#so much of the conversation around alcohol is ALWAYS centered around binge drinking and how great it is

[wewontbesleeping]

one of my biggest pet peeves is the people who will comment things like "leftover wine??? what's that????" on videos. girl we're not all alcoholics.

[mxchellesworld]

punishment games

natasha romanoff x reader

synopsis; in which your efforts to get back Nat’s attention leads to a much different result than expected 

warnings; smut obvi, use of strap ons, degradation, light impact play, use of restraints

a/n; so recently i’ve been on a binge of reading nat fics and goddd did i miss her!! anyways this idea came to me last night so i wanted to get it out asap before i forgot lol as always i hope you enjoy!!

also fuck the marvel timeline but if you place this around age of ultron it works

***

You were being testy. And you knew it too. You also knew it was wrong to push blame onto someone else but technically Natasha started it. (no she didn’t)

It was another Stark party, a night of drinking and loud music over a meaningless celebration. However you loved them nonetheless, being able to smother Nat and taste the vodka on her lips while you both watched the boys goof off as if they didn’t normally.

However that was all pushed to the side when you saw some random blonde chatting it up with her. Usually you weren’t the type of person to be upset over someone talking to her but the moment the unfamiliar hand reached forward to tuck away a strand of loose red hair, no offense to Bruce but suddenly you were seeing green.

It was at an instant the gears in your head started spinning. Making your way to the small section where you were all sitting you marched right past her, adding a little sway to your hips before approaching the key to making this little plan work. Thor.

Ever since you had met him you had a little tiny crush on him. Who wouldn’t he was a god for fucks sake, 6’4 and sculpted to perfection. While yes, Natasha was your soulmate and only had eyes for you, she understood the appeal.

“Is this seat taken?” you asked twirling a piece of your hair leaning in for him to hear you over the bass pounding. 

It was as if he knew exactly what thought was swirling in your head just by taking a look past you to the sight on the leather couch parallel to him, he met your smirk as he responded, “Always a place for you my pretty little mortal.”

You giggled as his hands went to your hips pulling you down onto his lap. Your arm went around his neck, fingers running through his golden locks.

Turning your head you looked back at Natasha who was suddenly no longer interested in the woman sitting next to her.

Y/n: 1, you thought in your head. 

The next hour was spent still in Thor’s lap. As bold as you two were being he never let his hands steer any lower than your hip or waist. He caught you up on Asgard business. Even promising to take you someday. As intimidating as he seemed deep down he was nothing but a puppy. 

A few more minutes of laughing it up and he tapped on your thigh, “If you’ll excuse me my dear but I need to make a quick trip to the gentlemen’s room. However I will pass you on to my friend here,” he said pushing you onto another lap. 

You waved goodbye before turning your attention back to the newest player in your little game, “Hey there soldier,” you said with a smile. 

“Hey Y/n,” Steve said with a playful roll of his eyes. 

“So how’s the party been for you,” you asked before he cut you off. 

“Cut the shit Y/n.” 

“Woah Steven! You kiss your mother with that mouth?” you said with a laugh. 

“I just wanna know why you’re here instead of oh I don’t know hanging around your girlfriend.” he said nudging his beer bottle in Natasha’s direction. 

“Well when mommy’s and daddy’s get in fights-” Steve’s groan cut you off, “Anyways. She’s caught up in her own conversation.” 

“Really because it looks like she wants to bite someones head off.” 

This time when you turned around, dark green eyes were glaring right into yours. And they said the winter soldier stare was scary. However instead of fear it was nothing but pure heat shooting straight to your core. 

Looking back at Steve you played with the buttons on his blue, size smedium button down “Listen all you gotta do is sit here and look pretty, maybe give me a good squeeze once in a while. Nat’s not gonna hurt you.” 

The blonde scoffed, “Why do I find that hard to believe.” 

“I don’t like this attitude on you Steven,” you said playfully furrowing your brows, “did your little boyfriend Sam teach to act like this.” 

Steve lifted up his finger like he was about to scold you when a cold hand on your shoulder made you both freeze up, “Don’t bother Stevie, I know just how to put her in her place.” 

Natasha: 1

Her hand went down to your wrist pulling you along down the hallway and into an elevator, “Nat-” 

“I don’t wanna hear a single fucking word from you. Got it?” she said facing the metal doors. You gulped seeing the way her jaw clenched. Nodding your head knowing she was watching from the corner of her eyes. 

Once in your room she wasted no time in shoving you on the bed. Her lean frame over yours, trapping you under her. 

“Do you think it’s funny to act like a little slut in front of all our friends?” 

“No Nat-” your sentence ended before it started when a slap was landed on your cheek. The impact making you moan out. 

“Is this what you wanted princess? Did you need me to bring you back here and use you like the little fuck toy you are?” she said lips mere inches away from yours. 

Learning from past mistakes you kept your words to yourself and eagerly nodded your head, panting from the steady ache between your legs. You whined as she got up, watching as she walked to the little chest where you kept all your toys. 

“Get to the center of the bed and put your arms up,” she said without looking back at you, “clothes off, except your panties.” 

Instantly you followed her request going as quickly as you possibly could. She made her way over with metal cuffs, locking you in place before going back to the chest. You watched as she turned and made her way to the bed again, a long red toy attached to a strap was in her hands. 

She let out a mocking laugh as she noticed your eyes get wide when she lifted your legs to put on you instead of herself, “aw you didn’t think I was gonna reward you did you angel?” 

“Natty please I’m sorry,” you whimpered out as she moved to straddle your hips. The material of her jeans rubbing your legs made you painfully aware of you state of undress. 

She reached forward to squeeze your cheeks in one of her hands, “You should’ve thought about that before you wanted to whore yourself out to the boys.” 

“Now you’re gonna lay back and watch me fuck myself. And just maybe if I’m satisfied enough I’ll think about fucking you,” she said stripping herself of her clothes. 

You watched as she settled between your legs, one hand on the silicone cock and the other on your thigh, making you jolt. Her pink tongue licked a strip up the toy before she took it in her mouth. Never once did her eyes leave yours. 

It was as if you could feel her actions, the way she moaned around the toy bobbing her head. You knew it was nothing more than just to tease. The drawer full of lube suddenly forgotten about. 

Once she was done you watched as she settled herself on the tip of the toy, slowly lowering her self down. One hand squeezing on her breast, fingers rolling her perky pink nipple. You mewled at the sight, hips rising and digging the toy deeper inside her. 

“Oh look at my cute little toy just aching to make me feel good,” she said as she started moving her hips in slow circles. 

