#but he fucks it all up - too drunk too consumed with his own misery and the concepts he projects on her. too threatening too *terrifying*

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

#and when he lay dying he's full of remorse as he speaks abt her bcuz what kind of guard dog leaves his master behind to the lions

"A hound will die for you, but never lie to you. And he'll look you straight in the face." (Sansa II, ACoK)

sandor unwittingly stating that he is sansa's dog now. he says a hound does not lie to his masters, and yet right in the beginning of acok we see him lying to joffrey on sansa's behalf to save her from his wrath. he was the only one in the king's guard who had the guts to say "enough" when he saw sansa getting beaten by grown men in front of the whole court, like a hound that chooses to side with the prey instead of the hunter. we see him disobey orders and abandon a crucial battle because he realized he was unwilling to fight and die for his supposed masters, but then he went to sansa with the intent of taking her away with him knowing that she was the lannisters' most valuable hostage and thus having her would put a huge target on his back. the hound was ready to die for sansa, and he never lied to her (but was willing to lie for her).

[christallise]

the show must go on

pairing: bang chan x reader (afab)

word count: 1k

warnings: dirty talk, masturbation (f), voyeurism?? i guess??, mentions of cheating, reader is clearly a hoe

a/n: why can everyone write chan so easily and i struggle so much PLEASE?? anyways, i hope you enjoy!!

Forbidden fruit often tastes the most sweet. Maybe that’s why the wine tastes so good when it comes from his lips. Lips that stain the most alluring crimson red, that are tinged with bittersweet lust, that beg to be kissed —and you’re infatuated. Intoxicated by the way your tongues dance in perfect rhythm. You aren’t entirely sure when it began, when the insatiable need to fuck Chris consumed you but you didn’t care; all that mattered to you now was how good it felt to taste him.

He’s kissing lower now, branding your skin with lips like fire. It sears. It scorches. It incinerates every last inch of you until your breath turns to tenuous wisps. Chris devours you, ravenous with desire, his teeth sink deep into your neck and you moan; through the pleasure and through the pain — a true Jekyll and Hyde. All that remains of his frenzied hunger are marks of deep purple.

“Mine,” he growls while admiring his art. “All mine.”

“Yours.” you chime.

It’s a symphony of deceit with your body as the score. His name is not to be uttered; hushed, even. “Can’t fuck you like I do,” Chris whispers, before snaking behind you, setting you in place between his legs and resting his chin on your shoulders; his fingers now composing a silent melody against your thigh.

“No one can,” you affirm through shaky breaths, your underwear drenched at the mere notion of his cock inside you. You’re drunk on desire, cunt yearning for his touch so when his fingers ghost past and feign ignorance in favour of teasing your thigh, you lament. 

“Tell me what you want,” Chris’ voice is laced with venomous arrogance, it boils your blood and he knows it too well. It’s humorous to him, watching you thrash and writhe in want, he chuckles darkly while his fingers thread through your hair. “Speak up, pup.”

He’s relishing in your shame and fuck it only soaks your underwear more, “Wan’ your fingers, Chris.”

“Yeah?” It’s rhetoric but still your head bobs in agreement and he laughs. “So desperate to feel me, huh? So desperate to be full?”

Now he’s mocking you but you simply do not care — you whine, confirming his comments by rocking your hips in misery. “Please, please, please fuck me.”

“Baby girl,” Chris taunts with a tut while pushing your panties to the side and tentatively dipping two of his fingers into your wetness, “Fuck, you’re soaked.”

You nod wildly, manoeuvring your hips in a failed attempt to brush his fingers against your clit eliciting laughter from Chris once more.

“Ah-ah-ah,” he says, promptly retracting his fingers and cooing at you as you sob, “I have something else in mind.”

You dread to think what it is. Chris’ lips have returned to your neck, giving you a false sense of security. He nibbles on your earlobe, breath hot.  For a moment, you are disarmed. 

“Show me how you play with yourself.”

What a fool you were. 

Still, you’re desperate; and as Chris pry’s your legs open, the familiarity of your own fingers is welcomed as you finally feel the built up pressure start to alleviate. Slowly, you begin to spread your own juices up and down your slit — legs trembling and heart pounding just knowing you have an audience in Chris who is centimetres away; eyes glued to you, his sheathed cock pressed against your back. 

“Good girl,” he breathes from behind when you begin to rub harsh circles on your clit, mewling so quietly in his lap, “God, you’re so fuckin’ dirty, aren’t you?”

You’re far too busy getting yourself off to answer, your jaw hangs agape as your fingers messily circle your most sensitive spot. Chris’ hand snakes up past your chest until it grips tightly around your neck and you choke.

“Tell me,” he whispers lowly into your ear, “How often do you fuck yourself and think of me?”

“All the time,” you gasp, partially due to the brutal honesty and partially due to the how fucking sensitive your pussy is. Your fingers never falter though, alternating between rubbing your clit and dipping inside your hole.

“What about when he fucks you?” Chris continues, his grip around your throat firm enough to remind you of who you belong to. “You think of me then too?”  When you nod, you can feel his cock twitch behind you as he tuts once more. “So fucking filthy.” 

Although it’s your own frantic fingers doing all the work, you are hardly in control — your body merely a marionette with Chris pulling the strings and you simply cannot live without the euphoria of the performance. In your ear, Chris whispers words of inelegance as your fingers come to a brisk tempo on your clit.

“You gonna cum already?” He muses, placing soft kisses over your shoulders. “But I haven’t had a chance to play with you.”

Even if you could delay your climax, you wouldn’t — you’re too far gone. The ecstasy builds and builds, your head slumps back into Chris and you wail, your fingers relentlessly circling your most sensitive bud and Chris can’t help but grind his now fully hard cock against your back while you ride out your orgasm.

Then, all falls silent, excluding your haggard breaths. For a moment, you lie there nestled neatly between Chris’ legs; too exhausted to move, too fucked out to care. Chris moans softly, messily kissing between your shoulders and neck.

“Surely you can’t be done, baby girl. The show must go on.”

[snelbz]

Tempting the Fates {Chapter 3}

Summary: It’s the final semester of Aelin Galathynius’ collegiate career and she is so beyond ready to be done. Her schedule is packed full of nursing classes and labs designed to test her knowledge and hone her skills for the real world and her “big girl” job. However, she needs one last elective to graduate, so she decides to study a subject she’s always been fascinated by: Mythology. Who would have thought that a class about gods and goddesses living complicated lives would end up complicating her own in such an unexpected way?

Word Count: 2807

Chapters will be posted every Wednesday.

Tempting the Fates Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist 

Poseidon

– God of the seas, earthquakes, horses and tidal waves

Aelin had moved past hurt.

Now, she was just pissed.

It was nearly ten o'clock after her second day of classes and she sat cross legged on the couch with Lysandra in her apartment.

Her roommate had been a worthy rant partner thus far. She’d kicked Aedion out and supplied Aelin with an endless supply of alcohol.

“It’s official. I’m sitting in your Thursday class.”

Aelin groaned, taking a long drink from her wine glass. “Don't remind me that I have to go back there, please. The thought of sitting through an entire semester with him as my teacher… Oh, gods.”

Lysandra refilled Aelin’s glass.

“You’ve done the hookup thing before,” Lysandra said, shrugging as she took a drink from her own glass. “Just pretend this is one of those situations and he meant absolutely nothing.”

“That’s impossible, for two reasons,” Aelin said, adjusting the pillow she had squished between her legs. She held up a finger. “One, it’s not like the regular hookup situation where I might see him across campus or in a bar and we can pretend we don’t know each other. This is my professor we’re talking about.” She took a very large drink of her wine and held up another finger. “Secondly, it was supposed to be a hookup, but then he turned out to be perfect and I just…” She let her head fall back against the cushions. “Do you think I just want him because I can’t have him?”

“Maybe,” Lysandra admitted, but she hadn’t ever been in a situation like this. She and Aedion had been inseparable since high school. “What does your gut say?”

“I don’t know, they’re still in knots from where he rearranged them with his huge dick,” Aelin replied, draining her wine glass.

Lysandra nearly sprayed her wine across the couch, but she knew Aelin was well and truly drunk if she was talking like that.

“So, he still means something to you, then?” Lysandra asked. “Even after you found out he’s your professor, and also a little bit of a dick, apparently.”

Aelin shot her a look. “No, I’m drunk off my ass because he means nothing to me. Have you not been listening?”

Lysandra rolled her eyes. “Oh, I’ve been listening. But, after two hours things just start to blur together and not make sense.”

Aelin hit her roommate with her pillow.

Lysandra only laughed. “Maybe sit and think on it for a few days, yeah? Maybe it’s new and exciting and he’s hot as hell, but all that will fade if it meant nothing.”

Aelin nodded, slowly, fiddling with the stem of her wine glass. “And if it doesn’t fade? If it actually meant something?”

“If it actually meant something, then he won’t be forgetting about you any time soon, either,” Lysandra said, sipping from her glass.

She was still on glass #1.

Aelin had lost count of how many glasses she had drained so far.

“Doesn’t make it any easier now,” Aelin said, that hurt creeping its way back in. “You should’ve seen him, Lys. This morning, at his apartment, it was just…perfect. Then when he saw me in class, he was a completely different person.”

“Have you tried to see this from his perspective, Ace?” Lysandra asked, standing and heading into the kitchen. She handed Aelin a cold water bottle when she returned, falling back onto the couch next to her.

“Of course,” she snapped, opening the lid. “And I get it, it’s a big deal, but it’s not like I’m underage. I’m twenty-one, not sixteen. It’s not like he broke the law.”

“No, but I’m sure there’s a bylaw somewhere in his contract that says Don’t fuck your students,” Lysandra drawled, tucking her legs between her.

Aelin mumbled, “I bet it doesn’t say exactly that.”

“No, I’m sure it’s more along the line of inappropriate misconduct, but if we’re getting specific, it wouldn’t be hard for me to find an example,” she replied, leveling Aelin with a stare.

“Calm your pre-law ass down, I get it,” Aelin sighed, drinking from the water bottle. “His aunt is the president of the university. I wouldn’t want him to get into any trouble with her.”

Lysandra’s eyes softened. “He probably just got scared. I hear he’s a new professor. This must be his first year here. Hell, if he’s as young as you say, this must be his first year anywhere.”

Luck. He’d gotten the job purely out of luck, out of his connections to the university, and here Aelin was, jeopardizing his career as soon as it began.

“I’m being a bitch, aren’t I?” She asked, quietly, before draining her glass.

“You have the right to be hurt,” Lysandra said. “I’m not saying you don’t have that right, because I’d be hurt, too. But, I definitely think that this is complicated as hell.”

Aelin nodded, and took a drink of water before pouring the last of the wine into her glass. “We’re going to need another bottle of this, Lys.”

“I would just take you to the bar,” Lysandra said, “but I wouldn’t want to risk you fucking any of the other faculty.”

Aelin’s eyes snapped to hers.

Lysandra sucked in her lips to stop her grin. “Too soon?”

Aelin nudged her best friend, unable to stop her sputtering laughter. “Bitch.”

Lysandra caught her before she leaned back across the couch and held onto her shoulders, hugging her tightly. “I know this sucks, Ace, and I know you liked him. But just give it time. Either you’ll move on, which I can always help with, or something will happen. It’s not like you won’t be seeing him every other day.”

She sighed, resting her head on Lysandra's shoulder. “I know… I know.”

Lysandra reached for the remote, turning the television on. “What would make you feel better? Sappy love story, trashy reality tv, or a horror flick?”

“Trashy tv,” she decided, if for no other reason than it would be easy for her to block out while she still wallowed in her own misery.

Lysandra did as she was told, refilling Aelin’s glass again, and she thanked her best friend.

All the while, Aelin wondered how pissed Rowan was, or if he was feeling the same way she was.

*

A knock on Rowan’s door around nine-thirty had him closing his laptop and throwing it open. He groaned when he found Lorcan on the other side, walking back inside and leaving his best friend to let himself in.

“Alright, fill me in on Little Miss Perfect you took out last night. She was all you could talk about this morning, and then boom.” He sat down on the couch next to Rowan, noticing the half empty bottle of bourbon and looked at him. “Radio silence for the rest of the day.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he muttered. “Shouldn’t you be going home to your girlfriend?”

“She’s out with Manon,” Lorcan said, blowing off the question. “I’m bored, so talk.”

Rowan sighed, pushing himself up to go into his kitchen. He came back a moment later, two glasses in hand. He supposed he couldn’t continue to drink out of the bottle with company.

After handing Lorcan a half-filled glass, Rowan said, “It’s just not going to work.”

“You decided that quickly,” Lorcan muttered, his eyes remaining locked on Rowan. “Did you google her after she left? Find something cringeworthy?”

Rowan sipped from his glass. “She’s just not who I thought she was, that’s all.”

Lorcan scoffed. “You’re being vague.”

Rowan shrugged. That seemed to be the only answer he was going to give him.

“So what?” Lorcan asked, crossing an ankle over his knee and swirling the contents of his glass. “She lied and you caught her?”

“No, she didn’t lie,” Rowan said, dragging a hand down his face. “But it can’t happen. So it won’t.”

Lorcan raised one dark eyebrow. “First you say won’t, now you say can’t.”

Rowan emptied his glass. “What about it?”

“Well, which one is it?” He asked, leaning back. “Those two have very different meanings.”

“It can’t and it won’t,” he replied, giving Lorcan a pointed look.

Lorcan snorted, but took a drink from his own glass. “You act like she’s one of your students.”

Rowan didn’t say a word. He only stared at his closed laptop.

It took Lorcan a few seconds to understand Rowan’s silence. And a few more before he figured out how to make his mouth work.

And when he did, he started laughing.

“Are you kidding me, Whitethorn?” He asked, clutching his stomach. “You fucked your student?”

“Fuck off,” Rowan muttered, refilling his glass.

Lorcan was hardly able to breathe. “It was your first day at your first big boy job, and you already found yourself in bed-.” His words faded away as his laughter consumed him.

“It’s not like she’s some freshman,” Rowan snapped. “She’s about to graduate. Twenty-one. I just…” Rowan groaned as his face fell into his hands. “Someone had recommended the bar to me and told me the faculty hung out there a lot. I just assumed she was one of them, since she was the one to suggest the place.”

“Hate to break it to you,” Lorcan continued, still laughing. “But, people in their twenties don’t often land jobs at renowned universities. You’re the exception.”

Rowan continued to drink.

“Alright, alright,” Lorcan continued, taking a deep breath. “You’re five years older than her, so what? I’m four years older than Elide. Once you both hit twenty, age is just a number.”

Rowan shot him a look. “She’s a student, Lor. Maeve will fire me in a heartbeat over any sort of misconduct. This…” He just shook his head. “This position is a once in a lifetime opportunity that I probably shouldn’t even have. I can’t ruin it.”

Lorcan knew full well how harsh Rowan’s aunt could be. Before she’d become president of a prestigious university, she’d been the dean at the boarding school he and Rowan had spent their adolescence at. “So either move on or be careful and don’t let her find out.”

Rowan blinked at his friend. He was being so casual about this, when Rowan was freaking out both inside and out, which had required a two hour gym session earlier to calm his nerves.

Lorcan sighed and set his glass down. “Look, I really don’t see the issue here. She isn’t using you to pass the class, right?”

The thought hadn’t even occurred to Rowan, but he remembered the look of pure and utter shock on her face when they’d seen each other in the classroom. “No, it’s a basic gen ed. Plus I really don’t think she’d ever do that.”

Lorcan nodded. “Right. There are much tougher classes she could try and sleep her way through.” At Rowan’s simmering look at his choice of words, Lorcan held up his hands in placation. “I’m just saying, make sure she’s actually doing her homework and studying for her and don’t let Maeve find out.”

Rowan hesitated, but when his lips opened, nothing came out.

He liked Aelin. He really, really liked Aelin. And, yeah, it had been much more than a hookup. When he’d woken up that morning next to her in bed, he felt a sense of peace and satisfaction that he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

Then again, the way he’d snapped at her that morning, knowing that she had only said what she had out of anger - even if she had been correct - would be difficult to come back from.

Rowan had completely shattered her. He saw it in her eyes before she left.

“I don’t know,” Rowan said, at last.

Lorcan groaned before pounding back his drink and pouring himself another. “You’re always going to be the one to stand in the way of your own happiness, Whitethorn.”

He refrained from saying anything. Lorcan had always been the one to hop from girl to girl, while he had always been the one in a committed relationship. After his last relationship had…ended, he hadn’t wanted anyone for a while.

Aelin was the first spark he’d felt since.

“You’re into her,” Lorcan said, staring up at the ceiling to avoid any sort of eye contact while he said something nice. “I can tell. And, if you don’t go for it, you’re going to regret it.”

Rowan knew he was right.

Of course, he was right.

And yet, this job was the first job he had been granted in his field since graduating three years prior with his degree in mythology. Yeah, he may have gotten it because of Maeve, but that didn’t make it any less important to him.

He had the chance to get students excited about something he loved, something he was passionate about.

“Go home to your woman or shut up and turn on the TV,” Rowan muttered, downing the contents in his glass.

Lorcan only snorted and grabbed the remote, fulfilling Rowan’s wishes.

*

Aelin awoke the next morning with a slight headache and the same dull ache in her chest.

Knowing she needed to move, workout the bad vibes, she tossed up her hair and put on her workout wear before jogging to the gym.

She was still regretting signing up for even one eight am classes, and was thankful her Friday’s were free. She was looking forward to some much needed sleep, which was a lost cause right now.

When she was packing her gym bag, she decided to go straight to class after a quick shower, so she tossed it into a locker after she arrived, locked it up, and put her ear buds in.

The gym was still pretty empty this early, since it wasn’t even eight yet, and most people were too focused on their own workouts to pay attention to those surrounding them. Aelin was grateful for the distraction the gym would provide, and for the physical outlet, as well.

She was just finishing up a mile run on the treadmills when she felt eyes on her. She could tell she was being watched, but didn’t want to look around. Whether it was someone ogling her from across the room or someone from one of her classes, she wasn’t in the mood to make small talk and made her way over to the machines, starting on her legs first. She cranked her music up and kept an eye on the time on her watch.

When there was about forty-five minutes before her first class, she put the free weights she’d been using back in their home and turned to head to the locker room for a much needed shower.

And found who had been watching her during her workout.

Green eyes bored into her own and Aelin felt a blush rising in her cheeks that had nothing to do with the amount of energy she’d exerted this early in the morning.

Ignoring the voice inside of her head, Aelin stopped in front of Rowan, and nodded. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he said, wiping the sweat from his brow. His t-shirt clung to him, and it was a fact that Aelin could not ignore.

“I was just going to get ready for class,” she said. “Excuse me.”

She swept past him, but his voice pulled her up short. “Aelin.”

She stilled, and slowly turned around to meet his gaze.

“About yesterday,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck. Aelin found the gesture somewhat charming, although she wouldn’t admit it. “I’m sorry. I…didn’t handle the situation right. It all took me by surprise and I reacted poorly. I’m sorry.”

“S’okay,” she said, looking away from him, down at her feet. “I said some things I didn’t mean. I’m…not proud of it.”

He shook his head. “Let’s just…pretend all of it didn’t happen, yeah?”

She swallowed roughly. “All of it?”

Rowan sighed. “Just because we apologized doesn’t change anything, Aelin. You’re still my student.”

She nodded, not looking at him. “Right. No. I get it. I have to get ready for class.”

Making to slip around him, she got two steps away before his hand wrapped around her wrist. “Aelin, I’m… I’m sorry. I wish it wasn’t— I wish it didn’t have to be this way.”

Daring to take a chance by looking back at him, it nearly destroyed what was left of her when she saw the sincerity in his eyes. “But wishing doesn’t change anything, does it?” Aelin pulled her wrist free. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

Rowan said nothing, but she saw that her shot landed in his eyes.

She shook it off, though, hurrying away, toward the showers.

Aelin knew one thing was for certain: no matter how much she cared for Rowan Whitethorn, there would never be anything between them.

Even if she wanted there to be.

[nathaniel-donovan]

In every way he was being stubborn with the way he was refusing to see this entire situation any other way, he was practically consumed at this point with a will to let her go, that it didn't matter what she said or how she said it, he just wasn't allowing himself to physically show that she was hooking her nails underneath his skin. It wasn't that he didn't deserve it, boy, he deserved it. He knew that. He was pathetically - or should we use the word Alara labelled across him - cowardly opting to run away from one of the best things to happen to him. A theme in Nate's life that he never seemed to stray away from. It was like every damn time he tried to step off that set path for him, to have a glance at happiness, to find somebody that made all the noise in his head stop, he fucked it up. So maybe she was right there? How every single time he chose to fuck it up for validation. All because he was an addict to his own misery, right? Well, according to her.

Nate doesn't say anything, he lets it be, he lets it go because actually? What could he add to that? Could he give her a fucking round of applause for beating him at his own game? The one where no matter what was said about him, Nate always topped it himself. Though that was him, right? Not being able to exist without self-hatred. Alara didn't just brush across his issues, she fucking highlighted them. In his mind all he could think was tell me how you really feel. It's a sarcastic thought; it's one that won't budge.

He thought she was wrong, he didn't want to be here. Yet she wasn't a mind reader and he wasn't telling her that. He shook his head lightly, clearly disagreeing, "So you'd rather be with a drunk that's taking pills every night... sure." he was talking at the same time as her, responding in real time because he couldn't hold that back. Any softness to his tone had disappeared. No he wasn't blaming her, it wasn't her fault, he just knew she didn't need to be with somebody that chose intoxicating vices over her. Which he had been. How many times had he not showed up because he was too busy getting off his face? He'd lost count. To Nate in this moment, it was like she couldn't see what he did and that wasn't a good thing in his mind.

"Maybe I am." Brain-damaged. He couldn't even argue with her there. He knew what he was doing, he was very aware of what he was letting go of, and right now in his headspace? She was being stupid. It wasn't that he liked to have such opinion on her, because in all honesty he didn't mean it, he just thought she was wasting her time. When she steps back and still chooses to invade his space by lifting his chin to look at her, he does, he lets her, he listens. His blue eyes lock into her brown and actually? Deeply set within them, if you looked hard enough, you'd see the pain hidden in his soul. This wasn't what he wanted to do. He needed to. There was a difference.

After a moment of silence from him he stepped back from her, "Guess I need to do that then." Wonder why things weren't changing for the better for him. After all, it was all his own choices that lead him here. So she said. He wouldn't ever blame her, but her words cut deep. He took another step back, "Y'know... better fuck off and be an addict to my own misery." He makes that move to turn away; the words she threw at him? He tossed them right back. He even scoffed, it's humourless really, knowing that out of everything that was what stung the most. Nate wasn't quite sure he'd fully back that one, he also took that as her not getting him. In his mind it was like she was using the fact that he was an addict against him - which she was in her every right to do so, he couldn't blame her for that, he just thought it was tasteless.

"That's bullshit. You make time." He just didn't want to, apparently, and she couldn't deny how much it stung to realize that he'd come here with his mind already made up. "Do people usually let you get away with acting like this? An addict to your own misery. You say you're a lot of things, Nate, but if coward was never one of them then it should be." Narrowing her eyes, she takes a breath, not wanting to lose her shit now, if this was happening, she wasn't going down without a fight. "This isn't about me being too good for you, it's about you not knowing how to exist without every ounce of self-hatred you can grab onto. So sure that you'll fuck up that you actually make it happen, you choose to make it true for your own validation." Alara shook her head.

