#just two white boys with missing noses and drug addiction

[dr-wormman]

I only played 30 minutes of this game like 8 years ago but this guy seems cool

[meowdarame]

the fool | haruchiyo sanzu

pairing: haruchiyo sanzu x f!reader (she/her pronouns used)

warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI, ANGST ANGST ANGST, non-explicit sex, drug and alcohol usage, cursing, heavy themes of addiction

notes: i’m so fucking sad so i wrote this LMAO. but hey at least i’m channeling negative feelings into a healthy outlet, right? as always, likes and reblogs are super appreciated!

beta-reader: @christeningsakusa

the one thing that haruchiyo hates the most about himself is how he doesn’t allow the things that should hurt to cause him pain.

every tear that rolls down his wet cheeks has to be covered up with a fake smile, the two scars that frame the corners of his mouth curling upwards and pointing to the night sky. every pang that his heart feels or negative thought that passes through his mind is masked by a joke— always one that makes light of the situation that’s troubling him.

it’s an awful way to live, and it’s definitely caused a lot of strife within himself and his relationships. his friends don’t take his problems seriously, but honestly, how could they? he won’t even let himself process his emotions fully, much less tell the people he loves how he really feels.

and so, haruchiyo falls back on the only things he knows— using drugs and humor to cope with the ache that he feels deep within his chest.

“so, i was driving down the street today, right? nearby her house,” sanzu says after snorting white powder off of a tiny metal spoon. he flicks the tips of his nose with his thumb before adding on, “and i swear to god there was a lady walking down the street that looked exactly like her. had the same cute lil walk and everything— with her knees pointing outwards, making it look like she’s waddling like a little penguin.” he chuckles softly to himself when he remembers the first time he pointed it out to you, which resulted in you punching his chest and dodging his kisses for the next hour.

“you’re probably just seeing things,” rindou says nonchalantly, grabbing the lighter from sanzu’s other hand to light a cigarette. “you guys just broke up and you miss her, so it makes sense that you see her everywhere.”

“i agree with rin,” ran butts in. taking a swig from the aged scotch he’d been sipping on all night, he adds on, “when my ex-girl and i broke up, i couldn’t step foot into one of our night clubs in roppongi— it was her favorite place to go. too many bad memories associated with that place, so i had rindou collect the financial reports from that place by himself for a few months. you remember that, lil bro?” he nudges his younger brother, some of the dark liquor spilling onto the couch in the process, and it makes rindou hiss.

“how could i forget? you still owe me half of your salary for that month, remember?” the purple-haired man takes one final pull from his cigarette before smothering it in the ashtray. “breakups suck, haru, but you’ll get over it eventually. just takes time,” he emphasizes his last sentence by kicking his feet up onto the coffee table, leaning back and resting his hands behind his head.

of course the “resident pretty boy bachelor” who’s never experienced true heartbreak gives such nonchalant advice, sanzu thinks to himself, dismayed. figures.

“you know,” ran adds on, clapping his heavy palm on sanzu’s shoulder. “they say the quickest way to get over someone is to get under someone else. why don’t you try it?”

“you don’t think it’s too soon? it’s only been a few weeks…” haruchiyo asks, but ran immediately waves the thought away. “nah, i think it’ll be good for you! you’ll get to see what’s out there, maybe even find a new person to occupy your time.”

sanzu nods his head a few times, registering the words of supposed wisdom that his friend imparted onto him.

ran haitani is a lot of things— prideful, extravagant, and (at times) idiotic— but sanzu would have never taken him for a liar.

well, ran did lie, because it is way too early for haruchiyo to be sleeping with a new person. and now, he feels like utter shit.

as he ties up and disposes the used condom, haruchiyo scolds himself for his lapse in judgement. occupy my time? more like waste my time.

his coping mechanism for the night is a sweet, pretty college-aged girl whose company he would have enjoyed otherwise in any other circumstance. but right now, the only thought plaguing his mind is how she’s not you. how nobody can ever compare to you.

she tries to plant one last kiss on his lips which he swiftly dodges, outstretching his arm behind her and grabbing his car keys. he leaves without uttering another word to her, instead choosing to solemnly bow his head out of respect. as he exits the front door of the lavish hotel room, he notices the way that her eyes narrow slightly at him, studying him as if he were a specimen underneath a microscope— the same way that yours did whenever you knew something was wrong but haruchiyo wouldn’t fess up.

is he really that easy to read? he asks himself as he places his key into the ignition.

knock. knock. knock.

the dark oak doors that once signified warmth now feel cold against his knuckles. he waits a minute, reflecting on tonight’s decisions that led him to your front porch. just as he’s about to give up and walk away, he hears shuffling on the other side of the doorway.

“haruchiyo?” your sleepy form asks, rubbing your tired eyes with the back of your hand.

haruchiyo, huh? he laments. no longer “haru,” or “babe,” or “my love.” hell, he would’ve even preferred “sanzu” instead of his full first name. but “haruchiyo”— it exists in a liminal space, a plane between familiarity and distance, a hallmark of lovers that once were but are no longer.

“what are you doing here?” you add on, this time with more alertness in your voice upon realizing that your ex-boyfriend is at your front door. “are you in trouble?”

“no, no,” he assures you, taking his hands out of his pockets and raising them up, a sign of his sincerity. “just missed you, that’s all.”

you groan and throw your head back. “you know, phones exist, right? you could just call me instead of waking me up at 3 in the fucking morning.”

“i wanted to see your face.”

“facetime exists.”

sanzu sighs internally. you’ve always been so hardheaded, borderline bratty. he loved it throughout the duration of your relationship, but now it poses a formidable barrier. he knows that there’s no way to get through to you, so he decides to do something that he rarely ever does— he’s honest with you, and in turn, honest with himself.

“i thought i saw you today,” haruchiyo begins, and you lean against your door frame, amused by the abrupt subject change.

“couldn’t be me,” you assert, crossing your arms. “didn’t leave my house once today.”

“i know it wasn’t you,” he interrupts, slightly frustrated by your combatant remark. “i just thought it was you. but anyways, can i at least tell you my thoughts?”

you motion your hand out, signaling for him to continue on. sanzu takes a deep breath, letting the frosty winter air fill his lungs.

“i’m sorry,” he exhales. “i’m sorry for hurting you. i’m sorry for putting myself above you and fucking everything up. i’m sorry for not being more of a man for you.”

a weak “haru” slips past your lips but sanzu forges on. “i promise i’ll change— i’ll get the help i need, i’ll go to therapy, i’ll get clean. please, just give me the fucking chance and i’ll prove to you that i’m not a lost cause.”

“haru.”

ah, there it is again, sanzu thinks to himself. the nickname that he’s grown to love— mainly because you were the one who gave it a new meaning for him so many years ago. he’s hopeful as he waits for your response.

but hope has proven to be such a fickle thing in haruchiyo’s life. a double-edged sword— the rosy picture of a future with you is what keeps him pushing forward, but it’s also what’s holding him back.

“are you high again?”

his jaw goes slack at your question. “n-no,” he stutters, heat creeping up in his face and static dizzying his mind. “i mean, i did do a bump at the club but that was hours ago. i’m sober now baby, i-i promise.” he reaches out to grab your hand, but you retract and pull it back, stepping further back into your home.

“i don’t believe you. the haru i know would never be able to say these things to me sober,” you choke out; it’s clear that you’re on the brink of tears, but mustering up every ounce of strength in you, your hand wraps around your door, bony knuckles peeking out through your skin.

“i promise you that i’m trying to change!” haruchiyo pleads, but to no avail. you’ve already made up your mind.

“yea? then prove it to me,” you say, almost shutting the door completely. but before you close it fully, your somber face peeks out through a little slit in the doorway, voice now significantly meeker than before.

“i miss you too, and i want to see you get better. i just don’t know if i could put myself through the pain of watching the man i love endanger his life every fucking night.” you sniffle and hic, hot tears now streaming down your face. “text me when you get home so that i know you’re safe.”

the door slams in haruchiyo’s face, and that’s when a realization hits him— you still love him, and you always have. it’s just that he doesn’t deserve your love.

sanzu’s ride home is unusually quiet— no loud music blaring in the background, no lit cigarette between his fingers. just his white knuckles gripping the steering wheel, nails digging into his palms and threatening to draw blood.

he texts you a quick ‘home’ before shutting off his phone and tossing it onto his couch. legs giving out, sanzu falls onto his hardwood floors on all fours, hands and knees planted firmly on the ground as he feels like his heart is collapsing into itself.

he wants to break down, to sob and throw things, to punch holes in the wall. he wants to have an outburst— to channel all the anger, pain, and frustration he feels. but he can’t bring himself to do it.

and so, just to keep himself from crying, he does the only other thing he knows how to do.

he laughs.

tagging: @bxnten @sunat2508 @petalsrdead @crystal-lilac @devilgirlcrybabiey @ohtobiors @frenchtoastmafia @miya-dynasty @sabyss @rinsie @chaotic-fangirl-blog @semisgroupie @portfolio-of-dreams @withlovetengen @momoewn + @shibuyawardnetwork

[blueberrypossum]

A Date Down Under (GN Reader x Leo)

OH MY GOSH IT’S BEEN FOREVER SINCE I’VE POSTED!!

If you guys are wondering where I’ve been I write more on A03 with two original fanfics in the making! But, my tumblr account deserves some love too! This fanfic has been siting in my file for a long while and I originally wanted to post it when I was deep in the ROTTMNT fandom (still love it and miss it man). So, I decided to take out my oc in it and make it a reader fanfic so everyone can enjoy!  @bootyyy-shaker9000 ​ I know how much you love Leo so have some of the wonderful boy in blue!!

When Leo asked you if you wanted to celebrate your Friend Anniversary in the Lost City, you couldn’t refuse. 

 The feelings for the turtle though were getting tougher and tougher to maintain. Leo was always the flirt, and you tried to not let him play with your heartstrings, but now a blush would creep around your face whenever he would fire a one-liner or when he would push the physical contact to the extreme. 

You weren't used to so much affection, nor letting the addiction of being touched take over you like a drug. 

But you have seen the way Leo fake flirts with others, and just believed that he was just doing the same thing to you, because you were just friends, right? 

You were brushing your comb through your hair when your phone started to vibrate on your desk. You brought it up to your ear as you got comfortable in your seat.

“Hello?”

“Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?”

There were a few knocks on your bedroom window.

“Me.”

You giggled and walked over to the window and pulled back the blinds to see the one and only Leonardo Hamato, a sly grin on his face as he hung up on the phone. You placed your phone into your pocket and unlocked the window to reveal yourself to him. 

The blue bandana turtle looked a little taken aback as he took in the sight of his best friend. With the season turning colder, you wore something that suited the chilly wind yet sunny season, the cloth clinging to you gently. What caught him off guard the most was the dazzling smile you presented to him, the pure excitement of seeing him causing his bandana to feel tight around his head. 

Leo almost lost his balance as he hopped into your room, sweat growing on him as he tried to find anything else to look at other than you.

“Hey, how's your fever?” He asked, his voice drowned with no confidence, his heart still pounding as he finally glanced over. 

You were picking up your bag and you frowned at the question.

“Hum? What fever?” 

“Oh, yeah, you just look hot to me,” he replied, pressing a confident smile on his lips as he hoped that you didn’t catch him almost slipping up. 

Your cheeks went pink and you playfully slapped his arm.

“Oh hush up and let’s go, we’re burning daylight.”

“That’s not the only thing that’s burning.”

“Oh my gosh, get going, Red Kamon.”

The tall turtle chuckled and pulled out his sword, swiping it around the room until a portal was created. Leo moved to the side and bowed his head towards you. 

“After you,” he purred and you rolled your eyes at him and took a step into the portal and was led right at the center of the Hidden City. The colorful and mysterious city was weird to say the least, nothing but weird creations and magic lingered in the air as yokai walked past you. Leo stepped through the portal and was at your side as you both walked over to the city map. 

Leo used your shoulder as a rest while you gazed over at the map.

“Where do you want to go, shorty?” He asked as your eyes scanned the different areas and pointed towards the Witch Town.

Your mind seemed clouded from the close contact and you pointed to the spa.

“What about here? Sounds interesting.”

“Can’t do. My idiot and less attractive twin got us turtles banned there,” Leo commented and soon his arm snaked around your neck and was completely over your shoulders, bringing you close enough that you could feel his breath over your cheek. 

“What about here?”

“Nope. They banned me there.”

“How did you get banned from a spa?”

“My dashing good looks were just too much for them.”

You let out a gust of air and knew the real reason, Donnie told you the whole funny scenario of Leo needing hair to get into the spa, totally backfired and threw him in jail. 

“What places are you not banned from, blue?” You asked, turning over to him with your arms crossed. 

He gave you his signature smile and leaned down till you were face to face, his beak just a few inches from your nose. 

“Here, just those two places. Your heart? Never.”

“Then what about the Pirate Bazaar?” You mumbled, your heart almost leaping out of your chest as Leo’s eyes widened with excitement.

“Ohhh, I’ve been there! But only for a little bit, let’s go!” He squealed and took your hand and led you through the crowd of animals and other subjects of yokai. His three-fingered hand was cold against your warm one, and you knew Leo and his brothers like closeness to you and April since you were the only warm-blooded creatures; Splinter was too but hugs were hard to get from him. Still, the hand holding made others look over and gush at you two, as if you were a couple. 

If only.

He didn’t let go as he took you into lesser crowds, bringing you closer till your arms were touching. You then realized he wasn’t wearing an outfit, but then remembered most of the yokai’s were clothesless as well. His muscles bounced as he walked and you had to do everything to not wrap your fingers around the growing muscle. 

STOP STOP STOP THINKING LIKE THIS! HE DOESN’T LIKE YOU LIKE THAT!

His thumb started to brush against yours as he turned to you and you swore you saw a red dash against his cheeks, and it wasn’t his stripes.

“You’ve been friends with me for a whole year! Please, do tell how great it must’ve been to be called my best friend,” he said slyly, wiggling his non-existent eyebrows, causing you to laugh. The joyous melody made Leo weak in the knees.

“You mean, me always having to save your shell from dangerous bad guys, having to endure all your jokes, and then the constant-CONSTANT- marathons of Jipiter Jim and Lou Jitsu to the point all I could do was speak quotes from the movies.”

“Oh yeah, may I remind you that you would text me excited about every movie date? Didn’t someone make their signature hot chocolate just for me when I showed this specific someone their now favorite movie? Ring any bells?” He replied back.

“Pffts, you know what? Your one-liners stink.”

The sword yielding turtle let out a gasp and grasped where his heart would be over his plaston as if he had been shot as he looked down at you. 

“My one-liners stink like Raph’s victory stink!”

You laughed and took back his hand and Leo felt his heart flew as your warm hand was gripping onto his cold one. You took the lead and finally made it to the entrance of the pirate grounds. There were booths of stuff that were related to the pirate theme of the area and some were just random selections of things to sell. The smell of seafood and other fried foods drifted into your nose and you led Leo to the entrance. 

After getting Lost City Cash at a money machine, you both took a selfie at the front entrance, Leo bringing you close and him having to lean down due to your height.  

There was a goblin looking woman in the booth at the entrance and the woman took your money and gave each of you a bracelet to get on rides and such. 

“For an extra 20 dollars, you can have a custom pirate outfit that you can switch on and off with ease,” she explained and you and Leo shared the same look, giving the worker a simple nod. She pointed to where single bathrooms were after she got the money.

“Last one there is a rotten turtle egg!”You challenged out as you raced over to the bathroom stalls, the mutant turtle schoffing and charging after you.

With a little bit of magic, you were able to think up your very own pirate outfit with a second band around your wrist so that you could switch it off and on with ease. Leo picked the same outfit he had when he first came to the pirate utopia with Hueso, but didn’t pick an eyepatch this time since he didn’t want to trip in front of you. 

You quickly raced out of the changing room after saying thank you to the worker who helped you and looked around, your eyes trying to find the mutant turtle in the crowd. You spotted the long strands of his bandana and felt yourself shudder at how good he looked in a pirate outfit, how the white shirt clung to him and how he had his sword hung against his side instead of over his back. You swallowed the saliva that was swimming in your mouth and quickly dashed over to him, clearing your throat before you spoke in the worst pirate accent. 

“My, my, isn’t ye the best booty I’ve ever seen in these vast oceans!”

The red slider turtle quickly turned around but you moved out in front of him.

“Aye, wanna shiver me timbers?” You laughed, throwing another one-liner at him and he turned, his eyes going wide as he almost told you that if you were a pirate, you would be the most beautiful treasure that no man or woman could handle or capture. If you were a pirate he could definitely walk the plank. 

“Those jokes are so lame, that they need a peg leg,” he replied, almost hating himself fully for using one of Huesos jokes instead of his own. But you flashed him a smile anyway and motioned him to follow as you made your way through the crowd. 

The teenage turtle felt his heart leap after you and gave chase as you made it to the center of the pirate theme park. 

Once in the middle, you pulled out the map the woman at the booth gave you and started to read over the activities that you could do. 

Leo leaned down close, still a little out of breath, but his confidence had awoken him as he said: “Ya certainly put a shiver in my timber!” he said in a deep pirate accent. You booped his beak away from your face and he blew a raspberry on the index finger.

“So, there is a treasure adventure we can go on, a booth section of stuff to buy, a pirate show of a reenactment of pirate history-Oh! They have timed dances throughout the area! And you can join in!” 

“Are you going to join in?”

“Maybe. I could finally dance with someone who doesn’t only do fortnite dances and dabs.”

“Hey, my moves are almost like a work of a pirate ship.”

“Old and needs remodeling?”

“What?! No! Unique and cool.”

You rolled your eyes and wrapped your arm around Leo’s and led him to the show since it was the closest. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You stood on the pier as ships and flying creatures dashed by, the glowing lights of the underworld turning into a creamy orange to signify that the day was coming to an end. You leaned your arms over the railing as you scrolled through the photos that had been taken throughout the day. You couldn’t help but smile at seeing your goofy pictures and would scroll past the ones you took specifically of Leo without him knowing. 

Speaking of the turtle, he leaned in close to your shoulder as he noticed that your attention was not on him.

“Whatcha lookin at?” He asked, his head slowly getting closer. You felt your body grow warm and quickly turned your phone. 

“Bruh,” you giggled and he gave a quiet chuckle and tried to snatch the phone. 

“If you’re looking at something, then as your best friend I have a right to see.”

“Fine, hang on.”

You quickly saved the single photos of him into a secret file and moved the phone between them, his head still on your shoulder as he scrolled through the photos, both of you laughing at the one where you fought the pirates and failed. 

“What about you? I know you took photos of today for your social,” you commented as you placed your phone into your bag. 

Leo took out his phone and hid it out of sight since his home screen was a picture of them together at an abandoned skatepark and he had you in a piggyback ride and he just had to capture the moment. He handed his phone without thinking and started to go through your bag due to boredom.

You scrolled through the photos until you stopped at a specific one. You didn’t remember him telling you to pose for this photo; it was when you had stopped to eat dinner and you happened to watch one of the kids getting a fake pirate hook from a vendor. Your head was supported by your hand as a breeze caused your hair to ripple around your face in an alluring photo. A blush rushes to your face as if you had been hit and soon you started to scroll faster and found more photos of just you; of you waiting in line, in your pirate outfit, several were taken of you during the pirate treasure hunting, when you grabbed a candle from one of the booths in excitement, he even got a cliche photo of you holding his hand while you led him through the crowd. 

You felt your heart stop in your ribcage and looked over at the ninja turtle, who was still looking through your bag as if he was hunting for treasure. You didn’t want to snoop, but you couldn’t help but exit out of his camera roll and looked through his folders on the right side; there was a folder for comic books, shopping, epic moments, even a puns list, then found it at the bottom. It was labeled with a first letter of your name and a heart, and with twitching fingers, you opened it. It wasn’t many photos but enough to where you almost dropped his phone into the water below. There were pictures of you whenever you both hung out, and some he probably got from your social. 

Holy Hot Soup, he liked you.  

“Okay, now you really look like you have a fever,” Leo commented as he reached for his phone, causing you to swallow and quickly turned off the device and handed it back to him.

“But don’t worry, Doctor Neon Leon will help you get all better,” he said in a baby voice and wrapped his arm around you and brought you close. 

“Maybe you need some Vitamin ME,” he whispered and you laughed at yet another ridiculous one-liner made by him. He grinned at the sight of you laughing and rested himself against your side, taking in your scent and warmth. 

“Maybe I do, where do I get my prescription Aka Kamon?” You asked slyly, a shit eating grin on your face as Leo blushed. Whenever you could, you would fire back a one-liner and was overjoyed to see him be the one to get flustered and a stuttering mess. 

“ Oh, um, well,” he stuttered and mentally kicked himself as he couldn’t think of something to say back and then a question he always wanted an answer to.

“Are you ever going to tell me what those words mean?” He asked. 

“Are you ever going to open a book and find out for yourself.”

“Ha! Jokes on you, I don’t know how to read. And also, there are phones now, boomers.”

“Then look it up.”

“JuSt GiVe Me A hInT.”

You released a sigh and gave him a look while he returned to you his huge puppy dog eyes look and placed his hands together as his bottom lip wobbled as if he was trying to get out of trouble. 

“Finnnne, but only because it’s our best friend’s day.”

You poked the red stripe against his face and then pointed upward, a smirk growing on your face as he gave a confused one.

“WHAT KIND OF HINT IS THAT??”

“A pretty good one in my opinion.”

The red slider turtle let out a large groan as he crossed his arms, his face growing tight as he tried to think of what the hint meant. 

“Are you just calling me stripes but in Japanese?” He said with a groan. 

“Leo you insult me, it would be kind of stupid to call you stripes in both English and Japanese.”

He mimicked your talking right as you finished and he received an eye roll as he continued on thinking.

 So, it wasn’t the stripes, maybe the color? Or the shape?

“Man, this is hurting my brain, this best friend day sucks.” He said as he stuck his tongue out at you.

“Okay, okay. The two words are a color and a shape. Is that better?”

“Yes. Yes it is.”

You continued to watch as Leo tried to put the pieces together and you wished you could get this on video, but it would be too obvious, so instead you painted it into your mind. 

“So, the color is totally red, but the shape I’m lost at. Why did you point at the sky? Is that a clue? Why did you make this so difficult?”

“Because I’m a difficult person.”

“I do like a challenge.”

“One more hint, it’s the shape of something in the sky.”

Leo looked up at the fake Lost City sky and squinted as the fake sun started to set and the moon would start to rise. 

“Red Moon?”

“Close. It’s Red Crest.”

The blue bandana turtle searched the horizon for an answer for why you called him that as you looked away due to embarrassment. 

“Why?” He simply asked as he looked over; he could always tell when you were nervous, your eyes would always dart around and your left foot would start to shake. You rose to a tallen stance though and looked over at his hands.

“I just find your marks...alluring. In Japanese culture, the red moon is respected due to its power. I just thought you deserved to have a nickname that represented you.”

Leo felt his face go completely red that it could put Raph’s mask to so much shame that it would go bland. All this time he thought you were just calling him something insulting in Japanese, but it was a nickname that you made up for him. Not like Raph’s, Donnie’s, Mikey’s or April’s, it was one you made up for him and only him. 

“Stop looking at me before I throw you off this dock so I can live the rest of my life without this embarrassment,” you laughed nervously as your fingers combed through your hair and let out a shaky breath. 

Leo started to get his little shakes as he let out a confused laugh. 

“All this time I thought you were calling me a stupid turtle or somethin in Japanese, whoa oh boy was I wrong.”

You both looked away from each other and the atmosphere became heavy. 

Maybe I shouldn’t have said that, I still don’t know, you thought, but then you felt his finger poke your elbow and looked over at him, and the soft expression on his face almost made you melt.

“But how can I stop looking at you?”

Your breathing immediately hitched.

“Are you blushing? It’s a good feeling to know that I do it.”

You could only cover your face as you leaned against the railing on your elbows and looked between your fingers at him. You hated being so flustered up, but with Leo dripping with confidence, it made you want to curl into a muttering mess. 

Leo watched you with amusement and went to touch you, but then fell back. He remembered how he started the physical touch between you two, holding your hand, always leaning on you, every movie night you would be his cushion. But you two couldn’t kiss, couldn’t cudde too close, he couldn’t tell you he loved you more than just a best friend.  

 He hated how the day went by so fast and now he wanted to do what he has wanted to do for months. But he couldn’t work up the courage, he had a ton of one-liners to ask you out, to ask if you returned the feelings, even though he was mutant turtle that lived in the sewer and fought enemies that could destroy the whole world and wholly Ōdachi he can’t ask you to be a part of that life. 

But, the way you would smile at him and how you always gave him credit for the growth into someone you wanted to be. How you saw something in him that he didn’t even see, and he wanted to keep being whatever you saw. 

He just wanted you.

So, he worked up the courage, tried to make the sweat stop rolling down his body, and looked at person he had fallen for

“Y/N.” 

You tensed up, you had never heard Leo sound so serious in his life. 

“Yeah?” 

“With this being.....I mean if I’m wrong. Would you consider this a date-date?” He spilled out, and he wanted to climb into his shell like Mikey and never come out. He let out a gust of air and didn’t look over at you, his fingers messing within each other. It was silent between you, the city life buzzing around them as yokai’s came and went. You wanted to scream out in joy and say yes a hundred times, but you also had to be careful, along with if Leo was being a bubbly mess, you wanted to take advantage of it as long as you could. 

Spotting a red and blue flower with a bright yellow center growing on the side of the deck, you wrapped your fingers around it and pulled it from its roots. To Leo’s surprise, you pushed your way under his arm until it was back over your shoulders. The blush on his face was noticeable and with being against his chest you noticed his uneven breaths. 

“I do. And I would like more of them, if you want to.” You answered and handed him the flower. He shakenly took the flower in his hand and his confidence came crashing back to him, knowing that the feeling was mutual. As quickly as you gave him the flower he leaned over and placed the flower over your ear. Your eyes widened with surprise and quickly averted them away, a nervous but sweet chuckle escaping your lips. But the Red-eared slider never averted his gaze away from you. 

“I would like that too,” he answered back. 

You both stood there for a while, your head curled into Leo’s chest as his own head rested on yours. You were used to being close, but this was different, this filled you up with knowing and it made the physical connection much more warmer and scarier. Little lights started to flicker around as the city started to get dark, even with no sun or moon. Leo brought you closer and buried his face into your hair, a long sigh escaping his lips in content, his mind slowing down for once and just taking in this moment.

 But the moment went quicker than expected as a low yawn escaped your mouth and the red slider turtle remembered that it was getting late. 

“Alright, sleepy head, I think it’s time to raise anchor and set sail for home,” he joked as he lifted himself off of you and then held out his hand. With a roll of your eyes, you gladly took it and let him lead you back to the entrance of the Pirate Bazaar. He could just use his sword, but he wanted to juice out every moment with you.

The hand hold was different in some way, you gripped his hand tighter and when he came to a stop you would use your other hand to lightly touch his biccup before continuing on. 

You gave the booth teller their costume bracelets back and walked a few feet ahead before Leo pulled out his sword and created a portal. 

He once again bowed his head as he moved to the side. 

“After you.”

Through tired eyes she gave him a smirk as she was halfway through the portal. 

“Thank you.” 

He followed you through the portal and took the step onto your apartment’s fire escape, the flashing lights of New York City spilling over your side as you opened your bedroom window;  throwing your bag inside before turning to Leo. You both turned to each other and then quickly averted eye-contact with each other. 

“I had a lot of fun today, Leo. Thanks for being a good fri-” you stopped yourself since you didn’t know if you two were still just friends, or more.

He let out a laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. 

“Yeah, chief, it was,” Leo said  and then let out a groan at the terrible execution.

 You knew that you had to make the first move now or else you both would accidentally place yourselves into the “friend zone”.

 “Leo, can you bend down a little bit?”

“Why? Tired of being the only short one?”

“You can say that.”