All you could do was dumbly nod in agreement. Your hands ached to touch her soft skin. Imagining the sight of little crescent marks on her hips as you fucked into her had you going crazy. 

“You know this could’ve been you malysh,” she said with a swift roll of her hips, the soft coo of her accent going straight to your core, “I would’ve even settled for a double ended toy, but from what I’ve seen tonight you don’t deserve any relief.” 

She picked up her rhythm, palms steady on either side of your head as she bounced up and down on the silicone cock. The sounds of her juices and moans drifting through the room was like music to your ears. 

You swore you could’ve cum on the spot. The sight above you was nothing short of heavenly, “Nat please let me help you,” you said breathlessly. 

“Please let me touch you! ‘M sorry,” you slurred out. 

“Aw my pathetic little baby,” she said leaning forward to wrap her hand around your throat. The slight amount of pressure making you gasp.

“I haven’t laid a single finger on you and you’re already so mindless,” said finally letting her lips touch yours. You moaned at the familiar taste of her favorite alcohol. 

It was almost embarrassing how on edge you were. Her words alone could make you finish. And you wouldn’t have been upset about it. 

She pulled away and reached up to undo the cuffs. Your hands falling limp to the side before you grabbed onto her face. Pulling her lips back onto yours like you had been missing all night. 

“Wanna make you cum,” you said against her lips. With one hand on her hip the other went to rub on her aching bud. Her head fell to your shoulder, leaving bites to muffle her mewls and whimpers. 

“That’s it princess, make me cum for you. Such a good little fuck doll for me to use, baby,” she heaved out. 

“Just for you Nat!” 

With a few more rough thrusts of your hips and figure eights just how you knew she liked them you felt her body spasm over you. Soft lips forming a perfect O as she let out a silent scream. Her ragged breathes warm against your skin as she rode out her high. 

Once calmed down she got off the toy, helping you take off the strap and tossing it to the side. You were about to sit up when she pushed you back down into the sheets, leaning over to grab her phone from the bedside. 

“Nat what are you-” A quick glare from her was all you needed to shut yourself up. 

“Hey Thor? Yeah I’m gonna need a favor, and bring Steve with you.” 

[jaeminzie]

each time you fall in love | h.rj - teaser

↳ huang renjun x fem!reader

synopsis: the moments of what it seemed like the love you gave him is something renjun would never deem to forget. without it, he’s become the type of person he’s ridiculed in the past. though thanks to you, he’s learned that the past is the past and shit happens.

genre: angst, fluff, college au

teaser word count: 1,375 expected word count: 10-15k

warnings: cursing, mentions of cigarettes and alcohol, one sex scene but no explicit smut (more to add later on)

playlist: ‘real games’ by lucky daye ☆ ‘each time you fall in love’ by cigarettes after sex ☆ (more to add later on)

a/n: a belated birthday fic for renjun :,] i’ve been waiting for the right time to write a long and angsty fic and i think now is the perfect time aaaa i’m so excited to write again ! for now, enjoy a little snippet ♡

i. each time you fall in love

renjun was confused as to why he was standing between sweaty bodies of frat boys when he could be laying down in his own clean sheets while binge watching a new show. but no, his best friend just had to quite literally physically drag him to this party. jaemin has been pestering renjun into accompanying him to a frat party so renjun can finally “get some.” while in reality, the only “some” renjun is in need of is a break, and attending a boring college party only to be pushed around by intoxicated, tall, and freakishly meaty boys isn't the break he was quite fond of.

the short boy has been on his tippy toes in an attempt to look for his friend who forced him here (apparently only to ditch him) in the sea of people. as his toes begin to cramp, renjun gives up and marches his way to the backyard. the wrinkles on his forehead begin to soothe as he feels the cold air relief his slightly sweaty forehead.

he observes the area around him — people out here were dancing more appropriately than those inside, the music was calmer too. he thinks the dimly lit backyard sets the mood well, complimenting the chill rnb music playing in the back. though, the calmness came to a halt when he heard the infamous loud voice of donghyuck calling his name from the side of the area.

renjun smiles at the him and jeno who was standing right beside donghyuck, feeling relieved that he will no longer look like a stupid loner since he’s found a few friends. as he came closer to them, the acrid smell of their cigarettes became more prevalent.

“didn’t take you as a party guy, injunie.” donghyuck nudges him with his shoulder as renjun finds place in between the two, resting his back against the fence.

“that’s because i’m not.”

jeno chuckles at his response, “so jaemin finally succeeded.” renjun huffs. “well, at least enjoy it now that you’re here.”

donghyuck made a noise of agreement. “and you guys consider smoking in the corner fun?” renjun eyes the boys, obviously joking with them but was also curious if they genuinely find pleasure in welcoming those toxins into their system.

“apparently you, a prude, think being a virgin is fun. but i guess we all have different definitions of fun, huh?” donghyuck teases before taking another hit, releasing the smoke and polluting the air.

renjun blinks repeatedly to moisten his burning eyes, “yeah, i expect that same attitude from you when you need an inhaler every five seconds. that’s the only thing you’ll ever hit then.”

jeno coughs out smoke as he laughs at the remark, “you’ve done pissed him off, hyuck. here — take a hit, it’ll feel better.” jeno places the cigarette in front of renjun’s face and winks at him.

renjun mockingly smiles at the taller boy before rolling his eyes and heartily laughing at the banter between him and his good friends.

the boy observes how the smoke leaves the tip of the cigarette to form patterns in the air, creating an infinite amount of stems and designs. like a camera lens, his focus on the killing object in front of him blurs and readjusts on a dancing figure directly behind the cigarette from afar.

jeno slowly drops his hand down as he sees his friend’s gaze shift to another hazardous object — a girl. specifically, you. “you know her?”

renjun thinks about his answer, because you guys don’t know each other personally nor have even talked to one another but he does know of you but he doesn’t want to sound like a creep. saving himself from more insults, he shakes his head. “maybe i should, though.”

not that he pays attention but he’s seen you at a couple of his classes last semester, but sadly none this semester. he remembers how you’d always come in late, but not too late. just late enough for everyone to stop what they’re doing and watch you walk down to your seat. or maybe that was just a natural effect of yours that you hold on people. i mean, renjun didn’t miss the way you put thought into your outfit for every class even if it was a boring lecture. hell, you could show up to class hungover and in pajamas (which you’ve done before a shameful amount of times) and still catch everyone’s attention.

renjun has a pair of functioning eyes so he is very aware of your charming looks. tonight was different, though. you danced confidently right in the center of the grass, with a drink in your hands that hasn’t spilled once thanks to your graceful mannerisms. with the fairy lights hitting your skin, making you glow underneath the dark sky, renjun thought you couldn’t get any prettier.

he was about to inform his friends that he’ll be getting a drink, but noticed that the two boys had already left his side. he cowered at the thought of him just standing there alone with nothing and no one to accompany him while he shamelessly stared at you. making the churning feeling in stomach worsen, your gaze meets his while you continue to dance to the sensual music.

you shot a smile first, renjun immediately gives you one back as he straightens his posture. renjun sees you giggle at his actions then whisper something in your friend’s ear, simultaneously handing your drink to her, to which she pushed you toward his direction and gently patted your bottom.

renjun wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol taking control or you were just this bold, strutting your way toward him — a boy who you don’t even know.

you halt your steps when you stand in front of him, getting a clear view of his pretty face. “you seem a bit lonely.”

renjun gulps, collecting his confidence. “just a bit.”