"Don't tell me what's not fair. I'm not going to let you convince yourself that we were going to end up here when the only reason we are is because you want to be here. You said you wanted to talk, but you're not talking, I'm talking, and you're taking my words and analyzing them to suit the narrative you want." Mind racing, heartbreaking, she could see that he was just too far out of her reach this time to pull him back. "Don't," she warned, "Don't imply that it's my fault you decided you needed to be better for me when I only ever needed and asked for you to be yourself. The guy who is kind and caring, who made me feel safe, made me smile, visited me during work just because. That's what I deserve, and that's what you always gave me. What I don't deserve is what you're doing right now. But no, I don't hate you, I feel sorry for you because this, right here? This is one of those moments you could choose not to fuck up, but you are. I'll be the best thing to ever walk into your life and you have to be brain-damaged to push me away."

Managing to hold her resolve, she steps back, creating space, but still manages to reach out and tip up his chin, making their eyes meet. "I'm not letting you go, you're letting me go. And letting go of the people who support you is not the solution to getting yourself back together, that's where you fall off and fail. Maybe once, you were broken because of what's been done to you, but now it's only true to say that you're broken because of what you're choosing to do to yourself. This is all you, Nate, your actions, your decisions, your choices. I want you to think about that the next time you dare to wonder why things aren't changing for the better." Dropping her hand, she wasn't really sure what she'd said anymore, all she knew was that she wanted to hold a mirror up to his face and show him the lies he told himself. Partly out of anger, mostly out of her own pain and grief for an ending to something that didn't have to have one. This wasn't about her, it never was, it was about his own inability to give himself an ounce of peace. You can help someone who wants to be helped, not someone who actively decides to show you why you shouldn't.

[ekaterinatepes]

Nothing but the Best

Author Notes: hello again my loves! Thank you for all your likes, reviews and specially your comments! I love it when you make questions and in general let me know what you think about the chapter. Thank you once more for all your support!

XII.

They say time heals all wounds, but there are some wounds that run so deep they refuse to stop bleeding.

https://youtu.be/s1tAYmMjLdY

A cold September afternoon welcomed the dying rays of the sun, the incandescent amber tones of the twilight illuminated the streets of Tokyo, ever so vibrant; full of life, people, delicious food, kaleidoscopic colors, laughter, children running…. Couples holding hands.

A tall man with a blindfold walked down a heavily transited sidewalk with his hands in his pockets and a small bag of pastries hanging off the side. Slowly, he made his way further away from the more concentric streets towards a park, he found a bench near a fountain and took a seat placing his bag right next to him.

The world remained the same and yet everything seemed to have changed, the days were now long and boring, conversations with people didn’t manage to hold his attention for long; missions were repetitive. Everything seemed… dull, opaque, flavorless, empty…

Everything, except perhaps his students who were the only sliver of hope he had left. Those kids would make it far in life, they were going to change the world and he was going to be there to help them along the way. A sad smile pulls at his peachy lips. You would have liked that. After all, the kids also enjoyed your company back in the day when you were still his. It was as if you had become their adoptive mother of sorts at some point. Your nurturing nature guided you to care for others.

A year ago when Yuuji was placed under his care and tutelage at Jujutsu High it had been hard for the boy. At the time the kid had just lost his only living relative and to top it off he also consumed the most powerful curse ever known to man kind.

He had so much responsibility on his shoulders Satoru couldn’t help but make the connection with himself when he was a kid his age. That’s how Satoru decided to take him home for dinner one night; he couldn’t have been more pleased with his decision. Of course, you adored Yuuji. His sweet snd enthusiastic personality, his polite manners and naiveté made him just endearing in your eyes.

Even Megumi, who barely spoke with his more taciturn approach asked about you. Satoru didn’t know how to answer. The dark haired boy would also come and visit your home to help you prepare some foreign delicacies you loved to cook. Sighing once more he ran his hands through his white hair.

***-Flashback-***

“So where’s Y/N-san? I haven’t seen her in a long time?” Asked Megumi right after Satoru returned from New York. It caught him by surprise

“She… she doesn’t live in Japan anymore” was all he said before changing the subject. Megumi looked at him with eyes wide open but decided not to pry.

Yeah… that probably was weird. Someone asks you about your spouse and you say they moved out of the country. It was pretty obvious what that meant.

***~End Flash Back~***

Sighing he opened the small paper bag containing his mochi, he loved his desert but lately he didn’t even have the will to indulge in sweets anymore. Satoru consumed insane amounts of sugar to stimulate his brain. The problem was that during the past year all that stimulation manifested in the form of vivid memories of you. Your voice, your smell, your presence. It was as if his brain chose to take him down the path to misery, as if to rub on his face what he could never have.

As of last week you were officially not Y/N Gojo anymore. He finally signed those blasted papers giving you your freedom and his capitulation.

It had been one of the worst days of his life.

After signing the divorce Satoru went straight to the liquor store where he found that exotic apricot liquor he liked in New York and bought a bottle. Once he made it back home he proceeded to get drunk out of his mind. The next morning he woke up by the pool, laying down on a tanning chair, wearing only a pair of boxers and hugging your wedding picture.

His head was killing him, at some point he had emptied his insides in the pool. A disgusted grimace reminded him he had to hire some help to take care of the house that was an absolute disaster, faithfully reflecting the state of its owner.

That morning, nursing a hangover he swore off alcohol for the rest of his life.

But hey! On the positive side he didn’t remember at all that night! Which means he ‘probably’ didn’t think about you (yeah right! As if he was ever not thinking about you) and how much he hated the fact you were not his Y/N Gojo anymore. You were not his wife anymore…

The memory made him want to cry like a baby. He lost the person he loved the most in his life because he had been one flaming idiot.

Despite all his efforts he could not forget you. Wherever he went, whatever he did… there you were, tormenting his waking and sleeping hours like his own personal curse.

He tried to get over you. He tried to be the asshole you knew him to be. He slept with so many women he couldn’t even count. But at the end of the night, in the throes of passion it was your face that he saw, your body that he craved, your flavor that he yearned and your name the one he called out when he climaxed.

He was absolutely fucked.

Revisiting memories of the last night he saw you he couldn’t believe how stupid he had been at the time. It took him so long to realize he had always been in love with you but Satoru, being well… himself, he didn’t want to see or admit that he had been head over heels, madly in love with you. He was a cynical bastard and that had cost him dearly. He chose to lie to himself thinking that THE Gojo Satoru was above all human weaknesses… including love. What an ignorant fucker he had been.

He wondered how you were doing and if you ever thought about him.

A frown made his handsome face look stern. Well… you were not alone anymore. Suguru also had stayed back in New York with you. After Satoru returned to Japan, Ijichi told him Geto Suguru wouldn’t be working out of Japan anymore. He had requested a transfer to the Americas.

Of course he did…

It had been one of the reasons Satoru fucked so many women. In his delusional mind he was ‘getting even’ with you for sleeping with Suguru. Not that he knew for a fact you were sleeping with him or not but… I mean….

Come on! It’s mother fucking Geto Suguru we are talking about here! 6’2 of pure sculpted muscles, tattoos and bad boy looks but with a Prince Charming complex. Yeah… Satoru was green with jealousy because he knew his former best friend was a better man for you than he ever was.

Looking down at his mochi bag he realized the small item had paid the price of his anger as he uncurled his death grip from the bag. Sighing he tossed the ruined pastry in the trash can to his left.

“Miss you….” He whispered to the wind.

———–

“I’m home!” You announced walking into your apartment. Setting you bag down as well as a couple of grocery bags “did you start dinner already?” You ask pleasantly surprised although you already knew the answer to that question since all the apartment smelled fantastic. Suguru walked out of the kitchen with a big smile wearing an apron that read ‘Kiss the Cheff’ nods “yes! I figured I would give you a hand tonight!” He answered as you walked to him to wrap your arms around his waist and give him a chaste kiss on his cheek “thank you Sugu. How was your mission?” You asked deciding to set up the table while Suguru finished dinner. “Not too bad actually, it was a special grade but nothing I couldn’t deal with” you returned a bright smile “I’m glad”

Your friendship with Suguru had slowly evolved into something else. You both spent all of your free time together. Your connection was deeper than mere sexual attraction. Suguru truly understood you, cared for you, shared your dreams and hopes. He was the type of poetic soul who would stay awake with you well into the night just to talk about the stars, the book you read that week that you loved, the new music you liked. It was wholesome.

On the more carnal side you desired Suguru and he desired you but you hadn’t taken what was going on between you two further than a few passionate make-out sessions and some cuddling.

After you last saw Satoru everything became worse before it got better. Suguru had been your rock, he had been there for the sleepless nights you spent crying. Without a word he held you in his strong arms and allowed you to let go. He knew you were deeply wounded, your emotions in disarray and your mental stability in peril. But Suguru never asked anything from you, he gave you the strength to go on. To take care of yourself, to keep going with your career. To have… hope.

It seemed like a dream to think that your life had changed so much in the span of a year. You weren’t able to recognise yourself anymore. Pain and duress molded you into someone new, better, more resilient, harder to hurt.

At this point, the only person you fully trusted was Suguru, he was always honest with you, no matter what happened or how much something hurt, he always remained true to himself and to you.

It was impossible not to love someone like him. He was the whole package.

Suguru was handsome, that was indisputable. But Geto was more than a pretty face. He was kind, truly kind! He did things out of the goodness of his heart, not because he expected anything in return. He was honest, Suguru Geto would never lie to you and THAT is what you loved the most about him.

He was patient.

He wanted you to be his but at the same time Suguru wanted you to heal, to have the chance to trust and love again, not as a means to forget about Satoru but because you wanted to choose a new path for yourself.

After diner you helped with the dishes and then settled on the couch. Suguru joined with a smile and two glasses of wine. He handed you one and sipped on the other one “what would you like to watch tonight Kitten?” He asked sitting next to you while picking a movie from the titles available on the screen of the tv.

“Anything you like! It’s your turn to pick” you said with a smile, leaning your head on his shoulder making Suguru smile. These tender displays of affection always made him feel so warm. Passing an arm around your shoulders he kissed your forehead.

You look up into his hazel eyes you blush. Suguru didn’t lose a second before he closed the space between your lips. The kiss was soft but meaningful, you didn’t hesitate to return it; wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to then climb on his lap straddling his hips.

The handsome sorcerer leans back, relaxing and running his hands slowly up and down your naked thighs covered only by the small fabric of your shorts, he strokes them softly leaving a path of warmth in the wake of his touch. Suguru deepened the kiss. His tongue delved in your mouth, slowly inviting yours to join the delicious dance. After a few minutes you pulled back, you are breathless. Your heart beats fast and the adrenaline was making you dizzy in anticipation.

Suguru looks at you, leaning his forehead against yours “I missed you” he ads before engulfing you in another passionate kiss, not even giving you the chance to reply. This time his lips are more demanding, his teeth nibbling your lower lip, requesting entrance. His tongue still tastes like the wine and you recognize his addictive flavor. Suddenly you find yourself laying on your back on the white couch, Suguru is on top of you and your legs are wrapped around his waist. Things are getting much more heated than you anticipated. Your hands roam the expanse of his back over hard muscles and warm skin covered only by the thin layer of his t-shirt. You know if you keep going this way you won’t be able to stop.

https://youtu.be/yBatuRGZAmA

A part of you doesn’t want this to end, you want to go all the way with Suguru. But… as much as you hate it, there is a tiny part of you that feels ambivalent about it. You wonder why is that you can’t just… do it!? You want Suguru! God! You desire him more than you can express with words, the growing wetness between your legs is evidence that you indeed were very much sexually attracted to him and yet your mind kept torturing you.

It was… complicated.

Your marriage with Satoru have been over longer than that piece of paper you got last week said. But erasing your feelings wasn’t something you could ever hope to do.

As much as you wanted to give yourself to Suguru it felt wrong that you were holding a part of yourself back. You wanted to give him everything, he deserved EVERYTHING of you. It wouldn’t be fair to just have sex with him when he deserved to be made love to.

You love Suguru, everyday that goes by your feelings for him grow and intensify, it was hard to even understand why would you hesitate and yet you did.

Your passionate kiss slowly becomes more tender until you are just sharing small pecks. Suguru pulls back with a little comforting smile; he felt the change in your body language, he knew what was going through your mind. You explained it to him before and he didn’t want to push you. He knew you needed to go at your own pace and he respected that.

“I’m… so-“ you starts apologetically but Suguru stops you with a little kiss “don’t… don’t apologize, I know baby…” he said reassuringly. Sealing his tender words with a kiss. When you separate again he asks “Alright little kitten, tell me… what’s it gonna be? ‘Dorian Grey’ or ‘Only Lovers Left Alive’?” Pulling you in his strong arms he cuddled with you on the couch, returning to the choices for movie you had.

You were so thankful for this man in your life “let’s go with ‘Only Lovers left Alive’”

With a last kiss he started the movie and pulled a blanket over you both.

He could wait, he would wait till the end of time. For you.

———-> Chapter 13/Part 1

Tags:

@sleepyamaya

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@jxvajxy

@satoruhooraaa

@my-reality-is-in-my-head

@dok-ja

@jscarlet06

@fiona782

@thatsharklovingwoman

@heichoustheoryofcleanliness

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@tampon-earrings

@actualdeemon

[sorry-i-ship-drarry]

Prompts no 25, 27, 31 angst and non happy ending because I'm a little sad

The affair

Dialogue prompt 31- I want you to list every lie you ever told me.. then I'll forgive you | I hope whoever you are, you're doing better now. My apologies for bringing it out pretty late.

TW- ANGST | Harry loved him, only till fire burned.

Prompt 25 | prompt 27

It could have been love.

Or perhaps it was love until the arson had lasted and the land got buried in the ashes. Maybe it was love, until the fire remained burning, and the air had stated vanishing and soon it died.

He always knew he thought love was a transaction, to get something back in return for what you deposit in, he never believed in it but was Draco swooned. He let himself take the fall hoping that maybe harry would save him. He knew what he was getting into but too fooled was he to believe that love changes people, he held onto the false hope. He assumed, he believed in himself that maybe, just maybe after everything Harry had been through, after everything he fought for, maybe he'd like to not face change anymore. That maybe after everything, he deserved to be loved and deserve to love. That maybe he too felt that there was none who understood him better than Draco like he did, only he should've known.

But once learnt the hard way, draco didn't know how many loses more could he take. Maybe he felt as though he owed it to harry, that perhaps harry was his last shot at love, no matter what happened. Even with the ever consuming lies building up in the relationship that had been going on for 3 years. But Draco would lie to himself if he said he was happy anymore. He used to be, but he hadn't felt the little comfort in the physical affection or more than a chaste kiss in the past few months and he was afraid. Afraid that his inner voice was right.

" I think he's cheating on me " Draco numbly spoke to pansy as he drank his cold coffee

" oh hone-"

" I knew it " Draco interjected.

Pansy gave him a pity look but oh she knew too. She knew he was cheating. The lies Harry had fed only worked a little.

" how do you know ?" Pansy asked, holding a little of Draco's hand in a comforting touch over the table.

" he told me he'd be at the office yesterday. I went to drop him something but he wasn't there. He had left hours ago " Draco replied blankly stating at pansy drawing circles on the upper side of his hand

" but you can't be sure " pansy sighed.

Draco hummed, deciding to not further talk about it.

Perhaps days went by, Draco had stopped counting, he has stopped looking at the calender when their anniversary passed as a forgotten date. Perhaps weeks since Harry tried to come home and cuddle with Draco. And maybe month too when they last went on a date.

Why was Draco doing this to himself? Fear.

He watched as the light, the spark, the fire diminish in Harry's eyes for Draco but a new one was born each day he left for work, like he had something to look forward to. He felt it in Harry's soft light chaste touches that they weren't a secret, private anymore, they were of Someone else too. He even smelled the perfume of another one on Harry's shirt. Yet he rested in fear, fear he'd never be loved again. Because even if everything, harry still was his boyfriend, by tag but he was.. it was all in the labels. But He didn't even come to Draco's work party.

" why don't you leave him ?" Blaise had asked. Draco only shrugged, yawning.

" do you even sleep anymore?" Blaise tried asking again. Draco shrugged once again. He had lost count of hours he slept too.

But alone in the night, sitting on a bed in loneliness even with the body next to him, he cried relentlessly in silent sobs. He would bite his palm to keep the muffles inside as he'd stare at the man he'd once loved, become Lost. He missed the harry who'd kiss him before sleeping or who'd whisper good night or the one's who dragged draco to shower with him or the harry who'd visit between works to take him out for lunch.. he missed the harry that was only his own and not shared as a public property.

________________________

He sat alone on the table of a family dinner as his father for first In a while looked at Draco in pity sitting next to an empty chair, reserved for his love who never showed up.

" we should start. He must be stuck with something " Draco Whispered.

Narcissa hesitantly nodded, helping serve the dinner and the family ate in low Whispers and soft chews.

And then perhaps as if an old friend has knocked his door, Draco was met with the young boy who loved Harry in his rivalry,who stood for what was right, for what wasn't just to him, one who believed that if love existed he'd never settle for less. Slamming the door shut, Draco instead of disapparating, stumbled back home with one bottle of whiskey he couldn't even drink because of the drowning heart that yearned sobriety.

" where were you ?" Harry has asked sitting on the sofa, watching TV at midnight when draco had stumbled back home.

But draco didn't respond, placed the bottle on the counter top, only little drunk, unknown tears smeared across his face.

" I asked you a question Draco, where were you ?" Harry sternly asked as he turned around to watch Draco

" are you fucking drunk ?' harry was perhaps disgusted but it only made Draco laugh. A mock.

" do you ask your other boy that too ?"

" what- what other boy ?" But harry was a bad liar.

Draco sniffed in as he walked forwards, collapsed on the couch next to Harry's and stared blankly out of the window, tears immediately blurring his vision.

" it was my parents anniversary today? Do you remember ? I told you a day before yesterday to be there, even sent a memo ? Did you receive ?" Draco asked, his legs shaking.

" oh- see I kept thinking I was forgetting something. I'm so sorry babe-"

" don't-call-me-that" Draco sneered

" what is the matter with you ?" Harry asked thoroughly offended

But Draco only exhaled a shaky breath, his hands contributing to the shakiness and he finally landed his eyes upon the man he had lost.

" was I not enough ?" His voice broke as he asked, staring into Harry's lost face

" what are you even on about-"

" your affair harry. Your bloody affair " Draco raised his voice so as to be stern, confident that be wasn't lying.

" what ? I don't have any affair. I'm offended that you even think that Draco. After everything we've been through-"

"bullshit " Draco snapped

" you think I can't see it Harry ? I can sense it across an entire room if you're there or not, don't you think I wouldn't know that the man I loved is not just Mine anymore ?"

" you're being ridiculous " harry rolled his eyes.

Draco gave Harry a weak smile before he went on " do you remember the last time you told me you loved me ?"

Harry frowned as he thought upon until the realisation hit " i- I didn't realize -"

" I don't blame you " Draco shook his head " I can't even if I Want to. Perhaps I am infact not enough.. perhaps I've failed to be who you wanted me to be. I don't blame you harry, I don't-"

" Draco, there's nothing going-"

" what's his name ?" Draco interjected

" there's no one "

" does he make you happy ?" Draco asked weakly

" Draco, there isn't-"

" does he kiss better than I do ?" Draco asked, his voice breaking.

Harry sighed " I'm not cheating Draco "

" then when did you fall out of love with me ?" Draco asked

Harry stared at Draco long enough to see the pain turning to mocking numbness " I never did "

" liar " Draco sneered as he looked away, not even bringing his hands up to wipe his tears.

" I love you Draco-"

" liar " Draco suddenly raised his voice " you're a pathetic liar " he sobbed

" all this time I tried to forgive you in my head but I only need to ask one thing, what did I do to deserve this ?" Draco sobbed

Harry's face filled with pity as he closed distance between them to wipe Draco's tears away but he jerked his hands away.

" I didn't mean for it to happen " harry finally said as he looked down at his feets, as though he was disgusted in himself.

Draco looked at harry attentively " how long ?"

" Draco-"

" how long harry ?" Draco asked sniffing

" 5 months " harry replied. It should not have been a blow, not have hurt this bad, because Draco already knew but he did. Tears rapidly burning his face as pathetic sobs left his lips and he looked away as if he couldn't bear to look at harry.

" it meant nothing to me Draco-"

" it doesn't matter " Draco interjected, heaving for a long breath

" no I mean it Draco, it didn't mean anything "

" if it didn't mean anything then why were you with him tonight instead of me ?"

But in hopes of trying to fix things, harry couldn't formulate an answer without hurting Draco.

" I really loved you harry, I still do and I hate myself for it but I will let you go "

" Draco Don't-"

" I have loved you enough but in hopes of trying to keep you close, I have made you runaway from me and that's no one's but my own fault. Perhaps I loved you too much or too little but neither of it was enough to make you stay " Draco cried in silent tears.

" don't say that Draco. Please. I still love you. I never stopped. I'll leave him for you. I only love you. It was a mistake Draco. I promise it won't happen again. I'm sorry Draco, please, please forgive me " harry begged

Draco offered Harry a little smile before he took Harry's hands in how own, locking their finger's together and kissing his knuckles.

" I Want you to list every lie you ever told. Then maybe I'll forgive you "

And in that sweetness Draco left Harry more broken than he had ever felt. Filled with regret he had never felt. Pain he had long forgotten. Misery and sorrow he had said good-bye too. But it was in his sweetness harry had loved him and it was in his sweetness he had lost him. That night when Draco went away, with no response, he never came back again and harry was left alone.

It could have been love, or perhaps it was, only until the night was young and the sun had not risen.

Till the mortal fire had burnt.

It's basically midnight thoughts.

300 followers appreciation dialogue prompt requests open.

( ps. I reached 400 tho )

[zeldas-cigarrette]

Illicit affairs. (1)

(not my gif:))

⎯ zelda spellman x reader

⎯ word count: 2,1k

⎯ warnings: slight mention of alcohol

⎯ summary: after a night out you wake up next to Zelda Spellman, later you find out you two met in a bar the night before.

⎯ ❥ author’s note: I don’t know how I got this idea but I thought it’d be fun to just write it down and see what happens, I’ll maybe do another two parts because I want to finish it with a happy ending:) ✨

⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯

A loud and penetrating noise tore you out of your sweet sleep, as soon as your eyes flung open you felt a sting in your head. The memories of last night were blurry and you had no idea how you ended up in your bed. Only the regularly set alarm on your phone stopped you from sleeping any longer. Usually, you weren’t someone who drinks but something about yesterday made you forget about it. You didn’t dare to move, everybody part seemed to hurt with the slightest of movements. It was just your white bedroom ceiling, that you saw. The sun had begun to rise and the morning sky was dipped in shades of pink. Without further thinking you started to get up, not wanting to be late for your job as a teacher in the academy of unseen arts. You were afraid of Zelda, the headmistress, the woman never seemed to like you. You never knew why.

Your head turned to the other side of the room to see if you had broken anything in your state last night. Unknowingly of what to expect next to you, your heart missed a beat for a second. On top of your fluffy white pillow Zelda Spellman was laying. Not even able to think clearly, you tried to put the pieces of last night in the place. In between some very clear scenes more and more occurred only black pictures. You had no clue how in hell the often resilient witch ended up next to you in bed. Curiously, you bent over her face to see if she was somewhat conscious. You waved your hand over her face, one time, two times; nothing.

