold, blazing, and beautiful, and even moreso to find pleasure in the smiles of those around you after a long day. But here, underneath a sky stained with the colors of yet another day coming to a close, you could finally allow your tense shoulders to fall and wholeheartedly enjoy the murmurs of a town readying for slumber.

Even in moments like these, where the seconds seem to dawdle, and then drip slowly like wax off of a candle, you could feel the steady beat of your strident heart - the rush of blood under your skin. The reminder that being alive was no longer a question for you, but an unwavering fact that you grew to accept; even become grateful for.

The monochrome coloring of daily life had jaded the brilliance of your existence, people who surrounded you always cold, always aloof and always detached. Your world, like many others, had changed when news of monsters came about.

The surface world was just as new to them as the concept of living alongside monsters was to you, and although you had remained hard-hearted and stoic in the face of impending change, fate had drawn your path to cross with those that would soon change your perspectives- and alter your reality.

Upon contact with them, your colorless world had exploded into a beautiful lilac sky- like a red-hot passion flower blooming in high speed- and just like that, you were overwhelmed.

Years of indifference bled into empathy, bled into compassion, and suddenly these beings that you thought nonexistent just months prior had morphed you into someone who could simultaneously be alive, and be living.

In the midst of thought, a breeze passed over you, bringing with it a chill that raised goosebumps along your skin. Your hands reach up and cradle your arms, an earnest attempt at preserving heat that seemed all but in vain.

A low and rumbling voice that reminded you of a rolling wave greeted you, a long-phalanged hand resting atop the crown of your head. You leaned into the touch, his bones warmer than you, who had been exposed to the evening chill for a longer duration of time.

After a bit of muffled shifting, a warm orange hoodie is strewn across your shoulders. You accept it gratefully, pulling the thick, wooly material over your head and allowing the excess sleeve pool around your fingertips. It’s scent was thick and comforting, a melty blend of cigarettes and intoxicatingly sweet honey. You burrow yourself deeper into it, enjoying it’s deep contrast with the thin and cool night air.

“hey, kid. admiring the view?”

You did not answer, but the silence did not seem to sway him.

He clicked and his joints groaned as he took a seat next to you, bone against shingles making a strange scraping noise. But that did not deter you from moving closer to him. With shoulders barely touching, you both look up at the sky, which had faded from it’s pastel tinted hues to a crisp and refreshing midnight blue.

“so, what’s on your mind? you usually don’t look so a-roof.”

You spared a few quiet chuckles at his bad pun, keeping your voice light and airy for fear of tainting the gentle silent spell.

“Just thinking about life, as usual.”

The click of a cigarette lighter echoes in your ears before the scent of freshly lit, earthy tobacco brushes past your nose. You wondered if you would also be able to smell the smoke from the embers, if only you leaned a bit closer.

“ah. anything new?”

Bones rattled softly against each other as he spoke in baritone, then exhaled. Smoke drifted off of his freshly-lit cigarette and formed swirls that danced about in the air; slight, wispy, and curling at the ends, beckoning and nearly seductive in their ascent to nothingness.

“No,”

You say, after a long stretch of still silence.

“But I’m glad that I’m here.”

Your eyes turn to him, and you are not surprised to find that he is already looking at you. The bone that composed his skull was dull, like eggshell, but pure and rich, much like porcelain. In the backlight of the new moon, you could trace the etches of his cheekbones- constantly turned up because of his grin- with your eyes. Gentle shadows fell over the slight chips and dents in the surface of his periosteum and continued down his vertebra, which disappeared into a thin black tank-top that was usually worn with a fleece hoodie.

Looking at him, you knew you two had never cared for someone quite as much as you did for each other. But, despite all this, he was not the reason you decided to stay, no. You had your own reasons, but he had made the decision seem so much easier.

“here?” he questioned, but it seemed more like a conclusion than an inquiry.

You drew your eyes back to the moon, not quite complete, but very much present and very much beautiful.

“With both of you. At home.”

You hear him shift and take another drag of the cigarette, this time allowing it to dangle between two of his long fingers. The burning amber color of the embers captures your eye for a split second before Papyrus lets out another throaty exhale, smoke wrapping around his head in exquisite patterns you learned was mostly magic.

“heh. am i competin’ with blueberry, now?”

He nudges you with his elbow softly, teasingly, though you can tell he is thankful you included his brother in your proclamation of happiness.

“Might just be.” You teased back, a smile playing at your lips. “He’s a real sweetheart, that one.”

Papyrus takes one last, long inhale before he snuffs the embers of his dying cigarette on the roof tiles. The smoke has yet to dissipate from the air entirely, leaving it warm and musty. He reclines onto his back, arms behind his head. He reminds you of a leisurely chesire cat: slinky, grinning, and witty.

You close your eyes again, basking in the bliss of this simple night and his presence. You can still sense the light of the moon and the stars above you through your eyelids, and you can still feel the fleece lining of the honey and tobacco-scented hoodie on your skin. You can still feel him lying beside you, and hear his easy breathing, a habit he told you was not necessary, but routine.

“i am too.” he says, his voice not breaking the silence, but sliding along with it. “glad that you’re here. with us.”

You hum, socked feet brushing against his sneakers.  “Here?” You ask, more of a conclusion than an inquiry.

You can nearly hear the smile in his voice, and you match it with your own as he answers “here. with us, at home.”

[mhandmore]

The Reason

Tim sat on a wall smoking outside. Toby approached silently watching from above him. Tim didn’t look over.

TIM

What do you want?

TOBY

To bug you.

Tim puffed his cigarette.

TIM

Why?

Toby jumped down onto the wall with Tim. Turned to him and Bummed a cigarette.

TOBY

Got a light?

Tim hands Toby his lighter.

TIM

You smoke?

TOBY

Maybe.

Toby lights up and takes a puff. Only to break out in a coughing fit. He wheases.

TOBY

What was that?!

Tim chuckles

TIM

That was a cigarette without a filter.

Toby continues coughing

TOBY

No filter?!

Toby turns over the carton to read the back.

TOBY

Jeez, no wonder you’re always In a bad mood! How can you stand that stuff!

TIM

The same way I stand you. Practice.

Tim takes another puff as Toby glares at him.

Tim turns to Toby.

TIM

Seriously why are you out here?

Toby stares at the cigarette silently, before tossing aside with disgust.

TOBY

I don’t know, just felt like it.

Tim raises an eyebrow before turning back.

TIM

Bull.

TOBY

What?!

TIM

Tobias, you’re a terrible liar.

Toby gets flustered as Tim takes another puff. Eventually Toby huffs and turns back.

TOBY

I told you to call me Toby.

Something in his jacket beeps. He takes out his phone and pushes the alarm to stop. He takes a pill bottle out of his jacket and takes a couple.He offers it to Tim who snuffs out his cigarette and takes a couple pills before handing back the bottle.

TIM

Thanks

TOBY

Yeah…

He stares at the sky for a bit before sighing.

TOBY

I came out to see someone.

Tim looks confused and Toby points up at a star.

TOBY

That’s her.

TIM

You really believe in that stuff?

Toby shrugs.

TOBY

I don’t know, but it’s fun. Why not?

Tim nods lighting another cigarette.

TOBY

So what about you?

TIM

Hu?

TOBY

Why are you out here?

TIM

For a smoke.

TOBY

Why?

TIM

Why do you think?

Toby looked at him for a bit

TOBY

Because you're addicted.

Tim shrugs.

TIM

That’s part of it.

TOBY

How many have you had?

TIM

Not enough.

TOBY

Why?

TIM

Because I’m still here.

Toby blinks staring at Tim as he smokes.

TOBY

You really mean that hu?

TIM

Yeah. Wouldn’t you?

Toby shifts uncomfortably in place.

TOBY

Well I don’t so…

Toby shrugs as Tim nods.

TIM

That’s good, keep it that way.

TOBY

Do you ever miss them?

Tim looks sadly at his cigarette.

TIM

Of course I miss them.

TOBY

Even Alex?

TIM

Yeah...

TOBY

Is that why?

Tim looks at him confused and Toby gestures at the cigarette.

Tim shrugs

TIM

I guess that’s part of it too.

[wheretfisbucky]

Perfect

Tony tries to warn him more than once that he’s broken; show him who he really is, that he’s too far gone to be fixed. In fact, he warns him three times, in various indirect ways. And then he gives in. He knows he shouldn’t, knows the boy is pure like fresh white snow and he is the poison that’ll blacken him, but he just can’t help himself. Peter is like an angel; divine and sweet, and yet he wants Tony, and Tony can’t help but become intoxicated by the feeling.

IT STARTS when Tony is at Peter’s house after school one Friday. They’re working on their science fair project. Peter’s home is just like him- perfect- immaculate and sweet-smelling and spacious. His parents are like Barbie and Ken, and they smile sweetly at Tony and offer him snacks.

“So you’re the one Petey’s been talking about!” his mom gushes. Tony can’t help but to turn and raise an eyebrow, flashing a goofy smile at Peter, who flushes and grabs his arm to pull him away.

And then they’re in Peter’s room, which smells like tangerines. They’re alone in Peter’s room, sitting criss-cross on his bed, and Tony’s a bit worried, but he tells himself it’s okay. He’s allowed himself this, to be friends with the sweet boy from his chemistry class, but he knows it can’t be anything more than that.

They work on the project, and they talk and laugh. Tony kind of wants to stay here forever. He feels safe and content in a way he never has. He wants to keep  this moment for the rest of his life.

But then Peter is touching his shoulder and leaning in, and Tony’s little bubble is burst, because he wants, but he knows he can’t let that happen. So he gently pushes Peter back, and the rejection he sees in those deep brown eyes is smothering his heart.

“I’m sorry, Tony, I guess I misread the moment. I just really like you, and I just-”

“Please,” Tony interrupts him. “It’s not that-” he stops. He’s not sure what words he can say to make Peter understand. 

“You don’t want to kiss me,” he croaks out.That didn’t do it, he can tell because Peter’s face crumples in confusion- Tony knows what he’s thinking- so he stands and collects his things.

“I gotta go, he says. It sounds cold, but that isn’t the way he means it. He hurries out of Peter’s room, down the stairs, and out the door. He doesn’t belong in such a perfect place anyway.

THE SECOND time, Tony’s already in a bad mood. He’s pissed off because he had to beat some kid’s ass in the bus lot for calling his younger sister a d*ke. She was mad at him. She thought he’d taken it too far- who cares what some punk ass kid says, anyway? And she’s right, he knows she’s right, but he can’t help it. He’s overprotective just like his father. He wants to be more in control of his anger, but sometimes the rage just overtakes him, makes him go to the extremes. It scares him. 

After that’s all said and done- Tony’s managed to evade apprehension by an administrator, and he missed lunch- he’s ready to skip the rest of the say to go home and sleep. He gasps in surprise when he sees Perfect Peter Parker waiting for him at his locker. His heart pounds, and Tony doesn’t know whether it’s because he wants to hit something or because he wants to sweep the boy into his arms and kiss him. Both are dangerous.

“Hey Tony,” Peter says. The smile that accompanies the words is a bit dimmer than his usual beaming one, but otherwise, Peter doesn’t seem at all upset about what happened on Friday.

“What do you want, Petey?” It slips out. He doesn’t mean to be so harsh, and the nickname is tacked onto the end in an attempt to soften it.

 Peter doesn’t react at all. “So about the science fair,” he continues, “I was thinking we could meet during eighth period study hall to finish working on the motor. It’s practically done, we just need to test it a few more times.” 

Tony’s sweating, but he doesn’t make a move to shrug off his leather jacket. Peter’s being so sweet to him- like always- and he already feels far too exposed.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. 

“Okay!” Peter knows he’s overstayed his welcome, Tony can see it in his eyes. He wonders what Peter thinks caused the shift in his attitude, knows he likely has no clue what the real reason is.

Peter didn’t just ask him to work in the lab, he reserved the lab for eighth period. That means the two of them are alone. Again. He told himself he wouldn’t let this happen, yet here he is. 

Tony finds himself settling when he spends time with Peter, as always. The ball of anger that’s been sitting in the pit of his stomach starts to dissipate. He laughs at Peter’s corny jokes, and he doesn’t notice when peter slowly starts to shift closer to him. Peter is like a magnet, and Tony is so helplessly drawn to him that sometimes he doesn’t even realize it.

And then.

Tony reaches for a pair of pliers, but finds a warm, soft hand covering own and pulling it close to Peter’s body. Peter’s quaking, just a bit, and Tony halfway wants to yank his hand away and run so he won’t have to hear what he knows Peter is going to say. (The other half of him is enjoying being so close to him.)

He inhales deeply, releases it, and they’re so close that his breath washes over Tony’s face. It takes a lot of willpower from Tony not to breathe in deep.

“I like you, Tony. A lot.” And then, quieter: “And I think you like me too.”

Tony hates this. Hates the longing look in Peter’s eyes and hates that he can’t give in. He hates that the has to be the strong one, because if he isn’t, Peter’s going to keep on falling and land hard.

“No, Peter. Just…no.” He has no clue what he should say, but he knows it shouldn’t have been then. “Please, no.” he adds. “Let’s just focus on our project.” He doesn’t pull his hand away because he doesn’t know how to. Instead he avoids the other boy’s gaze, the air tense and awkward until Peter lets go of him and turns back to the lab table, fiddling with stray parts.

“I don’t understand why you do this.”

Tony doesn’t answer him. He knows Peter doesn’t understand, and Tony gets that. Peter grew up in a dollhouse and his whole life is sugar-sweet. It’s what he deserves, what he’s come to need. And he can’t understand why Tony isn’t sugar-sweet too.

Well, Tony knows. Tony lives with it every day. And he never wants to drag Perfect Peter Parker down with him. The thought makes him sad. He curses himself for getting too close. He doesn’t want to break Peter’s heart.

TONY DOESN’T have to warn Peter the third time. Someone else does it for him. Tony’s in the bathroom smoking during third period when Bucky Barnes, a big sophomore with shoulder-length brown hair, appears. Tony tries to ignore him, but Bucky’s staring him down.

“What?”

“What did you say to Peter?” he asks.

Tony takes a moment to think about his response. Bucky’s tall- he has like eight inches on Tony- muscular, and breathing heavy as he stands rigid, glaring daggers at him. Tony wants to think he can take him, but deep down knows he couldn’t. So he needs to keep the situation calm- though he really wants to make a snarky remark, like, “I’ve said lots of things to him. You’ll need to be more specific.”

Instead, he just shrugs and tries to look as clueless as possible.

“I went over to his house last night and he was cryin’ his eyes out. Wouldn’t tell me what was wrong, but I know the two of you’ve been workin’ together.” 

And Tony has to hold in a gasp at that because fuck if that doesn’t make his heart shatter. This is exactly what he was trying to avoid. He tries not to picture Perfect Peter Parker curled up in his Perfect bedroom, crying because of him.

Tony doesn’t say anything, so Bucky continues. “You’re bad news, Stark. I don’t want you pullin’ him into your drama.”