“want some company then?”

renjun smiles genuinely at your offer. “i would love that actually.” he stares at your features, admiring the dots on your face that would resemble star constellations if someone were to draw lines to connect them. “i’m renjun.” he was smart enough to wipe his hands discreetly behind him before putting them out.

“nice to meet you, renjun. i’m y/n.” you took his hand and shook it lightly. “i think i’ve seen you in one of my classes before? i might be wrong.” you tilt your head slightly. renjun almost melts at the sight.

he smiles before nodding, eyes shining. “yeah, i’m shocked you remember. i don’t usually talk during class.” he laughs. it seems that every time he smiles, your palms become sweatier and your neck’s temperature increases.

“don’t worry, pretty boys like you don’t need to do much to catch yourself some attention.”

renjun laughs nervously at the compliment, fiddling with the ends of his oversized jacket. “you're the one to talk but thank you.” his eyes twinkled as he spoke, the moonlight hitting the highest points of his face precisely. “you wanna go sit over there?” he points to the chairs near your standing figures. you nodded and began to walk your way toward the spot with renjun following suit.

renjun wasn’t sure how it happened. how the night turned from arguing with jaemin over a pointless party to now — not wanting to leave the damn place. how he was able to maintain a real conversation with you, not some excruciatingly boring small talk that neither party enjoys. he learned much about your character and questioned how much more perfect you can be. on the other hand, you learned that renjun makes pleasant company as he eased through the night talking to you about anything. he made any topic worth listening to if he was the one doing the talking.

as he drove home with a drunk jaemin snoring beside him in the passenger seat, he realized that, for once, renjun was thankful that his best friend is the most stubborn person in the planet and made him go to that stupid frat party.

because now, you’ve got him in your hands and he was completely okay with that.

[haro-whumps]

Group Whumpees 7: Home

CW: transphobia, shitty family relationships, alcohol and binge eating as a coping mechanism, death ment., slavery, aftermath of abuse, multiple whumpees

Tag list: @bleeding-demon-teeth @theycomeinthrees @redwingedwhump @whimperwoods @inpainandsuffering @whole-and-apart-and-between @whump-whump-whump-it-up @whumpingupastorm @newandfiguringitout @lonesome--hunter @looptheloup @icannotweave  @deluxewhump @whumping-every-day @yeet-me-out-a-window @what-a-whumpy-world @burtlederp @constellationwhump @swordkallya @finder-of-rings @fairybean101 @adventuresofacreesty @arlennil @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight

Masterlist

Galo wasn’t entirely sure of what he expected to happen when his father showed up. He knew he was in deep shit--nobody just hung up on his dad, much less multiple times in a row. Screaming, probably. Ranting and raving, no doubt. So he guessed he was grateful, more or less, to whatever powers that were, that his dad showed up already drunk.

“Hey dad,” he said, forcing a tight lipped smile.

“Hey you piece of shit!” Galo’s father answered, loud and boisterous, but happy. He clapped Galo on the back and jabbed a finger into his chest. “I’ve been callin’ you!”

“Yes, dad, I know.”

“Aaaaahaha, oh shit are those devilled eggs?” 

“Yup, go enjoy,” Galo said, gently pushing his father in the direction of the horderves table and mentally thanking Sasha for making so, so many. Yeah, Galo had requested a lot, on account of him knowing his audience, but thank you Sasha.

“Heeey, lil sibling,” Esther greeted, slinging her arm around Galo’s shoulders. Since his transition, she’d pretty much refused to refer to him in any kind of gendered terms and he’d yet to hear her use, like, pronouns for him. On one hand, yes, it was nice that she didn’t insist on calling Galo a girl. On the other, it had been over a decade.

“Afternoon, Esther,” Galo greeted, “You show up with dad?”

“Yeah, Jeremiah’s parking the car. We pregamed.”

“I noticed.”

“Hey guys!” Jeremiah called.

“Hey lil bro!”

Galo felt his eye twitch, very aware that Esther had no issue calling Jeremiah ‘lil bro’ when Galo was--

It was fine. It was fine. They had a 40 minute service, some time for people to leave flowers and mingle, and then Galo could leave.

“Thanks for doing all this, Galo,” Jeremiah said, and Galo smiled a little more genuinely when he clasped his hand, pulling him into a sorta-chest-bump-ish. The motion, if not the contact itself, was there.

“Yeah. Been a real pain in the ass,” Galo admitted. He did not… get along, necessarily, with Jeremiah. But while he disapproved of Jeremiah’s spoiled nature and entitled actions, Jeremiah’s personality was probably the friendliest of Galo’s family. Definitely used to getting his way, and getting it handed to him on a silver platter (their father treated his “only son” differently than the other two), but not like, a bad dude.

“Luckily, Aunt Jude agreed to do cleanup for me, since she couldn’t help with setup.” Aunt Jude was a fundamentally unlikable person, but she made a mean potato salad and was the most responsible member of their family, with the exception of Galo himself. The phrase “control freak” was not a particularly off-base descriptor for her, and Galo knew she’d be plucking at everything “wrong” with what Galo had done in setup in passive aggressive jabs if he let her rope him into a conversation. 

Which he did not intend to do.

At all.

Fuck there she was.

“So how you been, Jeremiah?” Galo asked, leaving Esther to deal with Aunt Jude’s approach. He’d listen to Jeremiah describe every single attachable part, feature, and accessory of whatever new gun he’d bought between now and the last family reunion if it meant sticking Esther with Aunt Jude. He’d politely prompt Jeremiah to talk about golf and “owning the libs” on reddit and let him complain about his loudly eco-feminist lesbian coworker, if it meant not having to deal with Aunt Jude’s holier than thou party planning and getting deadnamed repeatedly. 