Soft snores left her slightly opened mouth. This was bad; ‘when she wakes up you’re dead’ you thought. It took you a lot of courage to make the first step and poke her with your finger, not sure of what was about to happen. Her eyes quickly opened, her eyes met yours. A maybe unwanted cry escaped her mouth causing you to join out of surprise of the sudden noise. „Satan, why did you have to scream?” you asked massaging your ear in pain. „What am I doing here?” her voice still a bit raspy. You tried to play it cool, trying to hide the blush on your cheeks you turned away searching for any evidence of last nights events. Still nothing. „Did we…” „I don’t think so.”

It was awkward, none of you knew anything. Just now you realised how chill it was in your apartment. „Okay, don’t worry. We’ll figure this out, just get dressed, I’ll make coffee if you want some,” you declared hopping out of the bed and covering your body with a gown. You shot her a last glance before exiting your bedroom, though a bit shaky. How much alcohol did you consume to be in that state now? Passing the few paintings on your walls on the way to the kitchen, you switched on your coffee machine, hoping it wouldn’t be too awkward. Soon the smell of fresh coffee filled the air and also Zelda seemingly disappointed walked around the corner.

„What in Satan’s name happened last night?” the woman asked puzzled. You handed her a cup of coffee, noticing a silver ring tugging on her left hand. „Nice ring,” you smiled. „What ring? I don’t wear rings!” „Obviously you do now,” you replied pointing at it. The witch’ forehead laid in wrinkles before she shook her head as if she couldn’t believe her own eyes. „Why you? Why am I in your house?” she suddenly snapped and harshly placed the cup on the table. „Calm down, I don’t know and I could’ve also imagined someone nicer than you.” Wrong you couldn’t, you craved her attention. Since the very first moment you laid eyes on the red-headed witch, you found it hard to avert your gaze. Only an eye roll signalised how annoyed she was. „Okay, I came into that bar and ordered something… I don’t remember what,” you whispered to yourself. You heard the older woman scoff in. „What? Do you know what happened?” your voice grew energetic way too fast. Silence. It was this gruelling silence where you feel so little you don’t even dare to break the ongoing nothingness. You glanced down at your fingers, finding a silver ring, looking similar to the one that Zelda was wearing. „Why do I have the same ring as you?” in your voice grew to panic. Her head jolted in your hand’s direction. The pupils of her green eyes grew wide in split seconds. „You don’t think we-“ „I don’t know? I’m not even sure how I ended up at home,” you stammered unsure of what words to choose next. Obviously, the situation was uncomfortable for both parties, Zelda couldn’t stop herself from pinching the bridge of her nose in disbelief of her memory loss.

That woman always seemed like the most put-together person you knew, there were hardly any encounters or incidents that let people see kind of emotion. „You go to the academy and do whatever you have to, and I will look for any evidence or signs that could verify our theory,” it was hard to stay calm. You weren’t ready for such thing as marriage and Zelda clearly seemed to dislike you and if you both really did it last night; you couldn’t even imagine what to do then. It didn’t take long until the witch disappeared from your kitchen. You let yourself fall on one of the chairs, head in your hands, covering your eyes with fingers in the hope to bring back the memories.

The constant sips of coffee that ran down your throat didn’t wipe out the dizzy feeling in you nor did they wake you as they used to. Watching the sun as it rose just made you sleepier. It didn’t get in your head how you had absolutely no proper memories from your night out. Yes, it’s been stressful and you just wanted to take a break from your negative thoughts and all the stuff that’s been weighing you down, but it was never your intention to get so drunk or to upset the mighty Zelda Spellman herself. You gulped audibly before you forced yourself up from the chair. It was time to dig a little deeper and to scour your apartment, next to the bar you went to.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

It was useless, there was no paper or anything that could tell you what happened the night before. The whole morning and parts of the afternoon, you spent searching. Under your bed, you also rummaged through the kitchen drawers. Nothing.

A knock on your door nearly startled you to death, so deeply concentrated were you on finding anything in the living room. You pushed yourself up from the ground, walking up to your front door. A look through the spy drowned your mood completely. You knew the woman would show up at least in the evening, but you did not think it’d be right after work.

„Anything found yet?” „Well, Hello to you too, and no- nothing,” you sighed and let her enter your small apartment. „The last option is, to head to the bar and ask some people who’ve been there with us yesterday,” you shrugged and stared at the silvery ring you placed on the kitchen counter earlier. „The whole day I’ve been asking myself what has happened, and I cannot puzzle the pieces together, and as much as I hate to admit; you’re right,” Zelda’s sudden thought sharing startled you. „Alright, then let’s go.” You stepped on the gas as much as possible, still, it felt like a ride on a snails back. The whole situation was too crazy and odd to be true, but it was.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

Arriving at the bar, a neon sign greeted you. You remembered entering the place and a weird smell embracing you, smelt like cigarettes mixed with Urin. The thought of spending time in there suddenly disgusted you. A huge glass door, meant as entrance, was pushed open by the fiery witch, stomping in the alcohol hole. She immediately rushed towards a young man behind the bar, who was mixing cocktails. „Tell me, what happened here,” while yelling her voice wandered between three different ranges. „What she meant was, Hello we need your help could you tell us what happened last night,” you intervened shooting her a warning glare. His shocked face softened, „You were the girls who got married last night,” a deep laugh followed. Zelda was just about to throw hands before you were able to pull her back to where she stood. „Oh so we did… get married,” you remarked confused, „Can you possibly tell us more?” „Yes sure, you two got drunk and started talking to each other.” „You don’t get married by just talking… Justin,” you read his tag. „Of course not, as the night went on the sparks flew,” Justin cackled. Idiot. „Mhh, the sparks flew, then?” it wasn’t easy to get the worst of you but this guy was on the best way. „Sorry, Sorry,” he defensively held up his hands, „There was a priest in the corner and when you two found out about him, you rather fast decided to get married,” the idiotic bartender explained. Zelda’s fox fur shook with her in anger. All your face muscles dropped, not knowing what’ll happen next. „Was it a catholic?” Zelda asked concerned. Oh god, if it was a Catholic priest, you two were fucked, dead, excommunicated, just all the bad stuff. „I suppose so,” he shrugged. Her face shot in your direction, the looks you two shared said more than words could. What made a catholic priest come to this filthy – you can’t call it a bar- hole. „We’re going,” she rapidly grabbed your wrist pulling you after her.

„Ouch, god what is it with you,” you freed your wrist from her grasp. „Do you know what happens if anybody finds out we got married, worse by a catholic priest from the false god?” she huffed crossing her arms in front of her chest. „It’s bad, but we can’t undo it,” you took a step back. „It is all your fault that this misery came upon us and you have nothing better to say than , we can’t undo it’,” she imitated you. You scoffed. „My fault?” ‘Never be so polite to forget to show power’ your grandma once said. The whole day you tried to be polite, to be understanding and to comfort the one who hated you from the very beginning you showed up at the academy. Now she was accusing you of planting the idea of getting married in her brain, to that agreement belongs two people. „Listen, I tried to be nice but right now you’re giving me a very hard time,” you hissed, „It needs two people to get married and obviously you agreed to it, so now Zelda Spellman I want to think about your next words or you can stay here and I’ll leave you alone with this drunk heads in there.”

Seconds passed before she spoke up again, „Alright I’m sorry.” „Good, let’s get in there and ask if there was maybe a certificate or anything that proves our marriage. I get that you do not want to be married to me, neither would I but we have to figure this out together.” The older woman nodded, realising that there was no other way out. Entering the bar for a second time you approached Justin again. „Do you -by chance- know where the certificate is?

„Yes you left it at the table and I kept it behind the bar,” he explained. „Okay, can I have it?” „And what do I get for that?” „What do you get for that? I’ll show you what you get,” Zelda hissed ready to lose it all. „Stop it.” You warned her and held her back. „What do you want smiley face?” the tone on your voice grew harsh. „A night… with you,” It left you speechless. A look at the woman next to you made it clear she wasn’t fond of it either. „Forget it,” you snapped trying not to put a hex on him. This was it, there was no way to sneak behind that stupid bar.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

„Don’t you dare to suggest I should sleep with that idiot,” you mumbled and closed the car door a bit too loud. „I wasn’t.” It relived you to know she wouldn’t go that far. „Okay, Okay, Okay,” you started to panic, „I’m freaking out, we are so fucked if anyone ever finds that out.”

You started the engine of the car, sighing. „Calm down, we’ll figure something out,” the usually emotional cold woman reassured you. You just nodded hiding a tiny smile. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad after all.

[bellafarella]

Please have mercy on me

This is a short one shot following 11x08 so if you didn't watch it yet then avoid this until you do since there are spoilers in it!

Summary: Mickey can’t believe his eyes. Terry’s dead.

Notes: Hey everyone!

Just thought I'd write a short one shot to fill in a missing scene between when Ian and Mickey find Terry's dead body and then Ian going to the hospital, and what happened when they both were home at the end of it all.

I hope you like this 💖

*********************************

Mickey can’t believe his eyes. Terry’s dead. His eyes instantly fill with tears as he looks at his father - a man who has abused him his entire life, a man who couldn’t put his own bigotry aside to love and accept him for who he is, a man who constantly tried to kill him for being who he is - with a plastic bag over his head, his eyes lifeless, his tongue sticking out slightly from his mouth. Mickey feels Ian’s hand touch his shoulder from behind him and the tears just fall from his eyes, sliding down his cheeks. He sniffles and Ian turns him around and wraps him into his arms. Mickey lets himself be embraced by the strong and comforting arms of his husband, letting the tears fall as he cries silently in the crook of Ian’s neck.

Ian’s hand moves up and down his back, soothing him as he holds him tight, whispering into his ear, “I’m here. I love you. We’ll get through this together,” over and over in the softest voice.

A ringing blares through the silence of the moment and Mickey tries to pull away. Ian doesn’t let him so Mickey says, “Ian, answer your phone.”

Ian lets Mickey go so that he can grab his phone from his pocket. “It’s Carl,” he says looking at the screen.

“Answer it,” Mickey nods, wiping away a tear from his eye as he turns back around to look at his lifeless father. He can barely register anything Ian’s saying on the phone to his brother after he answers the call with, “This isn’t a good time.” Mickey’s too caught up in his own mind as he continues to look at Terry. He’s wanted his father dead for - God, he can’t even remember how long. The first time he ever thought about his father dying was when he was only four and Terry beat the shit out of his mom. He wasn’t in the room but he could hear her wails and cries, her pleads for him to stop. He curled up in Mandy’s bed with her, holding her close as she cried in his arms. She was only two, and he was only four, and all he could think was please God, kill dad. From them on, everything just got worse. His mother died and Terry focused his abuse on him and Mandy instead. Mickey thought every day how he wished something would land on his head and kill him, or a deal would go bad and he’d get shot, or he’d get put away in prison for the rest of his life. Those thoughts intensified when Mickey realized he’s gay. He knew he could never let Terry find out or he would murder him. He lived years of his life afraid that his father would kill him. He pushed Ian away because of that fear. In the last few years, Terry has tried to make him miserable every step of the way and now that he finally got what was coming to him, Mickey has no idea what to feel. He feels relieved but he also feels devastated. He worked so hard to make sure Terry was being taken care of in his state even though he didn’t deserve it. Mickey vowed that he would be better than his father. He wanted to be a better man, a better husband, a better father one day. Hearing Terry tell him just hours ago that if Mickey wasn’t gay - that he wasn’t who he is - he would have been a decent son. Those words tore Mickey’s heart in half because all he’s ever wanted was to be loved and accepted, and he knew he would never get that, even if he wasn’t gay. Terry was a hateful, spiteful, evil man, and Mickey knows deep down that that would never have changed.

“Mick?” he hears Ian say before he touches his shoulder. Mickey turns around to look at his husband's face, his soft green eyes looking at him with so much love and compassion. “There was an incident at Liam’s school with Frank. Carl brought him to the hospital, everyone’s headed there now.”

“You should go,” Mickey says instantly.

“No, I’m going to stay with you-”

Mickey shakes his head, “No, you should go, be with your family.”

“You’re my family,” Ian tells him, his hand coming up to caress Mickey’s cheek, wiping away some more tears with his thumb.

Mickey smiles at him softly. “I know, but your siblings need you.”

“But-”

“I need to handle this,” he says, nodding his head back towards his fathers dead body behind them. “I’ll be okay, Gallagher. I’ll see you at home later.”

“Are you sure?” Ian asks, his eyes searching Mickey’s.

Mickey shrugs his shoulder, “Not really but we both have responsibilities to our fuckhead fathers so I’ll be fine.”

Ian nods, letting out a deep breath. He leans forward and kisses Mickey’s forehead softly before pressing his forehead against his, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Mickey whispers back.

Ian pulls back to look at him, his hand still holding his face. “I’ll see you at home. Call me if you need anything. I’ll be quick, promise.”

“Okay.” And with that Ian rushes out the door to head to the hospital. Mickey takes a deep breath before turning back around to see Terry.

Sister Mary-Luke comes back into the house and she explains what happened. Terry was rude, vile, and just plain evil. He also begged her to be taken out of this life. “He was an evil man and did not deserve the patience and love you were giving him,” she tells him. “He begged for mercy and - well, this isn’t a life worth living, my child. It had to be done.”

Mickey nods, his eyes filling with tears again. He doesn’t blame her. Terry has been begging to die since his shooting. Mickey just never expected it to happen like this and definitely not today.

*

Mickey’s glad Ian took the ambulance so it makes it easier for him to call 911. Mickey removes the bag from Terry’s head and closes his eyes and mouth, propping him back up. The EMTs come and Mickey explains how he just arrived back to check in on his father and found him like this. He sent the nun home before they arrived, and he said that he thought his cousins were here watching him. They declared him dead and Mickey bit his tongue from saying no shit. They explained that they would bring his body to the mortuary and that Mickey can go by tomorrow to deal with his body and any plans he has for his funeral.

Mickey thanks them when they leave with his father’s dead body before walking back home. For the first time in a very long time, the house is empty. There’s no life, no sound, nothing that makes this house a home. Mickey trudges up the stairs and makes his way into his room. He strips down before going to take a hot shower. Thankfully there is still hot water and he uses it up as he lets himself cry and cry, letting the water wash away his tears.

He crawls into bed in his boxers and a black tank top, with his phone. He texts his idiot cousin who abandoned him today to tell him Terry’s dead. He also tries calling Mandy. She doesn’t pick up so he leaves her a quick voicemail, “Hey, it’s - uh, it’s Mick. Listen, Terry’s dead. Call me when you can.” He tosses his phone on the bedside table before pulling the covers over his head and praying he can fall asleep and forget this day happened.

*

Mickey wakes up to the feeling of someone curling up behind him. The covers are no longer consuming him so he turns around to see Ian in bed beside him, he’s in his boxers and a t-shirt too, his eyes so soft as he looks at him. “Hey,” he says, his voice horse.

“Hi,” Ian whispers back. “You okay?”

Mickey shrugs. “They took his body to the mortuary. I can go there to deal with it tomorrow.”

“We will go there to deal with it. I’m sorry, I didn’t stay with you,” Ian tells him.

Mickey reaches for his face, pulling him closer. “Don’t be,” he says before kissing Ian softly on the lips. Ian kisses him, his hand pulling him in by the waist. That’s as far as it goes before they just rest their foreheads together. “How’s Frank?”

“He has dementia from being a drunk,” Ian tells him with a sigh.

“Shit.”

“Yeah…”

After a few silent moments, Mickey asks, “Is Liam okay we missed his thing?”

Ian smiles softly which makes Mickey feel a bit better. “He understands. He won the iPad.”

“No shit,” Mickey chuckles. “Good for him.” Ian nods, his smile faltering slightly. “Hey,” Mickey says softly, his hand hooking under Ian’s chin so he looks at him, he has his own tears in his eyes. “Today has been a shitty fucking day,” he says. Ian snorts out a wet laugh before Mickey continues, “But we’ll get through it, together.”

“I should be telling you this,” Ian says, sadly.

“You did, now it’s my turn,” Mickey says softly, caressing his cheek. Even though Frank isn’t Ian’s biological father, he’s been the only father he’s ever had. Frank was a neglectful, alcoholic, junkie, asshole of a father but now that he’s slowly losing his mind, it’s going to be a lot for the Gallaghers to handle, especially his husband, and Mickey is going to be there for him just like he knows Ian will be there for him as he goes through all his feelings and all the planning of his father’s passing.

“I love you,” Ian says softly.

“I love you,” Mickey says back before curling up against Ian’s chest, feeling his arms wrapped around him again. The two of them both silently cry in each other’s arms, letting all the misery they’ve felt for years growing up with abusive fathers and all the sadness they feel over what has and is happening to them, just wash away as they comfort each other, knowing that even through all this pain, there will be light and happiness again, because they have each other, always.

[floralseokjin]

;decalcomania 1. (m)

no matter how hard you both try, the past will never return 

pairing; jeon jungkook x reader  genre/warnings; angst, mature content, cheating mentions, vomit mentions  words; 2,669

part 2 found here

He was torn. To close his eyes and try his best to lose himself in the past, where you were both so happy and content, so in love that the world could never hurt you, or to keep his eyes open, savouring your beauty. The way your eyelashes cast downwards, painting shadows across your cheekbones in the dim lighting. The way your mouth parted, pleasure etching its way across the rest of your face as you moaned softly. Quietly. Like you didn’t want to give all of yourself to him. Not anymore. 

You had once upon a time. He was the one you trusted the most. The one who had always been there for you. Loved you unconditionally. The one who would never hurt you. 

He’d ruined that the night he’d fallen into another’s bed. 

It was a miracle you still wanted him after such a betrayal. But you did. Forgiveness was a work in progress. Had been for so long now, and as the weeks dragged into months, he was beginning to think it was impossible. He didn’t blame you. He hadn’t forgiven himself yet. He didn’t think he ever would. 

But it was easy to kid himself when you reached for him in the dead of night. Wrapping your arms around him, lips hesitant but in need against his. Sick of the gap between the both of you. The cold sheets. The silence. You were hungry for some love. The love he’d ruined. Because even though you were finding everything so difficult, and rightfully so, you still craved him badly. He was all you’d ever known after all. Likewise, until he’d fucked it all up. 

Each time he had you like this, spread so beautifully and under him, it always felt like it was the last time. Like he had to prepare himself for the inevitable. For the end. 

It never was. 

You were both too weak to let go. You, because you thought you needed him, and him, because he was selfish. 

He chose to keep his eyes open. Only because yours were closed tight. You were lost in the past for the both of you, hanging on for dear life. That, and he knew you couldn’t dare look at him when you were like this. He didn’t know what you saw, but he could guess. Visions of him with someone else. He didn’t know what you felt, but he could guess. 

And he hated himself. 

He hated himself for fucking up your life. 

It hadn’t always been like this. You’d been happy for a long time, young and in love. But like everyone, age caught up with you both, and with age came change. Jungkook hated to admit it, even now, after everything, but he wasn’t who he used to be. That was where all your troubles began. Where it all went wrong. 

One argument. Brewing for God knows how long, about how he’d changed. Work had skewed his mind, that’s what you’d said. He’d lost himself along the way. He wasn’t the Jungkook you knew, and you wanted him back. He was stubborn, always had been, so he’d venomously denied it. He’d shouted. He’d slammed his fists against counters and thrown things. If he had changed then so had you. He wasn’t solely to blame, and he wouldn’t let you turn it all on him. 

Looking back, he knew he had been wrong. He was deflecting. Scared and hurt. You hadn’t changed at all. Not even one little bit. But maybe that was the problem. You were both moving in different directions but still tied so tightly together. Unable and unwilling to cut the cord loose.

That evening he’d watched you throw his things into trash bags, hearing the same words over and over again. It’s over. It’s over. It’s over. He still heard them four hours later, the bags at Jimin’s place while he sat in a shitty bar somewhere. Alone, seething and heartbroken. He got drunk to the rhythm, it’s over, ordering one drink after the other. In the midst of it all he saw a woman making eyes at him from across the room. It was obvious what she wanted. He probably reeked of self pity, wallowing in his sorrows, glass after glass. Some people got off on that. 

She made her way over and listened to him. It was nice talking to a stranger. Someone who wasn’t biased. Someone who didn’t know you. He called you a bitch at some point. He remembered that vividly. The rest he’d tried to block out. The woman had been nice to him, rubbed his shoulder as she comforted him, stroked his arm, squeezed his leg. She’d told him all the things he’d needed to hear. To make himself feel better. About how you didn’t deserve him and how much this seemed like an excuse to ease your own guilt for not loving him anymore. That tore at his heart. He hadn’t realised you might not love him anymore. He wondered how long you could have possibly felt like that. You seemed selfish, that’s what she had said, but that couldn’t be right. He was the selfish one, always had been, and definitely right now. 

He’d let the woman kiss him, whisper things in his ear that got his dick hard. It made him sick to try and remember, but that’s what had happened. That’s how he’d found his way into her bed, repeating the same words in his head as he stripped and fucked the stranger. You didn’t want him anymore. It was over. You didn’t love him. 

The guilt ate him up as soon as he woke up in the early hours of the next morning. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, not quite making it to Jimin’s place as he threw up in an alleyway a block away. He couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or revulsion at himself. It just kept coming, heave after heave, even when the contents of his stomach had been stripped. Memories of last night warping their way behind his eyes as he clenched them tight. It was clear then. 

It was a deep self loathing that made him spill his guts. 

When his phone buzzed in his pocket, he ripped it out, seeing your name. His heart dropped when he read the messages. About how you couldn’t sleep at all last night without him there, about how much you regretted what you’d said and how you couldn’t let him go like that. You loved him too much, and you wanted to try and make things work, if he would let it. You were just so damn sorry. 

It made him heave again, a fresh sickness spreading, even though there was only sour, yellow bile left. 

Jimin had heard him rush through the apartment, calling out to him, wondering where he’d been and assuming it was back home, making up with you. One look at Jungkook dismantled that. He had no choice but to confess, beside himself, and Jimin listened in horror, unable to understand why he would do such a thing. One thing was for certain though, he needed to tell you. He knew that even before Jimin demanded him to. If he wanted to try to salvage this, he needed to confess. The thought made him feel sick, but he knew if he didn’t, he would never be able to live with himself. He didn’t think he could live with it even after confessing… 

He’d showered in scalding hot water, until his skin was red and sensitive, desperate to wash off his sin, yet it didn’t feel enough. He was still dirty. He was still a cheat. 

You’d looked relieved when he’d turned up at the door, clutching him, whispering desperately about how sorry you were. He wanted more than anything to be able to reassure you it didn’t matter. To hold you tight and promise things would go back to how they were. But he couldn’t. It was a lie. You had nothing to be sorry about, while he had everything, weighing down on his heart, his body. 

He would never forget the look on your face as he told you. The floor disappeared from under your feet, and you looked like you might pass out. First there was a shocked silence, denial following soon after. Then the anger consumed you. You’d shouted at him, screamed at him, until your throat was raw. The hate in your eyes almost made him cower. You demanded he gave you all the nasty, sordid details. He tried to fight, he tried to beg, but it was to no use. You wanted to know everything, and he had to fight through the haziness and his shame to recall the night previous. You listened silently, no expression on your face, eyes dead. He tried desperately to emphasise how much he hadn’t enjoyed it, but you had just sneered at him. He knew it was all just excuses. Nothing could change. He had done it. He couldn’t take it back. 