He bent down till he was on your level, a smug smile on his lips. You let out your form of a chuckle as you curved your fingers under his chin. The teenage turtle instantly felt weak in the knees and thought that his legs would give out from under him and became a stuttering mess as you both made eye-contact. 

“Um, haha, is it hot or did you know that, uhh,” he mumbled as you tilted his head to the side and placed a small kiss against his red stripe, instantly making his whole body, for once in his life, burning. 

Your lips were soft against his skin and he stood there as you leaned away and climbed back into your room. 

“Goodnight, Leo,”you mumbled, your hands shaking against the window. 

“N-night.”

You closed the window and walked away while Leo stood there, his mind racing a hundred miles an hour. He got a kiss from you, from you. He never felt so much adrenaline rush through his body and all he wanted to do was go back in time so he could’ve moved his lips over. 

He took a step towards the window and then took that step back. What should he do? What could he do? Were you both dating now? Or were you two at the very edge of the line of a relationship?

He wanted to call his brothers or April for advice, especially since she would slap some sense into him. His shakes were coming back.

He let out a grunt and rubbed his eyes as he tried to decide what to do. He looked back at the window and saw that you had turned on your lights. He walked up to the window and knocked.

You had just gotten out of the bathroom when you heard the light tap against your window and your heart started to race faster than it already was. You were already shaken up by having enough courage to kiss him but if that was him then what if he didn’t want the kiss?

The knock came again and you took a few deep breaths before you moved the curtain aside and there he was, his face all flustered up as he gave a small wave as she opened the window. 

“Yes?” You questioned as you leaned your hands over the window seal. You hoped that the silky night of the sky hid your flustered face.

“I honestly didn’t think this far ahead,” he spilled out as he let out a nervous laugh as he leaned against the window. 

You looked up at him and Leo blinked several times in wonderment at the startled expression that crossed your face. Leo took a deep breath and gave you his signature shit-eating grin.

“Knock knock.”

“Wow, you’re doing jokes in the same place now are ya?”

“Just do the joke.”

You giggled and fluttered your eyes mockingly at him.

“Can I who?”

“Who’s there?

“Can I?”

“Can I...Can I kiss you?”

Even though it was a terrible joke, you felt like you could throw up all of your guts for how fast your heart rate was. Kissing him on the cheek was a challenge but at least you didn’t have to worry about his lips against yours. Do turtles have lips? Or beaks?

The word yes slipped out before you had a second thought. 

Before you knew it, Leo’s hands were slipping into your own, the tip of your fingers shaking but Leo reinsured you with a stroke of his thumb  You looked up at him and was taken aback at how handsome he was, how his stripes glowed in the moonlight and his blue bandana flew behind him as he leaned down. 

Oh you were glad he didn’t have his lips puckered or drool hanging out of his mouth like in the cartoons. 

Swallowing any other signs of panic that were trying to build in your body as you leaned in. 

The city of New York continued on around you both as the kiss ended; it was soft and sweet, not a full one, but it left both of you speechless. You felt as if your stomach was falling apart and Leo thought he could slip off the stairway. He was still holding your hands before you both departed, but with your free hands, you grabbed his face and brought him in once again. The red slider turtle’s eyes went wide as moons as this kiss much more, more than he could ever dream of. 

He wrapped his arms around your waist and slightly lifted you up, burying his face into yours under the moonlight. He tangled himself around you as your hands wrapped around his neck and Leo felt his stomach flip at the actions. Your shirt was warm against his chest and he tried to focus in on that instead of the worry of messing this up. He leaned more down as his hand slipped into the back of your neck. Due to the lack of experience, the kiss was sloppy and messy and anxiety swam between the connection between the two of you. 

But it was a tender memory of a kiss between the two of you, to remember as your first. 

You both finally separated, your chest heaving as you tried to get your feelings under control. His arms were still wrapped around you and your hands had slipped down onto his plaston, the hard material rising and falling under your fingers. Leo felt himself lean back, the shock setting in that he just had his first kiss and it was that deep and romantic and that….

The teen turtle felt his shell bump against the railing and you quickly latched onto him to stop him from falling, a horse laugh coming out of your mouth. 

“Guess you can say that you’re falling for me?” You asked, Leo knew now that he had to have a fever for how hot his face felt. He let out a few breathless laughs as he tried to calm himself down, longing and fear still lingering in his heart. 

All he could do was pull you into a hug and whisper out, “I just want to stay here and kiss and hold you and Y/N I can't feel my heart.”

He buried himself into your neck as he once again slightly picked you up, hoping that your warm body would calm him down, but the organ in his chest raced on as you hugged him back, your arms barely going around his shell. 

“Leo, will you be my boyfriend?”

My boyfriend. My boyfriend. My boyfriend. My boyfriend.

The words rang in his head like chimes as he slightly pulled away to look at her, the harsh blush on her face giving him an ego boost as he grinned at her. 

“Being called a boyfriend, eh? Neon Leon already has so many cool names, but boyfriend is probably the best name to be called, especially if it’s only you saying it.”

“Probably? I guess I should just give the boyfriend title to someone else, then.”

“What?! No, no, no. I already called it, I’m your boyfriend capiche? Now come here.” He pulled you into a tight hug and gave you a little spin, a laugh escaping your throat as you held on.

“Leo! We can fall, and my back cannot handle cement like yours!” 

[charincharge]

I Don’t Want To Wait, eleven

rowaelin high school bff au masterlist

Based on the prompt:

“Person A falls into Person B’s lap”

A crowd of screaming students streamed past the window as Aelin slouched down at her desk. The last day of school was supposed to mean early release, ice cream down by the pier and finally celebrating two whole months of freedom.

But not today. Not for Aelin. Instead, she was in hell.

She barely paid attention as Principal Havilliard explained their detention task, though she didn’t miss her fellow detentionee’s groans as he spilled the ancient library card catalogue onto the floor, his foot shuffling them even further out of order.

“I have paperwork I’ll be doing in my office right next door, and I will notice if this door opens one inch. You have three hours to put these cards back in order,” he smirked, his boot-covered foot shoving the cards around some more. “See you all at seven.”

Aelin glanced over at Rowan, hoping for any kind of assurance, but just like the last twenty hours, he refused to acknowledge her. She knew she’d screwed up; she wasn’t sure she’d ever felt so awful as when she saw Rowan’s red-rimmed eyes pick her up for school this morning. She’d apologized profusely, over and over until she wasn’t sure she could apologize anymore, but he just shrugged stiffly and refused to look at her. It had felt like the longest day of her life, and it still wasn’t over.

“Some for youuu,” Dorian cooed, scooping up the cards from the floor and plopping a pile onto Rowan’s desk.

“Some for youuu,” he continued around the room, distributing cards to Manon, who Aelin had been not entirely surprised to see in detention. Dorian dumped the remainder of cards on his and Aelin’s desks, smartly avoiding an already-napping Lorcan in the back corner of the room.

“It’ll be finished fastest if we separate by letter, and then organize each letter,” Dorian explained.

Manon laughed as she started sorting. “Your dad make you do this on your free time?” she asked.

“You know it, babe,” he said with a wink. “Nah,” he said, shaking his head with a wry smile. “My dad just loves giving me detention.”

Dorian kicked up his feet onto the desk as he began his sorting, aimlessly chatting with Manon.

As Aelin began her own sorting, she glanced over at Rowan again. He was dutifully separating his own piles, shoulders tensed, as if he could feel Aelin’s gaze on him, his own eyes boring holes into the desk in front of him, refusing to look up. She hoped against all hopes that he’d look up and all would be forgiven, but she knew that wasn’t likely. Fuck. She’d really fucked up. She had no idea what to do or say to make it better. She felt entirely out of her depth. Rowan had never ignored her for this long, and she was starting to feel like a drug addict going through withdrawal. She was tweaking, in desperate need of any kind of acknowledgment – a flash of his dark green eyes, a smile, a nod… anything.

Instead, they sat in tense silence, the only sound the shuffling of index cards. The minutes ticked by, endlessly, and Aelin could feel herself growing more frustrated with Rowan’s silence with every passing second. She knew she was about to burst.

“L’s are done,” Rowan said, pushing a stack of index cards to the corner of his desk. Manon collected them and dropped them onto the front desk, adding them to her own pile.

Aelin glanced at the giant wall clock. 4:45. Only two hours and fifteen minutes more of the silent treatment. She groaned and placed her head down on the desk.

“Okay, what’s going on with you two?” Dorian asked, pointing at Aelin and Rowan. Rowan’s back stiffened, going ram-rod straight as he frowned at Dorian’s question. “Aren’t you supposed to be best friends?”

Rowan scrunched his nose up and finally, finally glanced toward Aelin. The pain in his eyes nearly knocked Aelin out. She inhaled sharply, biting on her lip, trying to hold back the onslaught of emotions just a look from Rowan caused.

“We are best friends,” Rowan mumbled, causing the knot in Aelin’s chest to unfurl slightly.

“Then again,” Dorian smirked. “I repeat. What’s going on with you two?” he asked. “Because you’re kind of acting like you hate each other.”

“We don’t hate each other,” Aelin burst out, her heart pounding.

Rowan frowned, finally putting all his attention on her. “I don’t know,” he began. “What you did was pretty hateful.”

Aelin leaned toward him, her voice hoarse with desperation. “And I said I was sorry a million times. I’m sorry,” she said again.

“Ooh,” Dorian perched himself on a desk between the fighting pair, looking back and forth at the dueling friends. “Should we all talk it out?”

“No,” Rowan snapped, going back to his card organization.

“Boo,” Manon jeered, joining in on what Aelin would rather not have as a group discussion, causing a bright smile to appear on Dorian’s face. He was living for this drama, apparently. “Kind of sounds like you two just need to kiss and make up.”

Aelin’s cheeks flushed at the mention of kissing, which she tried to push down immediately, covering her face with her loose hair.

“Mind your own business,” Rowan frowned, bravely talking back to Manon in a way that Aelin was sure would get him snapped at. But instead, a feral grin appeared on Manon’s face as she twirled a piece of her white blonde hair with a long nail.

“Oh come on. I dare you.”

“What?” he asked.

“I dare you to kiss Aelin,” Manon repeated smugly.

She raised her eyebrows at Rowan, who’s lips turned down even further.

“Don’t be stupid,” Rowan said, rolling his eyes. Aelin stomach hurt with how fast he’d dismissed the idea. “I’m not kissing Aelin on a dare.”

“Why not?” Dorian asked. “I will.”

Dorian slid off his desk and leaned over Aelin’s. Aelin leaned back, laughing softly at Dorian’s half-hearted attempt to bring his lips closer to her face, and swatted him away.

“Very mature,” Rowan grumbled, tugging his fingers through his hair as he glared in Aelin’s direction again.

“Oh, come on,” Dorian prodded. “We all need a break anyway. Let’s play truth or dare.”

Rowan scoffed loudly, never stopping organizing his cards on his desk. “What are we, in seventh grade?”

“Don’t be a pussy, Whitethorn,” Lorcan called out from the back corner of the room. Everyone’s heads whipped around at the sound of his gravelly voice. Aelin watched with curiosity as he stood, his large arms stretching overhead as he cracked his back and neck loudly.

“Truth or dare,” Manon chanted. “Truth or dare! Truth or dare!”

Aelin laughed as Dorian and Lorcan both joined in, slowly approaching Rowan’s desk until he was surrounded.

“Fine!” he shouted.

“Great!” Dorian ruffled Rowan’s hair, earning another disgruntled frown from the blonde. “Manon, truth or dare?”

“Dare!” she answered excitedly.

“I dare you to flash us,” Dorian said with a devilish smile, causing Manon to roll her eyes.

“Boys.” She shook her head. “So fucking predictable.”

Her voice was deadpan, but she fulfilled the dare regardless, lifting her shirt to show the room her black bra. The boys’ jaws dropped slightly, completely silent as she pulled her shirt back down and fluffed her hair, completely unphased.

“Lorcan,” Manon drawled. Before she could even ask the question, he puffed out his chest and grinned.

“Dare.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

Her golden eyes glowed as she pretended to think over her question. “I dare you to kiss Dorian,” she gleamed, showing off a perfect row of white teeth.

Lorcan merely rolled his eyes again. “What, you think I’m going to get all no-homo, as if I haven’t had a threesome with another dude before?” Manon shrugged. “C’mere, pretty boy, gimme a kiss.” Lorcan laughed as Dorian mimed pointing to himself, as if to ask Who, me?

Aelin blushed furiously. She knew that seniors were more experienced than she was. Well, a lot of people were more experienced than she was. But a threesome? She could feel herself heat up as Lorcan slid his hand into Dorian’s hair and placed his mouth over his for a hard kiss. Dorian’s mouth moved in tandem with the senior’s, until Lorcan left him with a soft press of his lips and a cocky grin.

Dorian cleared his throat. “I mean, I get it,” he admitted. “Why everyone’s lining up to fuck you.”

“Not everyone,” Lorcan said, flashing his dark eyes at Manon for a loaded second. Aelin remembered all of Manon’s callous rejections and wondered if there was more to the story than they were seeing. She was so wrapped up in trying to figure it out that she barely even registered when Lorcan turned his attention to her.

Lorcan grinned widely. “Aelin, truth or dare?”

“Umm…” She paused. It was no secret that Lorcan wasn’t her biggest fan. And she had a feeling he was getting ready to torture her. She had no desire to flash an audience or kiss anyone but Rowan, so she decided to go with the safer answer.

“Truth,” she answered nervously.

“Who in school are you hottest for?” he asked.

“What?” Aelin squeaked, her voice going unnaturally high as all eyes turned to her.

“Who in school are you hottest for?” Lorcan repeated. “Who do you lust after? Who do you think about when you listen to I Touch Myself?”

Aelin’s mouth dropped as she gaped like a fish. “I…I…” Her cheeks burned as she scanned the faces in front of her, trying not to pause on the dark green eyes that were suddenly rife with curiosity. “Did I say truth? I meant dare,” she said, changing tactics.

Lorcan rolled his eyes and motioned this thumb downward. “Booo.” He made a raspberry sound with his lips as he stuck out his tongue. “Fine, I dare you to give one of us… whoever you want… a sexy lap dance for thirty seconds.”

“I don’t know how to do that!” Aelin croaked out, getting more stressed by the second. She’d have to choose someone. She wanted to choose Rowan, of course. She’d be most comfortable being close to him like that, but she hated that he was still so mad at her. She didn’t want to risk upsetting him even more.

“One or the other. We’re waiting, Aelin,” Lorcan drawled.

The room silenced as Aelin stood and looked at the four students sitting in front of her, laps ready and waiting for her. She was about to take a step toward Rowan when his eyes went to the floor, avoiding her gaze, and she redirected, stepping in front of Manon.

Aelin glanced over her shoulder. “I wish I had music,” she complained.  

“I’ve got you,” Lorcan smirked, pulling out his phone from his back pocket. Of course he’d smuggled his into detention. He cued up some rap song with a thumping bass that Aelin wasn’t familiar with, and she took a deep breath as she pretended she didn’t have an audience.

Her hips swayed side to side, dipping lower.

“Lap dance means on her lap, prude,” Lorcan shouted, and Aelin resisted the urge to glare at him over her shoulder. Instead, she got closer to Manon, pushing her legs wider as she awkwardly shimmied between them. She turned around and leaned her head back as she felt Manon’s hands at her sides, helping her maintain her balance as she dipped low to the ground.

“Annnd… time,” Dorian said, clapping loudly as Manon threw Aelin a wink. Adrenaline pounding through her shaky legs, Aelin barely stood upright before tripping over Manon’s extended foot and plopping into Rowan’s lap.

He stood nearly as soon as she fell, hands firmly placed around her waist as he shoved her away from him. “Gods, Aelin, be careful!” he reprimanded her, and Aelin felt tears prick at her eyes. Rowan had never acted like this with her before. He’d said she was still his best friend earlier, but now she wasn’t too sure. His eyes were stormy with upset. All she wanted was for him to smile again.

“Sorry,” she mumbled her apology, and he awkwardly shook her off. It was then she realized it wa her turn. To ask Rowan.

“Rowan,” she said, her voice shaky. “Truth or dare.”

“Truth…” he answered carefully.

“What else do I need to do to make this better?” she asked. She just needed an answer. Anything to do to repair what she’d clearly destroyed.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged.

Dorian made a loud buzzer sound. “That’s not a satisfactory answer.”

“Even if I really don’t know?” Rowan answered, exasperated. Dorian shook his head, and Rowan practically growled in frustration.

“Your original dare still stands,” Manon said, sing-song. “You can always decide to kiss Aelin.”

“Fine,” Rowan said, causing Aelin’s heart to skip a beat.

“What?” her eyes widened, clearly not hearing right.

“I’m taking the dare,” Rowan said with an annoyed glare. “I’m kissing you.”

Aelin wished the ground would open and swallow her whole. She didn’t want Rowan to kiss her on a dare. That was not how she’d imagined that happening. Especially not while he was so mad at her.

“No!” Aelin exclaimed, chest thumping wildly as panic flooded her system.

“No?” Manon scoffed.

“I don’t consent to this dare!” she squeaked out.

Rowan wound his arms tightly across his chest, clearly getting more annoyed with Aelin by the second. “It’s just a kiss. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Maybe not to you, she wanted to scream. But instead, she swallowed back the lump in her throat and nodded softly. Rowan visibly relaxed at her agreement, but as soon as he started to lean forward, Aelin couldn’t help but think how wrong it all was. She didn’t want her first kiss with Rowan to be because of a stupid dare. She wanted him to want to kiss her. And she certainly didn’t want an audience for it. She’d imagined kissing Rowan so many times, but never in her wildest dreams had she imagined it would happen like this.

His lips had barely brushed hers when Aelin turned her head to the side, so his mouth landed just beyond the corner of her lips, making full contact with her cheek instead.

“Burn,” Lorcan cackled loudly, causing a flood of embarrassment to rush through her.

“Sorry,” Aelin whispered.

“S’fine,” Rowan mumbled, his cheeks stained with red as he looked anywhere but her.

“Kisses mean something to me,” she finally said.

“Spoken like a real virgin,” Lorcan heckled, and Aelin could feel herself shrink even further. Rowan spun around on his heel, his chest heaving as he unleashed on his teammate.

“What is your fucking problem, man?” Rowan spat as Lorcan stoically raised a dark brow in his direction. “I get it, she made you look like an idiot, wounded your manhood or whatever, but you need to let up.”

Lorcan held his hands up in mock surrender and meandered back to his seat, grumbling something about “stupid sophomores.”

Rowan sat loudly back at his desk, clearly seething as he began shuffling through his index cards again. Aelin flushed with relief at his defense of her. She wanted to throw her arms around him and thank him, but instead she threw him a grateful glance, which he accepted with a small nod. It wasn’t a smile, but she’d take it.

“Game over?” Dorian asked, and Manon nodded quickly, retreating to her desk.

“Virginity is just a concept, anyway. Don’t let anyone convince you that you’re losing anything when you have sex,” Manon said too loudly in Aelin’s direction. “It’s a sexist concept created by men to boost them up and control women’s bodies. Sex means different things to different people, and anyone who tries to make you feel bad about your sexual experience or lack of it deserves a special place in hell.”

Aelin had never appreciated someone as much as she did Manon in that moment. Lorcan pretended not to listen and shoved his earbuds further into his ear, slumping back into his seat.

“Thanks,” Aelin said quietly, and Manon shrugged.

The four of them worked quietly for the remaining hour of detention, shuffling the cards back into alphabetical order with methodical ease.

When Principal Havilliard returned at 7pm on the dot, Aelin sighed with relief. “Have a good summer,” he said, effectively dismissing them and walking out the door.

Aelin lingered, hoping to steal a moment with Rowan, but it seemed that he was anxious to get somewhere else.

“Glad I’ll never have to deal with you again,” Lorcan mocked as he made his way to the door. “Fire breathing bitch,” he hissed, passing her by.

Fury steamed at his words, and Aelin stood quickly, wanting to launch herself at him. Her fist reared back, ready to punch, but it was restrained as Rowan stepped in front of her and took his own swing, his fist cracking loudly against Lorcan’s nose.

Blood dribbled from the nose as Lorcan staggered backward, laughing maniacally. “Oh man,” he laughed. “Good for you, Whitethorn,” he said as he wiped the blood away with the back of his hand. “See ya never,” he said, glancing between the two of them and giving a half-hearted salute.

Rowan hissed as he clutched at his fist. “Fuck, that shit really hurts.”

“Rowan!” Aelin raced to his side to assess his reddened knuckles. She pressed against the skin gently, checking for broken bones, and he loosened his fist, letting her examine each finger carefully. She glanced up at him, and he was watching her with a cautious gaze. But when she went to remove her hand from his, he squeezed her fingers softly.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said, squeezing his fingers back lightly. “But thank you.”

“He was pissing me off,” Rowan replied.

“I’m so sorry, Rowan,” Aelin said again, and Rowan sighed loudly as he stretched out his sore fingers.

“I know you are, Ace.” He rubbed at his face. “It’s just going to take me a while you get the image of your dead body out of my head. It was… fucked up.”

Aelin was about to apologize again when Rowan stopped her. “And I know you’re sorry. But I’m allowed to be mad for a while, okay?”

Aelin nodded in understanding.

“Well,” Aelin cleared her throat. “Thanks for defending me, even when you’re mad at me.”

Rowan finally cracked a smile; it was the most beautiful thing Aelin had ever seen. “Yeah, well, as infuriating as you might be, no one is allowed to talk shit about you. Except me, of course.”

“Of course,” Aelin replied too quickly. She tried to hide her smile, but she couldn’t. Just a small amount of attention from Rowan, and she felt her heart mending itself.

Rowan groaned, frustrated. “How do you do that?”

“What?” Aelin asked, perplexed.

“Like, two minutes ago, I was still furious with you!” He exclaimed, exasperated. “And now…”

“And now you’re… not?” Aelin asked, hopefully as they made their way to their lockers to collect their things. The school was eerily empty, everyone long gone to their first night of summer plans.

“Just. Never again, Aelin.” She nodded rapidly. “I’m serious.”

“Want to get that truce dinner?” she asked. “I felt too guilty last night to eat anything.”

As if on cue, Rowan’s phone buzzed with an incoming text. And Aelin had a feeling she knew exactly who it was from. “Unless you have somewhere else to be?”

“Nope,” he said, shoving the phone into his pocket.

“I can’t believe we’ve both punched Lorcan Salvaterre,” Aelin giggled as he led them out to his car.

“Just call us Rocky I and Rocky II,” Rowan said, draping his arm across her shoulders, causing Aelin to laugh wildly.

“That’s not their names.”

“They’re not?” he asked. “Then why are the movies called that?”

Aelin shook her head and leaned into his side. As she and Rowan bantered about the movies he clearly needed to watch in the near future, Aelin finally had hopes for the future. It was going to be a good summer. She just knew it.  

~*~

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[imnotasuperhero]

I would lie and say you’re not in my mind.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Stark!Reader

Type: Angst.

Summary: Reader finds herself alone, with no explanation as to where Wanda went. And life without her was a true nightmare she could only scape with not-so-nice coping mechanisms.

Wordcount: 2644

Warnings: Drug abuse, one suicidal thought and depression.

A/N: This is my submission for @jbbarnesnnoble writing challenge! I’m so sorry for the delay. Life and work got in the middle, leaving me drained to get some actual writing done. You can search this and other works with the tag #JBBNNMHAMChallenge which deals with different types of mental healt, as to raise awarenes about it.

A/N 2: Since it’s inspired in real events, I decided to twist this and give it a happy ending. People need to know there is hope. No matter how hard life becomes, you’ve got this and you shouldn’t suffer alone. Fight your fear and seek for help. I promise, life is worth living.

A huge than you to @marvelfansince08love for enduring her patience with my rants and mini meltdown about this monster. I could never thank you enough for puting up with my dumb ass, boo. I owe you a lot! <3

If you guys want more, I might have a plot for some kind of spin-off for this story. Just let me know. Also, criticism is welcomed.

"Miss Stark," one of the executives called your attention. "Your nose is bleeding."

Automatically, your fingers found your nose and yup, it was happening. Fucking hell.

Excusing yourself, you left the conference room with rapid steps to the closest bathroom, dismissing whoever you crossed on your way. You weren't new to this, after all.

Once you got the bleeding under control, you inspected yourself in the mirror. The reflection staring back at you was nothing like your old self. The circles under the eyes needed much more concealing and your smiles were forced. But at least you picked a black blouse today, which it'll do until you got a chance to go back home and change.

"Are you sure you don't want to go home?" Julia asked sheepishly.

"No. I'm capable of handling the rest of the day," you mumbled as you finished the last touches to your make-up.

"Mr. Stark could find-"

"Mr. Stark will find out shit," you cut your assistant. "This is just a sneeze that caused a vein to pop. Understood?" You could see how the woman in front of you shivered slightly and you almost laugh at it. You've become so pity.

"Y-yes, Miss. Is there anything else I can do?"

"No." You inspected yourself in the mirror once again before walking out. "Go over the rest of my day and make sure you send the informs to Stewart."

Fortunately, the day progressed smoothly with very few bumps. And none of them were about you, so you took it as a victory.

Kicking your high heels after closing the door behind you, you started to strip while walking towards the bathroom. The weekend was finally here, which meant you could wind out and enjoy your own company. After the latest events on Beto's, you made sure to lay low for a while. You didn't need another clingy bitch hanging from you all the time. You were just a gal wanting to have some release. Nothing more, nothing less.

In the middle of your calming bath, the sharp razor you kept for emergencies caught your eyes. 'God, it'd be so easy.' You thought to yourself. Just a little line in the right place would do it. The consuming pain would disappear and you'd be free. Hell, maybe you'd find her again in the afterlife.

Before you could continue the line of thoughts, your phone rang with your dad's personalized ringtone. Something you made sure of for when you were doing not-so-nice activities.

"Hey, dad." You absentmindedly sank deeper in the tub. The bubbly water covering up to under your jaw.

"Hi, Peanut." Tony's voice soothed your damaged soul the littlest bit. "It's been a while. How are you?"

"I'm fine," you answered nonchalantly. Lying has become second nature by now. "Living the life. How are you guys?"

"That's what I called you about. Pepper and I want you to come to spend the weekend here. We barely see you outside work so we thought it'd be nice to take advantage of the long weekend. Pleeeeaaase? With a cherry on top?" He finished in a child's voice and you felt your heart squeeze itself.

Truth was, you were tired of lying all the time. You were tired of faking and saying you were okay when you weren't.

"Okay," you sighed. 

"Yay!" Yup, he was a child. "We'll get your room ready. We'll have your favorite."

You didn't know the exact moment you started crying, your dad going a mile a minute talking about his latest invention and how he'd love for you to help him figure out the last touches.

Hanging up, you finally let out the awaiting sobs. Memories of an easier -and happier- time plaguing your mind, making it harder and harder to breathe. Life without her sucked balls.

After drying yourself and throwing on a fresh pair of pajamas, you quickly fixed your bag for the weekend, knowing fully well you'll wake up with just the right spare time before you had to leave for your dad's.

The next morning, you woke up before your alarm went off, which would be fine if it weren't for Wanda appearing in your dreams. Promises of a better life and reaching milestones together, fanning the painful fire in your heart.

Walking to your stash, you retrieved the white powder, forming three consecutive lines on your nightstand. A small straw between your fingers ready to be used. You wouldn't be able to consume when you were at your dad's, so you better took your chance before it was too late. Odin knew you needed the boost.

Stopping at a random café a few blocks from your home, you quickly got yourself a black coffee and a muffin before hitting the pedal once again, changing the playlist to something more upbeat. 

Soon enough, your mind drifted to the impromptu road trips you'd do with Wanda. Sometimes even a week-long trip. Just the two of you apart from the chaos of your lives. 

Out on the road, it was only laughs, music, and fast food with the occasional make-out sessions. God, if you could, you'd live in the past forever. 

Stepping out of your car, you couldn't help the smile that broke your face. Working in the same place as your dad didn't mean you've got to see him every day. And being honest, you were happy he offered you scape from her curse.