Fortunately, Jeremiah was married to the sound of his own voice, so between Galo subtly herding him towards the alcohol and giving intermittent “Mhm”s, Galo kept him going until the funeral itself began. 

Or would have, if Uncle Mike hadn’t started making a scene before the damn thing even started. Galo sighed and pressed his face gently to the wall, listening to the increase in volume as everyone got in on Mike’s riot act. It was a show, him playing the devil’s advocate or saying something provocative or “accidentally” roughhousing too hard. It was just him making sure he was the center of every fucking body’s attention. Galo needed to be sober enough to drive, two hours from now. Sober enough to have a halfway coherent conversation with his shitty fucking family, in about an hour and a half.

But for now, he could grab the bottle of vodka, cut it with some lemonade, and down the entire glass before refilling it with straight vodka. His tastebuds would hate him for it but ideally they’d not be online here in a few minutes. He knew he couldn’t keep drinking like he had been, the last week. If not for his liver, then at the very least for the continued efficiency of his T shots. 

FUCK Aunt Jude was right there.

“Sorry, can’t talk right now,” Galo said in a rush, downing the vodka (ow) and making a beeline for whatever bullshit Uncle Mike was up to. “Gotta put out this fire, talk after the funeral,” he insisted as she opened her mouth again. Uncle Mike was a rude motherfucker, but just for the attention of it all. Aunt Jude was insufferable. 

Galo got between Uncle Mike and his own father, easily solving the dispute now that Auntie Bethany wasn’t there to egg her brothers on. And, since Galo, official fun-sucker of the family, was now on the scene, the rest of the agitated crowd simmered down. A member of Auntie Bethany’s church approached him, and he forced a smile.

“Thank you, young man,” he said, and Galo’s smile went a little more genuine. 

“Sure thing, dude,” Galo said, pushing his hair back from his face. “Galo. Nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine. My condolences for your loss. Bethany was a generous and upright woman; our congregation will miss her sorely.”

Don’t talk shit about the dead, Galo reminded himself firmly, before he could remark on what an evil shrieking harpy she was. He thought on the five people he’d left in that massive house, frightened and hurting, and couldn’t reconcile them with the story this man was now telling him, on how Galo’s aunt had always been the first to visit a church member in the hospital or bake something for an expecting couple.

Auntie Bethany had always worried about appearances more than anyone else in the family, Galo figured. And he was the only person in the room who understood just how far her coverups went. He rubbed at the bandage on his arm, not wanting to stand there listening to a stranger list off how good and kind and giving Auntie Bethany had been, giving Galo sympathy he hadn’t asked for. 

The funeral officially starting was a fucking mercy. He sat between his siblings, trying very hard to daydream himself away for the next 40 minutes. The pews were uncomfortably full. The entire church turned up, it seemed like, and the majority of her facebook friends. 

He forced himself to space out for most of it, thinking very deliberately about which character he intended to romance on his next playthrough, and if playing a female character would be worth it to romance the lesbian who could, in all honesty, do anything she wanted and he would thank her for it. Pros: hot video game girlfriend. Cons: Galo did not care for playing a female character, when male was an option. 

Unfortunately, after eulogies were given (more like soliloquized, everyone in this goddamn (ha) building was only interested in showing off how righteously they were reacting to Auntie Bethany’s passing) and the body was buried, there was a little luncheon and Aunt Jude finally started negging Galo about the funeral. Galo sat, body laced with tension, and forced himself to drink fluids that were not alcohol. Aunt Jude was family, he couldn’t just tell her to fuck off, especially since it’d just start a scene and there was more than one person in the building who would love to join in if Galo caused a scene.

He could really do without the continuous deadnaming though. It was like Aunt Jude was hosting an internal contest on how many times she could say the wrong name in a single paragraph. Even Auntie Bethany hadn’t gone out of her way like this.

He counted down until he felt like enough time had passed, and then called a meeting of all family members in an adjacent room.

“Ma’am, this is family only,” Galo said, halting a woman in a blue dress and pearls at the door.

“Oh, but Bethany and I were like sisters! She always said that, you know? How I was like a sister to her. We were so close.”

“That’s nice, ma’am, but I don’t know who you are, and this meeting is for the immediate family of the deceased.”

Her wrinkly, painted lips pursed, and Galo could feel the exhaustion of the pending conversation hit him before it even happened.

“Ma’am, we know you miss her, but why don’t you go speak with the others,” Aunt Jude butt in. “In this time of grieving, such a close friend to Bethany would be like a lantern in the night, guiding the others, since I’m sure you know how she would have wanted us to mourn her passing.”

Galo turned into the room, letting Aunt Jude handle it, trying as best he could to block out their holier-than-thou sympathetic tones as they discussed whatever the fucking shit they were spewing. Aunt Jude clipped up next to him in her loudly tapping high heels and said, “And that is how it is done.” And then she deadnamed him again! Great. Fan fucking tastic. 

“So,” Galo said, getting everyone’s attention as quickly as he could because he was at his wits’ fucking end, “Auntie Bethany changed up her will right before her death, listing only the people who visited her in the hospital, which turned out to be only me.” He’d summarized as much in a family facebook chat, but it was good to get everyone on the same page, especially since most of them were drunk (and he wasn’t drunk enough).

“Before anyone protests or starts making remarks,” Galo said, a little louder, “let me finish. I figure that, since I am the only one who visited her, I’ll keep her physical properties, and we the family will split her bank account evenly across all of us. Sound good?” Galo hoped his tone discouraged anyone from saying that that did not, after all, sound good.

“And how much is that? Rich bitch never did say how much she had,” Galo’s father crowed drunkenly. 

Galo made a show of counting heads. Ultimately, it wouldn’t matter. “Between the 17 of us, I’ll write everyone here a check for 2 million dollars.”

Everyone was very happy about that. Galo did not mention that, even after giving that much to his relatives (not that any one of them really and actually deserved that kind of money), he’d still have somewhere around 30 million to donate and spend how he liked. Auntie Bethany had been very wealthy. And these 2 million dollar red herrings would ensure none of them questioned after the slaves, who would absolutely not be going to any member of Galo’s family. He got out the checkbook and made his way around the room, reminding the drunk ones to make sure to cash these and not let them flutter off in the wind because Galo wouldn’t be able to write them another one (a lie, but one he’d stick by). And then, and then, it was finally socially acceptable for him to leave, citing being tired from getting up that early that morning and making a beeline for his car. 