Finally, you cried. You cried so hard it brought you to your knees, took your breath away. He had ruined your life in a few simple words. He remembered how helpless he’d felt. Unable to comfort you because he was the reason for your misery. He’d spent so long protecting and cherishing you and now this is what he had done. All because his pride had been bashed. All because he was selfish. All because he was a fool. 

You cried until no more tears would come. Rough sobs continued to rattle your chest, tore at your throat, but with a strength he found admirable, you were finally able to compose yourself. It could have been minutes, hours, his head was too much of a mess to judge time. You looked him dead in the eyes and told him you hated him. He was the person you trusted most in this world and he’d betrayed you. He was the one you’d loved for so long, but he was the one who had hurt you so easily, without a second thought. 

He tried to hold you. He tried to make you see how sorry he was, but you wouldn’t listen. He’d wanted you to so badly listen. Instead, you screamed at him to get out, and he couldn’t bear it. 

He’d finally broken down. He’d sobbed, falling to his knees as you stood before him. Wrapped his arms around your legs and hugged himself to you like a scared little child. He was so scared. The reality of losing you was too much to stand. You were his life. He was nothing without you. He needed you to believe that, but now you no longer trusted anything that came out of his mouth. You were unemotional as you watched on, not an ounce of sympathy on your face. Not that he deserved it. He knew that. 

So, he had no choice but to listen. To leave, dazed and distraught, aimlessly walking around town like he was lost until he somehow found his way back to Jimin’s apartment. 

But like he’d said, he was selfish. He couldn’t leave it like that. He could make everything right again, make it better. He knew it.

Each day he tried to contact you. For the first week you didn’t pick up his calls, ignored his voice messages and his texts, but he didn’t give up. He just tried harder. When he finally heard your voice again, he broke down once more, plea forgotten for a moment. To his surprise you seemed moved by his reaction, voice almost gentle, just like it had always been. He didn’t deserve it. You asked him to talk about anything. Anything and everything that wasn’t about what he’d done. You just wanted to pretend for a little while. Pretend he was away for work and you were catching up. 

He could do that for you. He could do anything. 

Pretending came easy at first. He was just so thankful. But you’d been doing it for months now and it wasn’t getting any better. Instead of acknowledging his betrayal and trying to work past it, you’d both ignored it completely. He’d let it happen because he was a coward, just so, so happy you were giving him a chance. Slowly letting him back into your life, back into your house, and back into your bed. 

Only there was something missing. 

You weren’t letting him back into your heart. He had tried so hard, he was still trying so hard, but he was beginning to realise it might not work. That this was it. 

He’d ruined everything. One mistake that he couldn’t take back, couldn’t forget, and couldn’t make up for. Yes, you still loved him, but it was also so more than that. Something unhealthy and consuming. Your attachment to one another had grown so much over the years, that you both couldn’t imagine life without the other. It was impossible. So, you kept holding on no matter how unhappy it made you, and he had to live every waking moment hating himself. He did not want pity, but he wished this feeling would stop one day. Without your forgiveness he didn’t think it ever would. 

The most selfish need of them all. 

He was long used to looking at his reflection and not recognising the person in front of him. He wasn’t who he used to be. Not even just before the betrayal, but further than that. When you were both so young and in love. Naïve, but happy that way. 

He wanted to be the boy you’d fallen in love with again so badly. For you. For him. But as each day passed, he understood it was impossible. 

Tonight, he tried his best. If this was the night you’d finally had enough, finally gained the courage to let him go, then he would accept it. It would eat him whole, but he’d accept it. He just wanted to make everything perfect for the last time he got to hold you like this, and then he would leave if you requested it. 

Parting was always the hardest during nights like these. When he had to slip from your warmth and lose the only way he felt attached to you anymore. It killed him. His mind whirred, agonising over whether you were going to end it right then and there. He kissed your mouth softly like he always did, but so deeply tonight, like he wanted to sink and get lost. 

He waited for your reaction. 

Some nights everything would be okay, and you would open your eyes and smile, wrapping your arms around him, hugging him to your body. Nights like those gave him a false hope. When he thought true forgiveness was coming. Reality hit him hard again the next day. Other nights you’d roll onto your side, shaking him off. Separating you both. Instant cold back again. Those nights made him hate himself even more. He could only imagine you felt the same way about yourself. 

Tonight however, was something different entirely. He watched as your face contorted, expression crumbling before you wept. It stunned him for a moment, not having seen you cry this hard since he’d confessed, but quickly he took you in his arms, cradling you to his body as you sobbed. Tears pricked his own eyes as he kissed your head and shushed you. Words on the tip of his tongue that he hesitated to get out. Finally, he did. 

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. 

Over and over again, like he was begging to make things right, begging to be heard. He would hold you all night if he had to, repeating the same apology until you fell to sleep. 

He was scared. Head swarming with thoughts of the unknown. 

This had not happened before. He prayed it was a good sign. 

Only morning would tell. 

Written 2019-20. Reworked/Edited 2021 Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed. © floralseokjin 2021

[edspageds]

18+ Drabble - Home

Summary: Frustration builds, but sometimes a stranger can sooth the raised hackles of the heart. Eddie meets Richie at a bar. 

Pairing: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier

Warnings: notSFW, alcohol, explicit sexual content, implied drunken sex

Word Count: 1.2k

Part vent work, part smut. But mostly smut lol.

Eddie likes to think he can deal with a lot. 

Despite his thorny exterior, he's not actually the type of guy to snap on a dime for no reason. And even then, he doesn't get truly frustrated and angry to the point that he holds it against the people at fault. That takes effort. That takes time. That takes build up. 

Resentment. He's familiar with it. Living with his Mother, it grows in him, slow and sure, the little sapling nourished with every cloying call of his name and tear stained bat of her eyes. He hates feeling like this, letting things fester into an unrecognizable soupy mess, till his anger becomes an all consuming cloud of apathetic contraction. Tightening his muscles, and sitting like a stone in his stomach. 

He yells to get it out, to let his feelings free so they don't bottle up inside him, pounding harshly around shaken and fizzy, ready to explode. 

He hates it. 

His skin stretched tight over the set of his shoulders, throbbing dully. Harshly digging his teeth into the soft flesh of his lip, a distraction to the rattle of cool anger in his veins. 

He's not the type to drink his feelings, but the light amber liquid sloshing in his stein would tempt him otherwise. It's swill, disgusting sawdust sludge that drags across his tongue on each swig. 

He keeps sipping it. 

He shouldn't even be here. She'll smell it on him, the minute he gets home like a blood hound, and ask him in that same cloying voice, "Eddie-bear, where were you?" The phantom memory driving another sip down his throat. 

He intends that to be his evening, stewing in silence, eating up the tiny back corner table closest to the hustle and bustle of the back room where a rowdy group plays pool (far too loudly) that no one else wants the little section he's dug out for himself. And even if they did, his deep set glower keeps them away. 

Free to wallow in his self-made misery, Eddie doesn't expect the door to the back to swing open quite so suddenly. Nor the stranger that stumbles drunkenly, falling into the seat across from him with a laugh. 

He expects him to take one look at Eddie, and turn tail from the buzz kill. To rush away with a chip on his shoulder, and then go back to his buddies gossiping about the asshole in the corner booth. 

But, he looks at Eddie and does the least expected thing he could imagine short of punching him.

He talks.

"Whoa, you a cousin of Oscar the Grouch? Hey, never met a celebrities cousin before!" It's clearly a joke, but he says it with a serious earnest flare that has Eddie's lips threatening a smile.

"You write that yourself? I'm impressed."

"Really? I thought that one was, like, at most a 4, could use some work."

"No, I'm impressed you can write." 

The other man smiles a wide toothy grin, clearly caught off guard, slapping his knee laughing a throaty chortle. "And he's got jokes! Richie Tozier's the name, and laughter is my game. Care to play?"

He's wiggling his brow and clearly drunk (or perhaps just drunk on his own overstuffed ego). Eddie opens his mouth to tell him to fuck off, and maybe shove it up his ass.

They end up talking for hours. 

If asked to repeat the conversation, Eddie remembers maybe something about Anthony Perkins and Squidward? How that translated to this mans hands on his ass, shoved up against the wall of a hotel (a fancy one in Upper Manhattan no less!!) Eddie doesn't know. 

What he does know is the drag of his beard across his chin and lips is driving him up the wall. Literally, Richie hicks him up easily, groping and grounding his palms across the clothed surface of his ass. Nibbling at his lips, both of their hard cocks unignorable between them. Eddie's never done this before, gone back to a mans room, one he just met at the bar after some hours of conversation. 

He barely remembers the jump from there to here, mind distracted by the press of his lips, wet and hot on his own. He wonders what Richie's lips will feel like dragging across his thighs, trailing up to his spread cheeks. That irresistible tongue lapping at every inch of exposed skin, his beard prickling pleasantly in it's wake. 

Richie presses more firmly against him, and Eddie goes nearly feverous with want, the hard press of his cock into his own, even covered by layers of clothes has his hips twitching in anticipation. Savoring the feel of every inch of Richie colliding into him. 

And, God, is that a lot. 

Eddie can feel him, how big he is, and he wants him. Wants that cock fucking him hard, fucking him until every last thought in his head is banished, but the blissful drag of that cock pounding into his prostate. And it'll hit deep, he knows it will, it can't possible not with such girth. He wants to shove Richie down on that bed, and sink down on his cock till it presses so deeply inside him he can think of nothing else. Till Richie can think of nothing else. Thrusting up into him, gripping his thighs tightly while Eddie bounces on his lap, moaning without a care who hears them. Wanting them to hear, wanting them to know how hard Richie fucks him, and how much he enjoys it. 

That just for tonight, even if it's only tonight, Richie is his, just as Eddie is his.

Fucks him hard enough that he forgets his mom. Forgets her and her bullshit, and her fingers constricting around the back of his neck like an unseen vice. Forgets her self inflicted victim-hood, and crocodile cries. Forgot his job and his stress, building one on top of the other. Demands for more, bigger expectations, despite an ever growing in-box of paperwork, paperwork, paperwork! And clients surgery sweet knives, stabbing him, digging him right between the shoulder blades because its just One Simple Request, Eddie. One favor, one favor, one favor until its a million and one favors and he's rubbed to the bone, shiny and breakable, but it won't stop! Won't ever stop, so he drowns himself in Richie. 

Not on the bed, or on the wall, but face first against the large reinforced window of his hotel overlooking the city. Richie's fat cock pressing into him, as his vision blurs the lights below into a mass of colour, and all he thinks of is the man fucking him like he knows him. 

It doesn't make sense, but he fucks him like it’s the first, and last time. Fucks him till all Eddie cares about is more pleasure, more delicious burning pooling in his gut, his hot panting breath fogging the window, bracing himself on the sill with his arms. Fucking him deep and hard, right to the core, till Eddie's spilling across the wall and carpet in clear glops, and Richie grinds into his ass. Emptying himself into the condom with a groan. 

And for one peaceful, wonderful night, he feels like himself again. Not the man with a sickness called anger and bitterness stewing inside of him. But, Eddie, just Eddie. Normal, happy, content, Eddie. 

He doesn't see Richie after that night. Not until the Jade anyway.

But even while he forgets the face, the name, he doesn't forget that night. 

And the echo of the man who felt like home.

[delirious-and-slightly-murderous]

Oh friend you've so many exciting WIPs but please tell me about The Color of Corn and The Nightmare Before Christmas!! 💕✨

♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

Wow okay so, first The Nightmare before Christmas. This one is kinda a 2x1. As it happens with some of my WIPs when I have 2 stories from the same idea I just put them in the same file. And whichever picks my interest most wins and gets written. (If I do write it that is😅). So first is a pretty standar TNBC AU because well, Jack Skellington Andrés, that's why. Here's the snippet:

The wind howled as it collided with the cold stone of the tower.

Martín shivered despite not being cold. He felt queasy and anxious, he hoped he had calculated the dose of deadly nightshade right, he didn't want a repeat of last time.

He took his bag and balanced himself on the edge of the window, looking down at the darkness below. He wouldn't die, he couldn't but the doctor had been nice enough to make him capable of feeling pain. And it hurt, it hurt like nothing else did. 

He clutched his basket tighter and took a deep breath, thinking of a crooked smile and the moon reflecting on pearly white teeth. He needed to go out, to be free for at least a while. And seeing Andrés was worth the couple minutes of debilitating pain.

He closed his eyes and let go.

The impact with the ground was hard and painful. His mind whited out, scrambling his thoughts. All he was capable of was an incoherent tidal wave of 'hurts, hurts, HURTS, holly Satan's undies, it hurtsssss!'

Slowly, after an eternity of fire that stretched into the space of a minute, he became increasingly aware of himself. Everything burned and he felt all over the place. He opened his eyes to confirm and yes it was going to take a while. 

Thankfully one of his arms has stayed attached, which would make it all easier. He put his other arm back in place, and started the long and tedious process of retightening his seams and putting everything back in place.

By the time he was done, the pain had subsided into a dull all encompassing ache that he could push to the back of his consciousness. He checked his limbs one last time and started walking towards the town center. His body heavy and aching but his heart light and fit to burst.

He didn't notice his nose and left nipple lying half visible at the bottom of the tower.

(So yes that's part of it, it's a work in very slow progress🥴)

And then the other idea is basically a cracky Christmas fic. 

So the premise is that it's post mint (and maybe post bank too, idk), and the banda plus Martín are all living in the monastery or something. It's the day before Christmas and Martín's longing for Andrés gets so bad while watching him ignoring Martín and flirting with the women that he wishes he could have a life without Andrés and those pesky feelings of his and proceeds to get black out drunk. 

So next morning he wakes up and at first everything is normal and then bam! Andrés is nowhere to be seen, he is apparently married to SERGIO and they have KIDS! While all the rest is pretty much the same, he's still a criminal mastermind. 

So he's trying to figure out what the hell's going on and how to wake up from this nightmare when Christmas day comes around. And his husband's estranged brother shows up. His raging libertine and homosexual diva of a brother shows up. A brother Martín apparently HATES with all his heart. 

Oh and said brother, Andrés by the way if you had any doubts, not only shows up in the most mind boggling and gayest outfit, he doesn't come alone. He's accompanied by his two (2) boyfriends! A tall, tall and stoic man who goes by Marsella and a twink named Aníbal (who by the way one of his and Sergio's 'kids' can't stop flirting with). 

This is Martín's worst nightmare. He wants to wake up right now. Or possibly die, he's not picky.

Here's the snippet:

Martín was going crazy. That was the only possible explanation. He had finally drank too much wine and he was currently lying in some hospital bed in an ethylic coma. No other way around it.

Waking after getting so drunk to find himself in bed with Sergio was not at all what Martín had expected. And while he started silently panicking and trying to remember at which point of last night's drunken debauchery he had decided to pay Sergio a visit, the other man had woken up and smiled at him. 

Martín's brain had short circuited when Sergio, SERGIO, Andrés' nerdy librarian of a brother had kissed him. He had kissed him and pushed his very impressive morning wood (and who the fuck knew Sergio was so well endowed, Martín would be horny if it wasn't you know, Sergio) against him while simultaneously slipping a hand into the back of his pants and between his ass cheeks. 

Martín had become so impossibly rigid it felt like he would snap like a guitar string. When he was once again capable of movement, he had Sergio's tongue halfway down his throat and an insistent pointer finger pushing against his clamped up asshole. 

He had scrambled out of bed so hastily that he had almost cracked his skull open on the bedposts. Not saying anything before running to the bathroom like a soul out of hell. 

Hours later after the weirdest breakfast of his life where he finds out he and Sergio are apparently married and Andrés is nowhere in the picture, here he is. He went to sleep in the hopes of just actually waking up.

But apparently the universe is laughing at his misery. 

Because an undeterminded amount of time later, something wakes him and he immediately knows he's still trapped in this nightmare. He stays relaxed and doesn't open his eyes, hoping whatever it was that woke him will just go away.

"¡Papi!" 

Martín's breath dies inside his chest. Now there are a number of things wrong with what he just heard. First 'Papi' is not a word he often hears. If he does hear it, it normally comes from his own mouth in a much breathier tone while in the middle of much more interesting activities. And secondly if for whatever reason he somehow changed his preferences and it's his current partner calling him that, well it sure as hell wouldn't be in a female voice. 

His hysteric internal monologue is interrupted by another, this time distinctly male voice.

"Papi, wake up." 

That's when he notices that he knows those voices, they are familiar. He wonders what he did to deserve ending up in a hell like this. He would greatly prefer the stereotypical flames and eternal torture over this any day. He feels sick and holds back his nausea.

Finally he opens his eyes to come face to face with Tokio and Denver looking down at him.

"Hola papi, what a grumpy face, sorry for waking you. Papá said not to do it, but aren't you going to say hi to your kids?"

This time Martín doesn't hold back anything.

As he is expelling what feels like his whole stomach, he's distantly glad that he managed to be spectacularly sick all over Tokio's ugly shirt. 

(I've really got no excuse for this😅)

And finally the Color of Corn is a thingy I talked about here.

But you can have another snippet, this one goes immediately after the other one:

The sun is burning and ruthless. The air is wet and heavy, oppressing. The dense sheen of sweat covering his skin doesn't help with the stifling atmosphere, making him feel sticky and disgusting. Finally when his uncle decides to make a pause and rest, they've worked about half of the field. Martín feels ready to throw himself into a lake of freezing water, letting it consume him, dragging him down to the bottom like a dead carcass. He lost his shirt a while ago. He couldn't take the uncomfortable feeling of cloth rubbing against drenched skin anymore. He goes to sit at the back of the tractor, wincing at the touch of the scorching metal. Relaxing slightly as he eats soggy jam sandwiches and warm beer.

"You know you can go right?" His uncle asks, sitting beside him and looking at the horizon with dead and glassy eyes. "There is nothing stopping you from taking your things and fucking off. You aren't a kid anymore."

Martín stares at him thoughtfully, then he directs his glance to the faraway line where the sky meets the earth. There is nothing to see, just miles and miles of golden corn as far as the eyes can reach. Truth is Martín doesn't know how to answer. Logically he knows this, he is aware of it and has thought of leaving more than once. He's thought exactly that, taking his things and leaving. But he also knows he is never going to do it. He is utterly incapable of it. He doesn't know what he would do. His whole life all he's known is his little town in the middle of nowhere Argentina, and the golden shine of corn. And, even if he doesn't like to admit it, if he ever left he would be completely lost. As far as he can remember corn has always been present. His constant omnipresent companion. Want it or not, it's his life and always will be.

"Yes I know,'' comes his absentminded answer.

His uncle stares at him for a minute. His tired eyes seemingly looking for something.

"What happened to that friend of yours, Andrés was it?"

"What with him?" He says sharply, his tongue cutting, mimicking the exact feeling that name evoques.

"You two used to be attached at the hip and now it's been a while since I last saw him."

Martín has been trying to forget all about that. If he's being honest, he's not doing a great job of it. But Martín has never been terribly honest, not even with himself, and he's not going to start now, so he enjoys telling himself he is forgetting.

"That's because he's going back to Spain. Haven't seen him since he told me."

"Well, he's been calling you, did you know?" His uncle scratches at his beard. "You should call him back."

"I don't want to talk about this." That's not a lie, Martín really does not want to talk about Andrés, especially not with his uncle.

"You are aware both phones are connected right?"

Martín becomes rigid. "He's getting married."

"I can respect limits, but don't fool yourself like that." The older man shrugs and gets up to keep working.

Martín feels angry. His uncle doesn't understand. Couldn't possibly understand. Life is easy for a man like him. He wants to tell him to go to hell.

When finally his anger dies down, choked and overwhelmed by the infernal heat, Martín almost laughs at the recognition of his anger towards his uncle for what it truly is. The anger and spite of an immature kid when confronted with the ugly truth.

Martín knows that he's lying to himself. He just doesn't know about what.

When night falls, they go back to the farmhouse. His uncle goes straight to bed but Martín cannot fall asleep. He's bored of himself and his own mind. He goes out and lies down in one of the cornfields, feeling gravity press down on his chest. He falls asleep imagining the sea of corn rocking him gently.

Everything is dark, there isn't a single noise, not even from insects. The corn is still, not moving one bit, consumed by the darkness.

(I'm really proud of this one😊.)

So that's it. Wow this got long. Hope you liked it and thank you for asking friend.

🥰

(P.S: Did my ask reach you? I'm severely traumatised now😑)

[remiwarner]

THE BLUE MINOR MISERY

     His father’s house stood, unchanged, on a somnolent, grey street of similar homes, plain and hollow-looking. The past slept there, cocooned in the evening quiet, and, walking down it, Remi felt no time had passed at all. He was seventeen, on his way back from a sweltering day on some corner, to take a shower before heading out for a night at some club, and his father was waiting for him in the living room or in the kitchen, to shove another bundle of baggies at him with that disapproving, impatient look of his. He’d already dropped out of school. His friends would be at home, having dinner with their families, doing homework, playing video games, and he was working. Day in and day fucking out.      Dusk tinted everything purple: the fading paint on the walls of every residence, the flowerless clumps of oleander that in daylight were pops of green in plain flowerbeds at the end of each monochrome yard – rows and rows of stony ochre – framed by the yellow desert grass sprouting around their cobbled edges. Warm light flooded from a few of the windows, and he wondered as he passed, not for the first time, what the lives of the people inside were like. Mundane. Happy? He couldn’t imagine it. Not in Battery – nor anywhere else, for that matter.

     Remi wondered, pacing slowly up the driveway to his childhood home, whether life would always be like this. Thirty-odd years of drawing breath, and he’d lived in shadows – his father’s, the Government’s, the city’s, his own; they crowded around him, untouchable, encroaching, and even the flashes of light that speckled his past – stars glimmering in the void of the black firmament of his existence – never quite chased them away. Flashes of warmth that felt illusory in hindsight, just as fake as any other kind of joy and as easily extinguished. One thing dressed up as another. He unlocked the door and slipped inside, closing it noiselessly behind him out of habit before turning the lock again, leaving the key on the side-table in the hallway. The Arellanos: pity. That poor kid, that poor kid, that poor fucking kid. Silas: necessity. He’d never had an easy time making other friends. And Charlie… A hand dipped into his pocket, a plastic case landed on the worn coffee table in the living room, and he was turning away, headed for the kitchen. He’d bound her to him; sickness and health when it was mostly the former. For better or worse when worse was all shit ever got. She deserves better. Colie deserves better.

     Graying white countertops under grayer cabinets – clean, but he could see the drained bottles cluttering the empty surface. The cigarette packs, the lighters, the ashtrays, the baggies, sometimes bricks, the folds of crumpled bills. The dirty plates littered with crumbs or stained with dried sauce or grease, thrown at his head if he left them there too long. It didn’t matter if he hadn’t been home – if his father saw him in the kitchen and there were dishes in or by the sink, it was too late. He flipped the tap on and washed his hands.      Fuck you.      A stray, instinctual thought. Words he’d never gotten to speak to his old man; words he’d spoken to himself every day for… years. His entire adult life. A thousand times he’d pictured it, and it was never the vengeful moment it should’ve been, even in his imagination. Look at yourself. Ungrateful brat. Your ma’d be fuckin’ ashamed. Oh, y’got somethin’ to say? Speak up, kid… The fuck y’say to me? Huh? C’mere. Think you’re a man now, do ya? Y’aint shit. Stop squirmin’, I said come– Remi! Y’get your ass back– Remi! The soles of his sneakers pounding concrete, the door wide open in his wake. His father rushing out to the front yard and then stopping, silent, and Remi knew what he’d see if he turned around – a wordless promise. He wouldn’t go home that night, probably not the next, but he had to eventually, and all he could do then was hope to find his father too drunk, too high, passed out – something, so he wouldn’t remember.      The promise was a grip like a vice on his arms. Screaming that made his eardrums vibrate and sent dull stabs of pain into his head. Punches that radiated heat and sent throbbing waves of hurt far beyond their point of impact, and the taste of blood in his mouth. The promise was a break in the middle of a scolding, a look that he was too slow to recognize followed by fingers suddenly encircling his wrist and yanking, his palm landing on the table with a smack, and the glowing cigarette that had been hanging between his father’s cracked lips a second earlier searing the back of his hand. The promise was plates breaking, cups, bottles – shards of glass flying, razor sharp projectiles that cut when they grazed him.