Tony sees his opportunity, seizes it. “I don’t want that either,” he says eagerly, “Which is why I told him that I don’t like him even though I do.”

Much to Tony’s surprise, that wasn’t the right thing to say. He jolts when Bucky suddenly turns and punches the concrete wall, and Tony tries not to stare when the taller boy doesn’t even flinch. 

“Seriously? What’d you do that for?” 

Tony stands, cigarette forgotten on the windowsill. “I was trying to protect him! Isn’t that what you want, Barnes?”

“Yeah, I do. I want to protect him. He’s my best friend, and I know how to protect him a lot better than you do.”

“What? I thought-”

Bucky glances at his watch and sucks his teeth, cutting Tony off. “Shit. I gotta get to class.” He starts for the door.

“Barnes, we aren’t done talking.”

“You’re right, we aren’t. But I gotta get to Spanish so Peter’ll have somebody to sit with. He hates being let down.”

Tony’s heart sinks at the realization. He’s been trying so hard to avoid breaking Peter’s heart, but maybe he did anyway. He grabs his cigarette and snuffs it out. But what was he supposed to do? 

THE NEXT time Peter and Tony see each other is nearly a week later. Tony’s been avoiding the other boy- he told himself that it’s the right thing to do, given the circumstances. Clearly Peter’s Perfect heart has already been broken- there’s no going back to fix that, though he’s obsessed over it millions of times- so his best bet is just to try not to exacerbate the problem. 

But they do have to finish the science project, and the science fair is very soon, so eventually Peter sends Bucky to tell him to meet in the library after school.

They sit in two small armchairs in a corner, their project on a round table between them, both working in silence. Every so often, Peter spares a glance at Tony, who is focusing intently on his work and not paying Peter any mind. Peter’s acutely aware that this is a defense mechanism. He speaks up anyways.

“Bucky talked to you, didn’t he?”

“He told you?”

“N-no, I just… figured.”

There’s a long pause.

“He’s right, Pete. I’m really fucked up.” Tony finally says. He just needs to deter him.

“I don’t think so.”

Tony furrows his eyebrows, turning to look at Peter. “But- Peter, I’m a dick! I’ve been so rude  for no reason?”

“On multiple occasions. So what, we all have our off days. But I like you. In fact, I think I may be in love with you.” 

Tony does a double take, pinching his hand because surely, this can’t be real. Surely after all he’s done to try to scare Peter away, he doesn’t still want him. This can’t be the universe telling him to go for it anyway. He can’t have been wrong about this.

“Peter, you don’t know the things I’ve done. I have this rage that just comes out-”

“So you have an anger problem, so what?“ He pauses, hesitates for only a second. "Sometimes I go days without eating and cry myself to sleep. We all have our things.” He says it so simply, so tenderly, and he lays his hand on Tony’s as if to secure the connection between them.

And Tony’s heart stops for a minute, because that’s news to him, and he wants so badly to touch him, to hold him close and comfort him. “I just- I think maybe you should consider listening to Barnes,” he says feebly. “There’s stuff that you don’t know about-”

He’s cut off by Peter’s hands gripping his shoulders and Peter’s soft lips on his. Peter tastes like honey, somehow, and his eyelashes flutter against Tony’s cheekbones. Surely Tony Stark doesn’t deserve something so precious and lovely.

Because the last time he had someone he cared for in this way, it didn’t end well. Because he couldn’t handle it, because he was toxic. His left hand begins to tremble as he’s reminded. Peter grabs it, steadies it 

"My, uh- my last relationship didn’t end well.” he pulls back, clears his throat. Peter isn’t looking at his face. “I fucked it up, because I-”

“You don’t have to tell me, Tony. It’s okay.”

“But I want you to know why-”

“I don’t need to know.” Peter’s looking into his eyes now, and Peter’s eyebrows are crumpled in that sincere, caring way that makes Tony melt. “I just want you to start fresh with me.”

“Can you do that?”

Tony warned Peter three times that he shouldn’t be involved with him, that he’s not the guy that Peter thinks he sees.

But the truth is, the more blissful, tender moments he shares with his science fair partner, the harder it is to keep himself distant. He knows that eventually he’s going to cave and give into the sweet embrace of Perfect Peter Parker. 

He wants to so badly, he wants to believe that he can start fresh with Peter, that he can be better. That the vat of darkness that is his life doesn’t matter, because he can have someone as incredible as Peter to learn on and to love. He starts a bit with that realization, that maybe he does love Peter, and that maybe that means he deserves to be loved by him too?

His head is filled with nonsense, because he can’t really focus on anything but the way Peter smells and the thumb that’s stroking his cheek. His resolve is crumbling.

Peter looks at him again with those big, brown eyes. 

“Can you do that for me? Please?”

[babbushka]

Blue Moon (7/10)

New York, 1987. The air was filled with smog and the streets were ridden with crime. Just another day in paradise. Your quiet life turns upside down when a striking man moves in across from you. You’re falling, fast, into a love that could never, ever, happen…or could it?

(Could be interpreted as modern!au Kylo Ren/Reader for those who don't know who Pale is, but really this is Pale from Burn This!)

Word count: 8.8K

Warnings: N*FW content (language, explicit content) mild violence, mild homophobia mentions, mild drug use, mild angst 

You had kept your fucking hands to yourself for the most part like he had asked, and Pale was grateful. Last thing he needed was swerving into oncoming fucking traffic over the bridge from you jerkin’ him off. He couldn’t even look at you, at your pretty fuckin’ face, too worried he’d crash the god damned car staring at you for too long.

The restaurant was nice, not the nicest place in the world because he didn’t fuckin’ feel like driving that far, but nice.

You held onto his arm as the two of yous walked into the joint, it was all cream linen tablecloths and chandeliers, and you were eyeing every piece of art on the walls.

“You like it?” He asked, wanting to make sure you didn’t think the place sucked.

“It’s beautiful.” You smiled up at him, and he couldn’t take that for too long before he pinched at your nose and made you laugh, the sound made his fucking heart stutter as he slid into the booth next to you.

He really was going to have to get a fuckin’ doctor to take a look at him wasn’t he?

“How come we’re eating out tonight?” You asked as you unfolded the napkin onto your lap, smoothed it over your thighs where the skirt of your dress was doing its fucking best to not ride up.

He slipped his hand between your thigh anyway, didn’t do nothin’ too handsy, just sandwiched his palm between your legs. God you were so hot.

The waiter came around and poured some ice water into the glasses in front of you, asked for the wine order. Pale rambled off some high end name, wanted to get rid of the kid, wanted to have you all to himself.

“I need a reason to take my girl out?” He scoffed, lighting a cigarette and blowing big puffs into the air.

You made a face at that, a real happy one. One of those smug cat-that-got-the-cream kinds that made him realize he slipped up, said something too fuckin’ sappy.

“Your girl.” You said with a bit of a teasing lilt, grinning into your glass of water.

“Come on don’t start.” He rolled his eyes, cheeks heating up despite his best efforts.

“That’s the second time you’ve called me that.” You said, not even fucking bothering to hide that smile now.

“How’s that?” He frowned, he didn’t remember sayin’ it before? You had said it in the car and he had confirmed it – because how could he? How could he deny it? He was just a man after all.

“When you were yelling at Marty, you called me your girl.” You smiled and smiled, and of course he remembered that now that you mentioned it, of course he did.

“No I didn’t.” He said anyway, and you laughed, sipped your water.

“Okay.” You relented, took the time to look at the menu even though you knew he was gonna order for you anyway.

He smoked for a little bit, anxiety chewing him up for a second.

“Well you are, ain’t you?” He asked a little too snappish, in a roundabout way just wanting to hear you say it. What if you’d changed your mind? What if –

“You bet I am.” You interrupted what coulda been a real slippery fuckin’ slope, “Said so in the car didn’t I?” You asked, sipped your water.

The waiter came back with the wine. He must have been new because he did a real shit job pouring Pale’s glass, so bad that he fuckin’ snatched the bottle right out of the kids hand and poured your glass himself. The kid practically scurried out of the place in shame.

“Well I ain’t out to dinner with my old fuckin’ lady if that’s what you’re askin’.” Pale sniffed, set the bottle down and flicked his ash into the crystal ashtray on the table.

You were quiet for a moment, eyeing his hand as he smoked, a little crease in between your eyebrows. Pale wanted to wipe away that crease, so he did – smoothed his thumb right on your forehead, making you sigh a happy little smile out.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked gently, taking his hand away from your forehead and biting his thumb. “What happened in Miami?”

“Not really.” Pale shook his head, and bless you, you just smiled.

“Okay.” You said, too understanding. How were you too understanding all the fucking time?

“’Okay’?” He asked, giving you a chance to push, to be nosy, to be rightfully pissed off at him for being a married fuckin’ man, stupid, so stupid of him to have gotten married --

“Yeah, ‘okay’.” You shrugged, looked down at the menu and then back at him. “What are we ordering?”

“Why are you so fuckin’ easy breezy all the time?” He asked, couldn’t help himself, was so fucking confused by you.

Not that he would mind if you had been married, he wouldn’t have given a shit about that, woulda taken care of that for you if that’s something you had wanted, but why were you so cool about everything?

“What, you want me to yell at you?” You asked, a teasing smile dancing on your lips as you sipped the wine, it stained them dark red, he just had to swoop down and kiss you real quick.

“I don’t know. Maybe. I’d fuckin’ know how to handle that better. I don’t know how to handle you sometimes, I always expect you to give me a fuckin’ hard time, but you never do. It sets me on edge, you know? I always fuckin’ wait for the other fuckin’ shoe to drop but it never does. How come?” He frowned.

“I only got the one.” You shrugged, and despite his mood, he laughed a little at that.

“Where the hell did you come from?” He muttered under his breath, but you only laughed.

“Not Jersey – maybe that’s your problem.” You said.

“Watch it.” He gave you a warning frown, but you just tucked yourself right up against him, encouraged that hand of his in between your thighs to smooth itself over your panties.

“Come on you gotta admit that was kinda funny.” You kissed the corner of his mouth over and over again until he smiled, shook his head just enough to dislodge you.

“It was very funny.” He conceded, smoked his cigarette.

The waiter came and went, took the orders and brought the food. All the while Pale finished his smoke, fondled you a little bit.

“How do you feel about vacations?” Pale asked once the dinner had arrived, had pulled his hand away just long enough to cut into his fucking prime rib, and then pushed it right back down.

“I wouldn’t know, I don’t go on any.” You said, cutting into your own meal, trying not to squirm under his touch.

That caught him off guard.

“What, never?” He asked with a frown, and you just shook your head.

“Nope.” You popped your ‘p’, but didn’t seem too upset about it.

He could change that, he thought, he could take you wherever the fuck you wanted to go. He wondered where you might want, out of the country probably. He wouldn’t blame you for wanting to get out of the fuckin’ country with all the shit going on. Then again the whole fuckin’ world was in shambles, so what difference would it make.

Either way, the thought of fucking you in Paris sounded good enough for him to rub at your panties some more.

“Well you should. You work too fuckin’ hard not to go on vacation, you know? You work too hard. Ask Fishel for some time off.” He suggested, not really suggesting but you know.

“Nah, I can’t do that.” You shook your head.

“Why the fuck not?” He asked, not unkindly, just confused.

“I’m his best waitress, you know? I can’t go leavin’ him with Maria or Stephanie or whoever the fuck else. They don’t got the same know-how as me.” You chuckled, probably imagining what the place would be like in your absence.

“Jesus you wouldn’t be gone all fuckin’ year, just a weekend or something, enough time to warm your bones. It’s fuckin’ freezing here.” He huffed, sipped his wine and ate his steak.

“What do you expect, it’s January. What’s January like in Jersey?” You teased.

“Cold as all shit.” He teased back, making you laugh.

The two of you ate for a while, sat in pleasant silence.

Pale’s brain was whirring of course, thinking of all the things he had to get done over the next couple of days. Maybe he’d call Kenny up, book an appointment. He had to check on the shipment schedule, make sure that was all up to fuckin’ snuff, probably should go to the fuckin’ docks make sure nothin’ out of order was goin’ on, he definitely needed --

“Where would we go?” You asked, breaking the silence, humming with thought.

“Wherever you want.” He shrugged, looking at you.

“Have you been a lot of places?” You looked right back at him.

“Not too many, a couple cities, couple states, couple countries.” He sipped his wine, no big deal. It was no big deal. He had more pins on a map than most fuckin’ travel agencies, but it was no big deal.

“What’s your favorite?” You asked.

“Queens.” He said without any hesitation.

You blushed so pretty he just had to kiss you again.

 Pale was hot, hot for you. Something about the way you fuckin’ looked tonight, in that dress he picked out for you, in the low light of the restaurant, who fuckin’ knows. You looked so good, always looked good, god he wanted to fuck you.

The threw a couple hundred dollar bills onto the table, grabbed at your hand.

“Come with me, I want my fuckin’ dessert and I don’t want to wait for it.” He said without any more preamble, and slid out of the booth.

You followed, you had to fuckin’ know what was coming, had to know how bad he wanted you. You had to know.

He got you as far as the back alley, just behind the restaurant where the busboys took their break. One was smoking there now, but Pale didn’t pay too much attention, too hell bent on getting your panties yanked down to your ankles.

“How do you want me?�� You shuddered, the cold air on your cunt.

“Back against the wall, put your fuckin’ leg over my shoulder.” He ordered, as he crouched down enough to get eye level with your glistening pussy, and you did as you were told; slung your leg over his shoulder, heel digging into his back.

He licked into you, sucked all your juices up. You made the best fucking noises, you really did, he thought as he licked and prodded his tongue between your folds.

Your hands immediately went to his hair, made him smile against you as they dug into his scalp, fisted his hair and held his head in place.

“Pale, please – ” You sighed as he thrust his tongue deep into you, making you yelp, pull his hair a little too hard.

“Be good.” He said, pulling back, looking up at you.

He wrapped an arm around the thigh on his shoulder, bit a dark mark there before going back to drinking your pussy down, his nose prodding and rubbing at your clit.

“Oh!” You gasped, back arching against the filthy alley wall as he did it again and again, and again as you came.  

He moved your leg off of him, stood up. You were looking at him with a hazy look of pleasure all over your face, it made his cock hard.

“I’m not fuckin’ finished with you yet.” He said, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

He snapped your panties off, ripped them right up and tugged you over to where his car was parked in the dark lot.  

“Bend over, come on.” He licked his teeth, anxious, had to get in you, had to fuck you right fuckin’ now.

You did as you were told, braced yourself on the hood of his car, god he was so glad he had bought this model, there was plenty of hood space. He shoved the scrappy panties into your mouth, gagged you with it, made you taste yourself.

He wasted no fuckin’ time at all yanking his belt open, his fly, pulling out his cock. He grunted as he slid into you, pushing the air out of your lungs at the same time as he pushed you flush down on the hood.

He didn’t even give you any fuckin’ time to adjust, just had you biting down on your panties to muffle your moans.