"Hi, dad." You answered once you reached him, returning his hug. And boy, didn't you felt safe in those strong arms. They never failed to soothe you.

After what seemed like hours of walking around your dad's property, you and Pepper came back to the house ready for a refreshing iced tea. But any trace of a nice calming bath dissipated away when you say your dad standing in the middle of the living room, his face stoic.

"What's this?" The quietness of his voice freezing your blood.

"I'm waiting, Y/N." 

You cringed at your dad's voice. The disappointment showing in his eyes made you regret not checking before you grabbed a random bag for this trip.

"Look me in the eyes and tell me this is not what I think it is," he begged, showing you and Pepper the almost empty baggy between his fingers. And you ignored him. He already knew the truth, after all. "Say it," he growled.

"So the bleeding nose-"

"Screw you," you muttered, cutting Pepper mid-sentence.

"Hey! That's no way to talk to her,"

"You know what?" You walked to your dad, looking up to his eyes. "Yes, I'm an addict. Good job, Sherlock. Now you can get rid of me as you did with my mom. After all, you never wanted me in the first place, so why should it matter." You snapped with burning tears in your eyes. "There's no need to keep faking it anymore." You walked away, leaving them mouth agape, trying to process your words.

Plopping down on your bed, you couldn't help the feeling of failure igniting inside you. The tears in your eyes burning your eyes as they appeared, flowing down your cheeks as the sadness and emptiness became just too much to handle.

You didn't remember when was the last time you were genuinely happy. And it sucked that it depended on someone. It sucked and you despised it more than anything. But then again, Wanda was everything you'd need to live in this world. Always positive, with a smile so bright that could light up the darkest room. Her eyes? God, you loved losing yourself in those green orbs of hers in the afterglow. And now you had to live without all these little things that made you happy. All the little moments of joy were gone, tuning you into this sack of bones and flesh, with no expectations for life.

It wasn't till much later that night that you left your room, after ignoring your dad's callings.

Padding your way to the bar, you served yourself a whiskey. The burning on your troat a welcomed feeling. Your mind going back to her, as it was the normalcy since she dusted away, leaving you with thousands of questions and a hole in your heart that you knew well you could never fill again. How could you, when you knew she was it? how could you even try to patch it up, when you knew there was no one else like her?

One whiskey turned into 5 and you didn't know when you started to cry, considering you thought there were no tears left after all these years. But the strong hand on your shoulder made you snap from your pity party, hurriedly drying your tears. Crying was for the weak, and boy were you weak.

"I'm sorry," you drowned the last of your drink before looking up, mustering the best stoic face you could.

"You don't need to fake around me, Peanut. We're family," your dad poured you another drink as he got one himself. 

"Look, what happened with your mother has nothing to do with you." He continued once he sat beside you. "And I would never leave you alone, Y/N. No matter how many headaches you give me." He joked but composed himself when you didn't react to it. "I- Pepper is pregnant. And we really want you in the baby's life. But.. Look, if there was a way to bring her back, I would. In a heartbeat. But Y/N, you have to understand, she wouldn't like this version of you. If not for yourself, do it for us,"

You wanted to speak, you wanted to answer him. But the lump in your throat was too big to swallow and the knife in your heart twisted when you saw your dad's eyes tearing up. And fuck did it hurt. To see him cry -for the first time- pained you like hell. And knowing you were the cause of those tears made you feel like you were the worst person alive. 

"I-," you paused to gather your bearings, but your dad beat you to it.

"I know, Peanut," his arms surrounded you in that way that only him could.

"I promise you," he continued once you broke away. "One day, it will get easier. Those feelings will never fully go away, but it will get easier." He dried your tear-stained cheeks softly. "You are not alone. And she'll always be with you,"

 And despite the grief eating you from the inside, you knew you had to live. For them. For her.

The next few months had been a true rollercoaster. You didn't know the abstinence would affect you so badly. And while others would have it much worse, you couldn't help the change of moods and the few tears you caused to those around you. Not to mention, the significant drop in your moods. But you also knew better. You've kept your word, and you hadn't touched it again. 

Under Natasha's supervision, you got rid of every secret stash you had at both, your apartment and your office, and you deleted the number of your dealer. And even if sometimes it seemed like hell would manifest itself as Nat was your watcher, you couldn't be more glad because, admittedly, the woman had balls and she did knew how to bribe you, to the point that you'd even quit drinking even if it was more of a social addiction, in your case. That, mixed with Natasha's friendship and support -as well as those around you- and the birth of Morgan, your little sister had you believing once more, even if you knew you'd never get to be the same person you once were. 

The little bundle of joy had come to this world with a few rays of sunshine for you, finally opening your eyes and making you realize that there was hope. Even if you never saw her again, life was worth living and you'd live it for her at your best capacity. 

So when Pepper asked you to babysit Morgan for a few days, considering she couldn't bring a 2 months old baby with her, you accepted in a heartbeat.

But as you were awoken by a fussing Morgan, after an eventful night in which you barely slept, you realized this might've not been your brightest idea.

Inhaling deeply, you got up and walked to her room, picking her up from her crib and rocking her as you made your way to the kitchen. Babies were a fucking clock. Which only served to add to your decision of never having kids. 

If you were on the verge of tears most of the time, wishing deeply for her parents to come back so you could have time for yourself, you knew you'd be mental if you had to live through this for the rest of your life.

Your ears catching the front door opening made you stop mid singing, turning around as you walked to the hushed words as you feed a calmed down Morgan just to stop dead in your tracks when you saw her. The only reason you stood still, was the baby in your arms. 

Your eyes scanned the room, looking for a sign that this was just a dream. That the image of your girlfriend was just a projection of your mind, like so many other times before during these 5 years since she disappeared from your arms. But the silence surrounding you all and 8 pairs of eyes inspecting you made you realize that this wasn't a dream.

The cries of Morgan took you all from your reverie and soon, Pepper was by your side, taking the baby from your arms before kissing the top of your head, something she always did whenever you felt unsettled.

"Peanut-"

"Is she real?" You questioned as you scrutinized a fidgety Wanda, who stood by the door, ready to run away if needed.

Natasha could sense your turmoil growing with every single second that passed and soon enough you felt a strong pair of arms supporting you, ready to catch you if you fell.

"She's here, Maliska. We brought her back," she spoke quietly, making sure you understood her words.

The wild thoughts on your mind got you walking towards her. The need to touch her and prove yourself that she was back, got your fingers itching. You could feel the blood running in your ears and you shaking steps as you got closer to who you thought was gone forever, leaving you empty and moving through life like a zombie.

The choke that broke through you when your hand cupped her cheek got you smiling as tears rolled down with every erratic thump of your heart.

"You're here," you whispered, afraid of breaking the spell you've found yourself into. 

But you couldn't stay in that thought for long because an intimately familiar pair of arms surrounded you as Wanda threw yourself at you, hiding her face on the crook of your neck.

Feeling her hot breath against your skin was all you needed to finally give in and hold her with all you had, knowing that she was here; with you.

You didn't know how long you both stood there, holding each other and basking in the calmness that surrounded you. All your previous tormenting thoughts dissipated in that exact moment. Wanda was back and you found the hole in your heart start to fill itself.

"Hi, Printsessa," Wanda murmured against your neck, kissing her way up to your jaw, peppering your face with kisses before she finally kissed your lips. And boy, did your knees trembled.

After 5 long years, the lips you've got used to kissing whenever you pleased were once against yours, igniting all the love and hope and good things you got to feel once upon a time.

You can find the continuation, here (:

Taglist: @summergeezburr @wannabe-fic-reader @natasha-danvers @jumbojamba47 @rooskaya-yelena @sananabdliw @aaron-despair @username23345 @nate-the-dreamer @higherfurther-romanova

[brockkboeserr]

feel something pt 1 - jj

On the outside, you’re a kook princess with a seemingly perfect life and a perfect family. The expectations are suffocating you, to the point where the only thing you feel is numb. You’re chasing different coping mechanisms in order to feel something. Until a chance encounter with a certain blond pogue you know you’re supposed to hate gives rise to a different kind of feeling.

Warnings: angst, toxic behaviour, poor coping mechanisms, drug usage, mentions of sex, mentions of suicidal ideations (brief), Rafe being a grade a asshole, shitty parents

Pairings: JJ x reader (eventually), Rafe x reader (slight), Topper x reader (slight)

Words: 3.1k

A/N: I accidentally deleted this, ugh sorry if you see this again!! I started off wanting to write a supremely angsty one shot, turned into a supremely angsty multi-chapter fic. This is a slow burn, babyy. Here’s the set up, let me know what you think! :)

series masterlist

You stand teetering on the edge of the balcony railing, barefoot and facing the waves as they crash onto the beach. You’re not thinking about jumping. At least you’re pretty sure you won’t actually jump. Really you’re just looking for even a flicker of an emotion to stir up in your chest. Lately you haven’t felt anything more than mild annoyance at your parent’s constant bickering and pestering. You know you’re too young, but all you feel anymore is numb. You lift your left leg, balancing precariously on the right for a minute before lowering it and returning to the balcony and slipping your heels back on.

You don’t want to die, you just don’t want to live like this. Kook princess, paraded and practically pimped around by your parents, looking for you to find an advantageous marriage, have 2.5 kids and further accumulate your hoarded wealth. “Why don’t you date the Cameron boy? He’s quite good looking and your father would love it if you married his business partner’s son” and “The Thornton boy would be a good match, the family mansion is the largest” and “Jacob Kane’s father is a name partner at a successful law firm on the mainland”. Your mother’s incessant nagging about finding the perfect husband only further cements your lack of value as a human being, your usefulness tapped out at your ability to be someone’s wife.

You don’t understand the wealth accumulation thing, your trust fund probably equals the national budget of a small country already, and there’s no way anyone could blow through the entire family fortune in a single generation. At this point, it just feels like generating wealth for the sake of generating it. What good is money if it just sits in a bank account or investment portfolio, earning passive income and not being used for anything.

You recognize you’re very privileged, you’ve never once had to worry about where your next meal would come from, you have a closet full of designer handbags and red bottom shoes the value of which could feed several families on the Cut. But what’s the cost? You feel suffocated by the pressure bestowed upon you by your parents. You’re the eldest sibling, primary heiress to the Y/L/N family fortune and expected future successor of the family business. Truthfully, you couldn’t give less of a fuck about retail development or whatever it is that keeps your father so busy that he missed every single one of your piano and ballet recitals growing up. You like the idea of studying Shakespeare’s sonnets and soliloquies over learning about mergers and acquisitions and tax avoidance laws at college, but you know your father would sooner cut you off than let you pursue your own passions.

Sometimes you let yourself fantasize about leaving it all behind, running off to some college like Columbia, moving to New York and living in the city that never sleeps. With your 4.0 GPA and stellar extracurricular activities, you could probably get a pretty good scholarship. Or maybe Paris, where you would sit in a cute little café flirting with French boys and writing poetry by the Seine River. But it would be hard, and you’re too much of a coward to see if you could make it on your own without daddy’s money. Not to mention the little voice in the back of your head that sounds suspiciously like your mothers telling you that you’ll never amount to anything without their help.

Later, you’re wandering the party, both hands curled tightly around the cup you hold to your lips, eyes staring out at the crowd over the rim. Unfortunately, you catch Rafe Cameron’s eye as he’s sat around the coffee table with a freshly cut white line ready on the surface. He’s surrounded by the idiots he calls friends and more than one pretty little rich girl making eyes at him. The left corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk as he realizes you’ve sized up the company around him.

“Hey Y/L/N, want a line? First one’s on me, babe.” He calls out at you, but you just roll your eyes and keep moving forward. As desperate as you are to feel something, you’re not sure you can cross that line just yet. Partaking in the occasional joint or bong rip is one thing, but hard drugs is another. You don’t think trading in the empty feeling in your chest for an addiction is worth it. Seeing the blown out pupils of some of your peers, and the way they not-so-discreetly sniff and wipe at their noses you realize you’re likely alone in that assessment. “Your loss!” he calls out at your retreating form, and you don’t even bother to look over your shoulder. You know he’s not really interested in you beyond making you a customer and maybe a quick fuck.

You snort to yourself, wondering what your mother would think about the boy she wanted you to pursue offering you a line of coke at a party. Knowing her, she would focus on the fact that you had gained his attention and ignore the illicit substance.

Making your way through the cluster of bodies is harder than you had initially thought, everyone was on everyone. Every kook party ends up this way, a certain subset of the group coked out and the rest so drunk they can’t function, and you begin to wonder why you even bothered coming.

You’re not totally sure what you’re looking for, your best friend and Rafe’s younger sister Sarah doesn’t really associate with this crowd anymore ever since she started spending all her time with the less fortunate side of the island. Rafe had called it ‘slumming with those dirty fucking pogues’ the last time Sarah had partied with you. Maybe it isn’t right to call her your best friend anymore because not only does she not associate with this crowd, she doesn’t really associate with you either.

You know she’s hanging with Kie again, there are a lot of watchful eyes on the island and even more flapping lips. It’s kind of ironic, Sarah was the one who convinced you to drop Kie, and you had let her. Now the two of them were spending all their time together on some dilapidated boat named after the inhabitants of the Cut and you were alone at some lame party with a heavy weight on your chest and under your eyes.

Sighing deeply, you down the rest of the contents of your cup and grab a refill before turning your attention back to the crowd of people in the middle of the living room. As your brain starts to fog further with the familiar feeling four vodka crans give you, you let Topper put his hands on your hips and pull your bodies close together, your back to his front. A voice in the back of your mind wonders if you’re supposed to feel guilt over Sarah’s ex’s hands all over your body, but you don’t feel anything and Sarah clearly doesn’t give a fuck about you either.

The next morning you wake up with Topper’s hands around your bare waist. There’s a pain radiating against your skull and you have cotton mouth, but you quietly gather your clothes and sneak out of the room before the sleeping blonde can wake up and give you that regretful look he gets in his eyes every time you hook up. You know he still loves Sarah, in his own fucked up way and though you don’t regret where you woke up, you know you’ll just be annoyed if you have to deal with his issues this early in the morning with this bad of a hangover.

You’ve almost successfully left the large mansion, quietly walking through the living room to the front door when a voice remarks dryly, “Really, y/n? I thought you were better than my sister’s leftovers.”

Inhaling through your nose and out your mouth sharply, you spin on your heel to face Rafe with a blank expression on your face. He sits at the kitchen island, bare-chested with his hat on backwards, casually eating a bowl of cereal. The thought of why exactly Rafe is sitting half naked in Topper’s kitchen, eating Topper’s cereal briefly flashes through your mind but you decide you don’t care. “What do you care Rafe?” you ask, only half interested in his response. There’s a moment of silence, and you pick at your fingernails rather than meet his gaze.

“I’m just saying, I thought you were better than that,” he shrugs, bringing another spoonful to his mouth.

You roll your eyes, already tired of the conversation, “And who, pray tell, is better for me?”

“Me of course,” he smirks at you, and you huff out an annoyed laugh and raise an eyebrow silently asking him to explain. “Come on princess, I know your parents want you to marry up. ‘m your best option on this island”.

Mildly annoyed, you roll your eyes and turn back towards the front door, eager to leave this conversation behind. “C’mon baby, we both know how this thing ends, with you on my arm as the perfect trophy wife.”

There was a time those words might have brought butterflies in your stomach. Growing up best friends with Sarah meant you also grew up with Rafe, and you used to have the biggest crush on him. Forbidden by Sarah after a late night game of truth or dare, you didn’t use to mind when your mother would spout off about Rafe being the perfect boy for you. He used to look out for you like he did for Sarah. But that was a long time ago, and he no longer cared about either of you anymore and you had to admit you couldn’t remember why you had ever thought him anything but repulsive. That was before the drugs and the untethered rage that always rests just under the surface of his skin, ready to be unleashed at the smallest slight. You might have married the little boy with the gap toothed smile who once punched Jacob Kane when you were in the second grade and he wouldn’t stop bothering you, but this Rafe wasn’t good for anything beyond a quick meeting in the dark.

If you had been able to feel anything, you might have snapped back at him, but you had no energy and honestly all you wanted was to shower in your own shower and collapse in your own bed, so you ignored his comment and slipped out the door.

It was a quick walk back to your house, and you snuck in quietly through the front door hoping no one was home and your dreams of slumbering until the early afternoon could be realized. Unfortunately, your mother sat on the cream colored chaise in the sitting room, clearly anticipating your arrival. Her eyes quickly scanned your appearance, your manolos held by the straps in your right hand, your sex hair and décolletage you were sure was covered in bites and bruises caused by overeager lips, before sighing.

“Y/n, darling, you have to stop this silly behaviour and settle down. Boys aren’t going to want to lock you down if they’ve already had you.” She criticizes, effectively slut-shaming you. You roll your eyes at that, briefly wondering if the old wives tale was true and you’d end up with your eyes stuck like that. You decide you don’t mind, it would save you some time as your base reaction to most interactions is to roll them.

“I had a rough night mom, I’d like to go back to bed,” you tell her as you try to slip past her. A cold hand circles your wrist, stiletto tipped manicure digging slightly into the skin stopping you from moving any further.

“I’m serious, y/n, you’re better than this.” She throws the same words Rafe had at you. Exasperated and exhausted you rip your wrist from her grasp and head to the stairs. “We’re not done talking about this!” she shouts but you ignore her and continue towards your nice shower and bed.

Rolling over to an empty bed several hours later, you grumble as you try to identify the source of your wakeup call. Cursing as you smack your arm against your side table, you finally manage to grab your ringing cell phone. Seeing RC flash as the contact calling, you groan loudly, before hitting the decline button and rolling back over. A minute later your phone chimes again, indicating a voice mail.

You figure there’s no point in drawing out the inevitable, so you unlock the phone and listen the voicemail Rafe left. He’s invited you to hang out with him and his friends on his dad’s yacht. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you’ve sent him a text to say you’d be there in an hour. Despite there being no love lost between you and Rafe, you really don’t have any better options and maybe if you tell your mom who you’re hanging out with she’ll get off your back and not subject you to The Lecture. You and Sarah used to laugh and joke about The Lecture, about how being a Y/L/N means being perfect and obtaining a perfect husband. The two of you would mock your mother, exaggerating her southern drawl that slipped out as she lectured you on the importance of propriety and ‘leaving something to the imagination’.

As you slip on a navy sundress with a deep neckline, you laugh, thinking to yourself that there’s not much left to leave to the imagination. You take the time to curl the ends of your hair to create a bouncy wave and apply a few coats of waterproof mascara and lip gloss. The humid heat of the OBX keeps your makeup routine light in the summer.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” Shit. Your dad’s home, he knows you stayed out all night, and he’s pissed. You don’t think your mom told him the full story, because he’s not frothing at the mouth mad, just his typical disappointed mad.

“Rafe invited a couple of friends to hang out on his dad’s yacht, daddy,” you reply back, not meeting his eyes.

You can tell your dad disapproves, because the lines between his eyebrows are more pronounced with his narrowed eyes. As he starts to give you what you’re sure is an impassioned lecture, your mother pops up out of nowhere, gushing, “Rafe? Well of course you can go sweetie, isn’t that right hon?” she turns to your dad, a single eyebrow raised daring him to defy her. Your parents are the ultimate power couple, wielding power and guilt over each other almost as easily as they try to do to you.

He sighs, realizing the fight with his vengeful wife isn’t worth the lesson you’re not going to learn anyway and nods, “Alright, just be back for supper, we’re going to sit down as a family tonight. And tell Sarah we said hi.”

If either parent noticed your stiffened back, they don’t comment on it. You hadn’t told them that Sarah dumped you like yesterday’s news just yet. Why blow a perfect cover story? Again, the lack of guilt should probably concern you, but you’re more focused on the very expensive, very good quality wine that you know is waiting for you on the Cameron’s yacht.

An hour later, you’re sitting between a very uncomfortable Topper and a disinterested Kelce with a full wineglass in your left hand. Your right hand slides your sunglasses back onto your eyes to shield them from the harsh sunlight that beats down directly on your face.

You can’t find the energy to strike up a conversation with either of them, and they don’t seem very inclined to start one either, so you turn your head to the side and look out at the water until you see a familiar beat up boat approaching. You visibly tense as your eyes lock on your blonde former best friend laughing with her arm around John B as their stupid friends talk and laugh around them. “You okay, y/n?” Kelce finally speaks, noticing your change in posture.

“Never better,” you drily reply moving to turn your head back to the other side of the yacht, as if the other boat on the water didn’t exist at all. Your eyes briefly flicker to the other blond on the boat, taut muscles on display beyond the ratty cut-off tank top as the pogue known as JJ attempts to wrestle with his friend Pope. You feel a drop in your stomach that perplexes you as your eyes scan his sunkissed skin. Startled, you turn your head quickly and take a huge sip of your wine.

You anticipated some sort of confrontation, maybe a thrown insult, but their boat simply eclipsed the yacht and they continued on their way. You were annoyed by the concerned look that Kelce threw your way after they had left, so you downed your glass and grabbed Rafe’s hand and all but dragged him inside the cabin.

The second the door shuts behind you, you’re on him, mouths mashing in a hungry kiss. He smirks against your mouth and leads you into the bathroom and proceeds to rid you of your clothes.

As you’re letting Rafe Cameron fuck you in the bathroom of his yacht, your mind can’t help but think you’re fucking over Sarah, too.

“Fuck baby, you feel so good,” he praises in your ear as he thrusts into you from behind. You don’t even have the energy to fake a moan, you just lean your head back against his shoulder.

When he’s finished, you simply slip your dress back on, refill your glass and sit back between Topper and Kelce as if they didn’t just hear you hook up with their best friend.

You go to bed early that night after a “nice family dinner” that consists of back-handed compliments and your mother fishing for details about your time on the yacht. You don’t think she’d be too pleased about letting Rafe ‘have you’ before ‘locking you down’, so you keep it to a minimum. Both parents drill it into your head that as a Y/L/N, you’re held to a higher standard than your peers. Perfect grades, perfect life, perfect daughter. You don’t know how to tell them you don’t even feel human anymore, so you smile and nod as they pester and nag. Your little sister sits quietly the whole time, looking at you with an emotion you can’t quite decipher.

[kirencer]

febuary seventh (i’m seeing you)

Y/n and Spencer's relationship collide around a single day: the one where they first looked into each others eyes.

[Or, the all of the secret love letters they wrote during the beginning of their relationship]

Word count: (part one and two) 9.2k

Warnings: Language

Rating: Gen audiences

A/N: it was too long for tumblr, so I broke it into two parts!! Enjoy. GN! Afab reader (it’s important, trust me)

Part Two

Y/n looked up. They had just finished reading Spencer’s journal, the one dedicated to them. Spencer was kneeling and in his hand was a small box, the dainty ring he’d gotten years ago from his mom sat in between the white.

“Will you, Y/n L/n, do me the greatest pleasure by marrying me?” Spencer said with his anxiety showing through. Y/n gasped and threw themself at Spencer, wrapping their arms tight around him.

“Yes!” they cried, pulling away for Spencer to slide the ring on their finger. Then they took a deep breath. “Wait here.”

They disappeared into the two’s bedroom, rummaging through some things before running back with a black binder in hand. “It’s only fair if you see my unsent love letters, too.”

Spencer grasped it and flipped the binder open as Y/n guided him to the couch.

“They’re in order but aren’t as neatly organized as yours - I stopped writing before you did, though.”

————————————————

For Spencer Reid, february 8th 2008 10:17 am

It was yesterday, a little more than 24 hours ago at 6 am that I was on a bus. Tiny, white and cramped, but now I realize it was actually a ferry to the love of my life. Even though at the moment all I cared about was when I was going to get to stretch my legs next, it still buzzed with excitement because I was about to be in your city even if you didn’t come to see me, that would’ve been enough. Being three feet away from you is more than enough. Being Two inches away from you is bliss. But your head on my shoulder is nirvana.

But then, only two hours after I had started my d&d campaign (the moon isles or something) there was an urge to look behind me. I tried to ignore it but I looked anyway.

What I saw scared me. Not because I’m afraid of you Spencer, but because I was scared of myself. I wanted to run to you and hug you, but I was too scared of scaring you away that I didn’t. My head seemed to spin as a second glance felt like a hundred years. Then a smile broke out on my face and I looked away. At first I didn’t think it could be you, I half screamed at the two people sitting on the left side of me. “Don’t look now, but my boyfriend’s here” of course they looked and Sophia told me that you were walking over here.

My insecurities flared up, but I remembered that you love me, even though I'm tired and probably covered in acne. She said you sat down behind me and I risked a quick glance, or two, or three times every two minutes. I tried to act as normal as possible even though if I looked back I would see the smile that lifted your cheeks when I looked at you. It was hard to focus on my campaign because it’s cliche, but I could sense you behind me and I was shaking. My friends were hyping me up to say Hi and I was trying to not scream. I ran to the bathroom, splashed water on my face and tried to calm down. I ran back, probably looking a little too excited. Ok, I was totally too excited.

My campaign finished up, you caught me staring at you a few times and my friends told me you were looking at me anytime we all made a loudish noise. After that, you followed us to lunch, well, followed me. You stood beside me and I said Hi, you replied the same. Then you grabbed your stuff and seemed to have left. I visibly deflated, my one chance to see you and I missed it. Then you came back, with a takeout bag in hand and some fries. I didn’t mention it already but you looked adorable in your glasses, from afar they look too big for you but then you see the big warm eyes behind them. Your cheekbones are so nice and everything about you is handsome, even more than I could have imagined. Photographs don’t do you justice. I hoped you had liked your dice, I got the red and black ones but I was scared you didn’t like yours.

You sat directly in front of me and my friends (Deriasia and Emma) immediately made fun of me and I almost died. At that moment. When you smiled and laughed. My friends gave us their blessing, which kinda fit because you were as tense as if you were meeting my parents.

I asked you to sit with me during the next campaign and you did (we snuck you in without paying). You played with the first character I ever played (Bida the high elf wizard). I was almost too distracted to really compete in all the things, instead focusing on you. You let me use your journal to doodle, a weird eye and a girl. Did you notice me fiddling with my hands? If I didn't keep them busy I probably would’ve put my hands in your hair or grab your hand. I remember you asking me if I needed a hug. I said yes and I think that hug is the most important one I've ever had. You laid on me and I didn’t care what my friends would say, all that matters was you.

My skin in two weeks will not remember the feel of your hair, my lips will not remember your cheek, but my brain forever will. At that moment, physical immortality is not as important as the immortalization of those touches.

They linger in my head, fuzzy and soft on my skin but they’re there.

I remember you telling me not to buy you anything (i still got you a resin skull magnet and dice) I remember flirting with you, i remember it all. I remember how you know all of Sappho’s poems and fragments, I want to remember everything about you. I know I won’t, you’re the one with the crazy good memory, after all.

I wish I would’ve looked in your eyes and told you that I saw you. I wish I would’ve pressed my lips to yours, but then again there’s always next time. And next time I will, even if it’s right in front of the whole world. Because I love you. I really fucking love you and everyone can suck it. I love you.

And I think that’s all that matters.

____

I have waited almost six months to hold you in my arms, and now I wait longer. I hate myself, I didn't hug you. I should’ve.

I didn’t tell you I love you enough, I didn’t kiss you properly. I wish I did.

Currently my arms ache to hold you, my eyes burn to see you and my lips yearn to touch yours. I can’t wait to indulge myself in thousands of kisses, I hope they are as sweet as your skin. Kinda licked my lips after kissing your nose, cheek, and right under your neck. You taste sweet, I think I'm addicted.

I still feel the ghosts of your touch on my skin, I love it. I love you. I want to have your actual skin under my fingertips, to hold you when you wake up from a bad dream, to dance with you under the stars. Decide what song is ours and argue over how cheesy it is. Cry on the day we say our vows, cry at the birth of our first child, cry when they go to school, cry when they grow up, cry when I realize that we did it. I can’t wait to have life with you.

If there’s such a thing as soulmates then the word was made to describe us.