     And so help him if he made a fucking sound. A shout, a yelp, a whimper, a fucking gasp. He’d been told, for as long as he could recall: he was too old to cry.

     At his side, his left hand was curling in and out of a fist, slowly, forcefully – mindlessly, over and over and over. He’d gotten distracted, and he hated this fucking house. He hated the street, and he hated himself, so he supposed he belonged. Remi could feel all the shit building, expanding, consuming him, and if he didn’t move, he was going to be the one throwing something. Hitting something. Fucking caving in on himself and imploding, exhaustion and hatred decaying him from the inside out.      So he moved. Step by step into the living room, where the windows were shuttered always, thin strips of yellow painted across the furniture and the pale green wallpaper from the lamps outside now that the last of the natural light was gone and the dark of night was creeping in.

     Gone. That’s what he needed. Everything gone for a bit, and he could get his head straight. Just… A rectangular black case. Its contents wrapped individually, in clear plastic.      Ampule of sterile water – cap off, white powder in, cap on (don’t touch the inside), shake. He pulled his hoodie over his head and left it in a pile on the threadbare cushion next to him. Wrapped the rubber tourniquet around his bicep and held it in place with his teeth, tightening it – felt the slight numbing tingle that crackled towards his fingertips. Dragged an alcohol wipe over his skin.      The syringe came out of its packaging, needle breaking the seal in the cap of the ampule before he pulled the plunger back, slowly. Half? Two thirds? What a waste. All of it. He tilted the small capsule, making sure not to draw up any air, but still double-checked when he’d taken the syringe out, a couple of drops landing on the wooden surface in front of him. Angling the needle, he carefully inserted it into a vein on the inside of his forearm, near the crook of his elbow, and nudged the plunger back a little, watching with fascination as his blood seeped into the colorless liquid. Go away, go away, go away, go away… Remi lowered his head, letting the half-twist, half-knot around his arm slip loose, then spat the tourniquet onto the floor next to him and pushed down on the plunger until it touched the bottom of the barrel.

     Needle out. Drop the syringe on the table. Antiseptic adhesive fucking bandage – a white square he pressed to his arm and then forgot to let go of because he was busy melting into a puddle. Indescribable, all-encompassing warmth flowed through him, sweeping every other thought from his mind in its current and dissolving every feeling that wasn’t unadulterated euphoria. He hadn’t registered sinking into the cushions, but he was looking at the ceiling now, and his arm glided slowly across his torso and then dropped, settling limply at his side.      Fuck the fucking neighbors, he thought deliriously, drawing a slow, blissful breath, I know happy.

     It’s this.

[kpophours]

Love Me Again (M)

➵ SF9: Dawon x fem. reader / one shot, college AU / angst, fluff, smut / REQUESTED

➵ warnings: explicit mentions of sex (handcuffing, oral: receiving, slight breath play, orgasm denial), mentions of drinking/alcohol, slight cursing

➵ word count: 4.7k

The music is blasting, the air feels stuffy and hot and there are just way too many people surrounding you right now.

You don’t even know what you’re doing here.

You’d much rather be in your dorm, preferably with some ice cream, a bottle of your favorite wine and a cheesy romance movie. But no, your best friend Julie simply had to drag you out of your cozy little cavern, just so you could chaperone her to a frat party.

You’ve never been a fan of frat parties.

Okay, that’s actually a lie, you had always kind of enjoyed them - but that had been before everything happened.

And with everything, you mean Dawon.

Your ex-... boyfriend? Or more like… Your ex-fling.

Or whatever.

“Labels” are out nowadays, right? At least that’s what Dawon used to tell you whenever you asked if you two were “official”.

Well, whatever he was to you, he is definitely the one who broke your heart into a thousand pieces. The one you’re still thinking about - day and night - and the one you blame for the three pounds you’ve gained so far, all thanks to the increasing amount of ice cream you’ve been consuming these last few days. 

You had met Dawon at a frat party as well - he had been your opponent during your third round of beer pong on that fateful night. He had joked around with his friends, saying that he’d definitely defeat you as you were already looking a bit cross eyed (all thanks to the four shots of tequila you had drowned while Julie cheered you on a few minutes earlier). Dawon had been more than surprised by your accurate aim - and even more so, when you had defeated him in the span of mere minutes. You’d been the star of the evening and - like a true gentleman - he had congratulated you on your success. Later that night, he had asked you to dance and in the early morning hours, he had kissed you under the stars on the porch of his fraternity.

It had been the beginning of your... relationship - one with many highs and lows. One that ended just two weeks ago, because of … Well. Because of what, exactly? You’re not even sure anymore. You had argued, probably about his inability to (really) commit to you and the relationship; you had both screamed at each other and in the end, Dawon had left.

Just like that.

He had literally left the next day - for a project, where he and a group of other junior researchers got to experiment with some crazy chemicals in a far away city.

He hadn’t even said goodbye. He hadn’t even called or texted.

The last thing he had said was “It seems you’re better off without me, then.”

And that had been it.

… to be fair, you had been too proud to call or text him, too. After three days of silence, you had finally blocked his number and begun to wallow in self-pity.

Until tonight, when Julie had finally decided to drag you out and distract you from your misery and the prospect of dying as a lonely old hag with too many cats (or dogs, you don’t really have a preference).

And here you are now - freshly showered (it had been “more than necessary”, as Julie had oh so politely told you) and clad in something else than a baggy (aka Dawon’s) shirt and sweatpants, which had been your attire these past few days.

You deeply sigh, nipping on the beer in your hand, looking around the place. You know a few people - there’s Zuho from the music department, showing some people cute pictures of his cat on his phone, and you’re pretty sure you see your old research partner Jaeyoon grinding against a slightly intoxicated Suzie, which whom you share one of your psych classes. Everyone seems to have an amazing time, the beer pong table is full, the dance floor is even fuller and the alcohol supply gets emptier by the minute.

You desperately cling to your red cup, the only thing holding you together right now - because Julie has long abandoned you to dance with her long-time crush Youngbin. You shoot him a dark look - not because you don’t like Youngbin, but because he’s the sole reason Julie wanted to come here in the first place. “Today is the night I will kiss Kim Youngbin!”, she had proclaimed in a grave manner earlier this night, before drowning a shot of crystal clear vodka as a way of gaining some courage. Apparently, it did have the desired effect - because you almost do a double take when you see her press her lips against his. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem opposed at all and you quickly look away, not wanting to see their make-out session in the middle of the dance floor.

You really want to leave, especially now that Julie has finally fulfilled her night’s mission… But then again, you don’t want to leave her behind. Youngbin seems to be very nice and caring, but you never know nowadays. You’d definitely never abandon your friend without getting her okay first. And even then, you’ll definitely keep your phone beside your bed to immediately answer her call, should anything… happen.

You have just drowned the last bits of your drink and are contemplating if you should get another one, when Julie makes her way over to you, Youngbin’s hand securely in hers. He sports a soft, loving smile and can’t keep his eyes off her. Apparently Julie wasn’t the only one waiting for this to happen. Your best friend slings one arm around your neck, pressing a wet smooch against your cheek and making you hiss in disgust. “I’ll leave with Youngbin now. Should we take you home? Youngbin’s lives pretty close to your dorm.”, she offers, smiling brightly, but you quickly shake your head. You really don’t want to keep them from… whatever they’re planning to do. That would be a very awkward walk back home. “Nah, it’s okay. I’ll stay for a bit.”, you lie smoothly, lips stretching into a fake smile. Julie gazes at you for a few seconds, but her intoxicated mind doesn’t find anything to be amiss. “Well, okay then. Text me when you’re home, okay? I’ll call you tomorrow.” With that, she hugs you close and - with one last look - leaves you behind, Youngbin trailing behind her.

You wait for a few minutes, shuffling from one foot to the other, before you follow them out of the door - they’re thankfully long gone by now. You’re almost out of the door when you hear it - the familiar laugh.

Immediately, your insides freeze - no, your whole body freezes. Mind hazy, hands shaking, you turn towards the source of the noise. There, you see him.

Dawon.

You hadn’t known he’d be back by now - you thought he wouldn’t be back until Tuesday. Maybe the experiments didn’t take as much time as anticipated.

Either way, he’s here.

And he’s not alone.

A pretty girl around your age sits on his lap, both her arms around his neck while his linger on her waist. She giggles at something he says, pushing her long hair back and exposing her décolleté for him to ogle at.

You swear, you feel your heart splinter again.

One look is all it takes for you to realize that you’re so not over him.

Not even close.

Not even a bit.

You feel tears spring to your eyes and whirl around, almost blindly making your way towards the kitchen, shoving people out of the way to get to the desired object - the alcohol. You fill your cup, drowning it in a few seconds, ignoring the horrified expression on Hwiyoung’s face who was just about to fill his own cup. You fill your cup a second time and empty that one as well. While you aim for your third fill, Hwiyoung clears his throat. “I… don’t want to overstep, but… are you okay?”

You throw him a dark look and he recoils a bit. He’s younger than you, not by much but by enough for him to know not to ask you again and to just let you be. You take your cup and leave the kitchen and Hwi’s judgy expression behind, making your way towards a different part of the house, far away from Dawon. You won’t be able to leave without passing him again, so you decide to stay for a bit longer.

Suzie - without Jaeyoon, this time - sits on one of the big sofas, mindlessly scrolling through her Instagram feed. You sit down beside her and she smiles at you, pocketing her phone. “Y/N! I didn’t think you’d actually come tonight. How are you? I haven’t seen you in what feels like… forever.”

You smile at her, maybe a bit strained, and shrug. It’s true, you’ve been absent from your shared class last week, simply not having the strength to get up after crying for the better part of the night (Dawon had posted a selfie on Instagram that evening, something you’d only gotten to know about thanks to Julie, as you had already unfollowed him by then). “Yeah, I was sick.”, you lie and take another sip of your beer, almost spilling some of the liquid over yourself.

Maybe you should slow down a bit.

“Lovesick, huh?”

Your head whips around and you stare at Suzie, who sports a somewhat pitiful expression. You just sigh. “Is it that obvious?”, you murmur, gaze sliding towards the front door where you saw Dawon earlier. Suzie just shrugs. “Well, it’s not like I didn’t know about you and Dawon being a thing, you know? You were kind of obvious about it.”

You grimace. While you’ve never been an official couple, there had been some… drunk make-out sessions at parties, you can’t deny that, even if you’re cringing about that right now. “Yeah well. It’s over.”, you simply answer and take another sip of beer.

“Men are idiots and don’t deserve us.”, Suzie states, clinking her cup against yours and taking a solidary sip as well. You smile at her and nod. “You’re very right about that. He also seems to have moved on already - at least that’s what it looked like.”, you explain, trying to keep the pain out of your voice (and failing, apparently). 

“He has?! What a fucking idiot, I’m gonna go over there and tell him that his behavior is unacceptable and then, I will spill all my beer over him and-”

You shush her rambling by pressing your hand over her mouth, giggling at her antics. “Thanks Suzie.”, you just say and smile in earnest this time. She immediately softens. “We girls need to stick together.”, she says gently and you nod. “We sure do. Speaking of men… What’s going on with you and Jaeyoon?” You lean closer, your voice almost secretive. She immediately blushes and ruffles her hair. “I… I like him.”, she shyly confesses and you smile. “I saw that. I think he likes you, too. You looked quite… cozy earlier on the dance floor.” You grin and she laughs, a tad embarrassed. “Uhm yeah, he had to rescue some new pledge - Chani, I think? Apparently he and Rowoon were playing flunky ball against some guys from another frat and… uh - it didn’t end well for them. He’s helping them take a shower now.”

You laugh and shake your head. “Well, I will immediately disappear when he comes back. Wouldn’t want to disturb you guys.” Suzie shoves you playfully, but smiles nevertheless, the blush still prominent on her cheeks. Suddenly, she freezes, her eyes following someone behind you. Reflexively, you turn around as well and see what she’s looking at: Dawon, dancing with the girl from earlier.

… they look… comfortable, to say the least.

Immediately, you stiffen, heart pounding fast against your rib cage, blood rushing to your head. “That’s it.”, you say grimly and get up, ignoring Suzie’s surprised yelp and her attempt at grabbing your hand. You storm onto the dance floor - not before emptying your cup and throwing it somewhere behind you - and begin to dance. It doesn’t take long for some guy to show up behind you, his hands on your hips and him grinding against you. You don’t really care, after all, that’s basically what you wanted to happen. As subtle as possible, you move towards Dawon and his new girl. You don’t know if he’s already seen you tonight, but now you want to make sure he does - and that he sees he’s not the only one that has moved on already.

You finally turn around to face the guy you’ve been dancing with for the first time and almost yelp in surprise when you see that it’s Jaebum, a guy you’ve known for a few semesters now - all thanks to some mutual friends. He grins, damp hair sticking to his forehead, his nose ring catching the light. He seems to be slightly drunk as well, but right now, you don’t really care about that. You smile up at him and press yourself even closer to his body. He only raises one eyebrow, continuing to move to the beat of the music. When you look over his shoulder, you accidentally lock eyes with Dawon. His gaze is dark and his expression tight. Something almost predatory enters his gaze, when he sees you. You quickly look away again, but the damage is done.

Suddenly, you don’t really feel like dancing anymore, heart and head hurting. You excuse yourself from Jaebum by faking to have to pee, hurriedly making your way through the sweaty bodies of the other people on the dance floor. The bathroom downstairs is occupied, but you know the house well enough to make your way upstairs to the second bathroom.

Inside, you take a few minutes to gather your thoughts. You wash both arms with cold water, pinch your cheeks and drink a bit of tap water to help you clear your head. Then, you take a deep breath and close your eyes.

It’s time to go home now. You don’t want to see Dawon anymore. You don’t want to think about him anymore. You just want to forget him.

… truthfully though, you want nothing more than to be back in his arms again. To kiss him, to laugh at his stupid jokes and idiotic antics, to have him tickle you and squish your cheeks.

You feel tears spring to your eyes and desperately try to suppress them. Suddenly, there’s an almost aggressive knock on the bathroom door and you jump.

You take another deep, slightly shaky breath and open the door.

You startle, hand still on the doorknob, freezing in place.

Dawon leans against the doorframe, hair messy, eyes dark, restlessly gnawing on his lower lip. For a few seconds, you just stare at each other. Then, you slowly lower your hand and clear your throat. “Hi. And bye.” With that, you try to shove past him, but before you can reach the staircase, he gently grabs your hand, holding you back and turning you around. He searches your face for a few seconds and then - before you can say or do anything - his lips are on yours.

You gasp in surprise and he immediately slips his tongue inside your mouth, walking you backwards and pressing you against the wall, hands gripping your hips in an almost bruising manner. But you don’t even mind, kissing him back just as aggressively, just as feverishly. One of his hands wanders, grabbing your thigh and hiking one leg up and around his slender hips. He grinds against your core, semi pressing into you and you moan into his mouth, fisting both hands into his strands of dark hair, tugging on them and making him growl. He breaks away, just to press open mouthed kisses on your neck, harshly sucking on it and bruising the skin.

“You danced with fucking Im Jaebum. Right. In. Front. Of. Me.”, he says in between kisses, finally pulling away from your neck just to dive back into kissing you senseless. “It’s not like you were any better.”, you gasp when you pull back, throwing him a dark look. He smirks. “Jealous?” You instantly buck your hips to press into his now hard on and grin triumphantly, when his smile instantly dies on his lips. He narrows his eyes at you. “Bedroom, now.” With that, he grabs your hand and pulls you with him along the corridor and towards his room, locking the door behind him and almost throwing you on top of the bed, chest heaving while he hungrily stares at you. You almost whimper, pressing your thighs together, need pooling between your legs.

He’s always had that power over you - one look and you’re gone, already a mess.

He crosses his arms over his chest, jaw ticking while he looks at you. “Okay. I’m gonna make this short. You still remember our safe word?”

You immediately nod, anticipation rising in you.

He smiles, pleased. “Good. Use it, if you need to.” With that, he walks to his dresser and pulls out some ropes, before turning around to you again.

“Strip.”

You let out a small whimper at his tone, but immediately follow his instructions. You lay back on his bed again, completely naked now. He carefully binds you to his bed, making sure the ropes aren’t too tight around your wrists. “You’re okay?”, he murmurs, when he notices your erratic breathing, but you simply nod. He grins. “Excited?”, he asks, raising one eyebrow in a cocky manner. You scowl at him, deciding not to answer him. His lips twitch at your defiance, but he lets it slide.

He’s still fully clothed, something you only just really notice. You whine and pull at your binds, but they hold firmly. “You’re still clothed.”, you finally say and he nods.

“You’ve always had an eye for details.”

You shoot him another dark look and he smiles, leaning towards you and pressing a gentle kiss against your lips. You immediately soften, relaxing against your shackles. “Do you know how many calls and messages I left you after our fight?���, he whispers against your lips and your eyes widen in surprise. “6 calls. And I lost count after the 13th message.”, he answers the question himself, one hand ghosting over your right nipple, pinching it slightly and making you moan. “I think it’s only fair that we use those numbers tonight.”

You gulp at that, pressing your legs together and shaking your head. “13 is too much, Dawon.”, you say almost inaudible and he grins. “But six isn’t.” And with that, he closes his lips over your nipple, sucking harshly. Your back bends upwards under his touch, a moan tearing from your lips. You grow slicker with every second, almost throbbing with need. He ignores your soft pleas and whines, taking his time.

When he’s finally satisfied, he gently blows onto your hardened, dark red nipples and grins almost wolfishly. Then, as if he has all the time in the world, he descends and settles between your legs. When he feels the wetness covering your thighs, he chuckles. “Oh baby, you really missed me, hm?”, he murmurs against your center, so close to where you want him the most. You don’t answer him, too lost in his touch. He slings both your legs over his broad shoulders to give him better access and licks one long stripe from your entrance to your clit. You gasp at the sensation, pulling on the ropes around your wrists. He looks up and locks eyes with yours, the corner of his lips curling into a small smirk. “They will hold, don’t even try.”, he says, voice dark, before he finally buries his face into your core and begins to suck on your clit, tongue flicking over your sensitive bud.

Moans and curses spill from your lips and you buck your hips, but he quickly moves one hand to hold them down. His other hand slips between your legs, one finger circling your entrance in a teasing manner, before he finally slides the first one inside. He groans against your core, lips glistening when he draws back. “God, you’re so tight, baby. I missed you so much.” Before you can reply anything, he’s continuing to lap through you, making you into a moaning mess. When he slips a second finger into you, everything becomes too much and you feel your high approaching, whole body tightening - but before you can snap, he pulls back, almost lazily continuing to pump his fingers into you.

You whine at the sudden loss of contact on your clit and he grins. “First down. Five more to go.”, he says darkly and you shake your head in a desperate manner. “What?! N-no, please. S-six is too much.”, you plead, not caring how pathetic you sound. He tilts his head, observing you for a few seconds. “You can always use the safe word, baby... If it gets too much.”, he reminds you and you bite your lip, closing your eyes for a few seconds. You’d never use the safe word for something as… trivial as orgasm denial. You’re too proud and stubborn for that - and he knows that. When you don’t answer, he chuckles. “Okay. Three denials, three orgasms, then.” And before you’re able to say anything, he dives back between your legs.

The second time he denies your orgasm is even more brutal and you whine and squirm underneath him, but he’s unyielding, licking through your folds without giving you what you really want. The third denial almost has you sobbing, a few tears actually rolling down your cheeks, but still, he doesn’t give in. He crawls over you, softly kissing you, making you taste yourself on his tongue. “You’re doing so well, baby. Almost there.”, he murmurs against your lips, finally descending again and reattaching his lips to your clit, entering you with three fingers this time. The stretch is almost too much and when he twists his finger to find your spot, you see stars, your orgasm ripping through you with an unknown force. You moan his name, whole body shaking with the aftershocks of your high. He gently kisses your clit, lapping up your release and finally seems to have had enough of you, settling on the bed beside you.

You’re breathing heavily, eyes half closed and hair a mess. He smiles at your blissed out state, gently brushing a few strands of hair out of your face. Then, he kisses you, long and deep. “Two more to go.”, he says when he draws back, almost making you whimper again. You’re still throbbing and feel exhaustion settling over you, but Dawon isn’t finished with you - no, he finally begins to rid himself of his clothes, pulling out a condom from his nightstand and rolling it over himself. He grins when he sees your admiring gaze, traveling from his broad shoulders over his chiseled chest and his abs towards his length. He slides between your legs, teasing you by slipping between your folds without entering you just yet.

“Stop teasing!”, you finally whine and he raises one eyebrow at your tone, swatting your thigh and making you clench around nothing. Then, with one powerful thrust, he fills you. You gasp at the sudden sensation and he groans when you clench around his length, sealing your mouth with his, tongues dancing with each other. When you begin to shift underneath him, he takes that as his signal to start moving inside you. He pulls almost all the way out before slamming his hips against yours again. You moan against him and he draws back, sitting back on his knees and sliding one of your legs over his shoulder while slinging the other one around his hips. He hits you hard and deep from that angle, instantly making you see stars. When his thumb lands on your clit to circle it again, you can’t suppress the moans spilling from your lips. Both your curses and moans as well as the slapping of skin against skin fill the bedroom, but you know the loud music from downstairs is masking all your noises.

It doesn’t take long for you to feel another high approaching, clenching around Dawon’s length and pulling on the bindings around your wrists, desperately wanting to finally touch him. He grins at your attempts and shakes his head. “Not yet, baby girl. You’ll have to come for me first.”, he says in between two hard thrusts and when he pinches your clit between his fingers, you tumble over the edge, his name leaving your lips as a hoarse yell.

When you slowly come down again, vision blurry and mind hazy, you feel rather than see him untying the ropes from around your wrists. Your arms fall down, blood finally flowing back into them. Dawon pulls out of you and flips you around, entering you from behind and pulling your back flush against his chest, one of his hand slipping between your legs while his other wraps around the base of your throat, using a bit of pressure - just enough to make you feel a bit breathless. His hips continue to snap against yours in an almost punishing rhythm  and your head falls back to rest on his shoulder.

He whispers into your ear, telling you how good you feel, how tight you are and how much he’s missed you and you almost sob when he coaxes the third orgasm from you, whole body trembling and only being held upright by his arms around you. He lets go of your throat to ease your erratic breathing, his thrusts getting more unsteady with every passing second until he finally spills into the condom, groaning and finally coming to a halt. He gently pulls out of you and stands up, discarding of the condom and turning around to look at you.

You’re completely fucked out, not able to move a single muscle. He grins and tilts his head, taking in the sight before gently covering you with his blanket. “I’ll be back in a second.”, he promises in a soft voice, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. Slipping on his boxer briefs, he leaves the room.