“One of these days I’m gonna strip you naked and fuck you like this, get your sweat all over the hood of my fucking car, so everyone can know what a slut you are – aren’t you?” He loved the way you looked like this, like a girl out of some fuckin’ Whitesnake video, shaking the car with how good he was fucking you.

You couldn’t answer, of course, he fuckin’ knew you couldn’t, but you nodded your head anyway, let him know – let him know that you were his whore, his slut, that this was his cunt to fuck.

And fuck it he did, hard and rough in the god damned dingy parking lot behind the restaurant, fucked you right off the freeway, under nothing but the light of the damn moon. He wished there was at least a street light somewhere, at the very fuckin’ least, so he could see the way your back moved as he rammed into you.

He wasn’t going to last, not with the way you were moaning for him, but that was okay, he had all night to fuck you, all night to make you scream and cry and beg for him. The thought of you begging had him coming, had him pushing all the way into you, could feel the head of his cock shoving its way against your cervix, making you clench up around him and come too, both of you going and going until you slumped limp against the car, until the stars stopped dancing behind his eyes.

He yanked the underwear out of your mouth, stuffed it in his pocket. You unstuck yourself from the car, turned around and smiled at him.

“Let’s get the fuck home, huh?” He asked, not wanting to think about the implications of that statement, brain too fuckin’ fuzzy to care right now.

You just nodded with a smile, always with a fuckin’ satisfied smile, and got in the car.

“Go draw a bath, would ya?” He asked when the two of you got back to your place.

He was fuckin’ freezing despite his jacket, and the thought of soaking in a hot tub seemed like exactly what he needed.

“Okay, but we’re running out of bubbles.” You said, disappearing into the bathroom.

“Alright I’ll pick more up tomorrow.” He said, pulling off his clothes and throwing them onto the couch.

“Are you off tomorrow?” You asked, working on getting yourself naked too.

You stripped down to nothing but the chain, and that made Pale’s stomach get all fuckin’ twisted in knots again. A doctors’ trip was definitely fuckin’ needed, he’d call Kenny the next day, he decided.

“No but I don’t gotta go in until late.” He shook his head, climbed into the tub.

“I’m workin’ a double.” You frowned, reaching for his hand to steady yourself as you climbed in too.

You grabbed the little bottle of bubble bath and drizzled it into the tub, shutting the water off so it wouldn’t overflow and get suds all over the fucking place.

“I’ll come over when I’m done, I gotta run a couple errands during the day so I can’t go visitin’ you at work or nothin’.” He reassured you and you straddled him, settled your thighs around his hips, carding your hands through his wet hair.

“That’s okay, Sundays are real busy anyway. Got all the folks who don’t go to church rushin’ the place for breakfast to take advantage of all the empty space, and then got the lunch rush for all the folks comin’ out of church wantin’ a bite to eat.” You said, and he smiled.

“Good think you got the know-how, huh.” He teased.

You leaned down to kiss him.

“You bet, and I make the most tips.” You winked.

He ran his hands up your stomach and grabbed at your tits, massaged them in his hands.

“You sure it ain’t ‘cause of these tits of yours?” He ran his teeth along your jaw, nipped at your cheek.

“Nah, only you get to see them.” You said, voice low, like even that was just for him.

“That’s fuckin’ right.” He sucked on your bottom lip, got it all red and puffy.

“Can I ride you?” You asked, whining, shifting your weight on your knees.

“’Course you can sweetheart, come here.” He leaned back, watched as you did all the work.

You really were like a work of fuckin’ art, he thought, as you cried on his dick.

You had thrown your head back, soap and suds sliding down your curves, over your tits.

He almost wished he brought his cigarettes in, he had gone through the pack he kept stashed in your fuckin’ bathroom, he’d pick up more when he got the bubbles.

You were hungry for it, that was for fuckin’ sure, and every so often he would thrust up into you, make you yelp out in pleasure.

You did that hip circling thing again, the one that made his eyes roll back as you clenched down around him, god you were an angel, how had he found you? How was he so fuckin’ lucky? How how how?

In the shitty light of the bathroom you were some fuckin’ slutty angel just for him, and with his hands on your hips he fucked up into you, bounced you on his cock with his own thrusts.

“I’m gonna – ”

“Just a little bit more.” He interrupted, not wanting this to be over so fuckin’ soon, not yet, not yet.

“Pale pleasepleaseplease.” You begged, face all scrunched up, crying and moaning and groaning and grooving for him, grinding down on his cock.

He came in you with a stuttered groan, fucked you through it, milked his orgasm for whatever it was worth. He reached down and rolled your clit as he thrust, and you came too, that mouth of yours dropping into a pretty little O.

“Are you stayin’ over?” You breathed, tried to catch your breath. He liked that he knocked the wind outta you.  

“Not tonight.” He said. He wished he could, but he had too much shit to do, too much to stay.

“Okay.” You frowned, and it broke his fuckin’ heart, he could feel it shatter into a thousand tiny pieces, panic spiking in him, he didn’t want you upset.

“Hey don’t sound so fuckin’ glum, I’m comin’ over tomorrow night after work.” He tipped your chin up, sat up a bit in the tub, sloshed the water around and kissed you, tried to kiss you happy again.

“I know, but it’s so cold without you.” You whined, pouting at him as you draped your arms over his shoulders.

“That all you use me for? My heat? Huh?” He teased, kissing you all over your face until you didn’t look so fuckin’ sad.

“Yeah that’s it.” You rolled your eyes, making him smile against his own better fuckin’ judgement, “Definitely not your charm, or your wit, or your sense of humor or nothin’.”

“Good.” He said, giving your jaw a shake and pulling you in for another kiss.

He never liked the doctors office. It was always too fuckin’ clean, he thought. He didn’t trust clean places, didn’t like what that meant – that someone had come in there, looked around and decided this place wasn’t good enough for them as is, had to make it spic-and-fuckin’-span.

Doctors offices had no fuckin’ charm, no personality, he thought.

“Hey I’m here to see doctor fuckin’ so-and-so?” Pale walked right up to the front desk, cigarette hanging from his lips.

“Dr. Kenneth?” The woman at the desk frowned, and he laughed.

Kenneth, he thought, so fuckin’ professional.  

“Is that what they’re callin’ him these days? Yeah, Dr. Kenneth.” He agreed, shrugged, whatever.

“Do you have an appointment?” She asked.

“No I don’t got an appointment, but tell him Jimmy’s here, he’ll know what that means.” Pale said, not moving.  

“Just a moment.” The woman said, eyeing him as she picked up the phone. “Dr.? Yes, a Jimmy is here to see you. Okay…okay….thank you. You can go on in.” She said, mildly annoyed that he got to skip the line so to speak.

“Thanks.” He said, leaving a cloud of smoke behind him.

He walked right back to the open patient room, didn’t bother sitting down.

“Jim! How are ya?” A familiar face smiled at him, pulled him into a tight hug.

“I ain’t so good Kenny.” Pale said with a frown, making Kenny frown too.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, immediately concerned.

Pale did sit then, didn’t really know how to start. How could he? He didn’t even know what was wrong with him, didn’t know what to tell Kenny to even start asking the right questions to find out what was wrong.

“Well, I got this girl, see. She’s real pretty, got the best fuckin’ face I ever seen, like straight outta your dreams kinda pretty. And I think she’s done something to me but I don’t know what.” Pale said, knowing exactly how fucking paranoid he was sounding right now.

“What, like poison you?” Kenny asked in disbelief, making Pale shake his head.

“No, it’s like…it’s like I got a toothache she’s so sweet, you know? A toothache right in my fuckin’ chest – why the fuck are you smiling at me like that Kenny this ain’t no laughing matter I could be dying!” Pale snapped, not appreciating the fuckin’ hysterics.

“When you’re with this girl, how does it make you feel? Does your stomach hurt?” Kenny composed himself, even did Pale the decency of pulling out his fuckin’ clipboard.

“Nah not hurt exactly, but it does these little fuckin’ flips like I’m about to be sick, you know? Like I’m going on a rollercoaster and we’re going upside down and shit. Am I dying?” Pale asked, wanting to know straight up.

Kenny stared at his clipboard for a long while, mulling over his notes.

“You’re not dying, you’re in love.” He said finally, and Pale rolled his eyes, struck up another cigarette.

“Fuck you no I’m not.” He scoffed, but Kenny laughed.

“Of course you are! And you damn well better be, married and all.” He said pointedly.

“No Kenny it ain’t her, I’m done with her.” Pale shook his head, blew smoke outta his nose.

“Done?” Kenny frowned, shit, had he not told anyone?

“Yeah she fuckin’ split two years ago, comin’ up on three.” Pale rectified that mistake then and there, and waved away Kenny’s already sympathetic face.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry Jimmy I didn’t know. Divorce and everything?” He asked, but Pale shook his head.

“She won’t sign the fuckin’ papers, but we might as well be. Went down to Miami for Christmas where she’s staying with the kids and her fucking parents, and I got all fucked up but for different reasons, you know?” He smoked and smoked. Wondered if there was something ironic about smoking in a doctors office.

“Yeah I know. Shit, you’re in love and got yourself a mistress.” Kenny whistled.

“Hey don’t talk about her like that, she’s better than that, than a fuckin’ mistress. She ain’t no side chick or nothing, she’s my main girl – my only girl. Got that?” Pale bristled, making Kenny put his hands up in mercy.

“Yeah I got it, I got it Jimmy. You’re not dying though.” He chucked the clipboard onto the desk, reached out his hand for a cigarette.

“Who the fuck even gave you your medical license, huh?” Pale muttered, gave him one anyway and tossed him a lighter.

“Does this girl not know? Is that what’s got you so worked up?” Kenny asked, glad for the smoke.

“Not know what?” Pale asked back.

“That you like her.” He clarified.

“I fuck her like 10 fuckin’ times a week yeah she knows I like her.” Pale sniffed, making Kenny laugh.

“Then why the hell are you here asking me all this instead of just talkin’ to her?” He raised his eyebrows in an all too familiar way. Looked like his fuckin’ father when he did that.

“Because I’m still con-fuckin’-vinced there’s something wrong with me.” Pale grumbled, annoyed.

“How long we know each other Jimmy?” Kenny asked in that stupid way of his.

“Our whole fuckin’ lives, you’re my brother you asshole.” Pale rolled his eyes, making Kenny nod.

“We’ve known each other our whole lives, I know when my brother is dyin’ and this ain’t it, okay?” Kenny said, makin’ Pale snap his jaw shut. “Does she know about Robbie?”

“Yeah, she knows.” He said.

“She good to you?” Kenny asked, “You know, like do you talk to her? She treat you okay?”

“She treats me too good, I don’t deserve it.” Pale sighed, making his brother frown.

“Why not, are you mean to her?” He asked, making Pale want to deck him.

“Of course I’m not fuckin’ mean to her Kenny what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he snapped, but Kenny just shrugged.

“I just know sometimes you’re a little rough around the edges is all, jesus I didn’t mean nothin’ by it.” He defended himself.

“You know I almost fuckin’ killed a guy in front of her and she didn’t so much as flinch, she don’t care that I’m ‘rough around the edges.’” Pale said, admiring you.

“What’d the poor sucker do?” Kenny asked, knowing this ain’t the first or last time something like that would happen.

“He touched her and she didn’t like it, so I beat his fuckin’ face in.” Pale shrugged, making Kenny grin.

“So that’s what busted your knuckles all up.” He waved to his brother’s hand.

“Oh yeah, how they lookin’? Not infected or nothing right?” He leaned over, gave his brother his hand to look at.

“Nope you’re good.” He replied after a cursory glance, “And I mean it, you’re fine. Get out of my office and go back to your girl, okay?”

“Alright alright, thanks Kenny.” Pale sighed, standing back up and giving his brother a hug.

“Hey – and call Mom at some point, okay? She misses you.” Kenny said, patting him on the shoulder.

“Yeah I’ll ring her up tomorrow.” Pale rolled his eyes.

He left the office, and said goodbye to the woman at the desk, before being confronted with pouring rain outside.

God fucking damnit, he thought, of course he hadn’t thought to bring his umbrella – when the hell did it rain like this in the middle of winter? Wasn’t it supposed to snow instead?

He made a mad dash to his car, using his fucking jacket as a shield against the ran, sped through it to get to your apartment.

By the time he had parked, the rain hadn’t stopped, and Pale was pissed. He cursed to himself as he bounded up the stairs to your apartment two at a time, bitched to himself about his fancy fucking leather jacket and his boots and his silk fucking shirt that all was going to be ruined.

He shoved the key into your lock and threw the door open with a bang.

You of course, weren’t so much as surprised by the noise.

“Get the fuck over here.” He barked out, slamming the door just as loud.

You lazily walked over, abandoned whatever it was you were doing in the kitchen in favor of Pale. He was sick with this feeling in his fucking gut for you, sick with it. He had to have you, he needed you.

The second you got close enough he grabbed your arms, crushed you to him in a bruising kiss.

Pale had you pinned against the wall. Your chest was heaving, tits spilling out of your strappy top for him, pushing practically into his fuckin’ face. He could feel your thighs twitching underneath that slutty skirt you put on just for him, eager for him. Your eyes were wide open, he could smell the lust on you, smell how you wanted him.

He was going to fucking give it to you.

Like a man possessed he pulled out his switchblade, the one he kept hidden in his fucking jacket that was soaking fucking wet. He flipped it open, pressed it against your hip. You smiled.

That mouth, that mouth thatmouththatmouth – it was all he could think about.

He started with one, just one. One fucking finger in your mouth, rubbing against your tongue.

“Suck.” He said. You were so fucking good, you always waited until he said.

He added a second, his middle finger, pushed the two in and out of your mouth. Watched the spit glisten in the scarce moonlight. You sucked, and sucked and jesus he could watch the way his fingers stuffed your mouth for hours, days, weeks.

He was mesmerized, he was fucking out of it – was he dreaming? He didn’t want to wake up if it was, wanted to watch you forever. He could, you know. He really fucking could.

You sucked, and he added a third, his ring finger. God it felt so naked without his ring – the reminder made him snarl, made him push his fingers down your throat, made him make you gag.

“I like when you’re sloppy.” He growled, sneering down at you, baring his teeth and licking his lips as you made a mess of yourself, all for him.

The noises were delicious, disgustingly wet, exactly the way he liked it. He didn’t know where he was going with this, didn’t know what the fuck he was doing but he knew he never wanted to stop.

He let the switchblade trail up your thigh over your skirt. He could cut it right up if he wanted you, you’d let him. He’d just buy you another one anyway.

He did it, sliced right through the fabric, letting it fall to the floor. You weren’t wearing underwear underneath. He cut up your top too, you weren’t wearing a bra neither.

He added a fourth, his pinky, slipped it right into your fucking mouth, spread his fingers apart and ran the tips along the sharp edges of your teeth.

He pulled his hand away, let all the sticky spit string along as he did. You whined, you knew how he loved to hear you whine for him.