I love you.

____

I fell asleep, I woke up right before you texted me. I dreamt about you, in my mind I fell asleep with you in my arms. In my mind I am sitting in a cafe, right across from you drinking tea.

I prefer it to real life, by about an infinite percent. My friend came in and basically yelled at me to let him use my box, I told him to fuck off. I know I won’t be able to fall back asleep but I do hope to continue my dream tonight. Currently im trying to believe that you think i’m “stunning” it’s starting to work it’s way into my mind that i’m not ugly.

Spencer, I love you.

You have such an effect on me, the first week we were together you weaseled your way into my mind. You sprouted a tree that is still a sapling but has rooted to the core of my mind, slipping into my heart and spreading through my limbs. You’re almost a drug (the only one I approve of).

You’re poison, searing through my veins and warning my skin. But you’re not toxic, you’re candy, sugary sweet, something tangible that almost floats in and out of existence.

If you are a God, I am your most loyal patron.

____

Time is meaningless but it goes so fast, only eight minutes left to talk then my day ends. So many more ‘I love you’s I could say.

But time will not permit our love, that’s fine, I’ll wait it out till the end.

You’re worth it.

Seven Minutes

____

You always deny that you’re adorable, and that’s so adorable.

It’s frustrating sometimes because you’re so beautiful you deserve to know it. But oh well, i’ll just have to prove you are.

I told you I’d rather go on a date with you first before doing anything sexual. you also deserve to know your love is all I need, not your body (that’s just a perk)

You’re hot, sue me!

____

In the shower, I have most of my daydreams. Ranging from cotton candy clouds to a place where my parents accept me. However, the best daydream i’ve ever had is about a boy. A boy with chocolate brown eyes and a beautiful smile. Ding Ding Ding, his name is Spencer.

My dream is about his last name, well it involves it. I imagine myself talking to him while I say an important speech, in front of a crowd of people. I’m talking about our relationship, about how much I love you, and how much I can’t wait for the next chapter of our life to start. I always tear up when everyone is quiet at the end, and then you say what you have to say. It’s fuzzy and I don’t remember any of it (kinda want you to make your own in the future) but after you say it. It's time.

You say two words, so low only I and the person standing next to us can hear, “I do”

That’s the best day dream I’ve ever had, because I know it won’t be just a dream (I hope)

____

The best part of my day is looking at any photos from you: they always make me smile. Even when my day has been utterly terrible, your bright eyes are always a light in the dark.

I often don’t even need to think about you to have your smile in my mind, it’s just there, like a constant bright sunshiny beam. A single thought about you makes my day, a single touch my year, remembering that you’re mine makes my life a whole much better.

You, make living better.

I live for you, you’re all I ever want to have.

Je suis fou amoureux de toi.

____

So uh, you might have noticed but I don’t know how to talk to people, let alone talk to you.

It’s not that I have nothing to say, I have too much to say. It all bubbles in my mind and makes me jump on topic every three seconds. But when it comes to you, I'm stuck on which way to tell you I love you.

So, how about all of them?

I don’t need to focus on a single part of your face to know that it’s beautiful, but I do. All the parts work in harmony, like a choir. But individually they are still beautiful. I love every single inch of your face, individually and together.

I love you for your personality, I fell in love with a genius who is so much more than his memory or intelligence. Then I fell in love with a sweet boy who whined when I said self deprecating things. When we first met, I instantly fell in love again, with a shy boy who would look up at me from under his lashes.

Fuck, my mind is racing too much to distinguish anymore. But, I hoped I showed you.

That, I love you now, and forever will.

Happy Valentine’s day, my love.

____

Happy anniversary, god I can’t believe it’s been five months already. It seems just yesterday I was crying over whether or not I should continue liking you (i had told myself I wasn’t good enough for you).

Well, turns out I was wrong. I’m just enough for you. It doesn’t matter to me anymore if you’ll ever leave me, well, it does, `but there’s something more important, you being loved and being happy is what matters. And I can’t wait to give you what matters.

I love you babe! I’ll try to write more to show it.

____

My mind is a cavern of echoes, words (well a name) revertibrating in my skull.

The things used to be about art, school, anything slightly important.

But now, it’s filled with the most important person in my life. Analyzing the color of his hair (a warm brown), thinking of his eyes, thinking of his name and my name with a change; Spencer Reid (and sometimes Y/n Reid) has taken over my mind and burrowed into my soul.

I think if the red string of fate was real then we’d have been connected when we first met. Fuck, we are connected.

If we weren’t why would I have fallen in love with you? It was fate that I sent a letter to a wrong address, fate that I stumbled upon the boy that would change my life for the better.

Our souls are connected, being pulled because of the distance though, and I can’t wait to be with you. Not two halves of a whole, but two souls that fit like a puzzle piece.

I love you, and you love me. Even though I'm a coward.

When we have a daughter, her name should be Rhiannon. We will both dote on her like the goddess she is. Just a thought :>

____

You were in my house today. I think I'm dying, I'm wearing your sweater. It smells like you. I think you left it behind on purpose.

You smell really nice. It’s not like a cologne or anything, but it's nice. You’re nice

You kissed me. You’re a really good kisser. You should do it again and again and again.

I got the news yesterday, my transfer went in, I'm sending my letter to you tomorrow. I know you’re in my city but I'd rather it be like this.

I don’t think i'm going to write any more, don’t think that means i don’t love you!!

I am going to hold you for hours, I promise, I love you.

————————————————

Spencer finished reading and smiled up at his new fiance. “We were such dorks! It's crazy how similar we thought.”

Y/n nodded and looked down at their ring. “We were dorks in love! Um, so how do you feel about the name Rhiannon?”

“It’s pretty, but I don’t think we need to be worrying about baby names - we need to figure out how to tell my team we’re engaged.” Spencer quipped, wrapping his arms around Y/n before it hit him.

Y/n’s morning sickness, the weird secretive doctors appointment, and what they had just said. “No!” he whispers, a smile growing on his face, “I’m gonna be a dad?”

They nod and bury their head into Spencer’s chest. Spencer can’t stop the smile that beams across his face. He grabs Y/n and spins them around in his arms, “This is the best news!!”

He pressed a deep kiss to Y/n’s lips, then went onto his knees to wrap his arms around Y/n. “Jason Derek Reid if it’s a boy and Rhiannon Penelope Reid if it’s a girl.”

Y/n smiles and nods, “I was thinking the same thing.”

“Let’s be on the same page, forever from now on, okay?”

They nodded, Spencer’s hands finding place on their back as he pressed his lips right below Y/n’s navel. Y/n’s hand’s dug into his hair: “Forever.”

Years later the two do indeed wake up on a Saturday morning to impatient kids who demand to be made pancakes. Sometimes after a hard case they do dance at three am in their underwear. Sometimes they do a lot of things in their underwear. They’re together in every way imaginable.

And to them? It’s the most important thing that could ever be possible.

The End

part one

[thevioletjones]

Congrats on the kudos, u deserve it! I did not undestand if I'm supposed to choose one of the lines for the prompt or if I have to combine two or more lines lol. But if it is to choose only one: number 5. If more than one: 5 and 45. *---*

Thank you! I used both. Great inspiration, actually. It spun out of control! 😀

Prompt 2: “How much of that did you hear?” + “Why are you helping me?”

Interloper

“Jesus, Iggy, I’m gonna fuckin’ murder you myself one of these days,” Mickey threatened in exasperation.

They were both leaning over, hands on knees, gasping for air, just having run full-speed for at least twelve blocks. The pillars beneath the L tracks were now providing the mild seclusion they needed to wait out a cursory police search of the area.

“Ain’t my fault!” Iggy exclaimed defensively.

Mickey’s face scrunched up to a degree that only his dumbest family members could make it reach. “Yes it fuckin’ was! Who else’s fault would it be?”

He’d always kind of wondered how he was the only one in his crap-ass family to be gifted with at least half a brain. Well, him and his younger sister, Mandy. She was alright. Skanky and crazy, but not a total idiot. He couldn’t say the same for his brothers, male cousins, father, uncle, etcetera. Mickey couldn’t even get his begrudgingly favorite brother to follow a simple goddamn plan that would’ve kept them out of trouble when they were out committing crimes. He was just gonna have to start doing everything himself. Safety in numbers didn’t apply when the other member of your team seemed to have been lobotomized when no one was paying attention. It was probably all the meth. Mickey was smart enough to stay away from that particular bullshit. Didn’t want to become a scabby, denture-wearing, toothpick skinny, low-life with no mind left to lose. He was content to stick to coke and weed like a normal person.

“That old bitch came outta nowhere! Self-defense!”

“It ain’t self-defense if you’re robbin’ the joint, numbnuts! We’re lucky you fuckin’ missed!”

If he had it his way, Mickey wouldn’t be doing these petty robberies anymore. He much preferred bigger jobs, like gun and drug running. But times were tough, and he had to do what he had to do. He’d even considered getting a legit job for once in his life, but the skills he possessed weren’t exactly easily adaptable to the straight and narrow path. Being a criminal was how he was raised, and all he knew. It brought heat, but it was still a comfortable fit. Living without the constant presence of major risk would probably feel so foreign as to drive him crazier than a meth addiction in the long run.

The job Mickey’d lined up involved hitting up a few different borderline upmarket stores that’d opened up in their neck of the woods since the gentrifiers had set upon The Yards, then selling the goods to a guy he knew in the online black market trade. Not as lucrative as heavy metal and funny powder, but a decent payday nonetheless. Except fuckface over here who had to ruin everything by getting trigger-happy on Main while they were attempting to heist merchandise from location number two of three. If the pigs nabbed either one of them, they’d be going down for at least five to ten. Years. Mickey was done donating years to the prison industrial complex. The most he could afford was months at best.

“When’d you turn into such a giant asshole?” asked Iggy. “Oh, nevermind, probly when you started gettin’ it railed on the reg.”

A giant smile stretched across his perpetually dirty face, causing Mickey’s eyebrows to lift dangerously high on his forehead. Occasionally, his dumber-than-rocks older brother managed to think up some admittedly clever asides. Mickey didn’t know whether to punch him or give him daps.

Before he could decide, however, he heard a distinct little snicker from the other side of the large concrete column they were leaning on, raising his hackles to invisibly join his eyebrows in their heightened incredulity.

Mickey hastily rounded the pillar and grabbed the giggler by the shirt collar, hauling him to their side and pinning him next to Iggy with his forearm. He looked into the guy’s eyes, and finally registered who it was. He kinda sorta knew him from around town. Used to hang out with his sister back in high school. He was a lot scrawnier then. This version of the dude could probably hold his own with Mickey in a fight. He’d built some definite muscle.

“How much of that did you hear, asshole?” Mickey demanded, seeing Iggy flash the gun in his waistband in his periphery.

This idiot didn’t look as rattled as he should be, though. He just shrugged his shoulders.

“Considering I was here first, I guess… all of it?”

He was wearing an annoying little smirk, his green-blue eyes shining bright, and his red hair distracting Mickey as much as the light dusting of freckles across his nose and cheeks. He had a stupidly ultra-defined chin, and Mickey immediately hated it. His chin hadn’t looked like that when he was a 15-year-old pipsqueak.

“Wipe that smile off your face, bitch,” ordered Mickey, pressing his arm harder against the guy’s pale throat. “You think this is fuckin’ funny? You know who we are?”

The guy shrugged again, like this was all a casual conversation on the corner. “Mickey.” He glanced at his dumb, blonde, curlicue brother. “And Iggy, right? I used to hang out with Mandy all the time. Have a good memory.”

“Yeah? Well I remember your goofy ass too, Gallagher. I know where you live and I know who your family is, so if you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep your big mouth shut or I’ll pick ‘em off one by one and save you for last. Got it?”

The dude snorted, and Mickey wondered if he was some kind of crazy tweaker with no sense of propriety or self-preservation.

“You outta your goddamn mind or somethin’?” Mickey added. “I ain’t jokin’.”

“Look, Gallaghers don’t snitch, alright?” He held his hands up placatingly. “I promise not to say shit to anyone. It’s none of my business, and I really don’t care. That good enough for you?”

Mickey loosened his hold, but sized him up all the while. “Maybe. But it’s possible you need a little lesson to remember it good. Wouldn't want you to forget about the consequences of you breakin’ your word.”

The dude winced and shoved Mickey off. “I don’t need a fucking beatdown, Mickey. I get it.”

“Ohhhh,” Mickey singsonged derisively, meeting Iggy’s gaze. “He gets it.” He thumbed his eyebrow. “Guess I’m just s’posed to believe you, huh?”

“That would be ideal, yeah.”

Mickey had to give it to him; he almost cracked a smile. The kid had balls. Most people around their neighborhood cowered before a Milkovich like spring lambs. Still, he lived by a code, and letting some rando walk away unscathed when he had dirt on him just didn’t fit the rules.

He cocked his fist back to knock it into tall, pale, and red’s pearly white teeth, just as the stunted siren of a cop car rang out very close by. Their collective heads all snapped toward the sound, and after sharing a meaningful look between brothers, Iggy took off running once again, without a word.

Normally, Mickey would’ve followed hot on his heels, but some unknown force was keeping his useless feet stuck to the dirty ground, eyes watching as Gingerballs glanced around the column at the flashing lights, taking a very long look that wasn’t suspicious at all.

Before he could react outwardly, Mickey was pulled against a hard body, Gallagher’s warm breath sending a shiver down his spine as he whispered, “Be cool. I got you.”

Suddenly, big hands were caressing Mickey’s back, and despite a part of him not minding in the least, the rest of him stiffened considerably.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he rasped out, hearing the telltale slam of a car door, and attempting to pull away. But a strong grip held him close, spinning him around so that he was the one up against the concrete now.

“Saving your thug ass. I know this guy, okay? Just chill and follow my lead.”

Okay, what the hell was this surreal turn of events? Gallagher was bold as shit, cradling Mickey all gay like. Sure, Iggy had made a fag joke earlier, kicking off this whole… whatever it was, but still. This guy had no way of knowing it was based in reality. Did he?

And had Gallagher really been gay this whole time? How had Mickey never sniffed this scorching information out?

“What’s going on here, boys?”

The copper rounded the corner, genuinely swinging his nightstick like a cartoon character, and Mickey had to suppress a deep roll of his eyes.

“Milkovich?” Mr. CPD continued, extreme disbelief coloring his voice.

Mickey was abruptly reminded that he was currently stuck between a rock and a hard body, and nothing about their entanglement screamed anything other than gay, gay, super-fucking-gay. Not that Mickey hadn’t come to accept who he was and what he liked, but he didn’t go around spreading the truth all over town either. This could seriously damage his carefully crafted reputation.

“Tony!” Ian interjected, sparing him from having to invent some lame excuse, and the cop’s eyes snapped to him instead.

“Ian?” His tone was still dripping with astonishment.

“Yeah! What's up? How you been?”

Mickey shot him an ‘are you goddamn serious right now?’ look, and Ian just squeezed his hip in tacit reply.

“Uhhh… gooood? Care to explain whatever…” he waved his stick between them, “this is?”

Ian laughed and he figured the dude truly was a nutcase. Mickey was going to jail for sure.

“Um, well,” answered Ian, suddenly playing it very meek and demure, “Mickey and I were just… you know…”

“You and… Mickey?”

“Not fucking or anything! Just... hanging out?”

“Hanging out.”

“Yeah, you know how it is. I’m tryin’ to convince Mick here to come home with me, but he’s being squirrelly.” He shook his head and shrugged. “South Side guys.”

“What the fuck?” Mickey whispered harshly, completely taken aback.

Ian just squeezed him tightly again, which was not helping his whole brain scramble situation.

“Huh,” said Tony, a tone of acceptance seeping in. “Mickey Milkovich, eh? Wow.”

“Come on, Tony. I don’t have to tell you this is all a big secret, do I?” replied Ian.

“And blondie who ran away like there was a damn fire? Did he flee a threesome?”

Mickey frowned and fake-wretched, finally speaking up. “Fuck no, man. That was my dumbass brother. He don’t like cops.”

“Uh huh. And you and your brother didn’t happen to be getting into trouble about 15 minutes ago, did you?”

“No sir,” Mickey said with a mock salute.

Ian kicked at his foot in warning.

“He’s been with me since like 3 o’clock, Tone. Scout’s honor.”

Officer Tony eyed them both with a look of skepticism, but didn’t contradict Ian’s word. The CB sounded from the open window of the black and white, with some cop-speak crackling over the airwaves.

“Stay put,” said Tony, eyes lingering longer on Mickey’s than Ian’s. “Both of you.”

He retreated to answer the radio call, and Mickey let out a deep whoosh of air.

“Goddamn, Gallagher. You’re spinnin’ quite a yarn here.”

“Yep,” Ian agreed. “A big gay yarn.”

“How the fuck did you know—”

“That you’re gay? Well, I heard Iggy make that joke, obviously. Pretty specific bottom joke to make if you weren’t actually into it. Plus, I always had my suspicions.”

Mickey scoffed. “Yeah fuckin’ right!”

“I did!”

“Whatever. Why are you helping me?”

“Out of the kindness of my heart?”

“Try again.”

“I don’t know. Why not? Makes us even or something. Now you know I won’t rat you out. About any of it. I wouldn’t out someone like that, and I don’t give a shit about the illegal crap you’re wrapped up in. Tony Markovich is like turbo gay too. Used to bang my sister, I think, but he came out a couple years ago. He won’t let it slip about you. He’s not a total bastard just cuz he’s a cop, ya know?”

Mickey bit his lip in contemplation. Gallagher seemed pretty genuine. Still didn’t much make sense in his brain, but whatever.

“Fine. But you know what’s gonna happen if—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, kick my ass, kill my family, got it.”

“You’re a cocky little shit, ain’t you?”

Ian smirked again, and it was pretty sexy, actually. “Maybe.”

He had the gall to push against Mickey more fully, pressing the bottom halves of their bodies closer together.

Mickey gasped. “Gonna have to ask you again… what the hell do you think you’re doin’?”

“You wanna go out sometime?”

Mickey cackled in his face. “You’re off your fuckin’ rocker for sure.”

“Am not! I can tell you want me.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ. Cocky little shit doesn’t even begin to cover it, does it?”

“Come onnnn,” Ian prodded.

“Do I look like I date, Gallagher?”

“A date can be whatever we want it to be, Milkovich. I’m easy.”

“Yeah, I bet you are.”

“Okay,” Tony interrupted, coming back into view. “Get the hell outta here. You wanna bang, do it indoors somewhere, or I’ll have to arrest you for public indecency or worse. And Milkovich… if I find any evidence of what I’m sure you know I’m talking about, I’ll be paying your ass a visit real soon.”

Mickey let the eyeroll loose then, withholding a flip of his middle finger, and deadpanning instead, “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, officer.”

Tony sighed loudly. “Whatever.”

“Thanks, Tony!” Ian cried at his retreating back.

“You always kiss cop ass like that? Cuz that’s not the way to get into my pants, Red.”

Ian just grinned, finally pulling his body away as he looked around. “You gonna follow me home or what?”

Mickey wanted to tell him to go fuck himself and swagger away like a badass. But was he not a thirsty man being propositioned by a hot guy who just randomly saved his ass from a trip to the slammer?

He at least feigned protest, huffing and puffing as he kicked at the dirt. “Goddamn it, Gallagher, you drive a hard bargain.”

Ian’s face lit up like a Christmas tree, as Mickey added, “Lead the way, weirdo.”

[jjmaebank]

Fight for Me - Rafe Cameron

A/N: okay so this is based off the scene from one tree hill between Brooke and Lucas, I acc cried writing this because that scene makes me bawl my eyes out, Sophia Bush’s acting >>>

I would also like to thank Cort @pogue-writings because she really helped me understand Rafe’s character and I wouldn’t have been able to write this w out her, so this one’s for you Cort!!

Also I expect tumblr to fuck with the italics in the flashback so I’m sorry in advance

Warnings: this one’s sad :(( also mentions of drugs and substance abuse

Words: 1.8k

+

“What I wanted? I wanted you to fight for me! I wanted you to say that there was no one else that you could ever be with and that you'd rather be alone than without me!” +

Another night had gone by. Another night of Rafe throwing a party, getting high and flirting with other girls. Another night of Rafe Cameron ignoring your existence.

You and Rafe had been dating for a good few months now and at first it was everything you had ever wanted. He would spend every waking moment with you, taking you out on romantic dates and telling you how much he loved you. He would make you feel so fucking special, he made you feel worth something. Rafe had come into your life during a very dark period, but he had been the one to help you out of it. He had been there for you through everything, held your hand and supported you when you had needed it most. He had been your lifeline.

But now? Now, it was like he didn't exist. He would neglect you when you needed him most, dismiss you when you tried to speak or simply full on ghost you. He wasn’t the same Rafe you fell in love with, or at least he’d hidden this side of him for a very long time.

You had gotten into a massive argument one night and you had hardly spoken since.

“Why are you like this Rafe!” You cried to your boyfriend.

“What the fuck do you mean, (Y/N),” Rafe spat, continuing to pour the white powder out onto the glass coffee table.

“You know what I mean.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I knew what you meant,” Rafe snarled, still not diverting his attention from his next fix.

“You’re so...so bipolar!” You yelled as the tears continued to stream down your face, but he didn't seem to care.

“Tell yourself what you want (Y/N), but I don't have time for this,” he muttered.

His lack of empathy made the pain in your chest grow stronger.

“Why, Rafe? Why is it that you’re so loving, so affectionate some days, and then completely hostile others? Is there something I’m doing wrong?” You asked, a pleading tone in your voice.

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rafe replied, now rolling his note  into a long cylinder.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about!” You cried, your body starting to shake as you withheld sobs.

Rafe sighed in irritation, putting down the note briefly to finally look up at you.

“Can’t you see I’m busy here (Y/N)?” He said dismissively, immediately returning to his addiction.

Your heart sunk even more; you didn’t think it was possible to feel this neglected and alone standing next to the boy who claimed to love you, next to the boy you loved. But it was.

You sighed in defeat before bringing yourself to speak again.

“I think we should take a break,” you whispered loud enough for him to hear over the sound of himself inhaling the white powder.

He rubbed his nose, sniffing a little before looking up at you again.

“A break?” He asked, seeming unfazed.

“I..I don't want us to be over Rafe...” you said, wiping the remaining tears from your eyes, “but I think you need to do a lot reevaluation over the choices you’re making right now and how it affects the people around you.”

You expected him to protest, for his eyes to widen as he heard your words. You expected him to rush over to you and plead against it, for him to fight for you. But he didn't.

“Whatever,” Rafe shrugged, “beats me.”

You held in a sob as you heard those words come out of his mouth. He didn't care. You couldn't bring yourself to experience the embarrassment of crying in front of him again so you rushed out of his house as fast as you could, not giving it a second thought.

It had been two weeks since your ‘break up’; but you and Rafe had similar friend groups and hung out at the same places so you practically saw him every single day, and it hurt.

Somedays he would call and ask you how you were, making you think the old Rafe was back. Somedays he was silent and ignored you when he saw you, but you swore you could see guilt in his eyes. You hoped he felt guilty, that he was beating himself up over how he’d acted towards you, the same way you cried yourself to sleep almost every night over the fact that he let you go with such ease. Were you really that disposable to him?

Tonight he was throwing another party at his house while Ward and Rose were away in the Bahamas. You perched on the end of the couch that Rafe was sat on with Topper and two blondes. They were doing lines of coke of course, when was Rafe not inhaling that shit.

“(Y/N), you want some?” Rafe laughed, wiping his nose after doing a line.

You gave him a look; he knew you didn’t do that.

You kept scolding yourself for even being there. It wasn't healthy seeing him, it just made you miss him more. But part of you urged you to stay in case he spoke to you, in case he apologised for how he acted, fought for you.

“Suit yourself,” Rafe shrugged before sprinkling another line for the blonde sat next to him.

She was all over him, stroking his hair and shooting him flirty looks. You wanted to vomit, but the worst part was he didn't seem to care, nor that you were sat inches away.

After what felt like an eternity of sipping from a half empty cup, watching everyone have fun while you had a miserable time, Kelce stood up on the glass coffee table.

“How about a game of spin the bottle!” He shouted, receiving multiple yells and shrieks of excitement.

You felt a pit form in your stomach; you knew this couldn't end well, but you were somehow glued to your seat, the hope that maybe you and Rafe could patch things up blocking the warnings your subconscious was throwing at you.

Around a dozen people had gathered around the coffee table where the white powder had now been replaced with an empty beer bottle. You crossed your legs and pulled the sleeves of your hoodie over your hands in anxiety; you didn't want to be here.

A few rounds went by and you were already sick of watching strangers play tennis with each other’s tonsils. You promised you would leave after that round but just as you were getting up the bottle landed on Rafe. You froze.

Your heart rate practically went through the roof, you could feel your heart thumping in your chest so intensely you were scared others might be able to hear it. Your hands were already clammy from the stuffiness in your hoodie and this only made it worse.

Rafe shot you a quick glance, as if to check whether you were okay and for a split second you relaxed. He wasn’t going to do anything, he wouldn't.

But the next thing you saw was Rafe leaning in to the blonde sat next to him. Your heart sunk.

“Just a joke right?” He laughed whilst licking his lips.

His lips connected with hers as her hands went straight to his hair. His hair that you used to play with in bed on lazy or rainy mornings. Her hands stroked his cheeks, the cheeks you used to squish and prod at when he was feeling goofy or cracking jokes. But what stung most was w watching her kiss his lips. His lips that he used to kiss you with, that he used to whisper sweet nothings to you with, that he used to tell you he loved you with.

You felt sick, physically and emotionally sick. You let out a muffled sob as you covered your mouth with your sleeve and stood up quickly, running out of the room. It felt like déjà vu, but a worse version of what you’d already experienced, much worse. 

“(Y/N)!” You heard someone call out behind you. You knew exactly who it was, but you just ignored him and kept running.

You were halfway through the garden by the time Rafe managed to catch up to you, having yelled your name multiple times. He grabbed your arm and pulled you backwards, spinning you around to meet his gaze.

“(Y/N),” he gasped, “god since when could you run so fast?”

“Do you think this is some joke?” You replied, your voice shaking as you held back tears.

“What? No.” Rafe said, taking a more serious tone than before.

“I can’t believe you!” You cried, letting a tear slip down your cheek.

“(Y/N) it was just a game!” Rafe exhaled, running his hand through his hair in frustration.

“Great, just great!” You threw your arms up in the air, “so we’re just a game too?”

“It’s a party! Shit like that happens all the time,” Rafe said, still not seeming to understand why you were upset.

“Not when you have a girlfriend!” You shouted, you were full on crying at this point. “And not when she’s sat right next to you!”

“You put us on a break remember?” Rafe exclaimed, failing to comprehend.

“A break...you’re not supposed to cheat on a break Rafe, you’re supposed to work to make things right again!” You choked, your throat closing up causing your voice to sound strained.

“What did you want from me (Y/N)?” Rafe cried out, pain now laced in his voice as he saw you break down in front of him.

“What I wanted? I wanted you to fight for me!” You cried, clenching your teeth to stop you from letting out sobs.

“I wanted you to say that there was no one else that you could ever be with and that you'd rather be alone than without me!” You continued through sobs, your body shaking, your voice cracking.

“How was I supposed to know that?” Rafe responded, his voice hushed and strained. 

“You just are,” you sighed, the last of your tears falling as you wiped them away.

With that you walked away, not giving him another minute of your time. You knew it was futile, and your heart had suffered enough. You were done.

Rafe stood there in shock as he watched you disappear right in front of him. Part of him was screaming at him to run after you and kiss you, tell you how much he loves you. But the other part of him knew he couldn’t. Rafe was in pain. He hadn’t realised what he’d been doing had affected you so much. He knew he’d acted off and distant, but it was only because he felt overwhelmed sometimes. He never learnt how to be loved, let alone how to love, so he couldn’t handle it sometimes, it would freak him out. But seeing you like this, hearing the pain in your voice, the pain that he’d caused? It broke him. He was no better than his father, and he hated himself for it.