Exhaustion is washing over you, but you try and fight to stay awake, knowing you should definitely talk to him. A few minutes later, Dawon enters the room again, a bottle of water in one hand and a wet washcloth in the other. He gently cleans you and helps you drink a bit of the water, before he slips between the covers and pulls you to his chest, gently beginning to rub your back. You hum appreciatively, trying to think of a way to begin this conversation.

Before you can say anything though, Dawon beats you to it: “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I was so… childish. You didn’t deserve how I treated you. I should have agreed to be in a relationship with you a long time ago - not because that’s what you want, but because that’s what I want as well. I’ve been too scared to admit it out loud and thanks to that I… I almost lost you.” He inhales shakily, “I promise I will change that now - that is, if you still want me… If you’re willing to love me again… If you’re willing to take me back, I promise I will try to be the best boyfriend you could wish for.”

He looks nervous when you lean back to gaze up at him. He bites down on his lip, searching your face for an answer. Finally, you smile at him and his whole body relaxes. “Of course I still want you, silly. I… I love you.”, you answer softly and his eyes widens, before he breaks into a bright smile, leaning closer to kiss you deeply.

“I love you, too.”, he murmurs against your lips and you giggle, burying your head in his chest. He pulls you even closer, humming happily.

You fall asleep like this - wrapped in each other’s arms.

[masterlist] | [requests] 

[lonestarbabe]

Help Me Escape My Head

(AO3)

After T.K. fails to save a little girl, he begins to spiral. Tempted to abuse substances and not knowing who else to call, T.K. calls Carlos just to feel less alone because he feels like he's losing his mind. All he needs is something to help him escape his mind if only for a night.

Sometimes, the person you set out to save didn’t make it. T.K. knew that, of course, he did, but it didn’t make it any less heart wrenching to feel the life go out of the little girl you’re trying to get away from her burning house. She’d been in her room, shouting to the lavender walls and trying to find the glow in the dark stars on her ceiling through the smoke. She was trapped by the inferno, clutching a raggedy teddy bear that her parents tried and failed to keep clean as the child dragged it with her everywhere. Jenna had been her name. Ducky had been the teddy, T.K. remembered as the thought of Jenna telling Ducky it would be okay looped through his mind. The firefighters will save us, she’d said sounding sure in the way only a six-year-old could. T.K. had swooped her up, trying to keep her calm as he took her from the house. She clutched her teddy bear, promising to save him. I’m here, Ducky, she said, I’m here. Her face was streaked with tears, but she kept herself as calm as she could for the sake of Ducky.

It was terrifying how quickly she had gone from reassuring her teddy bear to being unbearably quiet. Her body became limp against T.K.’s, and the teddy bear dropped from her hands, and T.K. couldn’t resist snatching it before it hit the floor because he knew how sad the child would be without it.

In the end, there was nothing anyone could do to revive her. A little girl was dead, and T.K. couldn’t help but think that it was his fault. He was supposed to save her, and he’d failed. His inability to save her would tear apart that family in ways he couldn’t imagine. The loss left the whole team sullen, but T.K. was crushed. The memory of her dying in his arms was relentless. The rush of saving someone was a high like none other, but losing a child was a crippling low, a low that T.K. didn’t want to face. He wasn’t going to deal with it until later, though. He had a shift to finish.

For the rest of T.K.’s shift, he ignored the feeling of dread building in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t let himself think about what had happened, even though his dad had suggested he head home and take some time for himself. He stubbornly refused and silently did whatever work he could find around the station even if it didn’t need to be done.

He worked out, pushing himself harder than his body could handle. He kept piling on more weight and doing more reps until Judd came rushing in, asking if he was crazy to lift so much without a spotter. T.K. didn’t say anything, and he moved onto the next workout apparatus. He needed to keep busy or he’d lose the semblance of being okay that he’d been clutching onto using denial. As T.K. worked out, Judd wouldn’t budge, hovering with a concerned look in his eyes. When T.K. nearly collapsed from exhaustion, Judd grabbed him by the arm and told him that he’d done enough for the day. T.K. shot him an annoyed look but remained quiet because if he opened his mouth, he’d be an asshole, and he didn’t want to fuck anything else up today.

T.K. pushed past Judd and sat in the quietest corner in the station. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to be talked to. He just wanted to forget. He wanted to sleep and never have to wake up, not in a dying way but in a not having to think kind of way. He was managing to block the memories of the day from his mind, but they lingered like dirt in the shower after having fallen in mud. They twirled and twisted in his head, repeating in maddening versions of the same heartbreaking thoughts.

When T.K. finally went home, Owen had stayed at work to finish up some work because sad or not, he had shit to do. He’d asked if T.K. needed him. Owen would always put his son first, and T.K. knew his dad would drop everything if T.K. asked, but T.K. didn’t want to ask. He wanted to be alone, and he wanted for his brain to stop. With a forced grin, T.K. told his dad that he was fine and went home to spend an evening with his own misery.

So now, T.K. is home alone, feeling an itchy helplessness that makes the urges to get drunk or high go from a dull ache in the back of his mind to a fiery obsession burning through his whole body. He can’t think of anything else, not even the little girl, as thoughts of getting away consume him. It’d be so easy to get drunk and not much harder to get high. A substance would break through the restlessness surging through his body. It would give him something to do when he is so bored and so anxious. But he can’t break his sobriety. His dad already has enough to deal with and T.K. doesn’t want to put himself through that again. He doesn’t want to start from square one. He doesn’t want to disappoint the people who care about him by messing things up as he always does.

He tries distracting himself. He browses Netflix, Hulu, and even Amazon Prime Video for something to keep his mind distant from his troubles, but in the thousands of shows and movies, he can’t seem to find anything that sparks any enthusiasm in him. All the content is gray. Even the colored films seem so black and white.

When television falls through, he tries listening to music, but even then, he changes the song every thirty seconds trying to find one that does something for him. Nothing works and that thought makes him the most hopeless he’s been all evening because he can think of something that always works, something that’s bad for him but something so tantalizing.

He needs to escape his head for a while and shut down, so while T.K.’s brain is still trying to run destructive circles around the memories of the little girl, he forces himself into his bed. He clenches his eyes, hoping that the exhaustion creeping up on his body will allow him to sleep. As visions of smoke, purple walls, and teddy bears creep through his head, his eyes snap open, and he follows the swirls of the ceiling, which is enough to drive him crazy as his hazy mind struggles to keep thoughts compartmentalized. The temptation and the haunting thoughts muddle together in a cloying mix.

T.K. doesn’t think he can take it anymore. He needs a substance, a distraction, an escape. He needs to get out of his head and to stop feeling things so deeply. He doesn’t want to break his sobriety, he reminds himself. In fact, the thought makes him nauseous, but as minutes tick as slowly as hours, he needs to do something because if he doesn’t, he’ll start ruminating to fill the time, and when he starts ruminating, he’ll think of the little girl. He won’t just think of the shadow she left, but he’ll think of the full imprint. Thinking of that, well, it’s not something he can bear, not while he’s in this room alone with a thousand stupid thoughts liable to pop into his head. If he isn’t careful, he won’t survive the night. He’ll do something stupid just because he can’t stand being alert anymore.

He begins to talk to himself, barely letting his voice go above a whisper because he hasn’t heard his own voice in hours. He mutters abstract thoughts until he feels dizzy from looping around what really bothers him. He’s starting to feel detached from his body. It’s not an out of body experience, exactly. He doesn’t feel like he’s looking down on himself, but it’s more like, he’s a tiny person sitting inside his skull in a little control room. He can see everything T.K. sees, but when he looks at his hands or his legs, he doesn’t feel a sense of belonging. He’s just controlling this distant body of someone he’s supposed to know. The darkness looms over him, and the room looks grainy like an old show in 240p.

He flips on the light because the dark makes his heart race and his mind fuzzy. T.K. stands up and looks into the mirror. His eyes are dead. He doesn’t see a human behind them. He certainly doesn’t see a person he recognizes. The features are familiar. He knows them to be his, but they look like a grayscale photocopy. He looks down at his yellow hoodie, and it’s probably the brightest piece of clothing he owns, but even that looks desaturated.

He wonders if he is dead and this is purgatory, and then, the idea won’t leave him alone. He fell out of favor with his religion long ago, but he still wonders if there’s something afterlife. Maybe this is it. You keep living but you’re alone and wandering aimlessly. If this is it, he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like the way coldness fills his body or the hollowness in his chest. He doesn’t think he’s dead, but what if he is?

Maybe getting high could make him feel like himself again, but maybe himself is exactly the person he didn’t want to be.    

Something is very wrong with him, he knows. This odd feeling has happened before, but it’s always just as scary. One moment, it is 9:36 and the next it is 9:58. Time is moving erratically languid in one moment and non-existent in the next. He needs to go to sleep. Reset his mind and wake up refreshed tomorrow. Sleep always makes things feel a little better, but T.K. can’t get his mind calm enough for slumber. Sleep requires focus and lasts about ten minutes at most, and T.K. can’t even will himself to turn off the light. He’s terrified of the shadows that the dark will bring.

T.K. hates how vacant he feels. It’s better than thinking about his day, anything is, but it still makes him want to do something. Maybe go out for a run, but he can’t do that because he already worked out so much that he could barely get from his bed to his couch, but he makes the long journey anyway because he needs a change of scenery, even if it isn’t much of a change at all. The walls were still too pale, and the furniture was still too hard and scratchy against his skin, even through his clothes.

He wishes there was someone here that he could talk to or someone who would talk to him. He needs something to tether him to reality and remind him that he still exists. He can’t handle being alone anymore. He needs to see another human, needs to be told he’s still alive. He wants to know that he’s still T.K. He hates himself for needing so much reassurance and for being so needy, but he’ll go crazy without it. He’s a social butterfly. Being alone is crushing.

He should call his dad, but he punches in the number of the one other person in Texas who he’s told about his substance issues. He isn’t sure why he does it. He can’t think of a better way to scare away the guy you’re interested in, but unless he wants to worry his dad, who has enough on his plate, there’s no one else. No one else who he could call without giving his whole stupid backstory, and he doesn’t want to explain about that. He’ll have some explaining to do with Carlos, but at least, he won’t have to start from scratch.

T.K. listens as his phone dials. By the second ring, he is contemplating hanging up, worried about bothering Carlos, but by the time the fifth ring comes, a deep voice hits his ears. “T.K. what’s up?” Carlos’ voice is distant, muffled by a sound that T.K. can’t make out. A T.V. maybe.

“I just thought we could hang out a bit.” T.K. could hear the shakiness in his own voice, and the almost robotic quality to it fit his state of mind.

“Are you at home?” T.K. nodded, not thinking to verbally give an answer. “T.K.?” Carlos asked after a long silence.

“Yeah, I’m here.” He was somewhere, that was for sure, but he didn’t feel like he was where he was supposed to be.

“Are you okay?” Carlos asked, voice startlingly gentle.

“I’m fine,” T.K. insists even though he’s terrified about whatever is happening in his head. He wants to know how to fix it, but he can’t put that on Carlos.

Carlos doesn’t seem to believe him, “Do you need me to call someone? Your dad? I can—”

“No, no. Don’t do that,” T.K. cuts in. “Never mind. Forget I called.”

“It’s okay. I’m glad you called. I’ll be over there as soon as I can, okay?”

“You don’t have to,” T.K. insists.

“I know, but I want to.” T.K. wants to see him too despite the part of him that thought letting someone he liked into his crazy world was stupid.

“Don’t do anything… just stay safe.”

“I’m not going to do anything stupid.”

“I know. I have to hang up now, but I’ll be there soon. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Okay. See you then,” T.K. says before hanging up. He puts his phone beside him and jiggles his foot to release the nervous energy building inside him.  

It only took twenty minutes for Carlos to get there, and as he waited, T.K. lost track of time while sitting quietly on the couch, trying to get his mind back to normal. As hear hears a knock at the door, he’s still spaced out, but manages to get up and swing open the door.

“How did you get here so fast?” Carlos’ house is more than twenty minutes away, so he either was speeding a lot or not at home.

“I was out already. With Michelle,” Carlos explained, slightly out of breath.

“You could’ve told me you were busy,” T.K. replies, feeling a flash of anger that is quickly muted.

“I told Michelle it was important. She understands.”

“It wasn’t urgent or anything. I would have understood if you said no.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m not in danger or anything.”

“You don’t sound like yourself. Your voice is flat.”

“It feels like I’m not real, and I want to feel something again.”

“This like when you were at the police station.”

T.K. shakes his head. That had been similar but not the same. “I feel dead, but I’m not, am I?”

Carlos looks up at T.K., brown eyes soft. He puts his hand over T.K.’s, “You’re not.” Carlos swallows. “What do you mean when you say you feel dead?”

Pulling his hand from Carlos’, T.K. wiggled his fingers and flipped his hands over to inspect his palms. “I keep looking at my hands, but they don’t feel like they belong to me. I feel like I’m a ghost.”

Carlos goes silent a moment, searching for the right thing to say. Carlos’ voice is tight and so quiet T.K. isn’t even sure he actually heard it. “Did you take something? We can handle it if you did.”

T.K. shoots up from the couch, “What? No.” He clenches his fists, feeling a defensive pang through the numbness. He’d never hurt Carlos, but as he digs his fingernails into his palms, he feels some release. He can’t feel pain, but he can distantly feel the contact against his skin, which grounds him even when his head is so floaty. “I wouldn’t do that,” he says, pushing his fingernails in further.

Reaching out, Carlos pries each hand open and rubs his callused fingers over the crescent moons indented in T.K.’s hands, and T.K. knows the touch should send a surge of electricity through him. He wishes it could zap him back to life, but it doesn’t. He still feels chilled to the bone. “Okay, I believe you. Please sit down.” Carlos eases T.K. to the couch and wraps a blanket from the back of the couch around T.K.’s shoulders. “You’re shivering.”

T.K. didn’t have the energy to fight. “I wanted to take something. I want to, but I didn’t. I won’t.”

“Is there something I can do to help?” Carlos asks, a helpless expression filling his face.

“Maybe it’s best if I’m alone.” T.K. feels embarrassment redden his cheeks as he thinks about the situation that he’s put himself in. He hates Carlos seeing him like this. He wonders if this is insanity. He’s losing his grip on reality, and he’s letting a hot, sweet, perfect guy watch. No one in their right mind would do that. He must be crazier than he thought.

“Ty, why don’t I just sit here awhile? We don’t have to talk, but I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“You think if you leave, I’ll do something crazy.”

“No, that’s not what I think.  I think it sucks to go through a hard time alone.”

“You’re too nice.” T.K. doesn’t feel how stiff his body goes when he realizes that Carlos cares. It doesn’t make sense that anyone unrelated to him could worry about what happens to him.

“T.K., stop.” Carlos’ voice breaks through T.K.’s thoughts.

He feels panicked for a moment. “Stop what?” He can’t think of anything he’s doing wrong. Other than being a general wreck.

“Digging your nails into your palms. You’re doing it again.”

T.K. unclenches his hands. “I didn’t notice.” He looks at his palms and the marks are deeper than they were before.

“You’re bleeding.”

“Barely,” T.K. says and Carlos gets up and grabs a wet washcloth from the bathroom. As Carlos wipes off his hands, T.K. says, “You don’t have to do that. They’re not that bad,” but the water feels good against his skin as it stings and leaves a cool trail of dampness.

“With all the dirt on your fingernails they could get infected.”

T.K. shrugs. “Whatever. I don’t really care either way.” Because he really doesn’t. It doesn’t much matter what happens to him or how he feels. It’s all just a shitty whirlpool of junk that makes him feel like the worst person alive. He could act like a cocky asshole sometimes, but other times, T.K. really hated himself.

“Do you want to talk about what’s wrong?”

T.K. couldn’t help the bitter laugh that came out of him. “I’ve been trying not to think at all.”

“Maybe it’s time to try something new.” Carlos was rubbing circles in his back and running his fingers up and down T.K.’s arm. “You don’t have to say anything, but it might help.”

T.K. sighed. “I just want to sleep and never wake up.”

“T.K….” Carlos’ voice trails off. “That’s worrying to hear.”

“Not like that. I don’t want to… I wouldn’t do that to my dad. I’m not that selfish. I’m just tired. Really tired, too tired to kill myself.” He wasn’t going to do anything drastic, but if he were to be hit by a bus, he wasn’t sure he’d care much.

“Okay, but if you weren’t tired? What would you do then?”

“Nothing. I’m always tired.” And it wasn’t the kind of tired that you could sleep way. It was hardwired in the chemistry of your brain and took a lot of time to change. He’s trying to do better, and he’s going to therapy, but sometimes, he’s still so low. He’s numb and sad and angry and scared. Now, he doesn’t even feel human. He’s just a shadow, trailing behind this empty person he hardly knows, and it sucks. It’s not fair that he’s faded. He’s not a perfect person, he sure isn’t, but he doesn’t know what he did to deserve a brain that doesn’t function as it should. It feels like he’s being punished. He wonders if maybe he’s a shitty person who deserves all the bad and none of the good. He couldn’t save the little girl and maybe it was only just that he was tortured for his failure.

“T.K., do you want to hurt yourself?”

“I’m in therapy.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I’m having a bad night. I’m not like this all the time. Sometimes, I have a personality, but other times, I’m a waste of space.”

“You’re never a waste of space.”

“I let a little girl die today.”

“What happened?”

“I didn’t get to her soon enough. The smoke inhalation killed her.” T.K.’s voice is clipped. He doesn’t want to talk about it, but he couldn’t stop the words from rolling off his tongue.

“It wasn’t your fault. We do the best we can to save lives, but we’re not gods. We can’t control who lives and dies. We can only do as much as we can to push for life.”

“She died in my arms.”

“That’s awful. I’m sorry that happened.”

“It’s not fair that she died, and I lived.” She was just a child. Young and precocious, clutching her teddy bear with such tenderness. T.K. can’t remember ever being that innocent. Maybe there had always been darkness inside him.

“I’m not sure—”

“I’ve been given too many chances while people who deserve them more don’t get them. I’m an addict and a basket case. I can’t handle the shit life throws my way. Yet, I’m still here. I’m a shell of a person, but I’m here. I feel dead, but I’m here. I can’t even do my job properly, but I’m here.”

“You deserve a life, Tyler.”

“So, did she!” T.K. would trade his own life in a heartbeat just to ensure that little girl could live one day more.

“I know. No kid should die. It’s awful when we can’t keep kids safe. But I need you to know that you deserve to be alive.”

T.K. looked down at his hands. “You don’t know me that well.”

“I know enough. I know you’d do anything for the people you love. I know you go out of your way to brighten other people’s days even when yours is shitty. I know you want everyone to feel okay being themselves. You don’t have to dig very far to see that you’re a guy who loves love. You’re the kind of person that people want to be around. You’d be so missed if you weren’t here.”

“Shut up.”

“What can’t take a compliment?” Carlos teases, cracking a smile.

T.K. can’t help the grin that comes upon his face or the tears that brim in his eyes. “I don’t know why you’re so nice to me.”

“Did you not hear my speech? I don’t remember verbatim what I said, so if you didn’t hear it, I guess I’ll just have to think up some more reasons I think you’re great. The list could get pretty long.”

T.K. laughs, “Please don’t. I can’t take more compliments. My head will grow too big.”

“Fine. I’ll save them for later,” Carlos replied.

T.K. dropped his head on Carlos’ shoulder and the smell of cologne broke through his clogged senses. The world was still bleary, but hints of color were beginning to poke their heads through the gray. Carlos couldn’t make T.K. better. He couldn’t fix the miswiring of T.K.’s mind. He couldn’t save T.K. from himself, but Carlos is here. He’s present, and T.K.’s mind feels less heavy as he lets the weight of it fall on Carlos’ shoulder. It’s a relief to heat the soft breathing of Carlos and to feel the softness of his blue t-shirt. Mostly, it’s nice to be grounded.

“Thanks for being here,” T.K. says and his voice is quiet but doesn’t quiver.

Carlos presses his lips to T.K.’s forehead. “I’ll be here whenever you need me.”

“Let’s hope I don’t need you too much,” T.K. says, “but I think I might want you around a lot more.” He’s not ready for commitment. His life is still too chaotic for that, but he wants Carlos near him. He wants to someday feel ready to open his whole heart. Maybe that day isn’t today, but there’s a chance that tomorrow will be less blurry, less sad, less hopeless. Tomorrow might be better, and for now, that’ll have to be enough. Someday, a tomorrow will be good.  

[mrsunderhill678]

Oh, shit... Did I write something? Woops, those demons, eh? Always possessing your fingies and making you write.