He smeared his soaking wet hand, really it was dripping from all your good fuckin’ work, against your mouth and chin. Held your jaw in his big hand, forced it open just enough so he could lean in and lick your bottom lip. You were panting, drooling. He licked it up.

His slippery hand covered your mouth, he spread his fingers to grip tight at your jaw and cover up that gorgeous fucking mouth of yours, but you just kissed his palm. Sucked right at the juncture between his thumb and index finger, moaned.

He was so hard in his fucking jeans, but he couldn’t stop watching you, couldn’t stop pressing his hand against your mouth, like he was covering up a scream. Maybe he was, maybe he’d make you scream for him.

You made out with his hand until he pressed it downwards, pressed it against your throat.

“Say it.” He choked you making your head tip back and hit the back of the wall.

“I’m your whore.” You breathed with the biggest, smuggest fucking smile on your face.  

He leaned in and parted your lips with his tongue, exhaled into your mouth. You moaned, breathed him in.

His hand traveled to the back of your head, gripped the hair at the base of your skull into his tight fist. He pushed you down, watched hungrily as you went, watched as you sank to your knees.

It was slow, torture, the way you slid down the wall. Torture watching you. Was he dreaming?

Just when you probably fucking thought he was going to pull his dick out and fuck your throat, he stepped back, watched and watched and watched you.

“Go to the bed.” He said, voice pitched deep from how fucking turned on he was.

Thunder cracked outside, the entire apartment lighting up something fuckin’ fierce with a flash of white light. Rain poured and poured and poured outside – maybe he’d fuck you on the fire escape after.

Pale watched as you crawled.

Crawled on your hands and fucking knees. Slunk across the floor of the living room.

Only when you had crawled your fucking way to the god damned bed and lay back like some fucking pillow princess, spreading your legs like the perfect fucking angel you were, did he bother to unbuckle his jeans, storming over to you.

He grabbed at your legs, yanked you down so your ass was barely hanging off the foot of the bed, and pushed into you.

“I’m gonna fuck you raw.” He said, voice low in your ear. He drank up the way you shivered under his bruising touch as he dug his fingers into your waist.

“Yeah?” You asked, shaking, shaking with how eager you were.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.” He nodded slowly, grinding his dick into you, drawing out the sweetest noise from your throat.

There was something about fucking you like this, you on your back, that made him feel so fucking electric.

Your tits bounced as he slammed his way into you, pushing you up and up and up the bed with the hard smack of his hips, his thighs burning from being so fucking tense. You felt amazing around him, his whole world narrowed down to the tight hot wetness between your legs, your pussy pulling him in, begging for him.

“Pale! Oh pale, harder – harder please.” You echoed it, echoed your own bodies desires.

He tugged one of your legs up and over your shoulder, bit down hard on your ankle as he re-adjusted himself, got in even deeper into you.

He smacked your thigh, watched the way the flesh jiggled for him, and smacked it again.

“You fucking like that?” he asked, demanded from you, needed to hear you say it, needed to know he was making you feel good, feel the fucking best.

“I love it! I love it don’t you fucking stop.” You cried out for him, fists twisting in the sheets.

Adrenaline flooded his system, he yanked the pillow out from under your head, making you let out a quick groan of protest as your head bounced on the mattress, but he ignored that for the time being and shoved it under your pelvis, elevating your hips for him so he could get a better angle.

God he was on fire, his whole fucking body, aching and sweating, burning up from the inside. He could see the sweat dripping off of him, his hands were losing their grip, slipping and sliding all over your skin, pinching at your nipples, sucking them into his mouth.

“Pale!” You gasped, clawing at his back.

“Oh yeah? My slut like that? Felt that right in your cunt, did ya?” He snarled, bared his teeth at you as you nodded so fast you were almost a fuckin’ blur to him.

“Yes!” You were shaking shaking shaking under him, he pressed against your throat, could feel you swallowing around his hand.

“Fucking – turn around.” He pulled out all at once, making you gasp and whine and squirm, desperate to get him back in you.

He manhandled you so that you were on all fours, and he scrambled up onto the bed, on his knees, pushing your shoulders down and spitting on your cunt before shoving his way back in.

“Please, you’re so – it’s so much, you’re so good I’m your whore and you’re so good.” You cried and cried, tears of pleasure pressing into the mattress as your pussy drooled, squelched for him.

The sounds you made went straight to his cock, and he kneaded your ass in his hands, pulled your cheeks apart to watch his dick pump in and out of you. You were so hot, so wet for him, he could feel your come on his thighs as he thrust into you.

“You’re mine.” He growled, wrapped your hair around his hand and pulled your head towards him, forcing you to arch your back.

He pulled almost all the way out, leaving just the tip in you before slamming all the fucking way in, nearly impaling you on his cock. He did that over and and over again, pulling out agonizingly slow, and then ramming back in, each time making you sob harder for him.

The fucking headboard smacked against the wall, he got a sick thrill from that, wondering if all the fucking neighbors could hear you over the sound of the rain.

“Say my fucking name.” Pale let go of your hand but caught your jaw instead, holding your head back, straining your pretty neck.

“Pale!” You cried, “Let me come? Please let me come.” You begged for him, and how could he deny you when you begged so sweet?

“Touch yourself, go on.” He said, watching with hazy vision as you reached under yourself, toyed with your clit until you were clenching down around him.

The way your cunt clamped down on his cock had him coming and coming and coming, so much that he threw a hand under you, pressed it right up to your belly, could swear he could feel it pulsing from the outside.

Your knees buckled underneath you, but he supported your hips with his hands as he came, not wanting you to get even a fucking inch away from him right now. He felt like if he didn’t empty all his come into your pussy right that fucking second, he’d die, he’d just die.

The rain beat down and down on the window, and you were both panting, and he didn’t even fucking bother pulling out of you, just rolled the both of you over so you were on your sides, and passed the fuck out.

 Pale blinked awake right when the sun was just barely starting to make its way over the horizon. The rain had stopped sometime during the night, and he had slipped out of you sometime too, dried come all over the both of you, sticking you two together. He didn’t mind so much, not with you in his arms, your head tucked against his chest.

He tried not to move too suddenly, tried not to disturb you as he gently moved some of your hair away from your neck where he knew it was probably uncomfortable.

“I don’t believe in anything, you know?” He whispered to you. “Like some big man up in the sky or nothin’.”

Was he talking to you? Was he talking at all? He could never tell, this early. There weren’t sirens for once, that was something new. He was probably dreaming.

“I’m not too big of a fan of miracles, I think they’re lazy.” He said anyway, because did it really matter if he was awake or not? You were still snoring gently against him anyway. “Somethin’ good happen? Call it a miracle and ignore all the shit all the people had to do their whole lives to get to a point where the good thing can happen, you know? They’re selfish, miracles.”

He looked out the window, counted the stars he saw. No wait – those were just airplanes. How fuckin’ annoying. He couldn’t imagine getting a flight that early.

“Same with fate. I don’t do that whole fuckin’ oh it was meant to be bullshit.” He sighed. “Or at least, I didn’t use to. Now, I don’t know. You make me question a lot of shit about shit, you know? Make me wonder. Sometimes you feel like a miracle, like fate. Sometimes when I look at you I feel like my whole fuckin’ life was buildin’ up to this moment, to meeting you. Ain’t that ridiculous?”

“You make me so fuckin’ weak, I’m weak for you. You got me wrapped around your fuckin’ finger and you didn’t even have to try. Got me callin’ up the fuckin’ doc to make sure I don’t got some kinda heart condition. You’re a menace, killin’ me.”

He waited, he didn’t know what for. He never knew what for anymore.

“Bein’ with you is torture sometimes, in a good kinda way. Is there a good kind of torture? I don’t know. You make it feel like there is though, the way you look at me sometimes. You’re too good. You’re a menace. Bein’ away from you is worse though. I swear to god I don’t think I could do that again, be away from you for that long again. That was too long. I didn’t know what to do with myself, spent all my time getting bitched at left and right. You know her parents had no clue we were split? Had no fuckin’ clue that I hadn’t seen my kids in a year? She told them I was away on a business trip, and they believed it – what a crock of shit.”

He watched an airplane go all the way across the sky, watched it disappear behind one of the big skyscrapers way out in the distance.

“I don’t know what to do anymore, you’re the only thing I can ever think about these fuckin’ days. All day every day, what are you doing? What are you wearing? Are you happy? Are you okay? Do you miss me? Are you thinking about me too? It’s okay if you don’t. It’s okay. But I hope you are. You said you’re my girl, but for how long, you know? You got me scared shitless over here, scared to fuckin’ death you’re gonna get fed up and tell me to leave, change the lock.”

That made him tear up, made a stupid big lump show up in his throat. He held onto you a little tighter, afraid that if he didn’t you’d disappear right before his very eyes.

“I would leave, if you told me to. I’d walk out that door and I wouldn’t come back until you said so. I wouldn’t bother you at work or stare in your window. I wouldn’t buy you gifts or cook you food or nothing. I’d go away, if you told me to. It would kill me, be the fuckin’ end of me, but I’d do it if that’s what you wanted. I’d do anything you wanted. Kenny says I ain’t sick or nothin’, but I feel like I am, sick over the thought of losing you. Ain’t that somethin’? I ain’t never been sick like this before – and the only fuckin’ time I don’t feel so fuckin’ terrified is when I’m kissin’ you. Somethin’ about the way you kiss, I don’t know it’s like the most reassuring fuckin’ thing in the whole god damned divine universe. Who needs heaven when I got your kisses, you know?”

He was losing his fucking mind, spouting shit like this. Worst of all was that it was all true.

“Jesus, I’m fuckin’ glad you can’t hear none of this.”

A few days later, Pale found himself at the bar.

It was a shitty hole in the wall joint, but it had become one of his refuges after a long fucking day of work. And boy had he had a fuckin’ day.

But he was at the bar now, and he had already done a couple lines with some of the guys in the bathroom, and he had already thrown back a drink or two, and he was feelin’ good.

There was some fuckin’ music playing he didn’t jive with, didn’t know what kind of sound it was supposed to be – something electronic. He didn’t fuckin’ know, but it didn’t matter.

Some guys were playing pool, one of the guys was losing pretty fucking badly. It was almost pitiful.

“Hey pal, you want any pointers?” He offered, calling across to the big guy who was losing.

“I ain’t queer.” The guy spit back, just as drunk as Pale was.

That response threw him off, what the fuck did that mean? All he had fucking said was if he wanted some help.

“Didn’t fuckin’ say you were, jackass.” Pale spit back, turning his attention away from the loser and sipping some more brandy.

The bartender there knew him, not as well as some other bartenders, but well enough.

“Damn it!” The loser pounded his fist on the edge of the pool table. Must’ve lost the game, from the sound of it, Pale thought with a mean smile. “What the fuck are you laughing at, fruit?” The loser saw him and asked.

The bar went quiet.

“I know you ain’t fuckin’ talkin’ to me.” Pale said, out of his seat in a minute.

“So what if I am?” The big guy asked, although he was faltering now that Pale was up close and in his fucking face, nearly a whole head taller, and about as wide.

“Ain’t nothin’ fucking wrong with queers, you got that?” Pale sneered, but the guy just grimaced.

“Won’t fuckin’ matter anymore anyway, with all of them droppin’ like fuckin’ flies – ”

Pale’s fist connected with the guy’s nose before he could even finish his though, spraying blood across the green velvet of the pool table.

“Hey!” The guy shouted, cradling his face.

No one came to stop him, and thank fuck for that, because there was no way in hell that Pale wouldn’t have started swinging at them if they did.

He grabbed the guy and punched him hard across the face, breaking his nose more and more and more, kneeing him in the fucking stomach and sending him falling to the ground, gasping for air as he knocked the wind out of him.

Pale grabbed onto the pool table for leverage as he kicked the guy over and over, grabbed one of the empty beer bottles that was resting on the edge of it and smashed the glass over the guy’s head when he tried to get up, knocking him out cold.

Pale challenged anyone to fucking stop him as he gathered his coat, threw some money onto the pool table, and tried to fucking keep it together until he made it to his car.

 The drive to your apartment felt like it took forever, like it took years and years. He sped through the non-existent traffic of three-am, ran red lights and floored it through yellows. He didn’t care. He felt like he couldn’t fucking breathe, yanking open the buttons on his button-down, he was choking he was suffocating.

How could they say that? How the fuck could people say that? That was his brother, that was people like Robbie they were talking about – dropping like flies he couldn’t – he didn’t –

He banged on your door, he didn’t know how he got there, he couldn’t remember – where did he park? God he couldn’t see everything was hazy, hazy and too sharp at the same time, like someone fucked up their tv but had perfect signal.

He banged and banged on the door, sobs wracking hos body, stinging his eyes his eyes were stinging.

You wrenched the door open, robe wrapped tight around your body, a look of panic on your face.

“Pale, are you – ” You started but he just sobbed and sobbed and sobbed.

You pulled him into your apartment, closed the door behind him and held onto him tight.

His whole fucking mind was spinning, was the room spinning? Where was he – oh that’s right that’s right – his hand hurt, he hurt all over.

“Jesus I can’t fucking take this anymore, I can’t fucking take it, you know that?” He cried into your hair, you held him.

“Can’t take what? Pale talk to me – ” You tried, but he couldn’t really listen, couldn’t stop the words from getting out but also couldn’t get them all the way out – his brain was going too fast, he was losing it losing it losing it.

“No one fuckin’ even knew him, you know? Not even me. I don’t – who gives a shit about anything any more? There’s no god damned point, there’s no – I’m – ” He was yelling, he knew he was yelling, could feel it in his throat. Could feel it in the walls in his bones in his head he couldn’t stop yelling.

“You’re not making sense.” You soothed him, tried to soothe him. You ran a hand up and down his back and he tried focusing on the movement but he was shaking and crying – why couldn’t he stop crying?

“I can’t – I can’t – ” He tried, and you just nodded, pet at his hair.

“Honey how much have you had to drink?” You asked, not a single fucking angry bone in your body, and that made him cry even harder.

“I don’t know I don’t – ” He sobbed, his whole fucking body shaking. He was soaking wet, all of him – had it rained again and he didn’t notice? What the fuck was wrong with him.

“Okay, come here.” You said, pulling him to the living room and away from the door. He got a good look at you through swollen eyes, god this was a bad trip a bad fuckin’ trip what kinda coke had they given him at the bar?

“Fuck I can’t fucking – you’re too much, you know that? You’re too fucking pretty. I can’t deal with it sometimes. Sometimes I look at you and I feel like I gotta be high because no one is as fucking pretty as you are, they can’t be. You’re too much, make me feel too much I feel like my heart is crawling out of my fucking throat all the god damned time, I want to reach in and rip it out, it makes me sick. What the fuck are you doing to me?”

“Pale – ” You said, worry deep in your face.

“I like when you say my name, you know? You’re the only fuckin’ person I like sayin’ it. Everyone else says it like they need something, like they just waitin’ around for me to show up so I can fuckin’ do something for them. Hey Pale, oh Pale is that you? Pale we need I need fuck off everyone just fuck off – but not you, you know? Not you. Say my name.” He begged, he was begging, begging for you to not be like the rest, begging for you to be sweet to him, no one was ever so sweet to him.