Rafe let his own tears fall as he came to terms with the reality of your situation. He’d lost you because he couldn’t love you the way you wanted him to. There was nothing that hurt him more than knowing he could never be good enough for you, he didn't know how to be. All he’d ever wanted to be his whole life was good enough, always living in the shadow of his sister, never living up to his father’s expectations. And now he knew he wasn’t. He wasn’t good enough for his father, and he sure as hell wasn’t good enough for you, and now he knew he never could be.

+

A/N: idk how proud of this I am but there u have it!

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[star-spangledstud]

PARADISE

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader 

Summary: The Avengers enjoy a hard-earned vacation.

Word Count: 3700-ish

Warnings: Fluff (None)

Blistering heat. Skin sticky from several layers of coconut-scented sunblock with built-in self-tanner, causing a dewy glow to set upon your bronzed, heated skin. A bright pink cocktail stood beside the tanning bed you were laying on, a slice of fresh lime and a tiny blue umbrella hanging off the side of the glass. Drops of condensation made their way down the length of the fishbowl shaped glass, collecting on the palm tree coaster it sat on. You sipped it every minute or so through a neon yellow plastic straw, allowing the icy drink to cool you down while the alcohol warmed the back of your throat as it went down.

You turned the page of your romance novel, green doe eyes covered by large black sunglasses following along the words written on the tattered paper. A glance up from your book to the pool area in front of you revealed toned bodies in brightly colored swimming trunks and skimpy bikinis sprawled everywhere. Natasha sat beside you on Wanda's sunbed. She'd braided her hair and was busy putting flowers in it. Fake daisies by the looks of it, made of cloth with little plastic stems. You smiled and took another sip, savoring the sour taste and slushy texture and took a mental note to order the same thing over dinner later. Then, you turned back to your book.

Steve loved summer. Perhaps it was the stark contrast provided by the sun's rays to the ice he was trapped in for so long or the scent of nature in bloom all around him that sparked his admiration for the season. He wasn't sure. All he knew is that he enjoyed the blistering heat and the breeze carrying the scent of fresh flowers across the resort.

His skin had become wrinkly from spending hours on end in the pool with the guys, but he was finally starting to win the game of volleyball against Sam and Thor, and Captain America did not like to lose. He'd tried to convince Tony and Bruce to join them but they were sitting in the shade, stacks of paper and two laptops covering the sunbeds around them. You smiled and shook your head at them, but didn't comment on their constant need to work, even though it was Tony's idea to take everyone away for a two-week paid trip to paradise in the first place. Maybe he just really loved showing off his money. You didn't care, because you were sipping on your fourth free cocktail.

Your eyes drifted back to the water glistening beneath the rays of the sun, to Steve, who was laughing so hard at something Peter said his hand went to his chest.

Steve felt your eyes on him as soon as you lowered your sunglasses to the bridge of your nose so you could watch him lose the game. He held his hand up to the guys, motioning for them to continue without him. Peter begged him to stay, knowing he could never win the game by himself, but Steve already waded to the edge of the pool. Instead of using the metal stairs, he gripped the edge of the pool and lifted himself out in a fluid motion. Water dripped from his torso and out of his shorts, leaving a trail of it on the marble tiles as he closed in on you.

He softly took a hold of your calves, lifting your legs and placing them into his lap so he could sit down on the sunbed. You placed your book on your chest, marveling at drops of water that ran down his milky white torso. That boy did not tan.

"Tired?" You teased, eyes drifting to Thor smashing the ball across the water.

"I can go all day, remember?" He replied, a soft smile playing on his lips.

"Sore loser then," you retorted, "nothing wrong with admitting defeat."

"'S not in my genes, I'm afraid," he paused, "so, what' cha reading?"

Even after the sun had set behind the palm trees, the heat remained. The air was still heavy and humid by the time you woke up from your pre-dinner nap and the second you stepped out of your shower, your skin was sticky again. You'd already given up on washing your hair. It would just get greasy again.

It was nearly nine when all of you met up at the restaurant. Overlooking the beach, you had a perfect view of the waves that crashed upon the shore from your seat at the table. You ordered the same ridiculous cocktail and were sipping it quietly, listening to your teammates conversating. Shadows of the palm trees waving gently in the breeze cascaded across the candlelit tables, hypnotizing you for a moment.

Tony's laugh broke your trance and you smiled, not really having listened to the joke. He stood up, scraping his chair back across the cobblestone. His glass of white wine swirled when he rose and he used a fork to tap the side of his glass. Silence immediately fell over the table.

"A toast, to the most annoying yet best teammates a guy like me, could ever ask for," he grinned, "the only reason why I'm saying this is because I've been day-drinking. They make hella Pina Coladas here."

"We know," Natasha said, grinning widely, "we love you too, Tony."

Waiters circled around the tables that had been pushed together to accommodate all of you, plates filled with various kinds of gourmet dishes balancing on their arms and in their hands. You raised your glass, smiling while everyone else did the same.

You looked at Steve, who had taken a seat beside you. He'd traded his swim shorts for a pale blue button-up shirt of which he'd rolled up the sleeves. A shark-tooth necklace, courtesy of one of the salesmen down at the beach who just wouldn’t leave him alone, hung around his neck. It was perfectly visible through the undone buttons on his chest. His hair was fluffy and soft from being in the water all day. You could tell he hadn't tried to style it with gel.

You almost hated yourself for watching him, even from the corner of your eye. It was a habit that had crept into your system over the course of four months. A habit that resembled an addiction to drugs. It was just fun at first, but your constant need to have your eyes on Steve had turned into a necessity, into a way of life.

The two of you had always hit it off. He was the first person to introduce you to the rest of the team when you were initially hired and he had taken it upon himself to show you the ropes and guide your training after that. He made you feel comfortable in an environment filled with strong, confident people during a time in which you felt like a small fish in a big pond. He watched your back on missions and took you to the city on days off - although admittedly, he mostly brought you along for his own selfish reasons.

He forced you to take him to places like McDonald's and KFC, not because the food - although advertised as such - was finger-licking good, but because he'd missed out on the experience of greasy fast food when he was growing up in the previous century. He forced you to take him to BestBuy, not because he was in the market for a new smart-fridge, but because he needed you to explain the appliances that had been invented after he went into the ice without judging him for his continuous stream of questions. It wasn't until your throat was sore from all the talking that he would take you to a coffee shop so you could sit down and enjoy a hot beverage. Not Starbucks though. Way too crowded and the drinks were too complicated. What the hell was a Frappuccino, anyway?

It was during those days where you began to glance at him. Peaks, out of the corners of your eye when he was trying to figure out whether to order a Quarterpounder or a Big-Mac. Admiration for adjusting so quickly in a world so far away from his own, for accepting it. Glances turned into zoned-out stares that focused on his features until he'd wave his hand in front of your face and ask you what planet you were on. Your cheeks would heat up every time, a sight he loved - but would never admit - and you would stammer and make up a stupid excuse about being tired.

You hated the feeling of butterflies fluttering around in your stomach whenever he would brush his arm against yours during the movie nights, or when his knees would hit yours as you sat opposite each other in the coffee shop. You hated the lopsided smiles he gave you when he thought you weren't looking and hated how close he would stand to you in the kitchen when you were making breakfast, shirt off and sweatpants riding low on his perfectly sculpted hips.

You hated how you'd begun to develop a crush on Steve Rogers. It just crept up on you, silent and deadly like a black viper. It had wiggled its way into your heart and settled there, causing it to hammer skip every time you were near him. You wanted to punch yourself for acting like a lovesick puppy because you were sure it was a one-sided thing and yet even as you laid in bed at night with thoughts racing and images of Steve flashing before closed lids, you couldn't turn your fucking brain off long enough to think clearly.

You and Steve were friends. Not just friends, either, but best friends. You spent so much time together it made Tony gag. Natasha couldn't stop obsessing over the two of you, constantly trying to prove that you were secretly dating. Even Bruce caught wind of the closeness of your supposedly platonic relationship and when he caught the two of you in the common room late one night doubled over in hysterical laughter, piles of blankets and fluffy pillows surrounding you on the couch you were sitting on, even he was convinced there was more going on than you were letting on.

As you were sitting on a tropical island, surrounded by the people that you cared for the most, a part of you wished there was. How nice it would be to experience a vacation at a fancy resort in the tropics with a romantic partner. You snorted, picking up your knife and fork while shaking your head. There was nothing going on between you and Steve and as far as he was concerned, there never would be. You were friends, after all, best friends at that, and there was no way that Steve could be interested in you in any other way. He was so perfect in every way and you were just, ordinary. Plain, a Big-Mac without toppings.

Dessert came before you even realized what was going on. You were buzzed at this point from all the cocktails you'd consumed and instead decided to order a glass of ice water to accompany the chocolate lava cake you had ordered. You only ate half, stomach feeling like it was going to burst at any point if you ate any more. Steve, being the gentleman he was, took the fact that you placed your spoon down as a sign and finished it for you.

"Y/N?"

You hadn't heard him coming.

He was standing behind you suddenly, shirt unbuttoned further than before and hair blowing in the wind that had started to pick up. Of course, it had been Tony's idea to host a private party after dinner in the club that was attached to the resort. Employees of SHIELD and the Avengers were dancing inside, booze flowing just as smoothly as the music. You'd stepped outside for only a moment in desperate need for some fresh air and time to think. 

It was still warm outside, the soft breeze feeling wonderful on your slightly reddened skin. 

"Hey," you said, elbows leaning on the railing that separated the resort from its private beach, "what are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question," he said smartly, offering you a sip of his sprite, "This is a nice place."

"It's beautiful," you mused, watching the gentle waves and the pearly white sands ahead.

"Yeah," Steve mumbled, "it is."

Seeing you in a white triangle bikini was the single most amazing thing Steve had ever seen. It had taken all his strength not to rip you from the beach and into your bungalow where he could kiss you and have you all to himself at last. The salty water had transformed your hair into waves, and the sun had kissed your skin and made you glow. You were on a towel on your stomach, book in front of you and sunglasses hiding your eyes. A bottle of sunscreen poked out of the tote bag you brought and a bottle of water stood perched up into the sand. It had to be warm by now, but you didn't care.

He loved seeing how much you enjoyed this. How naturally you adjusted to the change of pace, how you blended in with the scenery as if you'd always been there. He got to see a side of you he'd never seen before when you were in New York, where the rain seemed to permanently hang over the city. He loved how you interacted with people you were so used to seeing only at work,  but this also made him jealous. He was used to being one of the only people you would hang out with in private but now, you'd practically been glued to everyone but him. How badly he wanted to take you out for a stroll on the beach alone or enjoy a cocktail with you with no-one else watching. Hell, he'd even dance for you at that club with the music he could hardly call music if it meant he got to spend more time with you alone.

He was playing volleyball again, on the beach this time. Half of your party had gone out on scooters for an island excursion, but not you. You had decided that your book was more important, and so you were reading the final chapter with the sun cascading on your back. He'd tried to get you to join him earlier, but once again, you'd declined. Not now, when you were so close to finishing the book. The main character was about to confess her love for the man she'd been chasing for years. She had finally built up the courage to tell him how she really felt. Her words caused your stomach to clench and your heart to pound. You had to know how it would end.

But even the most experienced of readers required a break every once in a while. You were hot, extremely hot and in desperate need of something to cool you off. Alas, the water you'd brought had warmed up, offering no relief from the constant heat blazing down on you. You got up, placing the book into your bag so it wouldn't get covered in the sand and stretched your limbs.

You looked around the beach for a while, noticing it was a lot quieter with half the staff gone for the day and exhaled, allowing a deep breath to escape your lungs while you began to jog across the hot sand.

"When are you going to tell her you're in love with her?" Tony asked with a smug smirk on his face and the ball in his hands.

Steve swallowed, catching the ball with ease.

"You're supposed to hit it back, not catch it and stand there like a dead guy," Tony commented, "Anyway, you dig her and for some reason, you're too afraid to just man up and tell her. Why?"

"Because," Steve said, "we're just friends."

"Yeah, no shit Sherlock. Look, nothing's ever gonna change unless you act and you're an idiot if you think she doesn't feel the same way. Plus, I made a bet with Tash, so you better step up your game and get to it. Like, right now."

"Tony, I can't do that."

"Give me one good reason. Go on, I'm waiting." Another cocky smirk.

"We're coworkers."

Tony rolled his eyes, "Oh please, Fury doesn't give a shit and neither do I. Sign a couple of forms if you have to. Listen, pal if you don't make a move soon, someone else is bound to come in and sweep her off her feet and you'll be sorry forever."

Steve thought for a moment, watching as you walked further away from him and cursed Tony for being right. Again.

"She's the only one who can tolerate your shit, Rogers. Don't let her get away so easily."

Your feet were just touching the water when a hand around your upper arm stopped you from walking into the ocean. You'd ventured out to a more quiet area of the beach, where the only sound audible was the crashing of waves and seagulls over your head. You could still see your towel from where you stood, but the details had become blurry. Perfect.

"Hey,"  you said, voice sounding startled after you'd turned to look at whoever was holding you.

"I don't know why I allowed Tony of all people to convince me to do this, but I wouldn't be here if what he said to me didn't have a truth to it so I suppose it was for the best." Steve stammered, hands now on your shoulders as if to shield them from the sun.

"What are you talking about?" You asked, confused.

"Do you like me?" He asked, cheeks reddening more and more with each passing second. You couldn't tell through the darkness of your sunglasses, but he didn't know that.

"Of course I do Steve, you're my best-" He cut you off, testosterone and adrenaline taking over now.

"Not like that. Listen, you make me happy. Like, happy, happy. I don't mean the kind of happy that I get when I run into Sam at the gym and he has a fresh smoothie and a bagel for me, or when we successfully complete a mission and return home safely. It's not the kind of happy I get when I drink my favorite coffee, or when I see a dog at the park."

"What are you saying?" You whispered, eyes hidden by tinted glasses sliding across his face for any sign of fuckery.

There was none. You're suddenly painfully aware of the water swishing against your legs, aware of the grains of sand beneath your feet and his touch, which burned hotter than any sun in the universe could ever do. It's like you'd taken a step inside the book you were just reading.

"You make me feel things I haven't felt before, but want to feel all the time. I crave you when you're not there. The brush of your fingers, the softness of your voice and your laugh, Y/N, I need to hear it all the time and hell, I don't want to even think about having to share it with anyone else because I can't stand to bear the thought." He realized he was being dramatic, but he didn't care.

It disgusted him how easy it had been for Tony to convince him to tell you, but he was right. Walking on eggshells around you was ridiculous and even though Steve realized that being this honest could ruin everything in a matter of seconds, he also knew that lying was a habit he hated and he had been lying to himself for far too long by pretending to accept your friendship as the endstage.

Your hand was on his chest before he knew what was happening. A small smile played on your rosy lips, yet there was hesitation hidden behind those sunglasses. Hesitation, because what if the only reason why he said those words to you was because of a stupid bet? You were almost convinced of it, but his blue orbs told you the truth far better than any of his words could ever do. He was searching for confirmation, waiting for you to tell him you felt the same. Hell, they were begging you to say something, anything just to get the anticipation out of the way. It was like a horror movie, where you knew a jump scare was coming but you didn't know when.

"I do like you,"  you said finally, "more than dogs at the park."

An amused expression on your face allowed him to finally breathe again. Bright blue eyes still intensely scanned your face, just to make sure you too were telling the truth. He wasn't a walking lie detector - unlike Natasha - but he could tell you were honest.

"I want to take you out," more adrenaline, "properly. Not a coffee shop date, but a real date. With flowers and dinner."

Your heart clenched, second hand finding his chest, "I would like that."

It was hard to stand on the tip of your toes while being in the sand. You sank a little, so it kind of defeated the purpose, but still, you did your best to gain some height on the tall man in front of you. His piercing blues traveled across your shoulders, followed a trail of glimmering sunshine along your body and you sighed, almost fearful you ended up with a heat stroke and were currently delusional. Or drunk. Or both.

But his lips, salty from the ocean water he took in when he went under a while ago and soft, felt very fucking real. You could hardly believe it because did dreams really come true, but hell yeah they did, because you were in one right now and you were not asleep. You were kissing, mouth on mouth and it didn't stop there, because your tongue soon slipped in - you blamed the alcohol you had earlier for your sudden boldness. Blamed him too, for overwhelming you with it.

You didn't even care about the fact that Tony and some level 6 SHIELD employees were watching you guys make out on a private beach. Didn't give a damn about the fact that Tony picked up his phone to call Natasha about how she now owed him $200, or how your sunscreen was starting to wear off and your skin would soon turn red. You finally had Steve right where you wanted him, really had him now, and you didn't plan on letting go anytime soon.

[mydogisveryadorbs]

perfect | jj maybank x oc

summary: She’s the kook princess. He’s the pogue prince. They weren’t meant to end up together, but unexpected things can sometimes turn out perfect.

warnings: underage drinking, mentions of drugs and drug addictions, mentions of sex and nudity, angst, fluff, not completed

(gif credit to the owner)

intro prologue part one part two

✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰

Gracie was awakened by the sound of a rooster.

The second she opened her eyes, an intense pounding filled her senses. She blinked a few times trying to remember where she was. 

It was then that she felt the strong weight of an arm wrapped around her waist. Gracie quickly snapped her head around, expecting to see a nude Rafe Cameron. She was pleasantly surprised to instead see a nude JJ Maybank.

The memories of last night began to fill her head. She had been drunk enough to sleep with JJ but not quite drunk enough to forget.

JJ’s mouth is slightly open, his soft snores filling her ears. Gracie has a sudden itch to reach out and trace his features. She shakes her head, clearing her thoughts.

Looking around, Gracie tries to figure out where she is. She's in a bedroom. Definitely a boy's bedroom on the cut. JJ’s house? Truth be told the girl knew little to nothing about the boy with his bare chest pressed against her back.

Turning her head to the side, she notices her phone sitting in the nightstand next to her. Grabbing it she turns it on to see that it's only 7. It's early for her, but she knows her parents will be awake when she gets home.

Gracie gently peels the blonde-haired boy’s arm off her waist, slipping out of the bed as quietly as she can.

The brunette girl doesn't do one night stands, so she's not sure how this is supposed to go. She figures, however, that it's best if she leaves before JJ wakes up.

Gracie slips on her clothes from the night before. She's slipping on her skirt when her foot gets caught and she bumps into the night table with a thud. JJ groans rolling over, but he doesn't seem to wake up. Gracie lets out a sigh of relief, quickly gathering her things.

On her way out, she spots a picture of what looks like a young John B and his dad. Okay, so this is John B’s house.

The crowing of the rooster grows instantly louder as the girl makes her way outside, trying her best not to wake anyone up.

Truth be told, Gracie has no idea where she is. It's not often that she finds herself alone on this side of the island.

Looking down at her phone, Gracie notices that there is no service. Lifting her head back up, she guesses that she walked in the opposite direction from her house last night. She tries to retrace her steps, eventually making her way to the boneyard. Gracie notices how peaceful the place looks without anybody there and she realizes that she has never been here in the morning.

Finally relaxed, Gracie begins to think about everything that happened last night. Talking to the pogues, getting hammered, fighting with Rafe, and, well, JJ.

She feels her cheeks warm and her stomach turns to jelly as she remembers the night the two of them shared. He was sweeter than she had expected, constantly praising her and telling her how much he was enjoying himself.

“You're doing so great, Gracie.”

“Mmm, that feels so good, pretty girl.”

“You're gonna make me c-”

Gracie feels her cheeks burn as she quickly shakes her head, trying to get the blonde surfer out of her thoughts.

It happened, it was amazing, but it's never going to happen again.

The green-eyed girl sighs, heading off in the direction of her figure eight home.

By the time she makes it there, it is almost 9, and her feet aching. Slipping in the front door, Gracie tries to make her way to the stairs without being noticed by her parents.

“Grace Rose,” she hears the shrill voice of her mother call from the kitchen.

Biting her lip, Gracie walks towards her voice with a sheepish smile on her face. When she enters the kitchen she sees her mother, father, and younger brother all sitting together at the breakfast nook.

“Grace Rose,” her mother questions with narrowed eyes, and Gracie prepares herself for the lecture to come, “Where are you headed so early in the morning?”

The question causes Gracie’s eyebrows to pull together in confusion.

“And didn't you wear that skirt yesterday?” her father asks, causing her to look over at him.

Realization dawns on the girl after her father's question.

Her parents didn't even notice that she didn't come home last night.

“I-I'm not going anywhere,” she says with a broken voice, “I-I…” She doesn't finish her statement, tears brimming her eyes as she rushes up the stairs.

“God, that girl gets more and more hormonal every day,” she hears her father say.

Gracie quickly runs up the stairs and down the hall, slamming her door behind her without missing a beat.

She falls to her floor, crying her eyes out with quiet sobs.

Why was she crying so much lately? Maybe she is just hormonal. Or maybe it's because your parents don't even love you. 

The thought causes her tears to fall more and more rapidly. She thought that her parents yelling at her constantly couldn't get any worse, but what she didn't know was that them not caring at all was infinitely more painful.

It's because you're not pretty enough. Or skinny enough. I mean how could an ugly fat ass like you be loved.

Gracie wraps her arms around her stomach, suddenly feeling very sick. She runs to the bathroom, barely making it before she empties the contents of her stomach into the toilet. After flushing, she looks up at herself in the mirror. Her hair is messy from her endeavors last night, eyes puffy and red from crying, mascara smudged slightly under her eyes. Gracie wishes her cheekbones were higher and that she didn't have so many freckles littering her face. 

Her phone buzzes on the counter and she picks it up to see a text from Sasha.

party at the cameron's tonight!

Gracie feels her eyes well with tears again. She definitely doesn't have it in her to party again tonight. Especially if it's at the Cameron's. She knows it will be hard to get out of sleeping with Rafe tonight and doing so will definitely cause a scene.

sounds great! meet you there at 8?

The girl feels like doing nothing today. After getting a confirmation text from Sasha, Gracie changes into a pair of sweatpants and a comfortable tank, slipping into the covers of her queen size bed. If anyone asks she will tell them she spent the afternoon working out and tanning, not going back and forth between watching The Office and Criminal Minds and eating Skinny Pop.

Gracie starts getting ready around 6, straightening her frizzy hair and doing her makeup to perfection. You almost can't tell that she has cried three times in the last two days. She slips on a silver embroidered lace dress with an open back and grabs a matching pair of stilettos. Without bothering to say bye to her parents or tell them where she is going, the girl slips out of her house without a word. She slips into her black Range Rover, knowing that drinking is out of the question. Especially not after what happened last night.

Cars are lined down the street when Gracie pulls up in front of the Cameron house, music and shouts filling the air.

She walks past groups of drunken teenagers puking in bushes, trying not to make eye contact with any of them. She fiddles with the ring on her pointer finger, anxiety bubbling in her stomach once again.

Gracie quickly finds Sasha and Emily by the bar, ordering a Shirley temple.

“Come on, Gracie,” Emily says, pulling her and Sasha out to the dance floor. The sight of sweaty teens grinding on each other makes the girl cringe, but she brushes it off.

She lets herself get lost in the music, closing her eyes and swaying her hips. When her eyes open again, they are met with a pair of cerulean eyes watching her from the bar area.

Gracie quickly wonders what he is doing at a party like this, but she remembers hearing that John B is dating Sarah Cameron now. 

She excuses herself from Emily and Sasha without breaking eye contact with the blonde-haired boy. Adding a little sway to her hips, Gracie walks in his direction only to be cut off by a large body.

“Gracie,” Rafe says and Gracie has to hold back a groan. His eyes are red-rimmed and the reminisce of white powder resides on the tip of his nose.

“Rafe.”

“You look hot, baby girl,” the coked-out boy says with a smirk, slightly slurring his words, the nickname making Gracie gag. 

Gracie sighs. “Look, Rafe, I'm not interested.”

Rafe narrows his eyes taking a step forward, causing the girl to step back away from him.

“What is going on with you lately,” Rafe says, his voice rising several octaves. “You've been a real bitch recently.”

Gracie looks around, noticing a few pairs of eyes starting to look their way. “Calm down, Rafe,” she says in a whisper yell. “You're causing a scene.”

Rafe takes another aggressive step towards the girl. Gracie starts to feel trapped and her breathing begins to speed up.

“Fuck yeah I'm causing a scene,” he says pushing her shoulder harshly, causing her to stumble backward into a random couple who groans.

“Hey,” a familiar voice calls, placing a hand on Rafe’s shoulder. “Don't touch her.”

“Stay out of this, pogue,” Rafe says the word with such venom that Gracie knows a fight is coming.

Gracie steps forward towards the two fuming guys. “Guys, stop,” she pleads.

“Yeah, you heard her,” Rafe says without looking at her, stepping towards JJ with his fists clenched at his sides. The people around them are all looking over, seeing the commotion.

“No, Rafe,” Gracie says, her voice turning more hostile as the anger starts to build inside her. “I’m talking to you. You're being an asshole.”

Rafe snaps his head to look at her, his pupils are dilated and his face red with anger. Gracie has never seen him so furious and it is honestly starting to scare her. “What did you say, you fucking bitch,” he seethes at her, spit flying.

“Don't talk to her like that, asshat,” JJ steps in front of her, harshly pushing Rafe away from the girl.

Rafe takes a step towards JJ and Gracie is sure that a fight is about to break out. The two boys maintain eye contact, both of them puffing out their chests and if it went for the current situation Gracie would laugh at their actions. After a few moments, Rafe steps backward.

“That whores not worth the trouble anyway,” Rafe says with a smirk.

“Hey,” JJ steps towards Rafe, but Gracie wraps a hand around his bicep, holding him back as Rafe walks away. As soon as he disappears into the crowd, JJ relaxes turning around to face Gracie, his gaze softening at her worried eyes.

“You okay?” he asks softly. The girl looks around and sees that people are still looking at them.

Gracie straightens her back, rolling her eyes. “I'm perfectly fine, Maybank,” she says with an attitude, “So if it's fine with you I'm going to get a drink.” She walks away with her head held high, but instead of heading to the bar area, she turns making her way to the bathroom down the hall. She's been to several parties here so she knows where some things are.

Locking the door behind her, Gracie sinks down against the wall, letting everything that happened sink in. A few seconds later she hears a knock on the door and she quickly tells the person that the bathroom

is occupied.

“It's JJ,” the muffled voice says from the other side of the door. Gracie quickly stands up wiping away the few tears that had slipped out.

Opening the door, the brunette is met with his ocean eyes.

JJ steps inside the bathroom, gently closing the door behind him before turning back to face the girl. Gracie feels herself fall apart in front of this boy. She blames it on the fact that she was craving comfort and he happened to be there.

Her eyes well with tears and her hands reach to cover her face. “Hey, hey,” JJ says awkwardly, wrapping his arms around the crying girl and patting her back gently.

After a few moments, Gracie pulls away, regretting it as her arms grow cold. She wipes her eyes with a small giggle. “Sorry,” she says, not meeting his eyes and JJ responds, telling her it's okay, “I guess everything going on just caught up to me at once.”

“Yeah I bet it's hard living in the biggest mansion on figure eight,” he says sarcastically, causing Gracie to frown. Is that really what he thinks of her?

“Anyways, we need to stop meeting like this,” JJ jokes, causing both of them to laugh. When their laughter dies down an awkward silence fills the bathroom.

“Why'd you leave,” JJ asks quietly, breaking the silence.

Gracie looks at him with confusion. “What?”

The blonde boy scratches his neck awkwardly, not looking up to meet her eyes. “This morning,” he explains. “I had a good time last night and, ya know, you kinda just left.”

“Oh,” Gracie says in a surprised tone, eyes widening a little bit. 

“Yeah, oh,” JJ says, turning around to walk out of the bathroom.

Gracie bites her lip. “Wait.” JJ turns around to look at her, raising his eyebrows. She clears her throat. “Well, to be completely honest, I've never really had a one night stand.”