“I ain't a sinner, ain't a saint, just the result 'a my brother's choice wrapped up in barbed wire and regretful survival, and I wondah, if 'e saw me 'gain, would 'e call me Lazarus? 'E put me down and spected me ta stay, but I ain't da kinda man dat dies so easy.” - Anthony Burningsky

“Lacin' a lie with sugar is da only way ta convince a man ta consume it, mate.” - Anthony Burningsky

“We're all scars, memories and graves, wonderin' a wasteland 'a sin. And I'v found, dat redemption is a small price ta pay when you're wookin' at eternal damnation.” - Anthony Burningsky

“I can't be the only one with a loaded gun, certainties and doubts in every chamber. All I can do is spin the chamber and pray I find certainty and stable ground, but only bullets of doubt and misery pierce my skull and bleed my mind.” - Pryella Burningham

 “I'm looking for the map to hope, cause I heard it's a journey, but here I am, fucking lost. In me, in doubt and everything in between, because I fear that with a family tree this sinful, I'm bound to become the very thing that scares me the most. My father.” - Pryella Burningham

“I fear the forest, yet I hide in it's shade, playing my game of Russian Roulette all on my lonesome. The ground shakes beneath me, as if it wishes to swallow me whole. And perhaps, when the dirt brings me into it's maw, and the grass waves above me, and I stand with no tomorrow, no yesterday and no today, is when I'll be at peace. Because with these memories? With these hauntings of my father's yellow smile? I fear death is my only release, and perhaps Russian Roulette with a fully loaded gun is the only form of rest I'll ever receive.” - Pryella Burningham

“I have reason, the world has madness, but perhaps that is only my perception of it, slaying he who is mad only giving myself madness in return. If you have reason to your madness you're still mad, after all.” - Weston Sardisco

“This is a war of a different kind, and all I require is a six shooter followed by my wit.” - Weston Sardisco

 “I'll lay my hand on the bible and say a prayer for all who lost themselves in the brutality of this world, because I, intend to find them. For I care not who you were, only who you are, and if you see me on the horizon, please, remember, do not bring up your rights, in the midst of all your wrongs. Because one hundred twenty two rights does not make a life time of wrongs, holy.” - Weston Sardisco

“You will sooner find the dirt than my forgiveness, tired sinner.” - Weston Sardisco

“I am a creature of the night, drunk on the light of the moon, dancing under it's harsh glow with the blood of the fallen spilling crimson at my feet.” - Valentin Ogarzia

“Tell me, do you fear the howl or the wolf? The man or the blade? The gun, or the bullet? Or shall you simply fear all? Because I, am a devil, dressed in robes of false silken intentions, but you don't fear the crimson on these robes, for you simply believe them to be threaded embroidery and design.” - Valentin Ogarzia

“I have romanticized the art of murder, and you should fear the man who's built a masterpiece of scarred corpses and slashed throats.” - Valentin Ogarzia

“Beg and plead, wail and confess, every road ends with me. Every life ends with me. I am a moon drunk creature, howling under the blanket of shade and stars, and you should learn, that to fear me, my friend, is a choice, but to die, is not.” - Valentin Ogarzia

“I was born in the shadows of the pine, with the world’s darkness in my mind, wondering how oh how can a man stray from his family tree, when all he could ever do is crawl? But all I did was fall into my own shadow.” - Faustina Cordoba

“If the light from the sun had a choice, it wouldn't shine upon me.” - Faustina Cordoba

“I realized I had to say goodbye to who I was, because that isn’t who I am. Farewell, young man, dapper child, you fought so bravely, but I’ll take the battles from here on out. It's tiring, being who you're not, because you're always actin', and the mask is heavy, cripplin'. So farewell to every past version of myself, you did the best you could, and I'll bleed out for you, if only ta achieve the dreams we've held so dearly but hidden for so long.” - Kadel Smith

“I've spent my life battlin' myself, and though it wasn't 'a war 'a the trenches, or bullets cuttin' the air, it was a war 'a the skin, 'a the mind. As my old pal Duke would say, "It's a daunting task, wrestlin' with oneself," and I suppose I would know the feelin. Cause that's all I's ever done.” - Kadel Smith

“If life is a war, then I've been hit by a dozen bullets, but I'll continue to walk the path with this blood in my lungs and soul, cause though I've spent so long in this world's ugliness, I can still find the beauty all around me. Like the twilight fallin' of snow whilst you're sat with an old friend on two rusted pairs 'a swings. I can find beauty in that, in life, and most importantly, in me.” - Kadel Smith

“To the world, I am cannon fodder, I suppose my purpose is to continue to drop in sprays of red and sorrow, if only for the powerful to charge in leaps and bounds, clapping for all they’ve won, and all we’ve lost. To the powerful, the rich, the world is their home and I'm just an uninvited guest, suppose in a world that doesn't care for the weak, I'll always be God damn trespassing.” - Gabriella Vaxwington

“When I come for you, with my glock, my rage and my mother's eyes, you will see all the fury she hid, you will watch the sky fall and heaven's gates shake like thunder. Cause brother, my mother's up there, with her wings and her pain, and when your blood spills on the dirt, the angels will fuckin' sing, cause my ma weren't meant ta join their ranks by your hand. But you? You're meant to join the devil, by MY, hands, and that, is fate. Or 'ow did you put it? Karma always pays her dues, and I suppose that makes me, karma.” - Gabriella Vaxwington

“Execution, the act of killing a man for a damning transgression, sometimes it takes a guillotine, or a bullet point blank range, but usually, all it takes is a single word.” - Beautler De Niro

“You can get any barking dog to bite if you threaten it's existence or the life of another, and any man in anonymity will commit the egregious deeds they'd never dream of while under the spotlight. All you have to do to put a man under your control is to put him in the dark, take a dog's feeding bowl and he'll bite anyone for a morsel, all but the hand that feeds him.” - Beautler De Niro 

“You give a man half truth and he'll dive through hell to find the other half, even if it means he must burn.” - Beautler De Niro

“I am an untrustworthy man, but anyone will trust a man with a firm handshake and the same opinion as they. Trust is so easy to gain in a world of fools and cheats.” - Beautler De Niro

“All who stand up to me, fall, because they trust too easy and crumble upon the truth revealing who the villain was all along. But I propose to them a single question, if it was you who trusted the man who undid you, then who's hands was it dropping the guillotine's rope? Him, or your falsely placed trust?” - Beautler De Niro

“I do not enjoy the fight nor the battle, and though I end up victorious, it brings grief to he who loses. I would rather not fight, I would much rather offer a helping hand, but life tells me not to. It shoves a rifle in my hand and says, "By God, Bertil, by God, pull the trigger and spare yourself a moment of grief!" But I never can, not when my bullets indirectly harm those I never aimed for.” - Bertil O’Day

“To a paranoid man, every word spoken is a crime against God, and every dead end is a cliff-side. Some men pray, other's drink, me? I sit here, in my little corner 'a nowhere, and I leave well enough alone.” - Theodore Holymann 

“How terrible, to ruin someone's life with your memory.” - Theodore Holymann

“I'm guilty, with cuffs round my wrists and a rope 'round my throat, so oh gravedigger, pull the lever and watch me swing, cause I'm sure as all the air leaves my lungs the last thing I'll hear is a melody 'a cheers for the damned preacher.” - Theodore Holymann

“I'm paranoid, terrified that my past'll catch up to me God damn swingin. And maybe these days, I'd take the hit and drop.” - Theodore Holymann

“Oh heavenly father above, give me salvation or death, either way I rest.” - Theodore Holymann

“Someone took a dagger to this silk heart of mine, and I guess I'm nothing but a torn curtain, these days, only small rays of light passing through me.” Alice Sharenburg

“Who would've imagined, with our Halloween masks and toy guns, that we'd be marching into war? How could it have been, that in all our childhood wonder, we found darkness?” - Alice Sharenburg

“Draw the curtains, kill the fucking lights and let us bow to the crowd. Throw your roses and cheer for the lost boys and girls, but in the end, as the story wraps up in tragedy, just remember.... When the curtains draw, and the lights dim... That's all, folks.” - Alice Sharenburg

“I stand sturdy, smelling of ash and smoke, but zis is no after affect of var. I vas destroyed by no fire of war, but a fire of ze heart, a fire wrought with passion and love. I allowed it to consume me, to burn my whole state of being and make me anew.” - Gregory Kizerfretzen

“Vhen it scares jou to jour very core, and jou feel it in jour heart, zat's vhen you know it's real. Because as long as you haz love, and as long as you haz family, blood, or no blood, var can nezah vin.” - Gregory Kizerfretzen

“Oh fazah, I know I followed ze path jou would never want for me, but I followed in jour blood-stained footprints, and I learned ze same lesson jou did. Ve are all human, even if we stand on ze opposing side.: - Gregory Kizerfretzen

“Someone once told me, that when your demons are silent, listen for your angels. But what do ya do when all ya hear is radio static and your sins echoed in the buzz?” - Octavio Claytor

“I held onto my faith, but I guess I got butterfingers, cause my faith, my sense of self and my love tumbled from my fingers like ash and cinders.” - Octavio Claytor

“God ain't dead, he just damn well ain't here.” - Octavio Claytor

“Only the dead know a glory greater than the gods.” - Alistair Von Alisworth

“A king will always find himself crushed under the weight of his decisions unless he has blood black enough to make them.” - Alistair Von Alisworth

“Stand up to me, try to steal this crown reigning over my head, but all you'll ever find is that the crown was never intended for good men. The crown is for those who can handle it, the crown is for those who will enjoy the lives ended to earn it. I am death, and for all those who rise up, I am here to deliver.” - Alistair Von Alisworth

“Perhaps every church is Eden, there's bound to be shade somewhere between the flowers.” - Alders Holymann

“My heart's been capsized, and it ain't rowing to shore these days. I pray, and I pray for a rowboat, but all God ever gives me is a single broken paddle. What am I to do when all the signs lead to death?” - Alders Holymann

“God, please forgive me for doubting you, I pray and I pray, but the only answer I get are my own thoughts. Is that all a prophet ever hears? I say amen, I say grace, but all I hear is the emptiness in my heart. I fear I never heard God, it was only ever me.” - Alders Holymann

“I wear this cross around my neck and it's become a rope, stealing all my air.” - Alders Holymann

“My lord, my loving father above, I ask one question. Is it better to be crushed under the weight of your trembling faith, or to go forth with no faith at all?” - Alders Holymann

“Rev this motorcycle, and send me spiralin' down the damn highway, cause if I'm meant ta crash, so fuckin' be it. Give me a grave by the road, give me a wreath and a name etched onta wood, so long as I'm underneath the dirt, hearin' the engines roar and the traffic stand still. Cause brother, my whole life's been on the road, 'spose ta me, the revvin' 'a the engine and the screech 'a the wheels is a symphony. My own broke symphony 'a burnin' track and dead ends.” - Alessandro Bones

 “I live life on repeat these days, the same mile, day in, day out. And once I close my eyes, I put my engine in reverse, and wake up at the beginnin' 'a the damn highway, preparin' to rev my engines for a single mile, yet again. I don't trust myself ta go a mile further, I'd have ta face myself, and with all that anger and regret, I'd fear he'd gun me right the fuck down. I deserve it, anyway. But I ain't never had the courage to go careenin' off the side 'a this road. Don't got the courage to die burnin', prayin' ta every God. All I want, is ta die quiet in the night, empty bottle in my hand, nuthin' but a mess 'a blankets and sheets on the damn bed.” - Allesandro Bones

 “I am lost, travelin' the same mile, again, and a God damn gain, cuz it's the only path I can take without resistance. And I fear resistance, cause that means a fight, and that's all I's ever done. Give me no more riots 'a the self, give me no more wars 'a the road, give me peace, or give me death.” - Allesandro Bones

“I've always told myself I was Rumpelstiltskin, spinning hay into gold, but alas, alas, the old crone has fooled himself, and he only spins hay into more hay while Rumpelstiltskin dances and laughs, holding in his arms the old crone once had.” - Peragrin Hufflesburg

 “We've only ever fooled ourselves, it's funny how other's can catch our lies but we can never catch the ones we tell ourselves.” - Peragrin Hufflesburg

“If I had a dollar for every time I prayed and got an honest to God answer, I'd be begging on the fucking streets.” - Peragrin Hufflesburg

“I ask to be forgiven, but why? What would being forgiven do for those I have hurt? Would they look at me and say, "Oh, look at that changed man, his hay has turned to gold and his sin to faith!" Or would they simply pull the trigger?” - Peragrin Hufflesburg

“I sit here with my wheel, spinning all this hay, praying one day, I'll have a pile of gold. But all I ever do is drown in more God damn hay.” - Peragrin Hufflesburg

“We're stars shining in the night sky, lighting up the dark knowing we too, one day will end, we'll implode upon ourselves as stars do. But perhaps, it isn't the end of the journey that matters, but the miles we walk.” - Melinda Myers

“Life can be pain, it can be cruel, but there's strength to be found in that grief.” - Melinda Myers

“I've spent my life surrounded by love, my two sons are the light of my life, they're my stars in the night sky, and I know it's my job to watch over them. To implode before them. But perhaps I'll create a galaxy in my wake, and whenever they look to the sky, and see the stars and the beautiful silence of the night, they'll smile.” - Melinda Myers

“If he's a sinner for loving that man, then let me have a talk with God. Because if someone can look at a love that beautiful, and say, "God condemns you," then they need to realize, they condemn them, God, does not.” - Melinda Myers

“If ever I returned to those I love they would call me changeling, fearing that the fairies had stolen me away in the night and swapped me with an eldritch beast that knew only the vileness of nature. But oh, can't you see? I'm crawling, ever crawling, with broken fingers and battered knees, scraping against the bloodied flowers and roses of all I'll ever be.” - Richard Notorangelo 

 “Legends are realities we forgot, often twisted by those in power so the common folk fear what was never real. Does that make me a myth? Or another victim of it?” - Richard Notorangelo

 “I met evil when I was only a child, and oh, how I wish it hadn't been me.” - Richard Notorangelo

“My daughter, oh my beautiful little girl, if ever I crawl my way out of this garden, this maze of my own lies, throw me back in. For it's what I deserve. Shout at me, throw me to the fairies from whence I came, for I fear I am a changeling, a twisted shadow of myself, vile and cruel, sick and diseased.” - Richard Notorangelo

“I do not deserve death, for that is peace. With all this blood on my hands and these wicked deeds in my memory, I imagine, the single thing I deserve, is life.” - Richard Notorangelo

 “In the end we're all by ourselves, no one follows us into the dark, not even our shadow dares.” - Tricia Jenefine

“I can't remember the intricacies of her smile, the melody of her laugh, or the beat of her heart when I laid my head on her chest. I was hers' and she was mine. Not only do I miss her, I miss the parts of myself that left with her. My heart is a wisp without her, she was supposed to be my eternity, but now life is a curse, without her.” - Tricia Jenefine

“I could have a roof over my head and the rain would still find a way in.” - Tricia Jenefine 

“The only pieces of me that remain are the parts that remember her, and the parts that remember pain.” - Tricia Jenefine

“When the sun forgets to shine on you, and your shadow slinks back to it's kin, all you have is yourself and the memories that once brought smiles, but will only ever bring tears.” - Tricia Jenefine

“I'm the damsel, the dragon and the knight, and some day, I'll burn myself to cinders.” - Priscilla Sage

“I am a witch on the stake and the farmer with a torch, perhaps I too, am the flame. Of hatred, of grief, of pain, no matter what I am made of I still end only in ashes.” - Priscilla Sage

“Perhaps one day, I'll be free of myself, perhaps one day I shall be the raven, soaring through the air, singing my own happy song. And though no one but the sun shall hear me, perhaps she'll smile down at me. If only I could feel the wind rush past me as I leave everything behind. Oh how I would love to be free. But I am a cage, and what can I do when I don't have the key?” - Priscilla Sage

“I am rottin' bark and fallin' leaves, I flutter ta the soil as if it weren't my demise, and oh how I wonder why it is, always am I crushed 'neath the damn boot.” - Levina Rainbolt

“We're all guilty in some way, that's life. We lie, we cheat and we steal, but we love a helluva lot better than we hate.” - Levina Rainbolt

“Perhaps I am rottin' bark and fallin' leaves, perhaps I've been crushed under the boot more times than I can count. But I've found, that whenever I fall ta the soil, someone I love picks me up, and puts me in their favorite story book. Perhaps it ain't bout how many times ya fall, maybe it's bout who picks ya back up everytime.” - Levina Rainbolt

“I will stand at the edge of my doom and leap. From these heights I shall fall until it is my demise I receive, because it's all I deserve.” - Albus Kirk

“I am wrapped and bound in silken secrets and forbidden treasures, speaking from the tongue of a mad man, for only a mad man hides secrets from himself.” - Albus Kirk

“I could compare myself to a beast, I could give you metaphors, I could give you lies. But at the end of the day, I'm human and mad, it's what makes me so ugly and twisted, I suppose.” - Albus Kirk

“My father always told me I was meant for great things, I would build fortunes but all I built was my own misfortune.” - Albus Kirk

“We're trapped in Pandora's box, and perhaps, we're the horror they wish to keep at bay. We're a plague, an illness, but we poison ourselves. This world we live in is quite simply put, Pandora's box, harboring the horror and shade others wish not to deal with. We are the price of tranquility for others, our suffering is the price they paid to forever live in peace. We are the soldiers, we are the sheep walking to the butcher, we are the testing subjects and the victim. We are a price, meant only to be paid. So what can we ever do, but stand at the edge of our doom and leap?” - Albus Kirk

“I am the one who pulls the trigger, the one who knocks on your door and gives you only the gift of death. Peace is a double edged blade, my friend, for with true peace, comes death. And I am simply here to give you, true peace.” - Palazzo Bullet

“Most men live and die in a single day, they stay stagnant, they're a grave before they've ever stopped walking.” - Palazzo Bullet

“You should fear the man dressed in black, who has your grave freshly dug, gun in one hand, bible in the other.” - Palazzo Bullet

“Look up to the sky one last time as the dirt covers you. Pray to the fucking stars. All they'll do is continue to shine, because the world never needed you. Watch from heaven as the sun rises, without you, and watch as it sinks. Because you, aren't important, and the world simply goes on, without you.” - Palazzo Bullet

“So dance, my marionette, twist and spin, avoiding the bullets coming your way. Stay focused on the threat at hand, only to realize you weren't saving your life. You were saving it for me.” - Palazzo Bullet

“You can never stain the river crimson, the stream always runs itself clear. Life goes on, it always does, the sun sinks, the moon rises, but we still have light.” - Jameth Waterbrood

“War does not bring peace, it brings pain. A battle does not make heroes, it makes survivors. The only true thing that can bring peace, is love.” - Jameth Waterbrood

“I intend to live life as if I was meant to, because perhaps, our destiny was never grand, maybe our destiny was never war, or some higher purpose. Perhaps, our destiny was always to simply live, love, and be loved. Because that, no matter what way you put it, is a destiny worth fighting for, a destiny worth laughing for, and a destiny worth living for.” - Jameth Waterbrood

“You can think yourself high and mighty, king 'a the hill and master 'a the crop, but there's always a man willin' ta take you down. Cause there ain't nuthin' mightier than the man who watches the crown tumble from the head of the king but doesn't take the throne. The strongest message 'a all is ta kill a man, and give no reason.” - Justice Hansell

“You, my friend, are the cigarette, I'll crush you under my boot once you've lost my interest. The echoes of wolves echo in my heart, their howls ricochet in my ribcage, I am a beast by heart, and you should fear the man standin' at his own grave. Cause he don't fear death. Which means he don't fuckin' fear you.” - Justice Hansell

“My threats are promises I keep, and I fear if you try ta snag this crown from my head, all you'll find is one 'a my promises ripped inta fruition.” - Justice Hansell

“You can't swim 'gainst my tide, you will drown far before you ever reach the source 'a your damn misery.” - Justice Hansell

“I just want the rights of my corpse, to be free, to be still, to be me, to be me, to be me. But all I've learned, is that a millions scars makes me the man I'm not.” - Rin Otishiro

“My father always said hard work always pays off, good friends never grow old, and good always prosper, and oh how I wish that was true. Because my hard work has led to pain, every good friend I had is a corpse, and the good never prospered.” - Rin Otishiro

“The good ol' days vanish when the bad times come, how can I smile, when every good memory I had, is tainted with the tragic outcome that followed?” - Rin Otishiro

“Why the hell do we fear the dark when all the monsters stand in the light? They don't fucking hide anymore, man. They've come from the shadows and claimed the light.” - Rin Otishiro “I guess I've always lived just between the valley of death and the shadows of my past.” - Rin Otishiro

“You wanna know me? Walk a mile in my shoes, but don't you dare walk two, because you don't want to see what I've been through.” - Rin Otishiro

“The past exists to remind us that we’re not there anymore, we’re here, and that’s what matters.” - Renna Forbes

 “My aunt has always said, she doesn't pick favorites, and maybe that's because in love, there is no favorites. Love doesn't choose who it touches, it doesn't envy those who hold more of it. It just is. It always forgives and it doesn't remember wrongs. It just exists despite the overbearing weight.” - Renna Forbes

“Cut out my heart and serve it on a silver platter for all who wish to choke on its' darkness.” - Mortley Dekruiful

“One day you'll learn there are more miles of darkness than there are stars, just because there is light, does not mean the darkness has not won.” - Mortley Dekruiful

“I am a clown, the lion leaping through the ring of fire, fearing the burns he may receive on his pelt. I, am a man of the circus, a sinner at heart, and though we are all sinners, not many take it to a higher degree.” - Mortley Dekruiful

“I fear myself, no thoughts nor prayers could save me, for if they can't save those I've killed, why should they save me?” - Mortley Dekruiful

“If I were to serve my heart on a silver platter to myself, would I choke and sputter on the shade? Would I finally be able to swallow this darkness within?” - Mortley Dekruiful

“All I can ever do is crawl away from the spotlight whilst it burns my back, and pray that the shade will bring me what little refuge it can. At least it is less blinding, but alas, just as cruel.” - Mortley Dekruiful

“We are our own beasts, and we bow to no man.” - Bortley Dekruiful

"Maybe life is a series of consequences good and bad, or maybe I'm just blind to all the dark. I don't know. All I know, is that we're only human, and placing blame only gets fingers pointed in the wrong damn direction." - Jake Bonefire

"My silence has been a chamber for too long." - Jake Bonefire

"Gods above, witness my blood spill, hear my prayers, for if the afterlife, is a cell, I, am the key." - Starburden Vaganbrok

"All it takes is one bad day, and I intend to give you a year of them in a matter of hours." - Hugo Valritten 

 "They say life is whatever we make it, they pump their fists in the air and cry, "We are in control of our own destinies! We are our own fate!" But then they look men like me in the eye, they laugh in my face and they say, "Get off the tracks, boy. This is a revolution, and you're in our damn way." - Corvo Crinklewick "Da hares wage war against da dogs and ask why dey are losing." Brickylda Hildengarde

"Peace and death are not the same thing." - Gunhild Brokldottir "Ow am I ta be 'eard if my screams sink to da bottom 'a my silence?" - Archie Upperton

"I'm just the same, brother, just because I was a dream, damn well don't mean I can't be a nightmare." - Zafavri Holts

"This is my end, Madusius? I believe you mistook my beginning for my reckoning, my rebellion for my downfall. You're a tyrant, and I suppose I'm the snake that crumbles the Garden of Eden." - Dayvella Ma'Vayar 

“Get away with it? My boy, no one in history has ever gotten away with it! Jack the ripper's name is tarnished, Julius Caesar lies dead with a thousand knife wounds in his back! We're all doomed, creatures vying for a throne no one can ever have. I'm not here, to get away with it. I'm here, to go down in history.” -  Madusius Crudelis 

 "I shoot and stride for the throne, I am the king above kings, the man above God. I, in of myself, am a dynasty, both a relic and the future, an idea, that cannot be killed." - Madusius Crudelis

"You, can crush, my dynasty, but you can never, destroy the idea of it." - Madusius Crudelis

"You can run from your debts, my friend, but you cannot run from me." - Lorcan O'Venefrives

"Nothing good was ever done by force." - Mortley Dekruiful

"They say you are dead to me Rolf, you are dead. But I say, I am alive, I am alive! And isn't that what frightens you?" - Rolf Lambs

"I look inside me, and see a devil's dog, howlin' at the darkest side of his own moon." - Zafavri Holts "The sun ain't gonna rise for you buddy, you just watched it sink one last time only for you to fade along with it." - Eddy Lambs

"We're in the circus, dancing, jerking and twisting away from the spotlight because the shade was always more comforting than the blinding light." - Mortley Dekruiful

"You will face a thousand tragedies before the sun fucking rises, and you ain't lucky enough for your death ta be one of em." - Zafavri Holts

"I, am where myth starts, and legend begins, but you, my friend, are where history starts." - Defforest Van Patten

"Life will hang ya from a tree and call ya three heads taller simply cause your feet are three feet off the damn ground." - Sampson O'Connel "Soldiers? Soldiers?! We're the civilians of a foreign country hiding from the fucking gunfire! But they don't care, brother, they don't FUCKING care! They'll drag us out anyway. To a firing squad, everyone is cattle." - Burasbley Highersman

[elsb-hrngtons]

We can help each other, You and me- Chapter 3.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Links to Ao3 in notes.

Holy shit, Steve was walking towards them. Steve who usually has all the grace of a skittish animal on ice is walking towards them, grace or lack thereof completely exacerbated by the combination of cheap booze he’s managed to consume in one evening.  Tommy feels his heart rate pick up, of all scenarios he had imagined of this night turning out, this wasn’t even on his radar.

He’s content with this thing he’s got going with Billy, Billy who’s all testosterone and hard edges, solid muscle and golden tan skin. Yeah Tommy’s got the luck of the draw as far as attractive guys go, and sure Billy does tend to lean towards behaving like a prize asshole more often or not, he’s actually not an asshole, not really. Tommy knows now it's all an act, a facade to protect himself, from what exactly he’s not entirely sure, but he knows it's all bravado.

But despite what he has going on with Billy, Steve’s still Steve and Tommy isn’t sure anything in this world could stop him from wanting him, and now Steve’s walking over. Well swaying.