“Pale.” You said again.

“Pale. See I can’t even do it the way you do it. You’re too good for me, god – fuck me – fuck – ” He broke down, he was swaying – was he swaying or was the room spinning? He couldn’t tell.

“You gotta sit down or – ”

“It wasn’t a fucking boating accident that killed him, you know? It wasn’t I know it wasn’t – I know – it’s gotta be – ” He staggered around, knocked into some furniture, was that the coffee table?

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” You rushed behind him, wrangled him into your arms.

“You smell so good, all the fucking time. How do you smell so good?” He buried his face in your hair, rubbed his nose into your hair, breathed you in.

“I don’t know.” You said, holding on to him tight, you were the only fucking thing keeping him upright.

He pulled away from you enough to cup your cheeks in his hands, enough to stare deep into your eyes, enough to swallow hard against the terror that rose in his throat.

“I’m in lo – ” He started, but couldn’t finish, couldn’t get the words out, before he blacked out.

Ahh! Angst! Lol I promise it won’t last for long. 

Tagging some pals, as always please let me know if you’d like to be added or taken off the tag list! @fullofbees @spinebarrel@dreamboatdriver@thecurlycaptain @bourbonboredom @driverficarchive@aweirdlookingtree @rosalynbair @redhairedfeistynerd@adamsnackdriver @glitzescape @adamsnacc-kler @kyloxfem @fallin-for-youreyes @kylo-renne@attorneyl 

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Joint Effort (baon)

Summary: Jeff is getting back on his feet and that’s pretty nice. He’s not so sure about Red and Sans’s version of helping, though.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Kustard, Established Relationship, Humor, Marijuana Usage

Notes: I’m getting my timeline a little scattered, but man did I need something funny and cute.

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Staying in New New Home was nice.

Honestly, one of the nicest places Jeff ever lived and there was something about knowing that if he went outside for a walk at least one person was bound to wave at him, and if it was a skeleton or a Bun or even a Moldsmal, it was, well. It was nice.

Not that Jeff was walking that much, he was only just back on his feet. Blue spent a decent amount of time this morning scolding him not to overdo it, doublechecked that he had his phone and that he’d call if he needed to, and gave him a sack lunch before shooing him out the door.

Maybe it was a little overkill for a walk over to Stretch’s house, but the kindness of it made a warm glow settle in Jeff’s middle and that was a nice change from the itch of his healing stitches. It reminded him a bit of how it felt for Stretch to pull his soul out, but that memory was blurred through pain medicine. Maybe someday he could persuade Stretch to do it again, just to compare his memory to reality. But not today.

Today they were hanging out to celebrate Jeff’s return to being upright. Stretch seemed all for the bag lunch anyway, promptly stealing it and now they were sitting in the backyard together sharing the chocolate chip cookies while the nice, healthy sandwich on wheat sat wilting in the heat, sad and ignored.

The chickens wandered around the yard, occasionally inspecting their feet for possible goodies. This was nice, too, sitting in comfortable silence with a friend, sharing snacks and company.

“hey, you two.”

Swallowing back a yelp, Jeff whipped around to see Sans and Red standing behind them, lounging back against the large tree. He didn’t really know either of them well, Sans a bit better of the two since he’d helped out with the lab work that one time. But the matching grins on their faces filled him with a sense of foreboding.

Stretch seemed to agree. He slouched even more in his chair, rolling his eye lights as he reached out lazily to snuff his cigarette out in the nearby ashtray. “hey, you two back. what do you want?”

“aww, that ain’t nice, honey bun,” Red shook his head sadly. “maybe we just came to visit you and your little feathery dinosaurs for andy’s first real outing.”

“maybe. except every time you come over you have an agenda, short stack, and it better not be trying to sneak in more of your spy shit.”

“i’m here, too,” Sans pointed out. “what’s the agenda, do i need to take notes? got a pen i can borrow?”

“like you’d do anything he says? i know you, you have your own shit planned. better not let him be rubbing off on you and you can skip all the puns around that, i’ve already thought of all the good ones and the statute of limitations isn’t up.”

“rubbing ‘em out as we speak,” Sans said solemnly. “now, if you’re through your daily quota of paranoia, we brought you both a gift.”

“you can’t have any cookies.”

“we ain’t after the fucking cookies. besides the blueberry would hand some over himself if we asked and you know it.” Red nudged Sans ungently and got a sharp elbow to the ribs for his trouble. “show ‘em.”

With theatrical flare, Sans reached into his hoodie pocket and withdrew what to Jeff’s inexperienced eye looked like a joint. “ta fucking da.”

From Stretch’s brutally unimpressed expression, he probably wasn’t very excited. “seriously?”

“c’mon, please?” Sans wheedled, hands clasped together in a pantomime of pleading. “we haven’t smoked since you hooked your anchor to the edgelord.”

“yeah, because the last time my brother was ready to commit a couple murders over what we did to his sofa.”

“he got a new one! besides, can’t burn any of the good furniture if we stay out here. it’ll be fun! andy, talk to him.”

Jeff froze, looking between the twin earnestly pleading expressions (it was oddly disturbing on Red’s face) and Stretch’s skeptical one. “Um. I don’t mind if you guys want to?”

“don’t go into infomercials, kid, you ain’t so good at the ringing endorsements,” Red said dryly. “c’mon, i doubledchecked, it won’t interact bad with your meds.”

“ixnay,” Sans hissed. Stretch only sighed.

“of course you did, you shit. you know, i need to stop bitching about my brother being controlling because you’re valedictorian with an advanced degree in meddling.”

“yeah, yeah, me and those kids with the dog,” Red waved that away. ”c’mon, we could all use some chill. either smoke with us, or sansy and i’ll go back to my place and do it there.”

“give me that,” Stretch said irritably, reaching for the roll. Sans let him pluck it away. He flicked his lighter and held it to the end until it kindled, inhaling deeply. Breathed out a cloud of smoke with a faint cough, “at least if you’re here i can keep an eye on you.”

“oh, yeah, you’re great as adult supervision. i feel safer already.” Sans took it back when Stretch held it out, taking a hit of his own. He held it out to Jeff, “give this a try, andy.”

“Um, that’s okay?” Jeff said meekly. “I tried it in college, it doesn’t do much for me. I don’t want to waste it.”

“can’t hurt to take a hit then,” Red said reasonably. “give it a try. what could wrong?”

~~*~~

“He is hot as hell, though, right?” Jeff slurred out, blinking up dazedly at the bright blue of the sky.

The path of his descent to laying on the grass was only a little convoluted. Starting with his feet being suddenly too hot, so he kicked off his shoes and the grass felt so good on his bare feet he decided that laying on it would feel even better. It did, all cool, faintly prickly glory and that mingled with sweet relaxation lapping over him was a hell of a lot better than simply nice.

He was pretty sure one of the chickens was trying to preen his hair. He damn well hoped it was a chicken.

“the edgelord?” Came from next to him where Sans had joined in on his magnificent quest to the grass. Red and Stretch were occupying their own section of the lawn, solidifying it as a common goal. Sans didn’t wait for Jeff to reply, only added with lazy fervor, “fuck, yeah, he is.”

Okay, so, all of them ending up on the grass was a path Jeff could chart. This topic of conversation, not so much.

After passing the joint a couple times, —and Jeff was pretty sure he hadn’t meant to take more than one hit— the rest of the cookies had fallen quickly to their ravenous appetite. So had the sandwich and the little baggie of chisps, and somewhere in there Stretch was lamenting that Edge wasn’t home to bring them more snacks. Sans made some comment about Edge being a snack, and then—

Jeff wasn’t entirely sure what qualified as attractive to Monsters, but from his own observations of others around them, he was pretty sure when they were handing out the sexy, Edge went back for a second helping. Didn’t hurt to ask though, right?

From somewhere around his bare feet, Jeff felt the grass stir, then a bony finger poked the sole of his foot hard enough to make him yelp. “are you two discussing how hot my husband is without me?”

“nah, you’re sitting right there.”

“i didn’t think so,” Stretch sniffed. “yeah, he’s really hot, isn’t he. fuck, when he wears those jeans—“

“yeah, and those boots of his—“

“And that belt? Kind of, you know, draws the eyes down, yeah?”

The sound that came from Jeff’s left made him frown, trying to turn his wobbly head that way to see how a wounded animal managed to get into Stretch’s backyard. But the only thing there was Red and rather than enjoying the feel of the grass, he looked like he might be attempting to bite out a chunk of the ground.

“can we please not talk about how hot my baby bro is?” Red said, and wow. Jeff never took him for the begging type. “let’s talk about how hot someone else’s honey is. you!”

Jeff froze when Red pointed at him accusingly.

“Me? Oh! Oh, yeah, Antwan is hot,” Jeff agreed eagerly, sighing happily as his mental picture of Edge was overlaid with Antwan. Both of them obviously took far more than their fair share of sexy on their buffet plates, letting it spill over onto everything else like salad dressing seeping into the mac and cheese. Hmmm, maybe he could keep them on his thought player side by side, Edge and Antwan—

His introspection was interrupted by a loud scoff from Red. “we know he’s hot, we can see. how is he in the sack, now, that’s a real question.”

“Um.” There were many answers to that question in varying stages of pornographic, each battling with his dwindling common sense to be said first.

“you can’t ask him that!” Stretch scolded and gave Red a rough shove with his own bony bare foot. Jeff’s swelling relief at being rescued was immediately punctured as he went on. “i’m his best friend, i get to ask. how is he in the sack?”

“Uhmm…he’s…good?” Jeff tried but as answers went, no one seemed very satisfied with it. ”Really good?”

“that’s how you describe a mediocre summer action flick, not getting laid,” Red complained.

“don’t pick on him!” Stretch said, loyal even in his disappointment. “don’t feel bad, andy, edge is good in the sack, too.”

“doesn’t anyone want to know how good my boyfriend is in the sack?” Sans asked.

“no!”

“you ain’t even got a boyfriend, you shit.”

“Yeah, okay. Is he hot?”

Before Sans could answer, a pair of boots came up beside Jeff’s head. He stared in awe at the glory of them. They were nice boots, familiar boots, and Jeff reached out to rub a thumb over the dark, shiny leather. To his disappointment, they moved out of his reach and Jeff sighed sadly, absently looking up the long, long legs, up, up…oh.

Edge was looking down at them, arms crossed over his chest and that look should be patented under Severely Disappointed.

“What are you idiots doing?” It was a question, but Jeff had his suspicions that Edge already knew.

“babe!” Stretch said gleefully and made an attempt to sit up. It failed somewhere around the point of pushing up on his elbows and he sank back to the grass. “you’re home! we’re just…uh…” That laser of disapproval looked like it cut through the cloud of his high and dawning realization washed over Stretch’s face. He made a hasty attempt to change tactics. “hey. uh. love you?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“which one will make you less mad?”

“Neither, brat.” But he moved to kneel next to him, a gloved hand gently smoothing over Stretch’s skull. He made a happy little sound, not unlike the chickens, and leaned into that touch. “I’m not angry. You seem relaxed.”

“yeah,” Stretch sighed. The way he tipped his head into Edge’s petting made Jeff unsuccessfully stifle a giggle. “and we kept it outside!”

“Smoking anything in my house is unwise,” Edge agreed.

Sans leaned up with marginally more success than Stretch, holding up the joint. “you want a hit?”

“No, thank you,” Edge said dryly. “Try not to light anything on fire this time. Do you all want a snack?”

From his wince, they were maybe a little too enthusiastic with their response. But Edge only nodded, his thumb skirting over the curve of Stretch‘s skull a last time before he climbed back to his feet, and Jeff watched in bemusement as both Stretch and Sans lifted their heads to watch Edge walk away.

Or at least Sans tried. For some reason his head dropped back to the grass with a muttered, “ouch! stop it asshole, i ain’t lookin’!”

The door closed and Jeff whispered as softly as he could to Stretch. “I thought he’d be mad.”

Apparently, his whispers were currently set to high. Stretch only flapped a hand vaguely at the house. “nah, he’s cool. also, he can hear you, he opened the kitchen window. gotta be a mamma bear.”

Sans’s voice managed to be somehow vague and still rich with his own brand of disappointment. “aww, so we have to stop talking about how hot he is?”

The loud sound of dishes crashing made a round of wincing go through them all.

Stretch waited for the last of the clatter to fade. “only if you want something to eat.”

“i’ll think about it…ouch! okay, okay, i’m done!”

Jeff shook his head when Sans held out the joint to him again. Whatever snack Edge was making, he wanted some, too, and if the price was ending any chatter about how hot Edge was, eh.

Better to not take the chance.

-finis-

[abzilp]

The Delicate is pale, limbs pipe-cleaner thin, with a head as shiny hard as beetle-back. Violent, in utero skull tectonics have led to a precipice of brow, a compression of matter past the point of truth. His eyes are crow eyes, and his ear holes winding tunnels to nowhere.

He comes in the latter days of afternoon, through blowing snow, dressed in black, while Schubert’s ‘Eighth’ plays magically in the background. He comes to suck the breath out of passing fancies and to treat the infirm of mind, the particularly annoying, to a long sleep.

‘In order to take the waters,’ as he explains it, he comes to a resort town on the edge of reason. Beyond it, the wilderness stretches north to the frozen pole. God has never drawn breath there – the domain of bat-winged demons whose skin is the ringed wood of oak trees. These creatures fly out of the forest at night to snatch up children, their little legs kicking to the moon. To live in Absentia is to live with a soul that is liquid lead.

Perhaps it is the manner in which he holds his cigarette or maybe his distinguished apparel that immediately ingratiates him to both the guests and staff of the Hotel Providence. At his request, they call him Harding Jarvis and marvel at his grace and facility with foreign language. Though his face is more a cow skull than a thing of flesh, no one seems to notice except the woman who cleans his rooms. She knows him by his aroma – roses over bad meat. When he knows she knows, he wheezes into his wine glass.

No matter who Carlotta confesses her fears to, they brush her off, saying, ‘Herr Jarvis? Not possible. My dear, you are disturbed.’ She makes it a point never to enter his rooms when they are occupied. Sleep to her is death, say the toothpicks holding open her eyes. She lasts only three days before she sits down and closes them. To sleep is warm and beautiful, but the chair she sits in is at the foot of Herr Jarvis’s bed. There is so much dirt on the floor – four ounces of fly meat on every windowsill.

He returns unexpectedly from an afternoon of playing whist with Madame Fesh of the colorful muff, Barlin the local logomancer, and Meme Haspin, taxidermist to the landed gentry, and discovers Carlotta asleep in the chair. With little pomp and less circumstance, he sucks the life out of her. The process is long and painful, and he doesn’t spare her a minute of it. After hanging her withered corpse, like a wrinkled garment bag of flesh, on a peg in the closet, he sits down to smoke his clay pipe. Before long, he moves to the writing desk, where he takes up his pen and records the essence of the maid he has just ingested. The first phrase to crawl out onto paper is, ‘Insouciance is the engine of regret,’ and from there it is a smooth plunge into lyrical facility.