It's JJ's turn to look at her with surprise.

“Oh, don't look so surprised. I know the rumors about me,” Gracie says with a scoff, “but anyways, I guess that I just didn't know how those types of things typically work.”

JJ smiles softly or the girl. “Well,” he says, taking a step closer, “If it was just a one night stand… then I guess you leaving like that wasn't a problem.” He takes another step forward, now almost chest to chest with Gracie, causing her to let out a small gasp. “But, I was hoping this wasn't just a one-time thing.”

Gracie gulps, quickly composing herself.

She smirks, leaning in so her lips brush JJ’s, not fully pressing them on his. “Why don't you get me out of here,” Gracie whispers in a sultry voice as a piece of his wavy hair falls onto her forehead, ticking her.

JJ lets out a breath, his eyes scanning her face. “God, you're so beautiful.” Gracie’s stomach fills with butterflies at his words. He grabs her dainty hand in his calloused one, their rings pressing against one another as they walk hand in hand.

The blonde boy leads the two of them out the mansion and Gracie points out her range rover telling him that she will drive. JJ looks at her questioningly. “Don't worry I haven't been drinking,” she says.

JJ hums in response, “I better drive just in case.”

Gracie looks at him for a second before tossing him her keys, as they each walk around to their sides of the car.

“You better not crash my car,” she says with an eye roll.

JJ salutes her as he presses the ignition, letting out a breathy sigh. “Honestly,” he whispers, making Gracie look over at him, “I just really wanted to drive your car.”

The two of them laugh as JJ pulls out, driving towards the chateau. As soon as they arrive, the pair of hormonal teens clamber out of the car, kissing each other sloppily as they make their way inside.

Gracie notes that the actions feel familiar to her as JJ lowers her gently into the bed, kissing her passionately, but the girl wouldn't mind them becoming even more familiar.

��⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰

[katehuntington]

Title: In Bad Waters - part ten Word count: ±3400 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part ten summary: Zoë and the Winchesters face the aftermath of losing a victim. Especially the huntress takes it hard, and the reason soon surfaces. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09​​​​​​​ and @deanwanddamons​​​​​​​. Thanks, girls! Gif isn’t mine. If you are the creator or know who made it, please tell me so I can credit you.

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

     The black Harley Davidson rolls into the parking lot of the Hampton Inn, followed by the Chevrolet Impala. Zoë hasn’t said a word to Sam since she found Taylor at the Dawlson home. Both of them gave a statement to the local police and managed to talk their way out of an interrogation at the department, Zoë continuing her role as agent Sharon Evans. Without missing a beat, Sam improvised and said he was her partner. They kept the cops in the dark, hoping they will not be making their ghost hunt more difficult than it already is.

     Sam also talked to Jeff Dawlson. The poor guy was a mess, but the widower made clear that he was certain that this wasn’t just some ordinary murder. The silence, the windows that didn’t break, the door that didn’t open. He called it a force, something he couldn’t possibly begin to explain. Even for a skeptic down to earth guy like Jeff, this was obviously not from their world. So Sam told him everything about Laura, all that they know. Jeff took it quite well, even thanked them for their attempt to save his wife, but he was devastated, never to be the same.

     Quiet, Zoë gets off her bike, takes her laptop case out of the saddlebag and strolls to the entrance. She’s glad no one stole her Macbook when she left it at the terras, the database as valuable to her as John’s journal is to the boys.      Sam follows her, watching the huntress as she makes her way to room seventeen; not a single remark has left her lips, yet she keeps a straight face. People passing by don’t notice anything about the strong woman, but Sam can only imagine that this is messing with her.

     The huntress slips the key card through the lock and opens the door. As she expected, Dean is obviously present. A KFC bag and several paper wrappings plus an empty bucket that once contained fried chicken are scattered on the bedspread, loud music is blaring on the radio. Dean, who is freshening up in the bathroom, apparently didn’t hear them come in, because he keeps singing along with the song.

“There’s a lot of people sayin' we'd be better off dead. Don't feel like Satan, but I am to them. So I try to forget it, any way I can. Keep on rockin' in the free world!”, he belts out.

     His younger brother halts and raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t laugh or chuckle; his brother’s poor vocal skills would have been amusing if the circumstances were different.      Zoë doesn’t appreciate his singing either and she slams her fist on the bathroom door. “Hey, Neil Young! Shut your piehole, will ya?”      They hear a glass breaking on the bathroom floor and Zoë rolls her eyes while sighing deeply. Wonderful.      “Fuck,” Dean curses softly, then sets up a voice loud enough for Zoë to hear it. “Sorry!”

     Without responding she walks away from the door and turns down the volume of the radio completely, allowing a deadly silence to hover the room. As Sam picks up the paper wrappings, Dean pops his head around the corner.      “What the hell are you doing here?” he asks them both, when he notices his brother by the door.      “I could ask you the same thing,” Sam returns.      “I let him break in,” Zoë says before Dean can answer.      “Didn’t expect you two to be back anytime soon.” He walks out of the bathroom, buttoning his white shirt, since he doesn’t have a change of clothes. “The shower is amazing, by the way. It’s so big and it has this fucking awesome massage setting--”      “Something occurred at the Dawlsons,” Sam interrupts.

     His older brother halts and looks from Sam to Zoë, who sat down on the bed, staring at nothing in particular, her gaze blank.      She can feel his unspoken question and decides to answer. “She’s dead.”      Dean expected something like that when he sensed the mood, but it still comes as a shock. He needs a few seconds to collect his thoughts.      “Dead as in hit-by-a-car-dead or killed-by-a-ghost-dead?” he asks carefully.

     A depressing quietness remains between the hunters. Zoë doesn’t reply; words aren’t necessary. When her eyes meet his, Dean knows enough. The oldest of the brothers breathes out with a sigh and looks away, shaking his head; damn it.      “Did you see Laura?” he wonders.      “We did,” Sam responds on Zoë’s behalf. “We tried to stop her.”      Dean frowns at that. “How did you know Laura was inside the house? So far no one witnessed her actual attack, right?”      “I had a vision,” Sam explains.

     Both Zoë and Dean look up at him, stunned by his statement. Zoë is well aware Sam had one. But what she didn’t know is that Sam told his brother about his ability, which she presumes, as he just blurted it out like that.      Dean however, bites down the mixture of concern and frustration. He tries to ignore the fact his brother shared this information in the presence of the huntress, which they only met a couple of days ago.  Filing it under either carelessness, he addresses the other issue: since when does Sam have these visions when he’s awake? “You fell asleep or something’?”      “No, this was the first time he had one during the day,” Zoë answers before Sam does.

      The comment triggers Dean to snap his head towards her, unpleasantly surprised to learn she’s all up to date with Sam’s powers. Agitated, he glares at his brother.      “You told her?!” he exclaims.      “Yeah, so? We hunt together, so what’s the big deal?” Sam returns defensively.      “You wanna know what the big deal is? If this goes public amongst hunters, some of them might seriously keep an eye on you, Sam!” his brother snaps.      Zoë tries to cool the looming clash. “It’s safe with me, Dean.”      “That’s not the fucking point!” He counters angrily, focusing on the huntress. “He doesn’t realize how dangerous this could be!”      Sam reminds him of his presence. “Don’t talk like I’m not even here, Dean.”

Zoë’s not sure where it’s coming from, but she has the sudden urge to defend Sam. She can relate with the youngest Winchester, she’s going through the same after all. Dean has no idea what these special abilities feel like, how painful and confusing they are, how they wreck their mind. He’s not the one experiencing them. Who the hell does he think he is to tell Sam how to handle this?      “Like you have a clue what’s going on,” she jumps in. “I think hunters are the last ones on earth you should worry about.”      Dean narrows his eyes at her, reading into her words. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”      “Haven’t you wondered where this is coming from?” she looks up at him, waiting for an answer. “Because I for one have never encountered a human being with supernatural powers. Have you?”

     Silence. It might not have yet occurred to Dean, though, but Sam and Zoë have thought of it constantly. People, normal, random people, shouldn’t be having visions, period. Zoë is right; It’s not normal, it’s not human.

     Dean however, decides to ignore her notification and points his finger at his younger brother in the way a father would do to his son. “You shut up about this,” he warns. “If you wanna talk about it, talk to me. If you share this with anyone else--”      “Don’t you treat me like you’re Dad!” Sam counters.      Zoë rolls her eyes the moment John is mentioned. She turns to the window with her hands placed firmly on her slender waist.      “I am responsible for you and I am the one who has to drag your ass out of trouble when you have God knows what on your tail because of this freaky stuff. As long as Dad ain’t around, I’m gonna talk to you like that. Suck it up!” Dean returns sternly.      Sam huffs and grinds his teeth. He hates, absolutely hates it when he’s treated like a child. It doesn’t matter if he’s talked down on by Dad or Dean; he can’t stand it. He's twenty-two for Christ's sake!      “No. This is my life, my problem. I’m not gonna listen to you,” Sam sneers, cynically.      Furiously, Dean raises his voice. “Yes, you are!!”      “Would you two SHUT THE FUCK UP?!”

     Both brothers seize their argument and look at Zoë, who turned around to face then. Enraged, she glares at them, her penetrating eyes darting from one to the other, disgusted by their behavior.      “How old are you? Fucking ten?!” she asks resentfully. “People are dying and you two are actually arguing over who’s boss and who’s not?!”      Sam gulps; she has a point. This is senseless; because both Dean and Sam know that neither of them are willing to admit their wrong. Even Dean seems to be ashamed, his green eyes breaking away from Zoë’s penetrating stare.      “I’m gonna be honest with you two. If you don’t get along, that’s your problem, but you’re no good to me if you don’t function together,” she continues, gritting her teeth in frustration. “An innocent just died, Goddamnit!”

     They could hear a pin drop in the spacious hotel room. Having enough of the Winchesters’ stupidity, Zoë turns her back on them and saunters to the end of the room. She sits down on the bed, sniffing, then she wipes her nose. 

Sam and Dean exchange a look, both noticing how much this is bothering her. So far the huntress seems to be a lot more careless about cases; she’s more the shoot-to-thrill type. She was willing to leave this case in her rear view mirror after all.      Dean  carefully attempts to find out what’s really going on with the fellow hunter. “What’s wrong, Zo?”

     Instead of answering, she just shakes her head. Avoiding their questioning eyes, Zoë folds her hands together and rests her elbows on her knees. For a long while she doesn’t speak, but then she starts to open up, just a little bit.      “I was supposed to watch her,” she claims. “Yet I was goofing around and bored, while she got slaughtered.”      “This isn’t your fault,” Sam replies immediately, trying to take away the guilt.      “It is.” Her piercing gaze moves to meet his. “I should have known, I should have drawn a conclusion from the first two killings, but I didn’t.”      “Hey, we didn’t see this coming either,” Dean brings to mind.      “It doesn’t matter. Someone lost their life again while I could’ve prevented it,” she states, her voice fragile now.

     Sam furrows his brow, confused. Again? What does she mean? With a questioning look, he glances over at Dean and is surprised by what he sees. Compassion, compassion for Zoë. He realizes Dean might know more about her past, after all, he and Dad worked her case and casted out the demon that possessed her. Dean wasn't in a sharing mood when his younger brother requested more details about what happened back then. Sam thought he didn't know more and that their dad kept him in the dark, but now he begins to realize that he simply didn't want to elaborate on it. Is it not his place to tell? Or did that hunt go wrong?

     Dean offers some reassuring words, trying to convince her. “Zo, what happened back then was out of your hands.”      “Don’t go there,” she warns.      “You shouldn’t still be blaming yourself for that, nor should you feel guilty about today,” he presses.      “I said: Don’t. Go. There,” Zoë repeats, glaring over her shoulder.      Sam glances from one to the other, disorientated, unable to follow the conversation. The oldest of the Winchester brothers isn’t spooked by the threat, however.      “Maybe you should step away from the case,” he suggests.      “What?!” she cries out, perplexed.      “It’s obvious that you’re emotional about this, Zo,” he starts to explain, deliberately getting under her skin.      “Emotional?!” She scoffs, fury in her eyes, pressing her clenched fist in the mattress. “Oh, I’m sorry. Am I not allowed to give a fuck about people dying? My mistake!”      “I’m just saying that maybe you should let us take care of this one,” he explains.

     He might say so, but Dean doesn’t want her to quit. What he does want, is to trigger her. He used the same technique on his brother before and it worked like a charm, it seems like it might just work on the huntress as well. He can sense her blood beginning to boil as she rises to her feet; he really pissed her off this time.      “Are you fucking serious right now?! I don’t quit on cases, I don’t take the easy way out!” she yells, pointing at her chest.      “You were gonna before you allowed us to help you. So tell me why the hell you’re so worked up all of a sudden,” he bounces back.      “No!” Zoë shouts outrageously, her voice hitting a higher tone than she anticipated. “I don’t wanna talk about it!”      “It’s been over four years, Zoë. It’s about damn time you talk about it. This isn’t healthy,” Dean pressures.      “I just can’t, okay?”

     Her voice is suddenly softer now as it breaks, almost begging him to stop. She averts her gaze quickly, but Sam could see her eyes glister. Slowly, he starts to get the idea of what happened back then, remembering the first file in her database, the one consisting of the demon that possessed her.      “Zoë, if this has something to do with that Diligo Vesco demon...” he carefully starts off. “Whatever happened, it wasn’t on you.”      “My hands--” She holds them up in front of her. “- and his blood all over them. Now don’t you tell me it wasn’t me.”

     Confused, Sam cocks his head from Zoë to Dean, who watches the woman with his arms crossed in front of his chest. His stance is still defensive, but his eyes tell a different story, one of empathy.      When the huntress spots the confused expression on Sam’s face and turns to Dean as well. “You didn’t tell him?”      “I didn’t. Wasn’t sure if you’d be okay with that,” he says.

     With a deep breath, she prepares to say the words that bring her so much pain. Words that remind her of that dreadful day, the moment that everything got screwed to hell. Her heartbeat has sped up throughout the conversation, first by anger, but now that she has to admit out loud what went down four years, four months and five days ago, she feels like it’s about to jump out of her chest. A panic attack is prevented when she breathes in through her nose slowly and lets the air flow from her mouth again, repeating it once more while closing her eyes. Then she looks up at Sam and swallows back the tears. She can’t break, she never has and she won’t now. With a trembling voice, she speaks up.

      “When I was possessed, I killed my dad.”

      Sam’s jaw almost drops to the ground. For a moment he just stares at her, his eyes large, unable to form words. Poor, poor girl. Losing a parent is one thing, but she experienced her father’s murder like she was the one killing. How do you get over that?      And just like that, he sees Zoë in a totally different light. Her attitude makes more sense, her eagerness to hunt, her reluctance to new friendships. She lost one of the most important people in her life, no wonder she shut herself in.

     Both boys watch her struggle, there’s not much they can do to make her feel better. She walks over to the window and rubs her face. The brothers can’t see the tears run down her cheek, but they know she turned away to prevent them from witnessing her sorrow. She can’t show her weakness, not to them, not to anyone.

     Dean notices something about her that he recognizes in himself. The huntress is unable to express how she feels, simply because it hurts too much. It’s easier to stuff it away and sweep it under the rug, hoping that way it doesn’t have to be dealt with, that the pain will slowly fade away over time. But let’s be fair; it doesn’t.

     Zoë sighs deeply and takes heart, turning back to them when the tears have stopped falling.      “We shouldn’t be talking about me, guys. Our ghost is getting more violent by the hour. We need to stop this,” she reminds them.      Sam glances at his brother and their eyes meet. He knows she’s avoiding the subject, but they have to admit there is truth in her words. Laura might be killing someone right now, especially since Sam left the Shire residence unattended. They decide to give it a rest.

     “You’re right, let’s get our head back in the game. I’m gonna get the doctor to talk, I won’t take no for an answer.” He grabs his tie from the chair and folds it around his collar as he looks up at Sam, awaiting a follow up from his younger brother.      “I’ll check on the Shires and keep you guys in the loop,” Sam suggests.      “Sounds good to me. Talk to them too, fire it up a little. Maybe they know more about this. We need more intel to wrap this one up and we need it fast,” Zoë urges, checking her watch and startled to see that it’s almost five o’ clock.      “Take the car. I’ll walk, it’s just a block away,” Dean nods at the car keys on the drawer, while struggling with his tie.      “C’mere,” Zoë beckons him to edge closer and takes Dean’s tie in her hands.      Skillfully, she redoes it, her hands moving swiftly. Dean can’t help to take in her pretty face. Her makeup has run down a little, it emphasizes her frame of mind. Focused on her task at hand, she avoids his unraveling eyes.

     “Should I tell them the truth?” Sam proposes.      “Not yet,” she tightens Dean’s tie and dares to look up at him. “You try to speak with the doctor first. We're sure he actually knows something, but we aren’t certain about the Shire family. We don’t want to spook them.”      “Okay, let’s go then.” Dean picks up his suit jacket and heads for the door.      Sam hesitates in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder at the young woman. “What are you gonna do?”       “I’m gonna look into Laura, see who she was close to. I can imagine the kid would’ve tried to stay out of that toxic household as much as she could, maybe she stayed over with friends a lot. Could lead to her next victim,” she explains.      “We’ll get her, Zo,” Dean assures.      “Hell, we will. Taylor was the last one killed by Laura Shire,” she states determined.

      Just after she pronounces those words, the door slams and locks. Surprised, Zoë stares at the doorknob, which felt like it was just ripped from her hand. As she slowly turns around, she feels chills running down her spine, the tingling sensation way too familiar. The bathroom light starts to flicker, then the faucet of the sink turns, water splattering on the porcelain. Suddenly the TV flips on, but all broadcasts a disorted image and static noise. She exhales clouds of warm air, her breath condensed, the temperature suddenly changing. It turns ice cold in the room.

      Zoë gulps. “Oh, fuck.”

      Seems like she doesn’t have to search very long to find Laura’s next victim; it’s her. Anxiously, Zoë searches the room for something iron, but then suddenly the image of the ten year old girl appears in the corner. Her blonde hair looks darkened, her pupils hazed over with white. The nightgown she was wearing the night she was killed is stained with blood. Then her eyes sink deep into their sockets, leaving gaping black holes in her small skull, before her form flickers and suddenly stands right before the huntress. Without an iron forged weapon or anything to use in the huntress’ defence, Zoë stares at the poltergeist for a brief second. This is it; she’s fucked. Even though she realizes the boys can’t hear her, she cries out one of their names at the top of her lungs.

  “SAM!!!”              

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).    

[happys-crazy-queen22]

Title: Missing Person

Gif credit @inconspicuously-me

Requested on wattpad.

Hope you all enjoy

Happy reading dollies

Fire PD crossover

Warning: Kidnapping, forced drug use, assault and attempted murder twice.

Kelly checked his watch for the fifth time in the last thirty seconds. He had just gotten off shift and called you to see what your plans were for tonight after you got off work but you didn't answer. That's very odd for you to do. You always answered. So he knew something wasnt right and he headed to the police department.

"Hey Trudy, have you seen Y/N"? Kelly asked the front desk officer.

"Haven't seen her since she came in this morning around eight. Why"?

"I'm off work and I called her but she isn't picking up. Maybe the unit is out with a case".

"The unit hasn't left all day. They've been working on a case that seems to be leading them on a wild goose chase". Trudy informed him. Now he was starting to get worried.

"Can I talk to Voight about this"?

"Yeah, I'll buzz you up".

Kelly walked up the stairs and saw everyone acting normal no alarms going off that Y/N wasn't there.

"Hey Kelly, what can we do for you today"? Voight greeted.

"Y/N, haven't you seen that she's not here"? Kelly pointed to your desk.

"She went on a run for coffee".

"How long ago? She hasn't answered my calls for two hours now. I know it doesn't take that long to get coffee".

"Adam track her phone. She's probably stopping to get something else and her phone died". Voight suggested.

"This is not like my sister. She calls to say she's running late even when her phone dies. Something is wrong". Kelly followed Voight to Adams desk. He tracked your last location but after that it was gone. Like you vanished.

"See. She's nowhere on here. Something happened to her and you better find out and bring my sister home safely". Kelly yelled at Voight, storming out. Voight sighed.

"Jay, Erin go to the coffee shop and see what you can find. Adam send them the address". Voight gave out orders and he went to his office. One of his members were gone right from under his nose and no one saw or heard a thing.

Erin and Jay arrived at the coffee shop, they talked to the manager and asked about the surveillance tapes. What they saw wasn't what they wanted.

"She was taken". Erin stormed in the squad room showing pictures.

"A unknown Male grabbed her from behind as she was putting the coffee in her car and took her somewhere off camera".

"Where's her car"?

"Towed away".

"Get Adam the video see if you can find anything. You two find the car. The rest of you call hospitals. No one tells Kelly. I dont want him going on a rampage and get her killed". Voight order his team. They all kicked it into high gear.

After hours of phone calls to hospitals  around Chicago they came up empty handed. Jay and Erin found the car but nothing looked out of the ordinary. The tow truck driver said he didn't see anyone near the car when he came to pick it up. That it looked like some soccer mom's spa day went to long and she forgot the timer.

"So we have nothing"? Hank questioned his team.

"Her phone is either destroyed or dumped somewhere. I'm not getting a signal at all". Adam said looking up from his screen.

"Damn it. We need to figure this out and find her. Kelly has been ringing my phone off the hook for hours. He's wanting to go to the news with this but I'm afraid that if the kidnappers see this they'll kill her".

"Think who would want to take Y/N"?

"Check to see if anyone got out recently that Y/N put away and made threats. Let's find her". Hank told his him.

That was three days ago and Kelly let's say he was about to rain hell on Voight and his team. He found out that there was a video and he car was towed away. He was pissed that Voight lied and kept secrets from him. It was his sister missing not some random from the streets. He wanted answers. 

Kelly parked his car and started walking to the front entrance of the police department as he was walking he passed by a alleyway. He's walked past it many time but something in him said go down and that's what he did.

He followed the trash littering the ground and under a pile of newspaper there was a foot.. Cold and white.

Kelly threw off the papers and saw it was his little sister laying on the ground. He checked your pulse and it was hardly there but it was there. You were covered in bruises. Your wrists had rope burns from being tied up. He took his jacket off and wrapped it around you picking you up and running to the station.

"Call an ambulance". Kelly screamed as he entered. Trudy rushed to see what happened. She stopped in her tracks as she saw it was you. "Call 911". She yelled to the officer at the desk.

A ambulance came and started working on you. Hooking up oxygen and a IV. Your pulse was weak and your blood pressure was low. They needed to get you to med and fast. Your life depends on it.

Kelly didn't go to the hospital right away, he had a bone to pick with Hank Voight. He stormed up stairs, he came to a desk and knocked off the computer. Causing a crash getting everyone's attention. Kelly had tears running down his face.

"I just found my sister in a fucking alley. If you would have done your fucking jobs this wouldn't have happened. If anything happens to her, I'm coming for you Voight". Kelly pointed to Voight.

"We know who it is".

"It's to late. Everything's been played out. You had your chance". Kelly gritted his teeth as he walked away going to the hospital.

When Kelly got there you were getting checked over by Will. The nurse said Will would be out as soon as he knew you were stable.

Kelly sat there on his phone calling everyone he knew in the police department that wasn't a fan of Voight and there were a few but he got the answer he wanted.

"Kelly"? Will came up to him.

"How is she? Is okay"?

"She's lucky you found her. Another night she would have been dead".

"What happened to her"? Kelly wanted to know but also he didn't want to hear the details.

"She has a few broken bones. A punctured lung. Hyperthermia. We ran some test and found drugs in her system. She's in bad shape but I see her making a complete recovery with the right support system".

"Anything else"?

"No. She's okay there". Kelly sighed a sigh of relief knowing that you was okay.

"Thanks, Will. Can I see her"?

"For a moment. We're trying to warm her up slowly so she's pretty out of it". Will lead Kelly to your room. You were hooked up to all sorts of machines. Your lips were blue and you didn't look good but you were a fighter and you would pull through.

"Can I get a second"?

"Yeah, I'll be outside if you need me". Will left leaving Kelly to sob. He held your hand. You were freezing.

"I'm going to make them pay. I'll rip their fucking throats out. Just get better, please. You can't leave me". Kelly kissed your forehead and left. He was on a mission of vengeance.

Kelly had the address in hand as he walked up to the house. A few guys sat on the porch as he went up the stairs.

"Is Romeo here"? He asked one of the guys.

"Who's asking"?

"James. My friend Mario said he could hook me up".

"Mario sent you"?

"Yeah, you want me to call him to verify ". Kelly went to pull out his phone.

"Nah, you cool". He opened the door and Kelly went inside. The house was filled with smells that Kelly only smelt when he had to deal with drug addicts. Cocaine, meth. You name it, it was probably there.

"Can I help you"? A voice spooked Kelly.

"Yeah. I came to get some coke. My boy Mario said you were the best". Kelly chuckled to cover up his nervousness.

"You came to the right place. Take a seat". The man pulled out a wooden box and put it on the coffee table for Kelly.

"Pick your sin". He laughed.

"Are you Romeo? Cause Mario said to deal with Romeo only".

"Yes, now where's my money"?

"I have it. Let me pick. I have a few lady friends coming over and they want some good shit". Romeo laughed as Kelly looked through the box.

"I know how that is. I had a woman a couple days ago. Cop. She loved to party. Couldn't get enough".

"Oh really"? Kelly tried to keep his anger under control.

"Yeah. Cute little Y/H/C. See we go way back. She put me away for awhile and I got her back. That the way I do it. You screw me, I'll screw you". Romeo slammed the box lid on Kelly.

"You know, you look a lot like the cops brother. She had a picture of them two together in her wallet". Romeo eyed Kelly.

"Only child. Mom's a CEO of a company  and dad's a lawyer".

"You sure"?

"You're right. I shouldn't lie, we just met. Dont want to get off on the wrong foot". Kelly reached in his waistband and brought out a metal baton. Cracking Romeo in the face with it. Romeo landed on the floor with a thud.

Kelly stepped over him. "I'm her brother and I'm the last person you'll ever see again". Kelly raised his arm again ready to strike but the door busted open and in came Voight and his team.

"Kelly, put the weapon down. I don't want to have to to shoot you". Hank warned pointing his gun at him.

"You need to leave and let me finish this. It doesn't concern you".

"It does. If you kill him I'll have to arrest you and I dont think you want Y/N to wake up with no one there by her side. So drop it".

Kelly was hesitant at first but he thought of you being alone, he knew he didn't want that. So he dropped his arm and walked off.

"Get out of here. No one will know you were here".

"Thanks". Kelly nodded and left. Voight and the team arrested Romeo and his crew. There was enough drugs to send them away for life not to mention the attempted murder of a cop, kidnapping and assault. They were looking at death row.

Kelly went back to the hospital and sat by your side. Since he left you were getting pinker and back to yourself. He watched as you opened your eyes and looked at him.

"Hey there sis".

"I'm sorry". You said with a tear running down your cheek.

"No need to be sorry. You're alive and well. Your here and getting help. That's all that matters. I'm with you every step of the way". Kelly squeezed your hand in supporting you.

[cle1024]

drunk in love | hjs

member: han jisung 

genre: angst 

summary: jisung is a lightweight; no matter what kind of alcohol he ingests, he somehow manages to become completely obliterated in minutes. as his best friend, you tend to take on the duty of taking care of him during his inebriated moments, even if it hurts you in the process.  friends to lovers!au, college!au 

warnings: swearing, alcoholism, brief mention of drug use 

a/n: credit to @str9ykids​ for the gif <3 this is kind of friends to lovers, kind of complicated

Han Jisung was a great guy; he was talented, creative, intelligent, passionate, charismatic, entertaining. There was a genuine care held within his eyes that most orbs missed, even in moments of honesty and loyalty, an underlying message whenever he spoke with someone about their hardships. He always seemed to understand and sympathise with people who ranted to him as a form of therapy, always willing to listen to whatever was on their mind regardless of how minute the issue. The only downfall you’d found in your time knowing him was his inability to know his limits. There had been numerous occasions of overworking himself, as well as breakdowns after trying to bottle up all his problems and emotions until he cracked under the immense pressure. Of course you were always there to pick up the pieces, that’s what friends do, and he was always there to thank you in the long run. Though, there was one particular limit of Jisung’s that even he was conscious of: his inability to hold any form of alcohol. Despite being strong in both mental and physical ways, the boy was an undeniable lightweight. Every morning after a night of drinking he’d wake with a splitting headache, downing a glass of water and painkillers you’d left for him, but he never changed his ways. At first, you’d brushed it off as a bad habit, perhaps an early and worrying sign of alcohol addiction. Over time you’d started to wonder if there was an underlying reason he allowed himself to become absolutely obliterated, his mind seemingly detached from his body as he stumbled around whatever party or club he’d found himself in. 