“Fuck,” he breathed as he sank into the sweet cloth seat. His body felt ridiculously heavy, but he wasn’t quite out of the frying pan just yet. He turned his car on and drove, drove as fast as the speed limit let him, tricking his stupid monkey hindbrain into feeling like he was running away and it was working. He drove directly and immediately home.

His apartment was no different than how he’d left it. He almost expected dust and roaches, he felt like he’d been gone a year, but really, it had only been a week. One whole week, straight out of hell.

His mattress was kinda lumpy, and had an indent in Galo’s shape from where he so frequently faceplanted into it. He faceplanted then, too. The bed wasn’t particularly comfortable, but it was familiar and it smelled like him. He groaned. He took a nap.

He felt better, after. He removed his jacket and tie, rolled up his sleeves, and splashed some water on his face. Then he decided to just ditch the shirt altogether. He’d taken all his sweatpants with him when he did the preliminary move into Auntie Bethany’s place, but he still had a pair of leggings he used to wear to the gym before they got a rip in the inner thigh and so he put those on. He downloaded grubhub specifically so he could order a shitload of burritos from taco bell, plus a mountain dew slushie abomination and more of those cinnabon ball things than he could actually, personally eat. It was time to put some garbage in his body. 

Y’know, maybe he wouldn’t sell his bed. Almost all of his craigslist ads had been answered, and he intended to hand over the furniture tomorrow, while the movers were here, having set up appointments with the buyers. His bed was the only piece of furniture that he hadn’t gotten a response for. And he was, after all, ridiculously wealthy.

He pulled up his calculator app. If he wanted to keep rending this apartment indefinitely, let’s say, 20 years, it’d only cost, what, $200,000? That wouldn’t even make a dent in his inherited wealth. He didn’t have to break out of his lease early. He could keep this place, a secret little getaway only for himself, when his new life at the mansion overwhelmed him, or he needed to give those five the night off from his presence, or if he was hiding from his family, or god even knew what. He didn’t have to worry about the money. Literally, nothing monetary could ever touch him again.

And he could redecorate this place, too. Get a little retail therapy in, make it his personal project to work on here and there. That would be… nice. He couldn’t have any plants or living shit in here--it’d die--but maybe some fairy lights and a wall hanging.

He tipped his delivery driver with a $50 bill and didn’t even blink at its loss. He shoveled taco bell into his mouth and called the mansion’s house phone halfway through the meal, washing his mouth out with the toxic waste lookin’ slushie.

“Good evening?”

“Hey, Nyla, it’s Galo. Just letting you know I won’t be home tonight, so you all have permission to go to bed whenever you’re ready to, okay?”

“Yes Master, thank you sir.”

“Have a good night,” he said, and hung up. After dinner, he dicked around on his phone, wishing he’d left his game console here (it wasn’t like he was playing it at the mansion), before he turned in early for the night. 

The next day was better. The moving crew was friendly and thorough, he was happy to hand over his old junk to the buyers, and once they’d trucked his belongings over to the mansion he enlisted their help in moving Auntie Bethany’s old craft furniture and the totes of supplies Nyla had packed up into his car, which he hauled off to be donated. His family didn’t call him, likely too busy spending as much of their new money as they possibly could within a day. He went to the gym in the evening, and bumped into an old friend he’d made before he switched to mornings.

Yes, the next day was better.

--

“He said he’s not coming home tonight,” Nyla informed them, gathered together in the kitchen for dinner. It had been a quiet day. With Master Galo leaving early in the morning, the most that had happened was Evan finishing out his recitations and trying to limp feeling back into his numbed legs. “We can go to sleep whenever we want to.”

“I’d like to sleep early, then,” Greyson remarked, and they all took a look at him. Normally he just listened and went along with whatever the group, or Nyla, decided.

“Tired?” Lilah asked.

“It’s been a week,” Greyson said heavily, and they all agreed. It had certainly been a week. 

“Do you think we could take a bath?” Lilah asked, and they looked between themselves. Taking a bath in the basement bathroom, which had a tub like a small pool, was reserved for when Mistress was out of town for multiple days in a row, and only for the middling days, when there was no chance she might return from a cancelled flight or arrive early.

“Master is o-only away for the n-night.”

“But he hasn’t lied to us yet,” Nyla said. She glanced at Evan. 

They all knew she was being indulgent for Evan’s sake, since he’d had a pretty shit time yesterday and that day. Acquiescing to a bit of mischief. He smiled.

“And we’d hear him open the front door, anyway.” Evan’s voice was still a little rough from that morning. “Dude’s heavy.”

“Let’s take a bath,” Greyson agreed. 

They all showered like they normally did, Greyson first, getting off the grime and sweat of the day, and then sank into the large, gently steaming tub, soaking and talking quietly, ears perked for the sound of the front door, but enjoying the warmth, and the chance to relax. They spoke on Master Galo, collectively attempting to parse his mindgames and coming up short. They spoke on the work they had done and what needed doing, Nyla creating neat categories in her brain. Evan and Greyson spoke infrequently, one feeling too guilty to speak, the other too tired. And then they all said nothing at all, still and warm, simply sitting in the water.

Sasha started to nod off first, her head resting on Nyla’s shoulder, then jerking up, then laying on Greyson’s. He pet her wet hair and broke the silence by urging her to bed, with him. The other three, content and about as calm as they could get, in this place, were not far behind them.

They dried and dressed and climbed into bed, Greyson out in a moment, Evan asleep last, warm and with each other in their Master’s absence.

Next

[fan-doms-imagines]

FRIENDS - Imagine being Chandler’s best friend and being in love with him, but having to watch him date Monica

ahhhh, finally done. sorry this took so long, but it’s done. the ending sucks but i hope you enjoy ❤️❤️❤️

also thank you for the requests i’m going to try and get them all in!!

————

You know what the hardest thing in life is? Watching someone you love love someone else. I know that sounds like something you’d see on pinterest or on a teenage girl’s notebook, but for me...it’s my actual life.

It started when I met some guy at a coffee shop in the Village. It was really busy, so I sat down at the large sofa that was in the center of the shop although a small sign marked the spot reserved but it was Monday so I needed coffee. I had only been there for about three minutes when he walked in.

Chandler Bing has walked in on his own wearing a dark gray suit. He didn’t seem to be paying attention as he sat down in the chair to my left and let out a loud sigh. I furrowed my eye brows at his brash behavior and cleared my throat.

“Oh, uh, sorry I thought you were, well, you wouldn’t know her so...” he trailed off and looked down at coffee table awkwardly. I chuckled at his strange, embarrassed reaction.

“No, it’s quite alright,” I replied and thanked the women who set my coffee down. “Is this a regular place for you to visit.”