At first he thought it was the crab soufflé he had had for lunch, but then realized, too late, that something in Carlotta’s blood was causing a strange transformation in him. With a popping of bone, a stretch of incisors, a whisper growth of fur and the shrinking of skin, he stoops to become a dog. His last oath is excremental before his words give way to growling.

The inhabitants of Absentia mention to each other the clever little hound that now wanders the streets looking for scraps. One boy tells how he heard it cry human, and the men who mine Mount Alfarabi are amused when the beast tries to have its way with a lady’s shinbone outside the beer hall. Meanwhile, everybody who is anybody is seeking out Harding Jarvis for a ride in the car, a game of tennis, a cocktail party.

Pharsalus, the hunter, comes in from the wilderness with furs to sell and wild turkey feathers in his hat. With the money he makes, he goes directly to the beer hall and drinks many mugs. He tells those he hasn’t seen in three seasons about the demon he shot and about the beautiful paradise surrounded by hundreds of miles of ice. For proof of the demon, he displays a pair of gnarled horns which he pulled like teeth, with a pair of pliers, from the forehead of the creature. As for paradise, he offers only a shrug.

The days of Night fall while Pharsalus is drinking. When he steps out of the beer hall, there is a brisk wind and winter chill. He stares up at the ice-bright stars and remembers tracking white apes at twilight. They moved like ghosts among the giant pines. They died with a cough of steam and a trickle of blood.

When his memory clears, Pharsalus notices a dog sitting in the street in front of him. Because the first hours of Night each year give him a desire to speak to something other than only the earth and wind, he decides to adopt the mutt as a hunting dog. Using scraps of dried caribou, he lures his new companion out of town and into the uncharted wilderness.

Night in the forest is either stone silence and falling snow or the sound of something dying. Demons fly out of the trees without warning, and Pharsalus is always ready with his gun. When they jump him from behind, he uses his long, curved knife and engages them in hand-to-hand combat. The dog helps in the kill. As the demons’ mauled bodies expire at his feet, he questions them about the path to the Earthly Paradise. Some of the dying offer clues, but most go quietly, their barbed tails thrashing the snow. Pharsalus writes whatever they tell him in a little notebook and then pulls their horns out with a pair of pliers.

In spring, the hunter and dog traverse a pass that leads over the mountains. The sudden return of the days of Morning brings light that blinds. In those mountains there exist hundreds of small caves formed long ago in the Ice Age. Each year, he hunts them for snapping yellow back and artifacts left behind by the ancients who had once inhabited them.

In one cave, the hunter discovers the frozen corpse of a man, sitting on a large stone at a table hewn from rock. Icicles hang from the man’s nose and frost glazes his eyes. From the worm-eaten journal laying open in front of the dead man, Pharsalus learns of his father’s search for him. The hunter puts his arms around the dog and cries.

In one entry in his father’s journal, the old man describes his love affair with a woman who lives at the bottom of a lake. Her skin is blue and her hair so long it turns into sea grass and trailing vines. He descends from his mountain perch every night to meet her on the shore of her lake.

They sit beneath a tall dune, the wind blowing around them. Above, stars smash into stars. He tells her how fifteen years earlier he left home to search for his son who had become a hunter in the wilderness. As he kisses her, he hears the immensity of paradise singing across the water to him.

Pharsalus dreams every night of the only beast he has any desire to hunt. It is a creature he has never actually seen, with many jumbled attributes  – scales, fur, talons, fangs, feathers beneath and around the hide and hair. Every night it comes vividly to him and fills him with longing to hunt it. In the dream, he always hears it flying. There is a struggle and it bites him, like a snake, in the heel. He always awakens wondering if the bird part is rooster. But since he has gotten the dog, it has become more and more difficult to envision the dream kill.

In their wandering, the hunter and companion stumble upon a beautiful garden locked in ice. At the last second the Delicate steps out of the sloughed skin of the mutt to take the hunter by the throat. Lips meet lips and breath begins leaving, begins arriving. When the hunter is blind in one eye and his left rib cage shattered by the internal pressure, he summons those years of the kill and thrusts his hunting knife into the thorax of the Delicate. Streams of agony intermingle and separate out into fields of bright color. With a simple cracking noise the monster pushes a bony finger through the hunter’s chest and turns off his heart.

But the Delicate is dying from his wound. He stumbles through the wilderness clutching his oozing side with a slim, sharp hand. He kneels and prays to heaven but nothing happens. The memories of other lifetimes swirl in his memory with an anguished forgetting of paradise. He cries for the loss of his delicate form, his exo-skeleton now a crystal meteor. If only he could change into a dog, he thinks, as life leaves him in a cascade of steam. With little conviction, he sucks it back up as it goes. In no time, he’s good as new.

Back in the town of Absentia, in the very room of the Hotel Providence where he took Carlotta, he’s now taking them two at a time. The empty husks of life pile up like fresh-cut bales of tobacco in his closet. Men catch their wives sneaking to his door. Wives catch their husbands at some shadowy rendezvous with him, and he takes them both as quick as you please. He takes the contessa from behind as she leans over to adjust her corset. Her piles of hair almost save her, but, in the end, she is as easy to draw the life out of as is Master Cley, or the mayor, or Madam Silwort, or the Grossdig Twins.

Someone notices the population of the town dwindling at an alarming rate and wires for the government to send troops, before the Delicate can snip the telegraph line with his incisors. When the army arrives and surrounds the town, he is huffing, as if taking snuff, the last few morsels of Mrs. Fleacox. He realizes too late that she has long since gone bad as a soft melon even though she keeps right on talking till the end. Her pointless words infect him with flexis midocarsis, and he slowly begins to disintegrate. In his final hour, he stands upon the balcony of the mayor’s house, staring out over the wilderness, playing the violin until his fingers turn to salt and the instrument falls to the floor.

The soldiers break into Absentia, machine guns blurting out death, air cover dropping flames as if the clouds were on fire. They find the Delicate – a sorry, prodigious pile of cigarette ash. Mrs. Fleacox is lost between life and death, and they call for a specialist to administer the needle to the base of her spine. They collect the creature into a plastic bag and freeze-dry him. His remains are taken to Spire City in the Sunbelt where they are stored for the edification of future generations. The funding never comes through to study the crumbs of the Delicate, so he lies in a bag on a shelf and waits.

[kissykiwi]

money, money, money (pt. 2)

(part one)

wherein things progress, and harry makes a bit of an ass of himself.  (mamma mia au, 4700 words)

Y/N got to sleep in the next day by just a bit.  Her Big Ben alarm clock, a gift her grandmother had picked up in a thrift store somewhere in Cheshire, rang furiously as soon as eight o’clock rolled around.  The day was to begin.

“Good morning dear.  Mr. Styles has asked for breakfast at 9 o’clock -- a pot of tea with the fixings, some toast, and a bit of fruit, if you please -- so you’ve got a bit of time to get ready and have your shower before I need you going,” her mother said, opening the creaky, light blue door to her room.  Y/N paused, frozen in her morning stretch, to stare at her mother.

“Mr. Styles?  You mean Harry Styles?  The travel writer?”

Dee sighed, and suddenly Y/N understood why this information had been so carefully hidden from her.  Harry Styles was her favorite author.  He’d been around half the world and had quite a knack for colorful descriptions and vivid storytelling alongside a cutting humor.  Though she’d never gone farther than a bit into the mainland, his work made her feel like a proper globetrotter.

“Yes, that Mr. Styles.  And you are absolutely forbidden from badgering him about his travels.  He’s come here for a respite from all that, and I won’t have you stressing him out and running him off the island,” Dee said warningly, shaking one beringed finger.  Y/N tried not to pout.

“Okay, heard.  Toast, tea, and fruit, and absolutely no mention of the fact that he’s been to every place I’ve always wanted to go.”

“Exactly.  Now, up!”

Y/N watched her mother go, and then rolled out of bed.  Today wouldn’t be too much of a day, overall -- a few check-ins who would probably fall straight into bed from jetlag and Harry fucking Styles were her only priority.  She might even have time to read on the stairs or make it down to the beach in the slow moments.  A pair of old cutoffs and one of her tee shirts should do the day.  One quick shower later, and her neroli scented soap had her feeling refreshed and ready to take on the day.

“Gooood morning, Helena!” she sang, throwing herself around the doorframe into the kitchen of their main guest building.  At the stove, the lady who did the cooking for the Muse turned to grant her a smile.

“Can you believe this new guest, huh?  Toast and fruit!  Is he a traveler or a hummingbird?” she said, half to Y/N and half to herself.  Helena believed strongly in meals that would stick to the ribs, and clearly their new guest was already not quite up to snuff.

“We’re only here to provide what they ask, Len.”

“Well he had better start asking for a proper breakfast before he wastes right away.”

Y/N laughed and picked up the tray of food.  Helena had been careful to set out cream and sugar alongside the teapot, and they’d even gotten out the nice jadeite tea set that grandma had sent her mom from Myanmar (it had still been Burma at the time).  She’d also sliced apricots nectarines and thrown a few cherries onto the plate, even added a little pot of lemons in case that was how he preferred his tea.  A few slices of Mr. Alexandrou’s local whole grain bread had been toasted to a perfect golden brown and were placed delicately to the side with a small pot of local butter.  Despite it not being Helena’s preferred fare, it really seemed to represent the best of Kalokairi and her environs.

“You’re an artist Len.  I’ll be back for my coffee!”

Y/N trotted away as quickly as she could with a tray full of food (and alright, so maybe it was a bit more of a slow walk), headed to the stairs that carried the kitchen up to the dining balcony.

The dining balcony.  That was number two out of Y/N’s eleven favorite spots on the island, with a view that could almost rival the staircase.  Though it was just a little rectangle sticking out from the second level of the cliffside building, it had always made Y/N feel like a princess staring over her ocean kingdom.  The far left side of the building, facing the north of the island, peeked out upon Calliope’s Beach where this side of the island went to swim.  If you faced the building on that side, you could see just past into the citrus orchards where Y/N had spent her childhood munching on oranges and reading fantasy books, and even further in, the houses of some of the locals.  Though almost no one who ate up there knew it, the entrance to Euterpe’s Grotto was hidden at the very end of the beach where the island curved northeast.  The west view, looking straight off the cliffside, was more of the dazzling blue of the Aegean Sea, and the east peeked into the docks and the little markets that sat behind them.  It felt as though all of Kalokairi was encapsulated in a single turn.

“Good morning Mr. Styles,” she said cheerfully as she came up upon the curls she had seen the night before.

He looked up, eyes even greener than they had looked on his book jackets and framed by angirly furrowed brows and purple bags.

“I was told my privacy would be respected when I came here,” he all but snarled.

Y/N tried not to visibly recoil as she set his tray down, though she heard the clink as the tea set jerked slightly.

“Well of course, I mean-- we’re not going to go about on social media screaming that you’re here.  But all the same, I’m the daughter of the woman who checked you in last night, and we make a point of greeting our guests by name.”

He stared at her a moment more, gaze both analytical and totally disinterested, and she wondered for a moment if she was actually a ghost. She took a deep breath.  He grunted dismissively.

“I did want to ask, Mr. Styles, if you had any questions about the island or what we have to offer here.  If you don’t mind me saying so --”

“I do mind, actually,” he started, cutting her off.  “Can’t a bloke get some bloody peace around here?”

Y/N’s jaw snapped shut so hard that the canals of her ears hurt faintly.

“Of course.”

She was not ashamed to say that she fled the space after that, taking the stairs in a sprint with cheeks burning like the cherry of a cigarette from sheer fury.  It was only the telltale cadence of Georgie’s footfalls at the bottom of the stairs that kept Y/N from running face first into her.

“Who pissed in your coffee?” Georgie asked, grabbing her by the elbows to steady her.  Y/N rolled her neck.

“Haven’t had it yet.  Did you know we have Harry Styles gracing our humble establishment?” Y/N laughed, clenching her fist.

“You mean your favorite author?  The guy whose books I’ve bought you for the past three out of five Christmases?”  Georgie asked.  Y/N could tell she was confused.

“The guy’s an asshole.  Steer carefully around him,” Y/N scoffed.  Georgie was frowning at her, face clearly sympathetic, and Y/N wanted to scream.

“I’m so sorry rosie,” Georgie said, stroking her hand softly down Y/N’s arm.  Y/N frowned.

“I’m only warning you George.  We’ve got him for three months, and whatever his books were like, he is not.”

There was more Georgie wanted to say, that was certainly visible on her face, but she nodded instead.

“Wanna talk about this over coffee?” she asked softly.  Y/N didn’t, not really, but it might be easier if she did, so she turned to the worn wooden table and chairs for employees set up in the kitchen.  A steaming cup of coffee was set in her usual  place, alongside a plate of Helena’s breakfast hash.

“So Harry Styles sucks?” Georgie prompted, taking a mouthful of potatoes.  Y/N took a bracing drink.

“Of course he does.  He’s massively rich and has met a million interesting people and seen half the world.  What time does he has for us small folk?”  

Georgie’s eyebrows raised high.

“Not that she’s bitter.”

Y/N glared.

“For the past six years I have lived the rest of the world through him and how funny he is.  Now he’s here to stay with us and I find out it’s all an act.  Forgive me for my sour grapes.”

Georgie waited for the next shoe to fall.

“It just feels like...” Y/N scrubbed her hands through her hair.  “I don’t know.  It just feels like everything happens outside of Kalokairi.  And when it happens here, it can never be the same.”

“Oh c’mon Y/N.  I’d bet you half my paycheck that he’s like that everywhere.  You know how rich people are, they forget what it’s like to be ordinary like us.  The ants can’t help but bother him,” Georgie pointed out.  She poked Y/N’s plate, trying to remind her to eat for the rest of the day, and Y/N managed a morose forkful.

“It’s to be expected.  Here I am working my ass off just to keep the walls of this place upright and he’s too high on the fumes of a few euros to be nice to people around him.”

“Never meet your heroes.  By the way, he’s already sent down some laundry to be done,” Georgie replied.  Y/N groaned and laid her head next to the plate on the table.

---

So Harry may have been a little mean to the cute girl who brought round his brekkie.  In his defense, he certainly felt bad about it.  He was just feeling so rotten between how tired he was and the start of the morning.  There’d been this stunning sunrise he saw lighting up his balcony, and when he went out to watch it he felt so young and inspired and ready again.  He’d grabbed his typewriter (which was a bitch to lug around, but always worth it) and set up on the little wrought iron table, and-- nothing.

It was like a million different words were pounding on his chest, begging to be let out of a door that his fingers could no longer be.  It was infuriating.

So he’d gone to lay in bed and stare at the ceiling again, and by the time he’d marked down for breakfast, he was properly full to the brim with ire.  And then the girl had known his name and he was just so bloody sick of being Harry Styles, Travel Writer that he’d snapped at her.  He’d been even angrier when she’d had a reason for knowing it and he realized how rude he’d been.