Even if he was mentally strong, he had his moments of weakness―it’s human nature, after all. Those moments where his walls crumbled and he shed tears of stress, anger, raw and unrelenting sadness. You couldn’t help but wonder what kind of secrets lied beneath his emotional shield, only reaching the surface in those rare moments of giving out under immense pressure. As much as you wanted to pry, Jisung was just too damn good at keeping secrets. Everything was brushed off with a laugh and joke about how you’re going soft on him, but he was always thankful for your concern nonetheless. Nothing ever erased your concern; Jisung continued his destructive drinking habits and secretive behaviour. Even when you saw the occasional slip-ups and heard the drunken babbles of “I wish I could tell you the truth” before he knocked out, Jisung was far too good at lying about his feelings to have you take it as anything other than a bad day. So, you moved on from the questions about his emotions and just took on the duty of taking care of him when he was wasted beyond belief. Things would be easier that way, wouldn’t they? You’d put him to bed, stay the night, leave water and painkillers before leaving his dorm. Then you’d see him in one of your classes looking like he crawled from the depths of Hell and tell him all the embarrassing things he did in his drunken state. That’s how things were supposed to go, but some slip-ups just can’t go unacknowledged. 

Jisung didn’t think he had a drinking problem, but he also didn’t know how to deal with his problems. Drinking until he was numb and venturing another realm always seemed like a good choice until he made more mistakes in his drunken and gave himself new reasons to abuse his liver. Some mistakes were worse than others; deciding to wear a white shirt when he knew he couldn’t keep a steady hand after drinking, listening to the encouragement of his friends―almost as drunk―and attempting to jump from one side of someone’s pool to the other, as well as other injury-inducing actions. Though one of his worst mistakes was one that came about during a sober mindset. It wasn’t a decision, necessarily, so does it really count as a mistake? Regardless, Jisung found himself tangled up in emotions he shouldn’t be feeling. He shouldn’t want to kiss you, his best friend―that’s all you were, after all, a friend. Yet the urge withstood his relentless berating, his drunken kisses with other people who’d never given him a name to call them by, its persistence drove him to the brink of desperation. Knowing that you would never feel the same way ― or, rather, assuming you would never reciprocate such feelings ― pushed him over the edge, and he found himself tumbling down a dark hole of irreversible mistakes, fabricated feelings and verbal mishaps. Though, in the end, it didn’t matter what Jisung did to forget about his feelings or have them blossom for someone else, it was something he could never get out of his head. He drank to forget but he always remembered, and now he was falling far beyond return. 

“Hey, baby,” you rolled your eyes at your friend’s words. That was another habit Jisung had, aside from excessive drinking, he often said things he didn’t mean. He played with words, took their meaning and stripped them down to platonic nouns and adjectives. It bothered you to no end, mainly because you could never figure out when he was being serious and when he was teasing, it all blended into one neutral speech. You hummed in response, eyes remaining focused on the bright screen of the laptop in front of you. A huff escaped Jisung’s lips, slightly unimpressed with your lack of interest, “good to see you too,” he deadpanned. There was always something about you that drew Jisung in. Perhaps your appearance, personality, thought patterns, interests, passion―it was evidently more than one thing. Your presence was a soothing hug in the midst of a ferocious storm, easing worries with a simple smile or comment about the weather, a habit he’d always found endearing. Now that he thought about it, he can’t remember the first time he noticed it. Frankly, he couldn’t even remember the first time he noticed you, but he was always grateful his brown orbs caught sight of you and not someone else. You were the kind of friend anyone would yearn for, loyal, understanding, helpful, appreciative. There was a lot he could praise you for, but there simply isn’t enough time within the average human lifespan. There were many other things Jisung couldn’t remember about you: when did you become his sober caretaker on drunken nights, his closest friend, his favourite design major, his first true love? Many things had happened in Jisung’s life that had simply slipped his memory, he liked to blame it on his over-drinking habit and found it to be bothersome, but nothing ever changed. He still chugged such liquids like the sun wouldn’t rise above the horizon the following day; he knew that one day it wouldn’t. Though, he also knew that one day the alcohol excuse would stop working. At some point he’d have to face the damage he’d done, internally and externally, and the mistakes he’d made under the ‘influence’ of alcohol. Someday it would all come crashing down and he hadn’t a clue how to deal with it. He shook off the depressing thought, it was something he could worry about in time, when that day inevitably comes. That day is not today. 

“Plans for tonight?” He questioned eagerly, leaning on his crossed arms as you tapped your keyboard in thought. Your nose scrunched slightly as you pondered the question, a soft smile appearing on Jisung’s pink lips as you did so. 

“Study, but I’m assuming that’s going to change to taking care of your drunk ass?” An amused smile graced your features as Jisung narrowed his eyes in your direction. 

“I mean, yeah, but what’s wrong with that?” the boy sounded thoroughly insulted, “best friends take care of each other!” 

“Yes, but I wasn’t aware they also vomit on each other’s carpet. You’re so lucky I got that out or your ass would be grass, Han,” he held up his hands in surrender with wide eyes. Of course you weren’t holding a grudge against him―not anymore, at least―but you always got a kick out of bringing up one of Jisung’s most embarrassing moments, “where are you headed?” 

“Hyunjin’s, his frat is throwing a party at nine,” as per usual. You had nothing against Hyunjin or the frat he was in, in fact you found both to be tolerable and quite welcoming in comparison to cinematic portrayals, but the parties they threw were another story. Loud, rowdy, chaotic, illegal. You weren’t sure how no one had called with noise complaints, or how no one had been carted off to a holding cell for doing cocaine off someone’s ass, but there were some questions you didn’t really want answers to. Another reason you hated their parties specifically was the alcohol. There was so much of it, a never ending fountain of mind-numbing concoctions to go around, and of course that meant dealing with a very, very, wasted Han Jisung. 

You huffed slightly, “just don’t drink too much. For once.” 

“I won’t, I promise!” Jisung slaps a hand against the table in excitement before picking up his backpack and bidding goodbye, rushing off to his next class. That was another thing that irritated you about Jisung, he was a damn liar. 

The bass thumped throughout the house, strobe lights blinding you and energetic partygoers blocking your path. Jisung was amongst them you assumed―you arrived at the party two hours after it started, purely because you were dreading the crowded environment. In all honesty, you weren’t in the mood for a party tonight, but you were here for Jisung’s sake. You found yourself in the midst of drunken parties for said reason quite often. Jisung was a drunken mess, borderline alcoholic, and most of his friends lacked the sobriety or responsibility to take care of him in such a state. Thus, you took on the role of Jisung’s ‘caretaker’, as Seungmin once put it. Your thoughts were broken by a drunk Jisung stumbling in your direction, eyes rolling slightly at the sight. Here we go. 

“Y/N!” He cheered, dragging out the last letter of your name before hiccuping slightly. You opened your mouth to respond, only to be shut down by Jisung’s hand around your wrist and voice in your ear, “come on! Let’s dance!” 

He attempted to tug on your wrist, weakened by the alcohol in his body. You saw Changbin approaching from the corner of your eye, the male smiling sympathetically and gesturing to Jisung, “he’s already so far gone, party only started an hour ago.” 

“Go figure.” 

Changbin chuckled lightly, “yeah, he seemed to want to get his mind off something,” he shrugged nonchalantly, “he should probably be getting home. I’ve had a few, will you be alright to get him home?” 

You nodded stiffly. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but a feeling in your gut warned you something was going to happen if you did. Something bad―but perhaps that was just the stench of alcohol churning your stomach. 

When did Jisung become so damn heavy? Perhaps it was when he stopped using his legs to help you drag him into your apartment. You would’ve taken him back to his apartment―you should have taken him back to his apartment―but his roommate wasn’t exactly the most empathetic when the boy was absolutely obliterated, or painfully hungover. Besides, his apartment block had so many stairs. A breath of relief passed your lips as you dropped Jisung on your bed, moving his legs so his full body was laid out comfortably. 

“Sleep on your side, I’ll go get you a bucket,” you advised as Jisung hummed groggily and shifted his position. Your footsteps were gentle along the dark floorboards as you crept towards the cupboard, scavenging for the blue bucket you often used when mopping the floors. After placing the bucket next to the bed, you shuffled towards the kitchen to retrieve a cold glass of water and a headache tablet―Jisung always managed to give himself a sore head before he even reached the hangover stage, you’d give him another in the morning for the inevitable and monstrous hangover. Jisung breathed gently with half-lidded eyes, brown orbs following you as you pulled the blankets up to his chin. The warmth flooded his exhausted body, ensuring his warmth throughout the note. As you shifted the blanket to cover him fully, the words just came spilling out. His voice was soft, almost a murmur when he spoke. 

“I love you, Y/N.” 

Your body went frigid at the words. Of course he meant it in a platonic sense, he must have meant it in a platonic sense, but he’d never said those three words before―not to you, nor to one of his ex-partners, as far as you knew. Han Jisung wasn’t the type to throw such a word around so flippantly. His brown eyes stared into yours, causing you to shift your gaze intentionally, “y-yeah, love you too, ‘Sung.” 

The boy shook his head dramatically, “no, no, no. I love you as more than a friend,” he exclaimed with an emphasis on the ‘more’. A heavy silence fell in the air as you stayed silent. All words escaped you in that moment; what could you say? Was it untruthful, drunken slurs or a genuine confession? Jisung’s borderline whisper sliced through the silence, “I know you don’t feel the same.” 

Pushing the hair off his forehead, you offered a small smile, “we can talk about this when you’re sober. Goodnight, Jisung.” 

With those words, you flicked the lamp off and exited the room, gently shutting the door behind you. Jisung shifted his legs in search of comfort, eyes lowering as he mulled over your words. Even in his drunken state he could feel his heart tear at the realisation that you didn’t, and would likely never, reciprocate his romantic feelings. By the time morning had come, both of you had decided to pretend the words were never spoken. 

Saying that things between you and Jisung had been… off after that night was the epitome of an understatement. For two people who were almost attached at the hip, considered one another family and had an unfathomable amount of loyalty and trust within one another, awkward glances and avoidance were weird. It was as if an unspoken agreement had been made between the two of you ― smile if you have to, then fucking leg it. Don’t talk to one another, don’t make an effort to see one another, and certainly don’t talk about the drunken words that spewed from Jisung’s mouth. To distract yourself from the absence in your life, and heart, you threw yourself into your studies, though that only seemed to be a temporary fix as you swiftly burnt out. The two of you had a mutual friend, Somi, who you’d confided in after it was clear things with Jisung could never go back to normal. She’d helped as much as she could, took you out of your familiar bedroom to cozy cafes and blooming parks in the middle of town you’d somehow never seen. When she suggested a night out, another frat party of a friend’s-friend, a part of you cried in resistance. Everytime you’d gone to a college you ended up hauling Jisung’s wasted ass into a car and sobering him up before he slept, what were you to do now? You didn’t want to see him either, and it seemed to be inevitable considering how Jisung spent his nights―perhaps he would spend that upcoming night at the party, drinking to forget the friction between him and his best friend. You certainly were. 

There was a part of you that understood why Jisung allowed himself to be thrown into a night of nonsensical drunken thoughts and gravitationally difficulties. At this point, you weren’t certain how long you had been within the frat house, each pulse of the bass and change in coloured lighting seemed to blur together in an almost nauseating succession. In all honesty, you weren’t even certain if Somi was still on the dance floor or if she had, as did you, found a stray wall to lean against as she recomposed herself and figured out how to stand without wobbling. You hadn’t seen Jisung, but you had seen Changbin, so you assumed the younger was there too―the two had some sort of tradition of getting shitfaced together, probably because they shared the same stress over music production and assignments put aside for far too long. There was a ruckus sounding in the room you stood in ― it wasn’t the main room, where everyone danced far too close for comfort and shared sweat, but it was a mainly empty space near the stairs that gave you a clear view of the partygoers. It sounded as if a drunken scuffle had started on the second floor, probably inebriated douchebags with low anger tolerance and a great sense of entitlement―the kind of people who have the immediate instinct to jump on a foldable table after two drinks. Though as you turned your head, you were met with the sight of people who you knew were far from that―though, they had their moments. Changbin and Jisung, stood near the head of the stairs, in the midst of an apprehensive affray of glares and seething words. They looked tense, yet Changbin still stumbled back when Jisung gave him a harsh shove, and then another, and another. You weren’t in the right sober frame of mind to stick to acknowledge the unspoken deal to not interact with Jisung. Instead, you were tipsy and figured Jisung was too far gone ― you’d never known him to be angry or violent, maybe he truly had been drowning himself in booze to forget his words to you. Maybe that’s why they were arguing, Changbin wanted him to stop drinking. Pushing yourself from the wall with a newly gained sense of sobriety, you made your way to the second floor to intervene before things could blow out of proportion. 

“Knock it off, ‘Sung,” you'd spoken, standing in front of Changbin and gently pushing Jisung away. 

“It’s no use, Y/N, he’ll never change,” Changbin snided. Jisung scoffed. 

“Changbin, stop.” 

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you. How far has your advice gotten me, Changbin? Look how fucked up everything got!” What was going on? Your eyebrows were furrowed in confusion. Jisung’s dark eyes, glossed over with either tears or a drunken haze, trailed from Changbin to you, a bitter smile on his face. “And you, I don’t need you to constantly hover around. God, you act like my mother or something, it’s suffocating!” Words couldn’t pass your lips as you struggled to wrap your head around the situation at hand, “you know- you know how often I drink without you babying me? In fact, tonight was going perfectly fine until this fuckwit,” he gestured at Changbin angrily, the older scowling, “came along. It’s not the alcohol you need to keep me away from, it’s you!” 

It felt as if everything paused in that moment. The music no longer vibrated in your chest,  you couldn’t hear the cars moving around outside as people joined and left the party. All you could hear was Jisung’s words echoing in your ears, and all you could see was every time you had taken him home from a party, every painkiller and glass of water you set out for him. You had wasted so much time on a boy who couldn’t give a shit about you, and for what? Were you even friends? There was a lot you wanted to say, but what was the point? He wouldn’t listen, he’d continue to yell at you for trying to tell him otherwise, trying to talk him into something he’s not. As tears glossed your eyes, you turned away from Jisung and rapidly made your way down the stairs. The two males remained in their spots, the regret settling in Jisung’s chest as the gap between the two of you extended. An even heavier weight tugged on his already cracked heart―as if it had dropped from his chest to his stomach. It was a stupid plan, one he hadn’t thought through in the slightest, and a small part of him hoped that would play in his favour. Everything he spat was a damn lie, everything he pretended to feel was a fabrication. Everything was an excuse to stop himself from being in love with his best friend―you knew him better than anyone else, you knew what he was like when he was drunk and yet it still worked. That overwhelming sensation that came over him when tears glazed your eyes, one that made him want to give up the stupid plan, tell you “hey, it was a stupid dare! I’m sober!” But he couldn’t put this stupidity on anyone else. He won’t have to see you again after causing you so much pain, right? Please God, let him be right. 

It was often in the inebriated moments of his life that Jisung worried about whether he was being too candid with what he was saying, consequently saying the wrong thing. And yet, in the most sober mindset in a while, he’d managed to find the perfect words to do exactly that. He couldn’t quelm the guilt in his chest―what a stupid fucking plan. 

Somehow, much to his horror, Jisung had managed to tangle himself in an even more intricate web of lies, starting as soon as he caved on his plan of ‘hating you’. Rather than allowing the distance to grow, watch you fizzle into an imperceptible face in the crowd as his heart finally unravelled from around you, his slim body had stood in front of your dorm to pretend he couldn’t remember anything. You believed him with hesitance, as far as he knew, and Jisung spent another night drinking his guilt away. The following week, Jisung started to embrace his unravelling life―it felt as if Yeah Right by Joji was constantly playing as he lived deceptively. His plans to get over you had gone from spouting absolute bull shit in your face to spouting absolute bull shit to someone else; namely, Gaeun. Truthfully, he knew nothing about her beyond her partying habits ― he met her at one of many parties, let her dance all over him as she stared at some other guy who was clearly uninterested, and agreed to have the title of her boyfriend. He had told himself it was under the guise of getting over you, pretending she was the true recipient of the immense love that bloomed for your taking. Though, he still wasn’t sure if he believed that. He didn’t like Gaeun―not in the way a boyfriend would, at least―but it was better than being alone. Jisung was getting sick of being alone, and, for once in his life, no drink could quelm the dissatisfaction of being quite distressingly destitute. 

When Jisung had told you of his relationship with Gaeun, you were taken aback. He talked about her with an admiration that you were almost unfamiliar with, one you would never expect to hear from Jisung. Especially considering he’d never mentioned her before, yet seemed to be so desperately infatuated. She shone like the sun, as far as he was concerned, the best thing since sliced bread. You knew of Gaeun―she was nice, that was it. There was an essence of certainty in your soul that she was a lovely person, but something about her and Jisung was just… off. It was a match that would seemingly make sense on paper ― two fun-loving, regular partygoers in a spontaneous and exuberant relationship ― but it was so wrong in person. It wasn’t something you’d been exposed to up close, just in passing and at the occasional get-together Somi had convinced you to attend on a mopey Friday night. There was that part of you that entirely denied the relationship altogether―it was a lie, just like everything else had been telling you recently, right? First he tells you he loves you, then he hates you, then he’s in a relationship with some unmentioned girl he’s been pining after for months? It was off. But people act bizarre when they’re drunk, don’t they? You weren’t so sure anymore. 

It wasn’t the break up that surprised you, it was Jisung’s reaction. He’d stumbled over to your place, alcohol wafting off his breath as he slurred something along the lines of “she’s left me, she’s joined them” before making his way into the living room. As far as you could coax from him, between the begs for him to stop drinking and dumping empty bottles in your lounge room, Gaeun had approached Jisung with a revenge plot. When all was said and done, when she had finally got what she wanted, she blurted the plan to Jisung with a promise that it was ‘nothing personal’. Gaeun never truly liked him, sure he was cute, but she just wanted someone to pay attention to her. Someone to fill that void her ex-boyfriend―that guy she always stared at while with Jisung, the one who never seemed interested―had left, before he fell victim to her plot and came back to her. Then everything would be back to normal, right? Jisung didn’t care about that, he was doing the same in a way. They were in ‘love’ for the wrong reasons, and he was almost certain Gaeun knew that when Jisung agreed to date her―he didn’t have to say it, but the way he radiated around you was almost obnoxiously clear. Maybe that’s why she chose him, she knew he wouldn’t take it personal. Jisung didn’t care about her reasoning, honestly, that wasn’t what had him downing alcohol to conceal his stress and sorrows. Instead, it was the crushing feeling he felt from the universe, the one that screamed “now you have to tell the truth” that was haunting him. It left him shit faced on your couch, vision blurring as tears welled up in his eyes. Somehow, despite everything he had done, Jisung knew the worst was yet to come. 

“She never loved me, did she?” he chuckled bitterly from his spot on the couch. Uncertain of how to respond, you stared at him pitifully. His soft brown eyes, glistening under the reflection of the flickering lamp rose to meet your own, “do you love me, Y/N?” 

“W-what?” 

Jisung stumbled to his feet. He had thought this was the right thing to do, to tell the truth, but instead it just made him feel even worse about deceiving you for so damn long, “have you ever loved me?” 

“Of course I do, Ji. You’re my best friend.” 

“I-I mean as more than that,” a thick silence clouded the air, “please,” he uttered in a broken voice. A sigh was caught in your throat as your lungs constricted; you felt a sense of déjà vu, everything was happening again―everything was going to end up as shitty as last time. 

“Jisung, you’re drunk, you’re not thinking straight.” 

Gosh, Jisung had never spoken with such anguish in his life, “when you’re drunk you think honestly.” 

“No you don’t!” you burst, startling the boy as a cluster of tears covered your eyes, “the last time you were drunk you told me to stay away from you, that I suffocated you. So what the fuck is it, Jisung?” The considerable silence hung heavily in the air, laying against your chest in a way that had you almost struggling to breathe, gasping for breath as you attempted to hold onto some grip of reality. You sniffled gently, “I can’t keep running in circles with you. I can’t keep doing this.” 

The two of you had argued before, you’d been friends for a notable period after all, but it had never left you this way. Neither of you had ever been stunned into silence by the stinging reality of the other’s words, nor had you pleaded for the other’s understanding with a sense of almost embarrassing desperation. But your minor squabbles and bickering never had earth-shattering revelations; there were never any consequences until now. That was the difference. 

“I love you, Y/N. You know that, don’t you?” he blubbered, almost pleading that you confirm his beliefs. 

“No,” it came out softly, uttered with hesitance, “I don’t.” 

There was more you needed to say, more about the unrelenting love you had held for such a long time, but you no longer knew how to word it. It felt as if none of it even mattered anymore, as if you waited until you were an adult to fix a toy you had broken as a child―what was the point? 

“I love you, Jisung,” there was something in his eyes that changed, almost lit up at the revelation that you truly did feel the same. Yet, at the same time, it seemed as if something shifted in his head. It felt as if he knew there was no salvaging this relationship, he had tugged you beyond the brink of extinction. You struggled to keep looking in his eyes―that look, that bright and almost hopeful look, god it killed you, “but I can’t be with you if you can’t let yourself feel the same.” 

If Han Jisung was still pursuing the plan to push you away, he had succeeded. No, he certainly wasn’t over you―truthfully, he never thought he could be―but you had faded significantly. You were a slightly blurred face in some of his best memories, the hesitant suppression of a smile if eyes ever met. You were no longer the one he was in love with, his best friend, the person to take care of him when he was drunk―and Changbin still refused to uphold that position. Instead, you were a has-been. Once, you were his best friend. Once, you were constantly left to take care of him in his inebriated state. Once―no, still―you were the one he fell tempestuously in love with. Now, you faded from him as if you were a reverse polaroid picture. That defectless, perfect image of you by his side with a smile of genuine happiness, radiating with the potential to bloom into something even more beautiful. Even so, the contingency withered. It crumbled at his fingertips, slipping from his grasps as he continued to spiral deeper into his feelings. 

When he thought of love prior to his experience, Jisung believed it was something almost indescribable―that belief he continues to maintain―and the heartbreak that often followed was just as puzzling. Questions of what went wrong, what should have been said sooner, why did it end up this way―he didn’t question it one bit. He knew the answers, they lied in his questionable and remorseful actions, the ones he regretted as soon as he formulated a plan to execute them. He was confident he could minimise it to less words than necessary, exclude the pivotal details and self-judgement of every time he overtly fucked up―he knew exactly what went wrong. By the time he felt compelled to re-offer the truth, he had so inexplicably failed to acknowledge the consequences. 

As he brought the glass bottle to his lips, the male graciously allowed the alcohol to burn his throat, as if it would override his emotional pain he felt from the aftermath of his bitter-tasting decisions. Han Jisung was just too late. 

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Walk Away (Part 2 of Addicted)

There’s a certain kind of strength to walk away from a bad thing. Calum thought he had done that; but the past always comes back around. Female Reader Insert. No specific race of the reader. 

CW: Drug Use/Drug Mention (Tobacco/Cigarette). Alcohol Mention. 

Enjoy my masterlist | Part 1-Addicted

Support me on kofi. 

No one has my permission to repost my work of fiction. This includes translations as well. All rights reserved. 

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Here of all places, of course. Here when he’s wearing old basketball shorts and a sweatshirt. Here when he’s just trying to tune up on his car. Here of all places, of all times. She approaches the front desk. “I really hate to do this. But my car’s making this really weird noise. I have a long drive tomorrow. It just started earlier today. Can you take a look at it?”

He hasn’t seen her in months. 

He’s worked hard not to run into her. He avoids the old bars that they used to frequent. Not together. Never together, but the ones that she would beg him to come too, just she wouldn’t have to drive to get her fix. He doesn’t visit her side of town, no matter how inconvenient to him. He made the occasional sacrifice for when the boys wanted to hit up a place near her, but he never broke the rule on avoiding those old bars. Never. It didn't matter how annoyed anyone was at it. He had to stick to that one. Because if he didn’t, with any amount of alcohol in him and her presence, he was sure to crumble. He was tired of her. 

But the sight of her in those light wash distressed jeans and snug cropped top make him almost forget all the trouble she’s caused. Calum forces his gaze back to floor as she and a worker leave the shop. He’s praying she didn't spot him. He’s praying that she will not come back into the shop. She disappeared on him after the last time he went over to her place. She hasn’t left a text, phone call, or voicemail. Calum told himself he wouldn’t send her one either. It was a part of her game. But she didn’t even tell him that she had found someone new, someone she wanted to pretend to be serious with. Normally she did and that made Calum suspicious; it worried him. So after about three weeks, he caved. He sent one message, What happened? 

He was met with silence. Three days worth. His fingers wanted to type more and they did. He drafted several paragraphs worth. How could she just drop him? How could she just walk away from him? What was he supposed to do now? Nothing replaced the feeling of her. He had tried that avenue before. What the hell was supposed to happen next? 

More days passed and his bleeding heart paragraphs sat unaddressed. The smoking which had died down, increased again. Calum drank something most often too, not a lot, not enough to be fucked over the next morning. But he wanted to shut down the part of his brain that craved her. The silence of her was deafening, but the buzz of alcohol gave his brain something else to focus on for the moment. He’s since slowed on both those habits thanks to time and this album they’re working on. Ashton’s helped too. But Calum tries to keep himself occupied as much as possible. Doing any and everything he can, just so his brain can’t wonder. 

The door chimes again. She sits along the wall to his left. He’s sitting so he can see directly back into the shop, directly across from the front desk. He has four rows of seat in his view. He can’t not see her. She plays at her phone. How can she act like this? The least she could do is say hi. The least she could is acknowledge his fucking existence as a human being. 

His gut twists, in that all too familiar flip of desire. She’s still got him wrapped around her fucking fingers. Those beautiful, slender fingers. He remembers the way the feel dragging down his bare chest. He knows the pinch of her fingers around his nipples. With a deep exhale, the ghost of her touch skirts down his chest down to his groin. Fuck, no, no don’t start imagining this. It’s been four months since those text messages. Four; he cannot slip up now. 

Pushing up from his chair, Calum walks to the bathroom. It’s thankful to Christ, that it’s close to his seat or that walk past her would be the end of his resolve. Splashing cold water onto his face, Calum grips the side of the sinks, staring at his reflection. He traces the line of a water droplet down from his forehead, around the curve of his eyes, over the bridge of his nose, and fall off the tip of his nose. 

He’s never been too fond of the chub around his cheek, everyone else has squeezed and squished them. He’s over it. But he remembers the way she used to pat his left cheek. Always the left one. It wasn’t hard, wasn’t condescending. She’d cup the flesh, lifting her fingers before gently bring them back down. Her hand would slide down his flesh then, sometimes she’s give his chin a squeeze. Most times she scurried out of the door. Water drips from his chin and onto his sweatshirt. Thankfully it’s black so the wet spot won’t show too badly. 

You cannot go back to her, Calum thinks to himself. You cannot go back. You cannot go back. She dropped you--she does not want you back. He drops his head. She doesn’t want him. She never did really. She was just using him. He thought he was just using her. He thought it was just sex. But god, his heart races even still just at the thought of her. His lungs ache occasionally to inhale her scent. She does not want him. He inhales. That’s okay. She doesn’t need to want him. He always envisioned him alone anyway. Calum dries his face and walks back out. 