“You have no idea,” he joked with a charming smile. “I’m probably here more than at work.”

“Wow, you must really like coffee,” I smiled at him. And that was just the beginning of a very long conversation with the hillarious man. It didn’t take long before we were friends and would go to the coffee shop at the same time every Monday just to see each other.

And after three weeks, I started to realize how much I cared for him. And maybe care isn’t a good word, it’s more like love. I was in love with Chandler Bing after only about a month of knowing him.

Everything seemed to be going swimmingly as our friendship continued to grow...until on trip to London for his best friend Ross’s wedding. I knew he was excited to go, so I got him a small disposable camera so that he could take photos for me. And although he said he hated taking pictures, he would do it for me.

And I was expecting Chandler to come home with the photos and maybe a little London snow globe, but instead he came home with a girlfriend. And it wasn’t some London girl he had meet on the trip, it was Monica. Someone he’s known since he was in college with Ross.

I was the first one he told since he knew he could trust me, but although I was happy for him, the news broke my heart. Chandler wanted to stay as close as we were before he started dating Monica, but I decided to separate myself. You know the classic “need to heal myself before I can talk to you” whole thing.

I could tell Chandler was worried since he was constantly checking up on me and leaving small, cute voice messages on my machine everyday when he was leaving from work. I kept my distance none the less cause seeing their relationship get stronger and stronger only made me jealous. There was only that thought that I should move on, but whenever my friends set me up in a date, I always felt like I was cheating on the one I truly wanted.

So I accepted my fate as a lonely homebody in love with their best friend. And then I got a call from Chandler that made my ears perk.

It was around eight o’clock when I got a call from chan chan. I stood up and grabbed my phone, “hello?”

“Hi,” was all he said for a long minute.

“What’s wrong? You’re acting weird,” I said to him over the phone, sitting down and pulling my robe closed. Chandler remained silent for a while, but then he spewed words like water after a dam broke. I almost couldn’t comprehend everything he was saying, but after a couple of seconds I was finally able to understand. Apparently Chandler had been attempting to throw Monica completely off by saying he never wanted to get married and something at pig sex (I have no idea). But instead of using it to his advantage, it drive Monica right back into Richard’s arms — you know Richard: tall, mustache, almost double Monica’s age, that dude.

So now Chandler was heartbroken and single. I told him that I would be at Joeys in about ten with a bottle of whiskey. He chuckled lightly and said a quick goodbye before we both hung up. I quickly changed into my favorite jeans, that I’ve had since the nineties, and pulled on my large, furry jean jacket. As I began to leave I remembered the whiskey that was on the top shelf of my open cabinet. Then I quickly drove over to Joey’s apartment and knocked on the door roughly.

When the door opened, all I could see was an empty shell of what used to be my best friend. I held up the bottle of whiskey, earning only a small half smile. He opened the door wider and let me in. I set the bottle down and grabbed two glasses from the cabinet, pouring us both a good amount of alcohol since we were both going to need it.

Chandler sat down in front of me and we drank in silence for half the bottle. He eventually looked up at me, obviously tipsy and tilted his head. “Why do you think we never...?” He waved his hand sloppily in the air.

“We were too good of friends, I guess,” I replied, scared of the direction this conversation was taking. And being intoxicated and stupid, I added, “it’s not like I haven’t thought of it.”

“Really?” He asked, his ears perking.

“Well before you were with Monica, I don’t know, I just thought there was something...you know, there. I, at least, still feel there is.” I replied, taking another large gulp of the burning alcohol.

“Me too,” he whispered, having it all suddenly hit him. “Oh my god. Y/N, you know that I’ve always had feelings for you. You have always been my first choice. Monica...Monica was my rebound of sorts, although you and I never dated, and it turned from purely physical to security. But you...you were my Everest. I never thought I could be with you. You’re beautiful and smart and so, so kind and funny and so out of my league that I never wanted to lose you or mess things up by asking you out.”

“Oh my god,” I was dumbstruck. My hand gripped the edge of the counter tight as I diverted my eyes from him. “Chandler, I’ve been in love with you for four years. And I’ll be here for you as long as you need me by your side...as a best friend, significant other, or drinking buddy...I don’t care, I just wanna be with you. I know you’re hurting cause you love Monica and she, well, you know. But I’m here to help you through this.”

“Thank you,” he mumbled and grabbed my hand in his warmly. I smiled and gently ran my thumb along his skin.

[irwintry]

What Happens in Paris

Warnings: swearing, alcohol

Author’s Note: STAYs in paris!!!!!!!!!!!! anyway sorry i’m so Bad at writing anything good

also request for part two k bc i have ideas but like, i didnt want this to be so long

Word Count: 5k

part two

“It’s like, ten bucks, mate.”

Luke snorted. “For a fuckin’ scam, yeah.”

“Ya aren’t curious?”

“Y’know me,” he said. “I have a pair of five-hundred-dollar shoes in my closet that I’ve never worn. If I was curious, I’d be sittin’ in there with my head in my hands like an eager kid. Not doin’ it.”

Calum rolled his eyes. “Don’t you wanna know if you and that chic are gonna get back together? Just ten bucks.”

Luke sighed and glanced over at the pink neon “Psychic” sign that illuminated the stairs before them. The night had been rough–– breaking up and binge drinking followed by a muzzy stroll in back neighborhoods he had never visited before. The vibrant letters swirled and eddied around, and before Luke could catch himself, he began walking down the steps.

Calum let out a laugh. “All right, here we fuckin’ go.”

There was an overwhelming musty scent that filled Luke’s nostrils as stepped into the small apartment. He imagined it hardly smelled of anything at all, but his imagination was so strong, and the toxins in his blood were too intense. The couches and chairs were covered in large silk sheets and tapestries, and soft jazz music was playing from an Anker speak on the coffee table.

“Celebrities,” a low female voice said from a kitchen. She stepped out, tea kettle in hand and a smirk on her face. “That’s not a first.”

She was younger than what Luke expected, but a few laugh lines decorated the corners by her eyes. However, she spoke like a middle-aged smoker from Brooklyn. Her hair was in thick, red curls, and he imagined the difficulty of taming it–– he had trouble taming his own curls on the occasion.

“Take a seat,” she said, setting down the kettle on a doily in the center of a table. “You need it.”

Luke was unsure of the woman, but Calum was more eager to have his life spelled out for him. He nearly kicked the chair out from under him as he sat on the wicker beside a big, dusty fern.

“Tea?”

“Yes––

“No,” said Luke, his eyes narrowing in on his friend next to him.