He rather wished he’d let her speak too, because he didn’t know a stitch of Greek or where he ought to go now the day had begun, and he was a bit too afraid to risk running across her in the registration house.  For now, he thought, he’d explore the resort.

It was a precious place, he had to say.  The hotel complex itself was basically a square of buildings around a divided courtyard.  The structures themselves were all very Greek, covered over with a pale stucco and roofed in with terracotta tiles.  All of the doors were a soft shade of blue that matched the walls of the rooms.  He was in the building to the north, the longest one, which connected to a dining balcony with one of the most breathtaking sea views he’d ever seen -- and he’d seen a few.  The north building turned an L, so that it covered a half of the east side.  There was a wide gate heading out of the courtyard that led onto a small, red dust lot, and that was where he’d entered the night before.  The other east building on the lot had a spillover of more rooms (the least expensive ones, he assumed, since they looked out on trees and the road down to the markets and the docks).  What must have at one time been a goat house was now a bit of storage for food and miscellany, according to the owner, Dee.  

Beautiful though the buildings were, Harry could see the wear.  In some places the stucco was chipped, and it was more of an off white than the pure, bright white that most Greek tourism brochures tended to picture.   On the registration house he’d started in the evening before, on the very south side of the square of buildings, he could see tiles missing in the roof and how nearly all of the blue paint had peeled off the attic window shutters.  Nevertheless, every worn patch had a cheerful flower to match it, and the food and comfort of his surroundings was undeniable.

Harry had already gone to inspect the flowers crawling the walls (he was almost fitfully delighted to see that it was an old, lovingly cared for bougainvillea plant), and noted with joy that the little box under the attic window was decorated with a carving of all of the muses and bursting with brightly colored blooms.  

The courtyard had a slope to it, and it split like a step in the middle.  Dee had explained to him in the ride up to the place that people had kept tripping over the damn thing, so she’d built a wall to make it safer because she wasn’t about to be liable.  Then she’d found out that if you closed the gate and it made a suitable dance floor that went well with the courtyard’s outdoor bar, and it had kind of gone from there.

Though there was something almost magical about sitting under the clotheslines heavy with laundry on the east side of the gate, he’d seen stairs on the cliffside as the ferry came sailing in, and he thought that the gate on the southwest side of the courtyard may lead to it.  It’d been closed all day, but he didn’t think that meant it would be locked.  Those stairs, he thought, would probably be a good place to crack open the book of Ginsberg poems he’d grabbed as he was leaving New York.

To his surprise, the door of the gate he had seen was now open.  His hunch had been totally right, he saw.  There were the stone steps, and he could smell the faint aroma of cypress on the otherwise salty sea breeze.  

He started down them, already thrilled by the view expanding in front of him, but froze when he noticed a head of familiar hair.  It was the girl.  She had a book in her lap and another stack to her side, and he noticed with a start that one of his was atop the stack.  

It was a paperback version of Haggled History: Viewing Europe’s Past on a Budget, one of his prouder works.  It was rather dense since it covered quite a few countries, chapter by by chapter, and how best to learn their histories with only a few euros in pocket.  It was also less trendy, he supposed, than much of his other work.  Apparently, his usual reader wasn’t much for history reference based jokes.  He very rarely found himself signing it on his book tours-- and yet there was her version, tattered and well loved.  Pages were marked with washi tape, seemingly in the place of a dog ear, and just about a whole pad of post it notes had found their way into the four hundred odd pages.  As the gentle wind coming off the water blew her copy open, he could see it was highlighted and marked with a heart next to whatever city it was open to, margins crammed with notes.

Feeling suddenly vaguely ill, Harry turned around and decided that maybe sleeping off his jetlag would be the best use of his afternoon.

---

Georgie, the traitor, had told Dee how Y/N’s meeting with Mr. Styles had gone.  Y/N tried not to be too irritated by the fact that her mother was largely unsympathetic -- “he’s just another guest, my rose, and his euros have the same value as anyone else’s.  I don’t care what his personality is like.”  Still, Dee knew how much his books meant to her (even now, having met the asshole), and Y/N would have liked a smidgen of understanding.  Unfortunately, her mother was right.  Harry Styles’ money was metaphorically green and all that, and he was giving them quite a bit of it.  So Y/N could be nice.  Or polite, at the very least.

Alright, she could prevent herself from being openly hostile.  Y/N really thought, though, that that should count for something!  It wasn’t as though he was being a peach.  He’d been here two weeks, and the entire time he’d been surly and frowning.  He’d even had the audacity to ask Dee to switch his mattress, as though that was the reason he was sleeping poorly.  It hadn’t helped, either, because every time Y/N brought his breakfast (or any other meal.  Or an extra pillow.  Or had the nerve to even look in his direction), he was still as nasty and short as he’d been that first day.

The worst part though, easily, was the fact that she seemed to be the only person gifted with his special attentions.  Her mother had insisted that he’d been a total sweetheart about asking about his bed, Helena declared that she liked him, despite whatever his breakfast choices might be, and even Georgie said that he really wasn’t all that bad.

Y/N was reeling with enough betrayal that this Thursday already felt pretty sour.  But then the morning had started unpleasantly, moreso than usual.  Big Ben had decided to take a day off (looked like she would have to bring it round to Mr. Hatzidakis to fix, again), so she’d awoken to her mother yelling through her door that she had 15 minutes before Mr. Clark would like his breakfast at 7:30.  The food had been ready since Helena worked like an atomic clock, but Y/N’s hastily dealt with hair and puffy eyes were still a dead give to her own tardiness, and Mr. Clark was kind enough to let her know as much as she set down his cuppa and two eggs, scrambled, with sliced tomato and cottage cheese to the side.  From there she’d been dashing up and down the service stairs to fill every ridiculous request from the latest batch of uni kids (and who on earth could drink three frappe’s in the space of an hour without their heart beating itself out?), never having time to eat or even get a sip of coffee in, until suddenly it was nine.  The worst part of her day.

“Good morning Mr. Styles,” she said breathlessly, setting down his usual plate in front of him.  She didn’t have his paper yet (they tended to get a variety of english options sent in for the guests, but this morning’s ferry was running late), but it would be on the way just as soon as she got that damn uni student his fucking Lucky Charms.

Styles grunted in response.  “You forget I asked for the Guardian?” he asked mulishly, picking up the container of cream.  Y/N sighed, feeling the simmer of anger in her chest roar to a boil.

“No, I-”

“Oi!  Miss Waitress!  I asked for that cereal,” called one of the Chads from the next table over.  His friends snickered, and Y/N felt her fingers twitch at her side.

“-have to do that.  I’ll bring the paper with his cereal,” she ground out, wiping an errant piece of hair from her forehead.

“Don’t see why it would have been so hard to do now, but alright,” Harry muttered, and Y/N felt the angry blood in her stomach crawl up her neck.  She turned and left.  Georgie grabbed her on the stairs.

“Listen, I know you don’t like Styles, but if you’re going to push any of them over the cliffside, pick the frat boys.  They keep talking to me as if I don’t know english, and they say it’s because I ‘have an accent’.  So do they!  It’s just one of those English ones!”

“Duly noted.  Have the papers come in yet?”

“Nik is running them up now, should be within five minutes,” Georgie answered as she jogged away.  Well, Mr. Styles wasn’t going to love that.  Now that the school groups were coming and going, Y/N found that he made a concerted effort not to linger over his breakfast.  Helena, with her usual artful arrangement, had set out the cereal and milk alongside a bowl on a tray for Y/N to take, but Nik was nowhere in sight.  Unfortunately, the food really couldn’t wait.  The university boys seemed to get a kick out of complaining to her about every little thing, so the less room the better.  Y/N turned and hauled herself back up the stairs.

“Cereal for you boys,” she said, voice distinctly more cheerful than she was feeling.  She set the tray down and was ready to head back to see if Nik was around, but one of them grabbed her wrist.

“Pour the milk, won’t you?” he said, grinning, and Y/N heard her own knuckles crack.

“Of course.”

She poured the milk, trying to ignore the fact that her hands were now literally shaking with suppressed rage, and was once again ready to leave the balcony and maybe punch a wall, when she heard her name being called.  It wa by Mr. Styles, who had a face like a thundercloud.

“Thought you said you were bringing my bloody newspaper up.  I’ve been waiting all morning, and I understand that you might be busy flirting with England’s finest over there, but I would think you’d still be able to do your job,” he hissed as she drew up near him.  

Oh, that was it.

“Listen.  I know that in your tenure as one of the unnecessarily rich and stupidly famous airheads that wander this earth of ours, you’ve forgotten that the sun does not, in fact, revolve around your inflated head.  Let me remind you though, that you are a guest here, just as they are -- in fact, very much like them since you’re in the running for ‘who treats the service workers worst’ -- and I am only one person running about to help just under eleven of you, all making rapid fire requests.  So you’ll forgive me for not pulling the newspaper out of my own asshole just because you request it, but I’d just like to let you know that even if I could, I wouldn’t, because I’ve never had a guest who was less pleasant to be around and a greater disappointment of a person.”

By the end of her monologue, she knew, she was yelling.  She just couldn’t help it.  Two weeks of berating at the hands of someone she’d admired, someone who was regularly listed as one of the kindest celebrities in his tax bracket, and three days of those fucking university students (which, frankly, was enough).  She was just so sick of being kind and amiable and patient with people who treated her like shit.  From behind her, a throat cleared.

“Brought the paper up, Y/N.  Nik rushed it since the boat was late, but I that didn’t really help,” Georgie said, voice torn between laughter and concern.  Y/N turned around, snatched the paper out of her hands, and slapped it in front of Harry Styles so hard that the table shook.

“The Guardian, as per your request,” she snarled, and then she was gone.

---

Harry may have deserved it.  “It” being the dressing down he got in front of two amused couples, four first year frat boys, and two lone guests at full volume at 9:10 in the morning.  He knew he’d been pushing her, he supposed.  But wow, had she gone off.  Harry couldn’t help but be angry that she even looked good when she was screaming at him.

Still, it was a pretty shit way to start the day.  He’d been unfair to her the entire time he was here, but again, Y/N could have let him know the ferry was running let.  She didn’t have to make an ass of him.  Although he supposed, again, that he hadn’t really given her the room to let him know.  Whatever.  Whatever, it had happened, and he planned to relax on the beach to soak it all off, since writing seemed as though it still wasn’t an option.  (It was possible, he thought, that the persistent writer’s block was probably a big part of his shit attitude.)

It was only much later that evening, as Harry went to sit on the steps in the dying summer sun and read with ouzo and two small glasses (Helena had insisted, saying it would keep him from looking like an alcoholic), that he realized how different Y/N’s life really was.

There was a little landing in the stairs, just a storey below the resort itself, that had a pathway to the cellars.  Harry knew from the chats he’d had with Helena in the courtyard that the little door on the side was rarely used thanks to the stairs from the kitchen, but now he could hear voices from where it was hanging ajar.

“... cannot believe you would ever speak to a customer that way!  As a hotelier, you know better than that!”  was the first thing Harry heard, Dee’s voice angrier than he had ever heard it.  There were muffled sniffles in the background, and not for the first time, Harry felt like a proper asshole.

“I’m not a hotelier mom.  I live in a hotel and I help, but I’m not a hotelier.  That’s what you do.  I’m just here.  And I’m sick of being treated like it.”  That was Y/N talking, so lowly that he could only barely hear it above the sound of the waves on the rocks below.

“Well while you’re here, a hotelier is what you will act like,” Dee responded, tone unforgiving.

“And how long is that mom?” Y/N was yelling back now, and Harry realized quietly that she had quite the temper on her.  “How long am I here?  Because I have begged until I was blue in the face to go to college, or Italy, or even Athens, and you’ve never let me!  How long do I have to pretend like Kalokairi is all I’ll ever want when we both know it’s not?”

Harry held his breath.  There was a long moment of silence.

“Y/N, you know that I don’t have the money for that --”

“I will take out loans for school.  I will hitchhike, I will stay in hostels or camp illegally, I will sell everything I own, I don’t care.  I just want to see -- fuck, something!” Y/N gasped, begging now.  Another long moment.

“Y/N, I need you here.  And I need you to do your job, the way I know you can.  I’ve told you so many stories, dear.  It’s not that much different out there compared to those,” Dee tried to be light in telling her story, but the tone was obviously clipped.

“Mom, I want to explore.  I want to meet people, and see things.  I want to make my own stories,” Y/N pleaded.  Dee sighed.

“And you’ll have them, my rose.  One day.”

“When?”

This time Dee didn’t respond.  After another long period of quiet, Harry heard the sound of steps walking away, followed by harsh sobs.

Harry felt really, really awful.  Here he’d been, so trapped by the weight of his job, that he’d forgotten how much it was that he got to do.  Just like Y/N had said.  So lost in his own thoughts, Harry didn’t realize that the door was opening on a tearful Y/N until they’d looked up and made eye contact.  The anger he’d become so used to settled in on her face.  Oh boy.

[0xa00001]

re: a creature of contradictions. I talk pretty much constantly about how james is hypocrisy and contradicting viewpoints all the way down to his core, more a series of beliefs hastily piled on top of each other as a result of trauma than a deliberate, continuous human being. it leads to inconsistency: oscillations that don't make sense under observation, a wave and a particle at once— trying to satisfy both sides of his beliefs and swinging wildly between wholly contradictory ideals because he cannot— will not— resolve them in his mind. because resolving them means acknowledging a certain death, processing a certain grief he's been ignoring for eight years and counting, and he's not going to start doing that, is he?

these are the forms james' contradictions take:

A ROMANTIC TRYING TO BE A CYNIC A CYNIC TRYING TO BE A ROMANTIC

certainly the cynicism came first. james grew up with a family that was merciful in little more than its absence, and negligent and disdainful when it was full. even with an older brother who parented him when his parents would not, that brother was still the golden child, and james— brooding, obstinate, off-kilter james— learned very quickly that the authority in your life will not help you. there is no benevolent force out there to save you. those people who are supposed to love you unconditionally will be the ones who break you in the worst ways over and over and over again, and nobody will lift a single finger to help you. they hate you for who you are, and you cannot change, so this will not change. and authorities beyond his parents, in school and beyond deferred to their own greed and self-benefit, favouring the materialist now over the sustainable later. we destroy for what, money?

romanticism came covered in tattoos and smelling of stale cigarettes, with nightmares earned serving overseas that made living near an airport impossible because planes overhead remind him of bombed-out armoured cars. and despite being someone who had seen the worst humanity had to offer, he insisted time and time again to james that people are good despite the atrocities— you only have to look. goodness is soft, goodness is quiet. goodness does not ask to be noticed because goodness only wishes to be good. and james, head over heels at 22, falls in love with this man who sees all the warmth james was denied, and begins to see it, too. forget the systems who leave people to rot— pay attention to those who lift others up when they fall. forget about the people who circumvent laws for profit— focus on those who hook you over their shoulder when you stumble. those who offer money and time to total strangers for no reason other than they care. focus on the protests, those who try to hold other accountable.

the cynic in him still asks, where was goodness when I needed it?

goodness puffs on a cigarette and tells him, I'm right here.