She’s up at the small desk where stale coffee is sat out. He knows because he had a cup. It’s not his usual, but he needed something-anything to keep him from going insane while staring at pristine gray painted walls and too brightly waxed white floors. He admits it makes sitting in a car shop nice that it’s so clean, but it always threw him off. The smell of motor oil and greasy towel mixed with the stale coffee and whatever wax they used for the floor always made his head spin upon his initial entrance. 

Settled back into his seat, Calum flexes his fingers. He needs something to do, something to take his mind off her--how close she is, how good she looks. He did not miss the soft pink lipstick on her pouty lips. Fuck, those lips are so goddamn kissable too. Calum snatches the magazine next to him from the dark brown wooden table. He flips to a page and runs his eyes intently over the article on muscle cars. This means nothing to him, but he can’t keep thinking about her. She walks past him, shoes silent on the floors, the only thing that gives away any movement is her waft of perfume hitting Calum’s nostrils. 

He expels every ounce of air in his lungs. Do not inhale. Do not inhale her in. Do not break. “Mr. Hood,” his mechanic calls out. 

Calum snaps his head up from the magazine and tosses it back onto the table. Finally. He gives a tight lipped smile as he approaches the counter. “What’s the damage?” he asks with a soft chuckle. 

“None. You’re in good shape. She still runs smoothly. You did need an oil change, so we took care of that for you.”

Calum nods. He can feel her stare burning holes into the back of his head. Calum digs out his wallet, sliding his card across the counter.  Now she watches him, when he can’t see her gaze. Calum thanks the man once again for his work and places his wallet back into his pocket. As he turns, her head snaps back to the floor. He stares at her this time, lets her know that he knew she was watching. She won’t look up; she wouldn’t be so emboldened, he figures. It as his sneakers squeak right in front of the door that her gaze lifts. They lock eyes for two seconds. Neither one gives an ounce of recognition facially.. Just slow blinks between not even lover, but not quite strangers.  His heart booms in his chest, he can feel the thumping on his veins in his neck

Calum steps through the door and keeps his shoulders square. His car is parked right outside the door. Thank God. His head is starting to feel disconnected from him. Are his lungs even working anymore? Another mechanic hands him the keys. Calum gives him a nod in thanks. As the engine turns over, even through the door and the window of his front shield, he can still feel her gaze. He looks at her one last time. She doesn’t give a nod, a smile, a wink--nothing. She just stares. Did she expect him to grovel at her feet like before? Did she expect him to apologize? What the hell did she want from him? He wouldn’t give it to her, but it would be nice to know for once what was going on in her head. What her thoughts were, what kept her up at night.  

The air is still nice, so Calum rolls down the windows. Only when she sees the passenger side window rolling down does her face crack. She gives the faintest of smiles and start pushing up from the seat. Calum presses onto the gas and rolls down the pavement. He wasn’t giving in. But it makes him just a smidge happy to know that he might have toyed with her like she did to him. He can’t give into her. He’s doing alright by himself His body wants to cave. It’s been two months since he’s slept with anyone. Not the longest he’s gone. He hadn’t even thought about the last time until he saw her. Until he thought about the way she begged beneath him, face buried into the pillows, him pulling her arms back behind her, so her arch couldn’t falter. 

No, his stomach flips again. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He doesn’t have a pack on him either. He stopped carrying one due to Ashton’s insistence. Now he needed some nicotine. Anything to take the edge off. There’s a gas station right next to the shop, but he doesn’t stop there. Calum drives through the streets; he’ll drive to a station a bit farther out. He’s still too close to her. Yeah, just keep driving. He winds through the streets, about twenty minutes longer than he anticipated. Settled in front of the station, he exhales. He blinks once and his vision clears for a second before it blurs. Tears. Fuck, he’s crying. 

Resting his head against the steering wheel, he lets out a shaky breath. Does he even want a cigarette or does he want to burn away the parts of him that still hold onto her? Does he really want alcohol or does he wish to drown the memories of her? He reaches for his phone situated in the cup holder. Unlocking, he pulls up Ashton’s U.S. number. It rings once in his ear. Twice. A third time. Right before Calum pulls the phone away, he hears the call connect. “Need a ride?” Ashton asks. 

“I don’t need a cigarette, right?” Calum hears the own distress in his voice. He can hear the strain as he tries to swallow a sob. 

“Mate, what happened?”

“Just tell me I don’t need to walk into this gas station. I don’t need a cigarette. I don’t need a drink. I can’t even drive if I drink.”

“Calum, you don’t need a cigarette. You don’t need to go into that gas station. You don’t need a pack. You don’t need a drink either. Where are you?”

Calum sits up, pressing his freshly cut hair into the leather of his headrest. He doesn’t want the nicotine. He wipes at his cheeks. “Not even sure. I just started driving.”

“Wanna come over?”

He wants to be over her. He wants to know why she walked away without warning. He wants to know if this is love, because if so, he wants nothing to do with it ever again. He never wants to be this broken, this easy to crack ever again by one person. He wants nothing to do with this scam called love. “Thanks for the offer.” 

Ashton knows it’s a no. But he presses on. “If you show up, I’ll have some movies waiting. Maybe grab a quick lunch. There’s a new sushi place. I’ve been eyeing for a while. Heard it’s good.”

Calum just wants a way to forget her. He wants a way out, he’s been trying to escape, run away. Maybe he needs a way through. Ashton’s offering that. Calum feels like Ashton should be telling him to just get over it, to forget her. He has to know why Calum called anyway. Ashton takes the silence as Calum’s resistance. 

Ashton presses on again. “Or a hike. You said you wanted to take Duke up through the trails again. We probably won’t be able to go too far with him and the heat, but it’s something.”

He needs to walk away from her. He needs a way through. Calum exhales. “A hike sounds good.” 

Ashton sighs in relief. Calum’s not going to say what triggered this. Though Ashton figures it something to do with her again. “I’ll meet you at your place then.”

“Okay,” Calum’s voice is soft a little rough with the tears that are choking him still. The call ends and Calum throws an arm over his face for a moment. His phone chimes from the cup holder. He thinks it’s Ashton texting and doesn’t lift a finger. It chimes again, then a third time. A call. Looking down her number lights up his screen. Now she can call. Now she can remember he fucking exists. 

Calum wonders if her latest boy toy dropped her. He wonders why she has the nerve to call him now, but not speak to him thirty minutes ago. He doesn’t answer. He watches the call ring and ring and ring before it finally stops. He waits, barely breathing. She’ll call again. She always does. He waits, staring at his black screen. A notification pops up. New Voicemail. Voicemail? She’s never left a message. Calum stares his phone. What did she say? Was it an apology? Biting his lip, he unlocks it and another notification comes in. This one is from Ashton. 

I’ll be to your place in another 20 minutes. Had to run and take care of some errands first. 

His hike. Duke needs to be let out. Calum drops his phone back into the cup holder. His little man. That’s what he focuses on. Duke is waiting for him. The drive back home is strangely quiet besides the sounds of wind rushing and cars zooming past. Calum normally puts on the radio, even if it’s down low. But now right now he’s afraid songs will remind him of her. It’s not like the drive isn’t already doing that, but he can drown out those thoughts. He can listen to the whirring of tires over asphalt. He can think about Duke. He can listen to his mind’s replay of Duke’s whines this morning, needing to go out to the backyard. 

Calum can think about what he needs to grab for his hike. He’ll need to bring water. Bags just in case Duke has to go while they’re out. Maybe a couple protein bars. He needs to change shoes. His vans won’t cut it for the walk. He’ll have to put Duke in his harness. Calum needs to remember the dog treats too. As Calum pulls into his driveway, he spots Ashton already parked to the side. 

Ashton climbs out of his car after seeing Calum park. “Took you long enough,” he jokes, watching closely. He’s watching to see if Calum grabs anything else. He doesn’t see anything but his phone and keys. 

“Sorry about that. It should only take me a few to get ready.” The two men shuffle into the house. Ashton notes the slight puffiness to Calum’s eyes and cheeks. The slight pink tint to his nose, the fading pink to his eyes. Duke happily greets Calum at the door, jumping onto the man’s calves. “Hey, sorry that took longer than anticipated, bud.”

He moves to greet Ashton next. Calum walks to the backyard, finding his workout shoes next to the hall closet. As Duke rushes to his corner, Calum switches shoes. “Wanna talk about it?” Ashton asks, settling down on the ledge the back porch and the inside of the house. He watches Calum, squinting at the sun. 

Calum shakes his head, cleaning up after Duke. Back inside, Calum fills his two biggest water bottles, throws in some protein bars, and finds Duke’s leash. It hits him as he clips on the harness he still needs the bags, treat, and his portable bowl. Spinning around he spies, Ashton placing the portable bowl into his backpack. “Thanks, mate.”

Ashton nods. “I put treats inside too. Some bags were already inside. Not sure if they’re enough.”

Calum wishes he had more words than thank you. But all he can do is nod and take the backpack. Back outside, Calum locks up. Ashton drives. Calum can feel his phone burning a hole in his pocket. But Duke’s resting in his lap. He can’t reach for it now. It’ll have to wait. It will have to continue to light his skin with a fire. He hopes it burns him, so it proves how much she hurt him. How much pain she’s put them through. It’s so much easier to treat a wound when it’s physical. 

As they past the cities and head for the mountains, Duke pops up from his curled position, front paws resting on the door, hind legs stretched as far as his tiny body can go. Calum smiles, scratching at his head. “Yeah, bud, we’re going to the mountains again.”

“You didn’t buy a pack, right?” Ashton asks after a minute or two of silence. 

“I didn’t.”

“You’ve been doing good. I’m proud.”

“Thanks,” Calum whispers. He knows the compliment is genuine, but he feels terrible for almost breaking it today. He feels like shit for breaking this far down that he considered a drink. Cigarettes are one thing, but a drink. The drinking is scaring him. 

The rest of the ride is quiet, Calum’s chest starts to hurt. He keeps thinking about that voicemail. What the hell could she have possibly had to say to him? Why did he care so fucking much? He’s going to burst inside his car. They pull up to the foot of the trail and Calum opens the door before Ashton fully brakes. All the air pushes out of his lungs. He heaves, tears biting at his eyes. Ashton hurriedly brakes and climbs out. Calum clutches Duke to his chest for a second.

“Calum, what’s happening?”

Inhaling deeply, Calum squats down next to the car. Duke turns in his hold, licking at Calum’s cheek. “I saw her today,” he huffs, trying to keep the tears at bay. “I fucking saw her. And I swear to God, I thought I was over her. I thought I had walked away, but all I had done was hide from her.”

“It’s okay.” He places a sturdy and firm grip on Calum’s shoulder. “You’ll find a way through this. It’s okay to hurt. It fucking sucks. But it’s okay.”

“She called. Left a voicemail. I haven’t listened to it.”

“Do you want to?”

Calum swallows, still heaving for a good breathe. “I have no idea.”

“Let’s walk. Walk and we’ll figure it out. Talk to me, mate. I know it’s not your cup of tea. But for fuck sake, I am right here.”

Calum nods, running his hand over Duke’s head. Ashton helps him up and Duke stares up from the ground to Calum. “I’m sorry, I’m okay,” Cal reassures the dog. But Duke knows something is very wrong. He walks over and settles right on top of Calum’s foot, fur brushing softly over his calf. Calum finds a treat for Duke. He holds it for a moment before Duke moves to take it. “Thanks for caring, love,” Calum says softly. 

The three start up the trails. They’re about a fourth way up before the silence is broken. Calum continues to stare up at the windy and rocky path in front of them. The trees waft off their scent in the breeze. Duke sniffs everything, so they have to move a little slow. “I texted twice,” he states. 

“Today?”

“No, when she first disappeared. She didn’t respond and I didn’t text again. I just wanted to forget her. So I dodged all the places I knew she’d be.”

Ashton hums though it turns up into a grunt as he lifts his weight up to stand on a rock. He holds his arms out to steady himself. He watches the way Calum gazes at him. Part in concern, partly still lost in his own world. “And you tried to bury her, you didn’t try to get through it,” Ashton continues. Calum nods. “The question remains. Do you want to actually walk away from her? Do you really want to be done with her?”

Calum slides off his bag and pours some water for Duke. The small dog happily laps at the cool drink. Calum settles onto a small rock. It’s scratchy and a little sharp against his skin. “I don’t think I can answer answer that until I figure out what’s on that voicemail. But I can’t listen to it. I can’t hear her voice right now. I’ll crack. She might as well cut my heart out, just split me open and stolen the fucking organ because clearly my brain’s not winning this battle.”

Ashton jumps down from the rock and holds out his hand. “How about I give it a listen and relay the important stuff to you?”

Before the question can fully leave Ashton’s lip, Calum digs in his pocket for phone. By the time Ash finishes, he’s holding Calum’s unlocked phone. It’s killing Calum not to know what’s happening, but he can’t listen to it himself. Ashton taps the only voicemail not viewed and holds the phone to his ear. 

“It was nice to see you today, Calum,” her voice starts in Ashton’s ear. Her pitch purposefully low, he notes as he turns around. He doesn’t want to give anything way. “It was rude of me not to say hi. But even ruder that you took off without at least waving goodbye. Let me make it up to you being so ill-mannered this last few weeks. You know the time and place.”

The voicemail ends and Ashton turns back around, but not before deleting the message. “She basically wants to apologize for being an ass by having you fuck her again. She’s no good for you.”

Calum drops his head, taking the phone. “And I’m no good at letting go.”

“I deleted the message. Walk away, Calum. She’s only going to drag you down. Even more than she already has.”

Calum knows Ashton is right. Duke settles down in front of Calum. “Should I walk away, bud? Should I cut ties with some ounce of dignity?”

Duke pants up at him. The little dog is just happy to be outside. Calum scratches at his fur. “If you love this, then I gotta take you to the midwest. You’ll love it there. Or even Oregon or Washington. Nothing but trees and nature trails.”

That’s what he’ll do. He’ll plan a mini getaway, maybe it’s just a weekend. He can write, he can get away from her, he can get her out of his system. That’s the problem. She’s still in his system. When he walks into the studio, when he journals at night, he tries so hard to forget her. He tries so hard to pretend like she didn’t hurt him that it only hurts him more. You can’t forget a person if they’re all you’re thinking about. 

Calum never really mattered to her anyway. He was only a fuck. He was only a toy that would always be there when her newest one broke. He finds the missed call, clicks on the tiny i icon and then scrolls to the bottom. Block this Caller stares back up at him. He taps it, no shaking this time. It pops up again, Block Contact or Cancel. Calum presses Block Contact with an exhale. She won’t give up. Not even if he starts ignoring her. But this is a start, he can start working though all the shit she did. 

“Ready to head back?” Ashton questions. 

Calum collects his things, shaking his head. “Let’s go to the top. Little man here deserves the sight.”

With a soft smile, Ashton starts up to the top. Their pace is still slow due to Duke’s exploration. Halfway up up they stop again, and Calum slips Duke into his arms. “I should've bought a second bag and let you just sit in it,” Calum teases at Duke. Ashton offers his bag, they could consolidate all into Calum’s, put Duke in Ashton’s bag, or vice versa. 

“He’ll sit for all of like three minutes before wanting out.” 

It’s sometime later maybe an hour or so, Calum’s lost track of how long, when they reach the top. The sun’s just starting to dip down. They settle in a small spot off to the side and Calum sits with Duke between his legs, staring out at the blue ocean of the sky in front of him. Part of him wants to dive into it, wash himself of her, wash himself of the heartache. But it’s not that easy. He wishes he had heard what she said exactly just so he had the satisfaction of saying no to her directly. Not through word of a friend, not through someone else’s interpretation. But at least he knows now that she wouldn’t ever care. He could pretend when he had no clue before. He could pretend that she was just busy. He could pretend and make all the excuses he wanted. 

But not now. Now he knew. It hurt. It fucking hurt. Getting through this wouldn’t be flicking off a switch. It would be pain and tears and time. But maybe he could walk here, he could sit here and watch out over the sky and think about the heavens washing over him. He could think about a hand reaching down from through the clouds and comfortable. He could get through it. He could walk away here to the heavens. 

[prettyboy-parker]

fair-starker

warnings: hard drug use, mentioned abuse, addiction

words: 2.4k

a/n: PLEASE LISTEN TO THE SONG!!

***

It's what my heart just yearns to say

In ways that can't be said

It's what my rotting bones will sing

When the rest of me is dead

“Tony, we’re going to get caught!”

The older boy just chuckles and tightens his grip on Peter’s hand. The small brunette presses his body closer to Tony’s, and shines the flashlight over the dirt path.

“You’re too tall, I can’t see a thing!” He hisses as they clamber down the path. Tony stifles a laugh as his boyfriend huffs and puffs behind him. He had been so worried when Tony suggested they sneak out to the lake. He claimed that if they were caught, they’d never be able to be counselors at Camp Sunny Smiles ever again. Tony reassured him that the owners would never be mad at Peter, since they’re head over heels in love with the kid. And, Tony would take the blame for him any day.

Tony takes a sharp right and pushes through a few overgrown bushes, leading Peter to the old wooden dock. There’s an abandoned canoe tied to one of the posts, gently swaying with the lake. The couple steps onto the dock, testing the sturdiness of the wood before sitting on the edge. Peter snuggles up to Tony’s side as they dangle their feet right above the water. The older boy looks down at him before leaning in for a kiss.

Peter hums happily and wraps his thin arms around Tony’s neck. Tony licks into his mouth sloppily, cupping Peter’s baby soft cheek in his calloused hand.

“You taste like weed,” Peter says with a grimace once they pull away. “I told you to stop smoking. It fucks with your health.”

Tony looks down, embarrassed. Sure, he said that he’d get rid of his pot… but he couldn’t. Howard had split his lip when he came home from the date where he made the promise, so it wasn't really an option at the time. 

“I just love you,” Peter murmurs, resting his head on Tony’s shoulder. “I want you to be safe.”

Tony gently caresses Peter’s soft curls.

“I love you too.”

It's what's engraved upon my heart

In letters deeply worn

Today I somehow understand the reason I was born

Tony tucks his hands into the pocket of his hoodie as he waits for Peter to get out of his lecture. There’s a few people trickling out of the hall, and one girl is crying. His head throbs from his hangover, and he sniffles, as his nose is irritated from the coke he snorted this morning-

“My handsome genius!”

Peter gracefully hops down the steps of the lecture hall, smiling wide and curls bouncing from his pep. While it feels like college used a board to smack Tony upside the head, Peter took to college like a duck to water. He’s practically glowing as he spins into the bigger boy’s arms.

“Class was so interesting today!” He squeaks. “We learned about the Channel Tunnel and how it was made.”

Tony hums and presses a kiss to his forehead.

“I’m glad you had fun, baby,” He says softly, sniffing again. Peter gives him an odd look and pinches his nose. It hurts, dammit, but Tony tries not to let his smile waver.

“You better not be getting sick. What if you miss class?”

Tony’s heart aches.

Cos outwardly he says I try so hard to make you laugh at me

And she, she does,

She laughs as though she not heard the joke ten thousand times before

One of the worst things in the world is seeing Peter cry.

When his bambi eyes grow wide and fill with shiny tears, even the most hardened man will drop everything to comfort him. 

“I can’t believe you,” Peter breathes, the hand where he holds the baggie of white powder shaking wildly. “I can’t.”

“Pete, honey,” Tony blabbers, trying to stand up from the couch. But a wave of nausea hits him, and he stumbles over to his boyfriend. “It’s okay. I only take it sometimes. It helps me stay focused.”

Peter’s bottom lip quivers as Tony yanks the baggie from him.

“It’s okay,” He repeats, wrapping his arms around Peter’s torso. The poor thing is shaking like a leaf. “I’m not addicted or anything. I barely even touch that shit, okay?”

Peter nods and buries his head into Tony’s shirt.

“Can I make it up to you? If I were an enzyme, I’d be DNA helicase so I can unzip your genes.”

Against his chest, Peter lets out a shaky laugh.

And he adores her,

He watches her get dressed as though she's hurtling through time

Oh darling please be mine

The ceiling is spinning.

Tony groans as the ugly beige dorm ceiling wobbles above him. His stomach lurches as he looks at the fan, which seems like it’s falling...

“Tony?”

The man tilts his head, and through blurry eyes looks at Peter.

“Holy fuck,” He mutters, sitting up even though his stomach protests. “You look beautiful.”

Peter gives him a weird look. Tony doesn’t understand, because he’s so stunning.

“Babe, I’m in my pjs,” The brunette snorts, throwing his clothes from the day into his hamper. Even with Peter’s non-chalantness, Tony can feel tears pricking the corners of his eyes. How did he get so lucky? A beautiful, smart, kind boy like Peter, all for him. 

The other man climbs into their bed, lying across Tony’s chest. He was able to bribe the housing office to let them room together, and buy one big bed for both of them. His dad wasn’t too happy with the way he was spending his money. 

Tony holds Peter tight.

She promises to fight them all when it all becomes too much

And he, he curses at the world for

Leaving him behind and he's falling out of touch

“No no no no please…”

Tony sobs into Peter’s shirt, clutching the soft material in his fists. The man keeps murmuring something about a ‘bad trip’, but Tony can’t fucking concentrate. His mind is racing like a marathon runner, thoughts of Howard ever putting his filthy fucking hands on Peter stuffing his mind.

And she is stronger than he's ever been he knows

“He won’t hurt me, Tony,” Peter coos, rocking the older man back and forth gently. Tony yells and cries, bile rising in his throat. The thing is, Peter doesn’t know Howard. He doesn’t know the power he has, how he can rip anyone away from his grasp.

And she brushes her hand through his hair

He's got so much fucking hair

And he holds her close just to keep the world at bay

“Stay with me,” Tony mutters through his tears. He squeezes Peter as tight as he can. “M’keep you safe. If he comes near you I’ll fucking s’rip his guts out.”

Peter sighs heavily and Tony heaves again.

And when they're sure no-one can hear them

She'll turn to him to say, she'll turn to him and say

It's not fair, It's not fair how much I love you

It's not fair,

Cos you make me laugh when I'm actually

Really fucking cross at you for something

“You’re lucky I love you so much,” Peter grumbles as he wipes Tony’s bleeding nose with a tissue. The bigger boy winces as he hits a particularly sensitive part of his skin. It’s spring now, and they’re almost finished their junior year. Tony can’t believe college has gone by this fast; in a blur of drugs and Peter.

“Damn right,” Tony quips, gently tracing a heart on Peter’s thigh with his bloody finger. “I’m the luckiest man in the world, baby boy.”

Peter rolls his eyes and grabs a clean tissue.

“No, I’m fuckin’ serious…”

And he'll say

Oh how oh how unreasonable

How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do

I'll spend my days so close to you cos if I'm

Standing here maybe everyone will think I'm alright

***

I've seen enough he says I know exactly what I want

And it's this life that we've created,

Inundated with the fated thought of you

And if you asked me to, if you asked me I would lose it all

Even in a red and white graduation gown, Peter looks stunning. 

“We did it, Tony bear!” The man cheers, wrapping his arms around Tony’s midsection. The sun shines down on the crowd of the graduates and their families. Tony slips Peter’s graduation cap off of his head and kisses his mop of curls. “I’m so proud of you.”

Tony feels a rush of utter love and emotion as he holds the love of his life in his arms.

Fumbling for the ring in his pocket, he gets down on one knee. 

Like petals in a storm, cos darling I was born

To press my head between your

Shoulder blades at night when light is fading

Just to let you know I'm old, waylaid and feels like I am wading into

Carpet burns and carousels oh Christ you'll be the death of me

Tony runs his fingers over Peter’s arm as he comes down from another high. He had to do three lines this time, and it wasn’t even that good of a trip. He’s talked to his dealer about getting a bit of heroin instead of his usual coke, but he doesn’t want to disappoint Pete.

“Tony?” His fiancée asks softly, adjusting the comforter. “When can we get married?”

Tony chuckles against the back of Peter’s neck.

“Anytime you want, honey bun. I’ve got the money-you just say the word. It can be big and flashy, or we can just run down to town hall. I don’t care, whatever you want. Because I love you so fucking much, baby.”

Peter’s soft snores fill the bedroom.

And calm throughout his melodrama she

Will turn and say 'dear heart It's me, its me

“Tony, it’s me, it’s Peter. I’m right here.”

Tony’s whole body shakes as he stares at the man in front of him. He can’t remember anything, can’t remember who he’s married to, can’t remember where he is, he just can’t.

“It’s your husband, Peter. You married me two months ago. I live here. Please, put the knife down.”

Tony fumbles with the kitchen knife in his hand. The man sounds convincing, and it makes sense that Tony could score someone as hot as him. 

The knife falls to the ground.

You don't need to pretend to be someone you're not

Cos it's not like I've never heard you fart and snore

And for some god forsaken reason I'm

Still here love like I've always been before

“You need to get help, bumblebee.”

The scene is so familiar to Tony, but instead of a baggie, Peter has a needle in his hand. It hurts seeing him with it, because he’s always prayed that his little angel would never come close to drugs. 

“I will,” Tony grumbles, rubbing his strained eyes with his hand. Since when did he get so tired?

“No,” Peter says, placing the needle onto the marble counter top. “Professional help. Not ‘help’ from other crackheads. I want you to go to rehab.” 

Tony’s blood runs cold. 

And he'll say

It's not fair, It's not fair how much I love you

It's not fair cos you make me weep when I'm

Just trying to watch The Office with my yogurt

And she'll say

Oh how, oh how unreasonable

How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do

I'll spend my days so close to you cos if I'm

Standing next to you then maybe everyone will think I'm cool

***

How unfair, how unfair they'll sing as

They dance across the darling rooftop wreck

Watching Peter’s face light up when he sees the knit blanket spread out on the roof is worth everything.

“Wow,” He breathes as he looks at the picnic basket bursting with food and wine. Tony sways on his heels, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. He hopes Peter likes his little date he set up, as sort of a thank you for everything he’s done. 

“D’ya like it? l know it’s, well, the roof.”

Peter laughs his real laugh, all bright and tinny and happy. It’s not his sad laugh when he has to drag Tony to the bath to scrub his bleeding arms, or his bitter laugh when Tony tries to convince him not to throw out his heroin stash. 

“God, it’s so perfect,” Peter murmurs, cheeks rounded with a smile. Tony fumbles for his phone, and plays an old song that was Peter’s uncle’s favorite. 

“Dance with me, baby?”

He'll trip and she'll pretend not to have seen,

Burying her head into his chest and

Clinging to the moment, 'where have you been?'

She'll whisper 'I've waited oh so long for you to come'

“I’ve missed this,” Peter mumbles as Tony sways him back and forth. “I’ve missed you.”

Tony smiles softly and drags his fingertips over the small of Peter’s back. He radiates warmth and sunshine. Tony will never ever let him go. 

And as the stars above them hum and hear them

He'll turn to her and say 'that's what she said'

It's not fair, it's not fair how much I love you

It's not fair cos you make me ache you bastard

And she'll say

Oh how, oh how unreasonable

How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do

I'll spend my days so close to you cos if I'm stood here

“I love you, Tony. I’ll be right here when you get out.” 

Tony smiles sadly, very close to bursting into tears.

“Promise?” He asks, voice hushed, as the rehab center is really fuckin’ quiet. The receptionist doesn’t pay any mind to them, but the nurse named Steve waits for them to finish.

“I promise,” Peter says, tears pricking the corner of his honey eyes. “I promise on my life.”

Tony takes his husband in his arms and squeezes him tight. When they pull away, his shirt is wet with Peter’s tears.

“Okay,” Tony says. He turns to the blonde nurse, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. “Okay. I’m ready.”

Steve smiles and gestures to the main staircase. He’s about to follow, but hesitantly looks to Peter.

“Go. I’ll be standing right here, waiting for you.”

Then I'm stood here

And I'll stand here

I'll stand here with you.