The woman chuckled and began pouring hot water into two teacups. “Earl gray for you,” she said to Calum, and then she looked at Luke. “And rose for you.”

There was a knot forming in the pit of his stomach, and it grew larger as the teacup slid in his direction. The woman, who Luke would later know as Gina, sat across from the two of them and smiled. She spoke with her hands, and he found himself focusing in on the fluidity of the motions.

“I like the energy in this room,” she said. “It’s–– it’s light and positive. But there are some... interruptions. Like the positive is interacting with a negative, and it’s creating this ugly––aaughh––amalgamation.” Her eyes fell to Luke. “You. You haven’t been a good person.”

“What?” he asked, his voice reaching a high register while his friend laughed beside him.

The woman grinned. He didn’t like her grin. “Don’t act so surprised. Y-you have good qualities, eh, y’know? You love people and you always have. But you feel a lot of power. And, look at ya, honey. Money is a big part of that. You live in a constant cycle of excitement and stress, and the people that come and go in your life are greatly affected by you. But ya haven’t been good to them!”

“This is fuckin’ bullshit,” said Luke as he stood. “I don’t need this.”

“And you’re sad!”

“What?”

“But you’re too sad to realize you’re sad,” she continued. “There is a person in your life who is conflictin’ you. I’m sensing that they don’t mean much to you righ’ now, but the more you are around them, the more you will question who you are. Drink your fuckin’ tea.”

Luke huffed and returned to his seat. “What the fuck is happening,” he muttered, but it wasn’t a question. Calum was still stifling a laugh.

“They don’t like you right now,” the woman continued. “It is radiating off of you like fuckin’ UV rays, honey. They will mess with your feelings as you struggle to figure out your own. And–– “

“What is this shit?” Luke asked. “Like, what are you even telling me? Why is this person important to me?”

The woman chuckled darkly. “You’re going to fall in love with them, honey.”

-

“Who the fuck invited you?”

“I the fuck invited me,” you replied, hands folded across your chest as you brushed by the tall blond. “I’m here to see Cal, ya dipshit. I’m getting his house key.”

Luke let out a huff and pushed the front door shut behind him. The night before tour was a night full of traditions, and nearly all of his close friends participated in the so-called rituals. You, however, were not his friend. You were Ashton and Michael’s, and especially Calum’s, but you were not, under any circumstance, Luke’s friend. So, of all nights for you to drop by unexpectedly, it had to be the night of pre-tour traditions.

“Still didn’t fucking invite you,” he called after you, but you had already made your way into the kitchen where the group gathered. “Jesus fuckin’–– “

A loud chorus of “aye”’s and “hey”’s filled the room as you entered. He ambled in after you, his shoulders tight while he watched you go around and hug the people he was closest to. They all loved you, he knew that. And, he hated that.

“Ya didn’t tell me you invited Y/N,” said Ashton. He nudged his friend teasingly before adding in a wink. “When d’ya get the hots for her?”

Luke glared at him. “I’d run onto the 405 naked before I would ever consider even hugging her.”

“Damn, ‘kay then.” Ashton chuckled. He walked back towards the kitchen island where their mates were eating.

The traditions were light. They were simple, relaxing things that the band never had the chance to do, like movie nights and large orders of Uber Eats. Most nights, they went out and experienced life like typical chumps would do. But pre-tour traditions meant R&R, and you were not R&R.

To Luke, it seemed as though the rest of his friends enjoyed your company. His blood boiled at the thought of his night being ruined by you. His friends would tell him to avoid you and not let you spoil his fun, but he simply could avoid the frustration building while you laughed at stupid jokes. He would be laughing to had he actually cared for your company. If he kicked you out, it would ruin the night for his friends. Because of you, Luke really could not win.

And then, you said, “well, I gotta bounce. Am I dropping by your place at around nine tomorrow, Cal?”

To this, Luke nearly beamed.

“Nine on the dot,” responded Calum as he tilted his drink towards you.

“Cool beans.”

Another friend interjected the conversation. “C’mon, you can stay for a bit, can’t you? Maybe Luke will finally be the one to win the tattoo draw. Bet you’d pay to see that.”

Luke could feel perspiration under his arms at the thought of you staying and being touched by a needle.

“Tattoo draw?” you asked, dangling the key to Calum’s house between your fingers.

“Tattoo draw,” Michael affirmed. “Whoever won, well, lost the draw last time picks a tattoo for the next person who’s drawn. They’re small tattoos, but they’re often fuckin’ shit. I have a tattoo of Cal’s response to his dick pick on the back of my thigh.”

“That was so long ago,” someone piped.

You chortled. “No offense, but these pre-tour traditions are kinda–– “

“Oh, they’re lame,” interrupted Michael, “we know. But they’re fucking funny when you’re high out of your mind.”

You glanced over to Luke, who felt as though he was sweating like a pig, then back at the group of friends before you. “I’m in.”

-

Luke had contributed $200 to the pool. Throughout the past few years, the total money in the pot increased as the band’s fame continued moving up. And still, even after all of this time, he had been fortunate to not have his name drawn. The only bonus was the cash prize–– and you were also inked for the rest of your life.

But it wasn’t all that bad. It would be a memory, and Luke was fond of memories.

The anger that followed your presence had begun to fade as the night went on. Thoughts were foggy, words were garbled, and laughter filled the concrete walls and penetrated the thick, cloudy rooms. Plenty of crap foods had been consumed, plus two bottles of whiskey, by the time names were drawn.

You were right, Luke thought. Everything about the traditions were lame, and they were only routine because of their old teenage minds. The hazier he felt, the more he became lost in his own brain.

And then your name was drawn.

He had to keep himself from bursting into screeching laughter. It was easy to read the pure terror written all over your features from your wide eyes to your deep frown. Ashton, who had been last tour’s tattoo winner, nudged you playfully.

“’s all right, babe,” he said. “You don’t have to do it if you don’t wanna. Someone will be glad to do it for ya, I’m sure.”

You stared at the money pool on the coffee table before you. “I get all of that?”

Ashton nodded.

“You promise the tattoo’ll be small?

“Microscopic.”

You sighed. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Luke kept quiet for the next half hour as the group waited for the arrival of the tattoo artist. He watched your face, how it contorted and how it relaxed. He was hyper-focused on every little line and detail of your skin, and it was all because of how your demeanor changed. You appeared vulnerable now, a stark contrast to what Luke had known for nearly a year. You were witty. You were always ready to tear someone down with words when necessary. But now, you were nervous. You weren’t the same.

It bothered him tremendously.