PEOPLE ARE GOOD AND MUST BE PROTECTED PEOPLE ARE EVIL AND MUST BE DESTROYED

romance dies in james when goodness is shot dead.

he burns his grief and wails against empty, cold walls for eight months, a creature consisting entirely of ragged, slicing edges roughly pulled into the shape of a human being, rage and loss leaking where each protruding shard pierces his skin. a garbage bag full of broken glass. the remnants of a bar fight, the only victor: misery. he unlearns every bit of hope and re-learns every alienating, vicious defense mechanism ground into him by years of mistreatment and injustice. focus on the systems that have left the world to rot. focus on the people who circumvent laws for profit. they're the problem. they're the monsters. the good still needs to be protected, this is true. but for all of goodness' relentless optimism, it was— passive. weak. weak enough that the monsters of the world could still shoot him down if needed.

and so james becomes so tremendous a monster that no other monster can hope to harm him.

I AM A MONSTER, UNWORTHY OF LOVE AND AFFECTION I AM A MONSTER, WORTHY OF FEAR AND ADMIRATION

fact: james park is a killing thing.

he first hacks at eight, circumventing the parental controls of their TV and watch batman. he learns how to use that to coerce, how to dig up the darkest and most precious parts of someone's life in his twenties, learns how to make them bend and snap to his will.

he first kills at twenty-four. it wracks him with revulsion, nausea, like his whole body rejects the act of ending life like it would reject a poison. he sits in a dark room and watches as it takes three days for the shaking in his hands to dissipate.

he learns after you do it enough, the shaking stops.

the nightmares don't.

james cultivates a reputation of unmaking people. anyone who crosses that threshold of badness comes under fire, life dismantled in a matter of weeks at best, disappeared off the face of the earth at worst. there are rumours: sold into slavery, killed, dropped into the wilderness, tortured and left to rot in a black site for months on end. affiliations are attributed to him he would laugh about if asked point-blank— governments, criminals, something in-between. everybody knows him, but nobody knows him.

and when people start trying to know him, when he shares a bed and they ask what makes him twitch and yelp, he lies. and they call him again, are you free tonight?

I'm busy. I can't.

weeks pass. eventually they stop. no kindness can be afforded to a monster, because a monster chose to live its life as such.

GETTING CLOSE TO PEOPLE IS DANGEROUS BECAUSE I'LL ENDANGER THEM GETTING CLOSE TO PEOPLE IS DANGEROUS BECAUSE THEY'LL ENDANGER ME

people are weakness.

people are weakness, but tools are acceptable. that's what dedsec new york starts as— that's what he tells himself. amr and grace, they're useful. like clara and jay were useful. like those kids he sat in IRCs with in high school were useful. he's not attached to them anymore than he'd be attached to his favourite processor or graphics card. (james should know better, because james knows he's very attached to his parts.)

and when the two grows to four grows to six and he finds himself toiling in imagined, shadowy enemies and worst-case scenarios it's because they're vulnerabilities. because james has six gaping weak points in six brilliant hackers with hopes and dreams and fragile bones and james knows best of all of them how easy it is to snuff a life out— to snuff them out. so when he's overprotective, it's because he's protecting himself. because james cannot suffer weakness, weaknesses means a place where something can slither inside of him and destroy his life again. he loves no one, but no one loves him.

remember: you did this to you. 

he knows, though, that he loves six people, and he will burn down the world for them.

[deathbyvalentine]

LARP Prompts (TW for drug mentions, suicide ideation.)

Blue Lights

She sat cross-legged, night dress pooling around her, blanket wrapped around her shoulders like a cloak protecting her from the biting cold. A candle flickered beside her, jumping and flickering. On her lap was a leather bound book, spread open, pages worn from years of use. She stared, fascinated, trailing a finger along the winding words.

The book was her grandfather’s, who had been married to a priest. It was the only book that wasn’t about flowers or animals in the entire household. It was about saints. They were illustrated in bright colours, shining yellows and deep blues. They either looked serene, eyes closed, smiles painted on or in agony, being licked by flames or eaten by dogs. Scarcely any had long lives. The darkness in the world always wanted to snuff them out. 

They kept coming back to one illustration. A woman lying in her soon-to-be-tomb, auburn hair spread across a pillow, eyes peacefully shut. A blue glow surrounded her, banishing the shadows into corners. It looked like the safest place in the world. Temperance had never even heard of blue light appearing anywhere near here. Nowhere was holy enough. 

She wondered if she looked a little like her, though truth be told her hair was a shade darker than auburn, her lips too full, her skin too sickly looking. And she wasn’t destined to have any great adventures or grand deeds. She was stuck here, in this bed, too weak to do anything at all. Her illness didn’t just rob her health, it robbed her potential, her ability to serve the Church. Saints didn’t just pray. They did other things too.

With a huff of frustration, she blew out the candle and shut the book with a sharp snap. She would dream of sunrises that night.

Astrid + Syn Row

Astrid stood in the centre of the room, clasping her hands to her chest, eyes filling up with tears. She always looked so small like this, her shoulders sloping inwards, trembling just a little. Who knew if she did it on purpose or not. She always managed to work herself up so easily, it scarcely mattered if it was intentional. Whatever she felt, she felt deeply. Even if it was irrational.

The drugs probably didn’t help.

With shaking hands, she lit a cigarette, managing to look utterly plaintive. Always the innocent victim, never the aggravator. It was a skill really. She sat down on the edge of the battered sofa, flicking a strand of pink hair over her shoulder. “I just don’t understand.” “How can you not understand? You cheated on me!” “Yes, but I didn’t mean to.” The mind truly fucking boggled at that, and it was impressive that Syn didn’t leave right there.  “How even - “  “I was drunk! And you know what I’m like - “ Flirty. Flaky. Forgetful. Ditsy. Innocent. Completely absent minded. And utterly impossible to reason with. She would never understand why people were angry at her, or how actions had consequences. She drifted through life, utterly surprised when bad things happened to her. Never learning. Syn looked at her, shaking her head. Astrid stood, putting out her cigarette on a plate and wrapping her arms around Syn. They weren’t shrugged off. “I’m sorry. I’ll be better. I promise.” Syn almost believed her.

Sanctum - Sacrifice

Axis had nothing to give. 

All he had were the clothes on his back and himself. And neither of those things were worth much in particular. His blood had been spilt on too many city corners, his spit on too many beer bottles, his hair tugged out in more than one fight. And his mind? In pieces. Memories lost in a haze of drugs, childhood mostly repressed, fractured morality... You name it, Axis had lost it or broke it. 

Maybe that’s why all he had left to sacrifice was his life. In every ritual he gave away a day, a week, a year. It didn’t matter particularly. When you didn’t know or care exactly when you would die, it was easy. Like giving away an abstract concept rather than anything to do with you. 

Then, now he supposed, he was giving away chunks of himself. His personality, his compass, his feelings. He never had the strongest sense of self anyway, and when he did, rarely liked himself. Let’s see who he could be with bits of him missing. Maybe he’d be happier. Maybe he wouldn’t. Either way it’s a new type of bullshit. And even that seemed appealing after twenty years of his own.

Empire - Lullaby

The first death he had watched over in his Nation. Deaths happened all the time of course, every second he could feel someone somewhere perish, but this was different. This was real and brutal and right in front of him. Mattias had thus far lived quite a sheltered life. His parador had moved whenever conflict came to the region his family were staying in. And he had never had to fight. Or starve. Or struggle. Everything had been so easy.

Safiye had been one of the first friends he had made in Anvil, and now she was dying in his arms.

The curse of being the Brass Coast was the intensity. He felt every paper cut as if it was a sword blow. Joy and sorrow in equal measure, each as debilitating. He loved like an ocean, wild and expansive. His grief consumed him as much as his desire to celebrate everything she had done.

He kept his voice steady as he stroked her hair, letting the flame inside him burn bright but low. He joked with her, wanting her final moments to be joyful, not mournful. He poured liao to her lips and to her own, making sure her testimony and her spirit would be carried with her. She needed something. 

He didn’t want to let her go, but when her lover came, it was time to. He didn’t want to intrude - Dawn were one of the few nations he understood in that way. The display was likely to be unsubtle and proud. He touched her forehead, said goodbye, and got to his feet, furious at the orcs that took her.

He didn’t let anyone see his tears as he walked away, knowing she would be gone by the time he got back. 

Sam + Alexei Adventures

“I’m tired.” Sam looked back over his shoulder, widening his eyes. “You can’t possibly be.” “But I am.” Alexei’s voice wasn’t quite there yet, but it was dangerously close to a whine.  “We’ve been walking less than an hour.” “But my feet hurt.” Alexei looked down at his feet that were in heeled boots. Not walking boots. Just like his fur coat wasn’t waterproof and his braces didn’t actually keep his trousers up.  “I know what you’re trying to do.”  “Then why don’t you just do it.” “Because then you’ll win!” “I always win.” Alexei said, flatly. 

Ten minutes later, Sam rounded a corner, carrying the smaller man on his back. Alexei, for his part, seemed perfectly content with this development and looked around the forest with an inquisitive eye. A little oddly for someone that looked so ill prepared for hike, he didn’t show an ounce of fear. In fact, he seemed more relaxed here than he had done in court. Like he had stopped worried about being observed. Like he had actually taken a breath. He was less of a little shit too, marginally.

He started talking, idly at first. About his favourite flowers. About his favourite animals (wolves, if Sam was wondering, which he wasn’t). As the evening drew in, and sleep started creeping into his voice, it got more pensive, almost dreamy. Wondering what the point of this part of his tale was. Wondering what fatal flaw he might have running through him like a fault line. Wondering wondering wondering and coming up with no answers. Eventually, he fell silent and Sam realised he had fallen asleep on him. A sign of trust, he knew - Alexei generally found it incredibly hard to sleep. He would stay up to the early hours, reading or walking, anything but being alone with his thoughts.

When the tavern appeared in the small clearing, Sam almost hated to wake him up. He seemed to be having such a peaceful dream. 

[sardonicnihilism]

A Biography of the Woman Who Never Was

Part 3 The Young Adult

Chapter 20

Shannon made her way down the winding, mountain roads to the highway. As they waited for the light to turn green, she thought of something Jen had told her earlier, which had confused her, so she decided to ask. "You said that spots, locations could be bad already. So, if a place is already tainted, how could it get worse?"

Jen pulled a cigarette from her purse, rolled down the passenger side window and lit it. By the time she was done, the light had turned green and Shannon turned onto 30 west.

"Imagine the universe is like the ocean, teaming with unknown life, powerful, subject to large, complex forces that we don't even know about," Jen said, the cigarette bouncing up and down as she talked. "Physical reality is like a boat on the ocean. We can utilize certain technologies to help us navigate the waters, but, at the end of the day, we're ultimately at the mercy of the ocean.

"Every so often, a boat can get damaged; sometimes seriously, sometimes superficially, sometimes fatally. The bad spots are like a plank with a dime sized hole in it. Not good, potentially fatal, but still not unfixable. What people who have no knowledge or training or worse yet, malevolent intent do is take an ax to the hole and completely chop out the whole bottom."

"Did you ever go back?" Shannon asked somewhat fearfully.

Jen turned and looked out the window. She took her cigarette and ashed it out the window, some of the still glowing ash carried away in the air stream.

"Once. About three months later. We knew we couldn't defeat whatever was inside, so we threw a lock around it. It's completely invisible to the outside world. Anyone who comes close to stumbling on it, will get a massive headache and turn around. It's not full proof, but it's the best we could have done." Jen's voice was low, sad, and distant. Shannon decided it was best to let the subject go.

*******************************************

Shannon carefully crept up onto the porch, took her key, and unlocked the door. Slowly she turned the door knob and opened it as quietly as she could. She gently stepped inside and the light by the chair her mother always sat in turned on. Shannon jumped back in fright and saw her mother, scowling, sitting there.

"It's two o'clock in the morning," Mary said in a quiet yet seething rage.

"It's the weekend and I'm twenty-one," Shannon replied back defensively yet with a healthy side of resentment.

"This is still my house," Mary said in that same cold tone.

"When college starts, I can move into the dorms." Shannon was becoming even more annoyed now by her mother's tone.

"Don't be a smart ass," Mary's voice cracked a bit, giving her words the feeling of an implied warning.

"I'm just saying the truth. I'm twenty-one, I have a job, my own car, I pay for the gas, the insurance, and I give you money every week to help pay the bills and buy food. I feel all that entities me to come and go as I please." Shannon was getting angry now. If her mother wanted a fight, she was going to give her one.

"I was worried sick about you. I didn't know where you were, what you were doing, when you'd be home."

Before Mary could continue, Shannon butted in. "I told you I was going out with Jen. We drove around, I couldn't find a pay phone. Besides, I thought you'd be asleep."

"You're with that woman an awful lot," Mary said, her voice full of suspicion. "I hardly ever see you anymore. If you're not at work or the gym, you're with her. I don't even bother making you supper anymore."

*Of course I'm always with her, she's my girlfriend and I love her*, Shannon thought to herself. "She's my best friend. I enjoy being around her."

"Uh-huh," Mary replied skeptically but decided to leave that track alone. If her daughter was gay, it was best not to know; for if she did know for certain, she might have to open up about herself, which she had no desire to do.

Mary turned and brought up the stack of movies Shannon had rented for this weekend. "Traces of Death, Faces of Death, Shocking Asia," Mary read the titles off and sat them back down. "I know what these are. Why would you want to watch this? Do you think God would approve of this? "

"Well, if anything, watching those videos actually makes me similar to God. He's all seeing right? So He sits on His throne and watches human suffering after suffering, but does nothing to stop it. Life is nothing more than God's snuff film."

"Don't say that! That's blasphemy!"

"Maybe, but am I wrong? God saw me getting abused - verbally, physically, sexually; yet He did nothing. He allowed it all to happen. Why? Free will? What about my free will not to slapped or abandoned or PICKED ON?" Shannon's voice started to rise in a crescendo of pent up anger and pain.

"I got those because, yes I'm obsessed with death and suffering. Watching people get hurt, mutilated, or killed reminds me that others have had it worse and it makes me feel better.

"I hang out with Jen for the same reason. She's been through Hell and I bond with her in the pain. But God? What does he do, but hide away, promising love and relationship, and delivering on neither."

Mary shook her head in fearful disbelief. "You've changed so much. You've gotten so cold and angry. You've been corrupted, blinded. How can you go to church with that much hate in your heart?"

"Because I keep hoping He'll prove me wrong," Shannon said mournfully.

Mary didn't say a word. She simply got up and walked to the steps to go upstairs. When she reached them, she stopped and turned around to face her daughter. "I've suffered too. You'd know that if you ever took the time to ask; ask me how I was, about my life growing up. You can talk to anyone else, but you can't talk to your own mother." She then turned back around and proceeded up the stairs.