Billy tenses next to him, they’re gazes meet one another, both a mirror image of shock and mild panic, before inevitably both their gazes return to Steve who’s weaving through the crowd to get to them. Shit.

Subconsciously Tommy’s reaching for Billy, looking for something to ground him before his mind goes off into a tailspin, Billy seemingly getting the idea, or needing it himself slings an arm around Tommy’s shoulder just as Steve stops in front of them.

“Harrington” Billy nods. Steve looks like a deer caught in headlights, looks like his brain is about 5 seconds behind the rest of his body and that he could literally bolt at any moment. He’s swallowing thickly, gasping for breaths, eyes all glassy and glazed over and he’s swaying on the spot trying not to lose balance. He fails . Steve falls forward, his arm flying forward and landing on Billy’s shoulder to catch himself. Tommy feels a slight pang of jealousy at that. “Jesus Harrington, how much have you had to drink?” Billy asks, swinging around catching Steve before he falls all the way, supporting his body weight from one side.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Steve slurs, a dopey smile plastered on his face, arm jerking out before he boops Billy on the nose, and Tommy warms slightly, Steve’s smile was always enough to reduce him to mush and the boy has always been just a little ridiculous. Billy gestures his head at Tommy indicating he should come up the other side of Steve, lend a hand keeping him up right. Tommy like always does as he’s told.

Tommy is scanning the crowd for Robin, he knows Steve came with her, but she’s nowhere to be found, and he’s not really sure what to do. Steve’s mumbling incoherently between him and Billy, and Tommy would be amused if he wasn’t genuinely worried that Steve wasn’t ten seconds from passing out.

“C’mon Stevie boy, let's get you outta here” he coos as he and Billy haul his ass outta the living room and towards the front door.

“I thought you’d never ask” Steve slurs again flashing them both a grin before tripping up over his own feet on the way out of the house.

###

Mission accomplished Steve thinks to himself smugly as he’s placed into the back seat of Billy’s car. He impressed even himself tonight, he always knew he could be smooth when he needed to be, but even he hadn’t expected that putting on the charm would be quite so successful. He smiles quietly to himself as Tommy and Billy both get into the front seats and they begin their journey into the night.

Steve feels hazy, definitely not sober, definitely leaning towards too drunk, but it's fine, he’s done this plenty of times and he’s been far drunker than this, if only the world would stop spinning for 2 seconds so he could focus on his game plan.

The car comes to a slow stop and it takes Steve a herculean effort to lift his head from where it's resting on the window so he can access his surroundings. It's not his house they’ve stopped at. Good he thinks to himself, it means they’re not just gonna dump him in his bed and then leave.

Suddenly the front passenger seat is being pulled forward towards the dashboard and Steve is being hauled out of the car by strong arms.

“C’mon on pretty boy, let's get you inside” Billy’s deep gravelly voice is both soothing and lighting a fire in the pit of Steve’s gut, he wonders absentmindedly as he’s being half guided and half dragged towards what he now recognises as Tommy’s house, if he’s too drunk to avoid popping a boner right there and then, the being manhandled was doing things to him, his brain was far too muddled to really comprehend right then.

They’re taking him down to the basement, of that he’s sure. Tommy’s basement; the designated hangout of his youth whenever his parents dared to actually be in town. He can feel the slight drag of his feet along the carpeted floor as they move towards the couch, why aren’t his legs working? Oh that's right he’s drunk. Steve is silently willing himself to sober the fuck up, he can’t concentrate like this, he can’t successfully make his play with all the booze and adolescent attraction swirling around his brain and clouding his vision and thoughts. He physically shakes his head as if that is somehow gonna reset his brain back to normal functioning Steve. It does not.

He’s been unceremoniously plonked in the middle of the couch, while the boys fall heavily either side of him. He’s trying to be attentive to what's going on around him, but he finds it almost physically impossible to raise his gaze from the coffee table, the bloods rushing in his head and all he can hear is static and white noise, until the world comes back into startling focus, when he’s being nudged in the side by Tommy’s elbow.

Tommy’s handing him a joint and Steve knows realistically this is a bad idea, he needs to keep what wits he has left about him, but Steve’s never been accused of making good decisions or being particularly smart. He inhales the thick smoke, sweet and heavy in his lungs, smooth as he exhales and it dissipates around him, he takes another drag and melts further into the couch. His world is quite literally tilting on his axis as he tries desperately to focus on his present company and what they’re saying, his vision is spinning and he feels sick, he’s gonna throw up and he hates himself right now for effectively being his own ridiculous cockblock.

The guys must read his mind or he must voice his intentions out loud because next thing he knows they're scrambling to put a bucket in front of him as he lurches forward and violently expels the contents of his stomach.

Someone’s stroking his back, rubbing small circles in between his shoulder blades, he’s not sure who but he appreciates it as he gags and heaves through his misery. Someone says something but he can’t hear them over the sound of his own retching but he thinks maybe it might be something soothing. The bucket is taken away once Steves finished dry heaving and his breathing has calmed down, and he can feel his eyelids getting heavier, his head lulling to the side and forward as if his neck can’t physically support its weight anymore, he’s being guided back down onto the couch, his head resting in someone’s lap while the other throws a blanket over him and settles under his legs and feet. Sleep is pulling at him now, insistent and stubborn and he can’t stay awake much longer, despite how much he wants to fight it, he nuzzles his cheek into whoever’s thigh its pressed against, while they pet his hair gently and softly massage his scalp, the other is rubbing firm but soothing circles into his calves and it doesn’t take long before Steve drifts off into the sweet embrace of sleep.

###

Well this wasn’t ideal.

Billy’s feeling frustrated and a little disappointed, and he can tell Tommy is too because that kicked puppy look makes an appearance again, before Steve mumbles something incoherent in his sleep and nuzzles his cheek further into Billy’s thigh, and it's quickly replaced with a look of fondness.

Billy replays the evening's events in his head, he wills himself not to get hard thinking about his earlier activities with Tommy. He thinks back to the party, his brief moment of jealousy, turned to an even briefer moment of hope as Steve approached, the anticipation and apprehension as he worried about the other boy's intentions. The amusement at a clearly inebriated Harrington, and was he trying to flirt?.

Billy’s playing with Steve’s hair and it's just as soft and fluffy as he imagined it would be, he’s frustrated sure, had Steve not been so infuriatingly drunk, so far gone, the evening might have taken an interesting turn and his wildest fantasies may have become a reality, but here he is pinned to a couch under Steve who’s lightly snoring and making adorable little noises in his sleep. Its cute, but it also makes him itch with a combination of feelings, disappointment, the slight tinge of anger, fondness for the poor drunk mess, fondness for Tommy who’s cradling Steve’s feet as if they were some kinda precious thing, and he can’t help but agree with that sentiment, and ultimately he’s annoyed that even if the likelihood of bedding Steve was low to begin with, he could always rely on Tommy to be a sure thing, but even now that's a no go as they find themselves trapped under the weight of Harrington, too far apart to touch each other, and too scared to jostle Steve awake.

He knows he can be an asshole, and while in most situations he’d wear it like a badge of honour, he’s not so much of an asshole that he’d take advantage of a black out Steve and put him in a situation where he might not be comfortable in, sure it would have been easy to let him flirt, to maybe steal a kiss or two, but he could risk it all by doing that, and it just isn’t worth it, not right now anyway.

Billy wants to sleep, can feel the exhaustion in his bones, but his mind is racing and every time he thinks he might be blessed with sleep claiming him, he jerks awake as if he’s just woken from a bad dream, or he’s heard Neil’s footsteps outside his door, and isn’t that just great? Can’t get laid, can’t move and literally under the boy of his dreams and he can’t even sleep, he wonders if someone upstairs might be mocking him.

###

Consciousness doesn't come genty to Steve, it's not sudden, but it's not a soft transition from the land of nod to the land of living, like when the sun streams through his curtains on a sunday morning, and Steve can relax in the knowledge he doesn’t have to physically move util at least midday. The first thing Steve notices is the incessant pounding in his head, much like one of Robin’s band friends, beating a drum near constantly right in his brain, shaking loose all his grey matter and making his ears ring. The next thing he notices is the dry yet tacky feeling in his mouth and throat which brings back vague memories of him throwing up, confirmed by the bitter taste on his tongue and the fuzzy coating of his teeth and gums.

The next thing Steve notices is that he’s absolutely 100 percent sure he’s not in a bed, if the aching in his bones and joints is anything, and whatever coach he had the misfortune to pass out on is lumpy, hard and so very uncomfortable. He’s not brave enough to open his eyes just yet, scared that whatever light there is might just burn out his corneas, he’s also scared to confirm the niggling feeling the back of his brain keeps screaming at him, That he is in fact not alone.

Turns out Steve doesn’t need to open his eyes to confirm that, as whatever, whoever he’s laying on shifts under him and grunts slightly, and then adds to the mix of disorientation there's snoring coming from the direction of his feet. He wills himself to force his eyes open and looks towards the snoring figure, Tommy H in all his freckled glory is fast asleep, hugging Steve’s legs, head rested sideways on the armrest of the couch and a tiny stream of drool falling from his open mouth creating a wet patch under him.

For the briefest of moments Steve admires the scene before him, regards Tommy’s sleeping form with a swell of affection, before the ice cold reality of the situation at hand washes over him when he realises his face is quite literally next to Billy’s dick, and Billy isn’t immune to the plight of morning wood.

Panic swells in Steve’s gut as he’s bombarded with hazy memories from the night before, tableau's of a sequence of events that led him to his current predicament. He cringes as he recollects his attempts at being smooth, attempts being the operative word, and ultimately wants to die at the thought of being so  absolutely wrecked he threw up in Tommy’s basement and literally passed out on top of the two boys he’s been lusting after. He’s pissed off at his behaviour, especially as he didn’t even manage to get lucky.

He needs to get out of here before the reality has chance to settle in further and he has to face Tommy and Billy awake, he’s not proud of dipping out without waking them, but its not like he actually slept with them, and he’s too embarrassed to acknowledge the train wreck that was the night before. He gently removes his legs from Tommy’s vice like hold and rolls off Billy’s lap and falls between the couch and coffee table with a thud. He freezes for a moment looking towards the boys, checking for any signs of life and when he finds none he sags in relife and creeps out before either of them have a chance to stir awake.

###

As if things couldn’t get any worse he’s late to work, Robin’s already there greeting him with a smirk and a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

“Look who finally decided to show up, sorry to drag you away from your boyfriends”

Steve stomps past her towards the back room so he can clock in.

“Shut up,” he bites, kicking the door open with more force than was strictly necessary and heads to the coat rack to hang his jacket and retrieve the worst hat he’s even had the displeasure to wear.

“Well good morning to you too” Robin responds, following him and leaning on the door frame, “What's crawled up your ass and died?” her expression is pinched and fraught with worry, Steve can feel her eyes on him as he moves about the back room preparing for the shift from hell. He meets her gaze and huffs out breath, blowing some of the hair that's gathered in front of his eyes.

“Sorry, I'm just not in the mood” He goes for the puppy dog eyes, hopes his expression is enough to convince Robin to drop the inevitable onslaught of questions that are certainly going to be headed his way.

“Obviously. What happened?”

“I really don’t wanna talk about it” he pleads, to Robin to God he’s not sure all he know is he wants out of this conversation as quickly as possible, and maybe to down a strawberry shake in the desperate hope of curing the hangover that keeps threatening a fate worse than death on him.

“Well tough. I need to know what happened Steve, I wouldn’t be a very good fairy gay mother if i didn’t” she states matter of factly as she follows Steve back out to the front.

“Nothing happened!” Steve mumbles

“Bullshit!”

“I swear Robin, nothing happened” he defends, he’s actively avoiding eye contact with her now, busying himself making a shake and anything that might keep his attention away from her knowing gaze.

“If nothing happened” she says leaning in “then why are you acting all grumpy” she swipes the milkshake from Steve’s hands and proceeds to take a sip.

“Hey!” He squeaks snatching the milkshake back “and i’m not grumpy i’m just hungover” he turns away from her, half to protect his shake and half to protect his dignity as Robin’s probing continued.

“Nuh uh, i’ve seen you hungover and you’re never like this” she gestures with her hands up and down towards Steve.

“Like what exactly?”

“Like a prissy bitch” she’s smirking now, fully in the knowledge she’s successfully riled Steve up.

Steve sighs, shoulders hunched and deflated as he accepts defeat, if he has any hope of getting out of this shift alive he’s gonna have to talk to Robin.

“I got too drunk”

“Duh i could have told you that Dingus”

“I threw up and then passed out on top of them.” he’s blushing, the embarrassment from last night and this morning too much to bear.

“Kinky.” Robin wags her eyebrows

“No. not like that” Steve huffs

“Like what then?”

“I’m pretty sure all i did was get drunk, make a fool out of myself and fall asleep. Literally achieved nothing and they probably think I'm nothing but a mess, which lets face it I am.”  He’s sitting atop the back counter,legs swinging down, slowly sipping at his milkshake which does little to settle his uneasy stomach, and he’s not sure if that because of the hangover or anxiety.

“You’re not a mess Steve” she tries to reassure.

“Yeah right” He scoffs.

Robin, determined in operation wingman, steps closer to him and grabs him by the face by both hands.

“Listen to me asshole. You. Are. Not. A. Mess.” Steve rolls his eyes. “I’m serious, you’re not! You may act messy, but you’re not a complete mess” she’s smiling up at him earnestly as she lets go of his face. “ you’re funny, you’re charming, and objectively even i, a lesbian, can say you’re attractive, like disgustingly so, and even beyond all that you’re actually really sweet, i bet if you were just yourself, you’d have them eating out the palm of your hand” she squeezes his knee in what Steve's sure is an attempt to comfort.

“Okay , sure,” Steve says, voice dripping with sarcasm, which earns him a cuff around the back of his head. “Ow! Hey!” he protests.

“I’m serious Steve, trust me they’re crazy about you, you gotta stop thinking so little of yourself.”

“I’ll take your word for it”

###

The next morning after the party Tommy felt his heart sink at the empty space Steve had occupied only hours before. He’s not sure how long it's been since he left, but the warmth of Steve’s body heat has long since dissipated as Tommy blinks awake.

Tommy’s mind races as he tries to think back to anything that might have spooked Steve into taking off without a word, and he comes up blank, he worries if he and Billy may have come on too strong, but reconciles that they in fact didn’t come on at all, if anything it was Steve that was laying on the moves. That thought, for a moment consoles him, eases his troubled mind, until he realises with a pinch of rejection that maybe Steve hadn’t meant it at all. He was always a flirt when he drank, girls and boys alike he didn’t discriminate when it came to a bit of cheeky banter., and Steve had taken off either because he was disgusted with his own actions, or disgusted at the idea of Tommy and Billy not discouraging him.

Dejected and sad he shifts on the couch so he can shuffle closer to Billy, lean into him and find comfort in the warmth of his embrace.

###

It’s a joint decision really, to give Steve space, to avoid contact, give him a chance to overcome his embarrassment/disgust/shame from the night of the party, let him adjust or whatever.

It’s been a week since they last saw him, more since they last graced scoops with their presence, under the thinly veiled guise of loyal patrons, but actually for the sole purpose of ogling Steve and maybe riling him up a little. He is extremely cute when he gets flustered. That was a sentiment Tommy couldn’t help but agree with when Billy first said it.

Tommy, still without a job, and without much else to do during the hot summer days while Billy’s working at the pool, finds himself lost. He follows Billy around like a lost child, and what's worse Tommy’s fully aware he’s doing it and he can’t stop. He’s worried he might be pissing Billy off, by getting under his feet, cramping his style , not giving him enough room to breathe, but without Billy’s sure and constant, albeit sometimes volatile, presence, Tommy feels like he might spiral into a pit of despair, generated by a combination of conflicting emotions and boredom.

So Tommy clings to Billy, doesn’t much care about anything else, just that against all expectations he finds comfort in it, and everyone be damned he’s not about to give that up, for anything.

They’re at the pool today, Billy’s working, perched up on his lifeguard chair, like some proud sun-kissed Adonis, chiselled personally by the gods. Tommy is amused at how Billy revels in the sense of authority the job provides him, how drunk on power the blonde can get, and if Tommy’s being totally honest with himself, how all that authority, that power trip and not to mention the quite frankly scandalous uniform, makes his toes curl. He can’t think too hard on that, he’s pretty sure if he did he’d end up on some kind of register for sporting a half chub in the presence of all these snotty kids who have taken permanent residence at Hawkins Community Pool.

It's just as Tommy’s getting lost in his thoughts of rock hard abs, and an authority complex, that he’s snapped out of his daydream by several cubes of ice falling from above him and landing square on his chest.

“Hey watch it asshole!” Tommy squawks as he flings himself into a sitting position, prepared to send a truly devastating glare in Billy’s direction for fucking with him. It's only until he shields his eyes from the glare of the sun that he realises that Billy’s not fucking around. If it were possible the boy atop the lifeguard chair would be as pale as a ghost, as his jaw tenses and his eyes trail from the entrance and track the movement of someone. Tommy tries to follow his stare and feels a brand new and cool rush of panic begin, as he spots Steve and fucking Robin make their way over to some loungers on the far side of the pool decking.

Tommy chokes and before he has a chance to process anything else, Billy is jumping down from the lifeguard chair and dragging Tommy to his feet by his arm. Tommy squeaks at the sudden movement, but his brain soon catches up and he’s falling in line matching him step for step. Billy’s still half dragging him along, and Tommy’s certain drawing attention, but he can’t argue, can’t question Billy, not when he’s being like this.

Billy glanced over to his colleague Heather, sat on the table top of a picnic bench just outside the pool’s changing rooms.

“Hey Holloway! Cover for me while I take my break?” Billy yells, half asking, half demanding, not waiting for a response, before dragging Tommy into the staff changing rooms.

###

Steve’s wondering what awful things he’s done in a previous life and this life to deserve this fate. It’s bad enough that he has to face Robin every day, with her constant nagging and interfering in his love life or more accurately lack thereof, but to finally grow the balls enough to face his ‘Billy and Tommy problem’ head on, with a little liquid courage to aide him on his way, for him to totally fuck up and end up at square one.  Worse than square one in fact it’s more like square minus 10.

And now as if his constant torture couldn’t get any more painful Robin’s dragging him kicking and screaming to Hawkins pool, in a vain attempt to get him back on the horse, if there is even a horse still to get back onto.

“I’m sick of your whining Steve” she said “you’re never gonna achieve anything moping around all the time” she chastised.

“What if i don’t wanna achieve anything?” he argued. “What if I like moping” he pouted.

It’s not as easy as she’s making out to be, Steve thinks to himself, the whole getting back on the horse thing, getting back in the game. It’s not as straightforward as if it were a girl or girls he was chasing, and Robin of all people should understand that, what with her unrequited crush on Heather Holloway of all people.

He knows he’s dragging his feet, being a brat, but he just can’t help himself, it's a defence mechanism . She’s literally forced him to pick her up and drive her to the pool, and when he was a hair's breadth away from having a full blown panic attack, she talked him down, dragged him out of the pool and shoved him into the men's changing rooms, claiming to guard the door to make sure he didn’t make an escape attempt.

So now they’re changed and walking across the decking towards some sun loungers, prime location to scope out the landscape of the pool and keep half an eye on their ‘target’ until Steve grows to courage to approach them. Robin had got some insider information that Tommy was hanging out at the pool everyday while Billy worked, and thought it was an excellent idea to go to them, go to their territory so that Steve could slip away at any point he needed to, if he needed to.

Steve’s making a point not to raise his gaze any higher than the ground, he’s letting Robin be his eye’s for him, she keeps mumbling ridiculous shit like ‘target acquired’ and other shitty lines she’s probably heard from overrated spy movies or some crap. It’s because of this Steve doesn’t notice Billy jump down from his chair and hoist Tommy up by the elbow.

“Oh shit” Robin whispers.

“What?”

“They’re moving” it’s at that point Steve raises his head and spots Billy practically dragging Tommy into the staff changing rooms, in what appears to be a blind panic, he’s not sure if that’s a good sign or not. He swallows the lump in his throat and settles onto a lounger, eyes never leaving the door that just swung behind the two boys.

After a what feels like a lifetime, but in reality was probably at most a minute, he looks over to Robin who’s settled in next to him, she looks as if she’s having a crisis of her own, cheeks flushed, staring intently through her sunglasses towards the lifeguard tower where Heather has finally decided to perch herself on, Robin’s mouth hangs agape, and Steve would bet good money that if she had less self control she'd be drooling right about now. He reconciles the fact that with Heather in her sights, she’s actually gonna be less help that Steve had hoped for, less help than she had originally intended.

Steve steels himself, wills his anxiety away chanting an internal monologue of “You’ve got this.” and “you’re Steve Harrington for god sake, what are you worried about” the same mantra he had practiced in his mirror for at least an hour this morning when Robin called to tell him her cunning plan.

He’s far too sober for this, can’t blame the booze and feign ignorance if it all goes wrong, but after the latest disaster, alcohol has been completely removed from the playing field until he’s at least talked to the two boys.

With a shaky breath and a false sense of bravado, Steve stands up from where he’s perched and tries to walk as nonchalantly as he can towards the door he’d seen Billy drag Tommy through only minutes ago.

###

Steve’s stealthy, like a ninja. It’s like his thing, he opens the door as gently and as slowly as he can so not to make a sound, as he creeps into the dark depths of the changing rooms. His heart is going a hundred miles and hour as he takes in his surroundings.

He can’t see them immediately, but he can hear them. A shower’s running somewhere in the distance, and he can also hear muffled moans and stifled groans as he silently moves closer. He thinks he can hear the distinct sound of skin slapping skin, the undeniable sound track of a quicky in the shower, his imagination runs wild, is it them? He’s not sure, but it doesn’t stop his brain, or more accurately his dick from jumping to that conclusion.

He’s hard in his swim shorts, as his mind conjures images of Tommy and Billy fucking in the shower, skin on skin, dirty talk and filthy moans providing excellent kindling, to the fire burning in his loins.

“Fuck yeah, don’t stop” that was definitely Billy voice he heard, Steve claims a spot on one of the benches torn between interrupting and letting it play out, he ultimately leans towards letting it play out, he’s not rude . He’s staring at his traitorous dick tenting his shorts, contemplates the risks of touching himself, needs to touch himself so badly, who knew Steve Harrington was such a fucking pervert. The irony isn’t lost on him that he’s essentially doing exactly the kind of thing he gave Jonathan so much shit for back in high school, but god, when they’re making sinful noises like that can he really be blamed? His eyes snap up to the sound of Tommy’s voice.

“Jesus baby, you’re so tight” he grunts. So it's definitely the boys going at it like bunny rabbits in the shower, no need for imagination, and well that's all the encouragement Steve’s lust addled mind needs to pull at the waistband of his shorts, setting his cock free and giving it a few strokes.

He’s not even sure how long he stays there, pumping his fist up and down, revelling in the sweet sounds of fucking. He’s entirely lost in his own pleasure, must have tuned out the outside world, all the background noise, eyes screwed shut and groaning loudly as he cums all over his fist and stomach, because he fails to notice the shower shut off and the curtain being pulled back. He’s so consumed in the aftershocks that he’s completely unaware of the two figures standing directly in front of him.

“Damn Harrington.” Billy admires.

Steve’s eyes fly open, flush overtaking his entire body as he meets the stars of Tommy and Billy looking down at him. Steve regards the state he’s in and silent wishes the floor would swallow him up right then and there.