Things only went downhill from there. Ashton, being the cocky bloke he occasionally could be, had a brilliant idea.

“I know how much you love Luke,” he said, an odd smirk toying on his lips as he exchanged glances between the two of you. “I want you to get his name tattooed.”

Luke choked on his glass of whiskey.

You snorted. “Nope. That’s a funny one, Irwin.”

“No money for ya then.”

“I don’t even know how much is in there,” you said. Meanwhile, the artist looked less than pleased to be here, and Luke didn’t blame him.

Calum winced and said, “’bout four thousand, babe. It’s a pretty big one this year.”

You gaped, mouth falling wide as you glared at Luke, who, truth be told, had no say in the situation. As much as he didn’t want his name on your body, it would have been kind of funny otherwise.

“I’ll shoot you a proposition,” said Ashton, his foot landing on the chair beside your thigh so he could lean over you. “Instead of his full name, just get his initials. L-R-H.”

Luke hated this.

“That’s–– “ You looked at Luke again, almost as if you were waiting for his approval. He didn’t speak. ‘That’s not so bad.”

Ashton grinned.

“Where would I get it?”

“Under-boob!” a voice called out from behind Luke.

A few groans washed through the group, and even Luke felt upset with the suggestion. He hated you, but he didn’t hate you that much.

“You shut your fuckin’ face, Stevens,” you responded, and that caused Luke to smile. There was the old you.

Ashton shrugged. “Anywhere you want it.”

And then, after looking Luke dead in the eyes for the thousandth time that night, you smirked. Finally, a rush of confidence flooded over you, and it chilled him to his very core. He didn’t understand why it cut right through his chest, and then you said, “under-boob it is.”

Luke decided he would no longer hold anything back. He hated you through and through.

-

Luke kept his mouth shut when his friends mentioned you. He kept it shut when they called you and talked about inside jokes. He kept it shut when they drunkenly stated they missed you. But when the Paris tour date came around and you were seated at their brunch table, he couldn’t keep himself from saying, “why the fuck are you here?”

And his friends were quick to defend, just like Luke expected. At that moment, it finally hit him that it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t be himself around you. It didn’t matter that he was the only one uncomfortable with your presence. It didn’t matter, because Luke finally realized he had no reason to feel this way. Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling.

Maybe he didn’t hate you. Maybe his blood just boiled because everyone loved you, and he didn’t love you. Maybe he found frustration in every one of your actions because he was the only one who couldn’t enjoy himself when you were there. Maybe he just had to take two seconds to get over himself and let others be happy.

Luke sunk in his seat, eyes glued on the condensation on the side of his mimosa glass while his friends chatted and laughed. He thumbed his napkin, powdered sugar coating his fingers once more. For the first time since knowing you, Luke felt guilty for treating you the way he did.

He didn’t speak for the next hour and a half. And, when he did speak, it was a word or two at a time, gaze cast to the roads once painted in the blood of the French Revolution. He wasn’t much up for going out on the town when night fell–– it was better he preserved his voice for the concert tomorrow anyway. Instead, he remained in his tiny hotel room, sweaty feet kicked up on the thousand-thread duvet while a French dubbed Iron Man 2 played on his television. At one point, he ordered himself room service, and the apple cobbler plus a sparkling bottle of white wine were too big for him to finish alone.

And somehow, as if it were fate, there was a soft knock on his door.

Luke stumbled over, slightly buzzed already as he looked through the dirty peephole to see you. He swung the door open.

“Why’re you here?” he asked, surprisingly without a swear. “Thought you were with the rest.”

You glanced behind him. “I smelled apple cobbler,” you said. A shrug and a smirk later, you made your way past him.

Luke rolled his eyes and shut the door behind him. “Didn’t invite you in.”

You were already sat on the opposite twin bed, hand reaching for the fancy bottle on the nightstand before taking a long swig of the bubbly drink.

“Why’re you here?” he repeated.

“I–– “ You let out a satisfied sigh and set the bottle down. “I got tired. Got in an Uber pool with this gorgeous dude who kept using the words très belle, and then I remembered you were home.”

Luke sat on his bed and quirked an eyebrow at you. “You got tired and came here? What, are you on crack?”

You laughed, and he kind of did, too.

“Y’hate me,” he said. “You’re not here without reason.”

You raised your hands in surrender. “Kay,” you said, “ya got me. I wanna make out with you. Have a lil bang-bang-bang action.”

Luke had to keep himself from chuckling again. “Shut the fuck up.”

You grinned; your eyes were brighter than he had ever seen them around him. The two of you were both a little tipsy, and he chose to blame that for him not being totally upset with you invading his quiet night.

Things fell silent for a moment, and he let himself get lost in the foreign dialogue of Tony Stark and Pepper Potts.

“Why do you hate me?”

Luke’s head snapped over to you. You were relaxed, legs spread on the leg before you with your back against the headboard, and you were still facing the television. The bottle of wine was now in between your thighs.

“I wanted to be your friend so badly,” you said. “When I got your number, I put a little heart next to your name. And then, you never answered me when I tried to text you. You started rolling your eyes at everything I said, even when I was just walkin’ up to greet you. I thought my occasional teasing was just harmless. Is that–– is that why you hate me?”

Luke frowned. He had no idea what to say, especially since he couldn’t tear his eyes away from you, and you couldn’t even look at him.

“I-I guess I just need you to tell me that my efforts are pointless,” you mumbled, hands reaching out to pick up the bottle from between your legs. “I feel stupid even bein’ around ya now.”

“No,” he said, “I don’t hate you. I’m sorry.”

Finally, you looked his way. “Let’s get drunk.”

The night muddled through, and to Luke’s surprise, he hadn’t had simple fun like that in ages. In your beautiful drunken stupor, you spoke your best French, although it came out as slurred gibberish while you danced around to the soundtrack from the movie Mannequin. His stomach ached from laughter, and at one point, he even joined you. He didn’t think twice about his hands lazily resting on your hips while the two of you passed the second bottle of wine around. The phone rang at about one in the morning; it was a lovely call from the front desk about a noise complaint.

Luke giggled around you. Colors and shapes swirled around him a little more than usual, and your touch burned his already-hot skin. By the time endorphins calmed and the night slowed to a stop, deep conversations met pillow talk. He was hesitant to speak on behalf of his feelings, but you were keen on sharing your entire life story and traumas with him. You cried, and he let it be on his shoulder. He chose to talk about himself for once, to get the pressure off of you. Cuddling became tickling, and soon enough, the two of you were shouting lyrics to “Beat Patrol” with uncontrollable laughter once again. When you said goodnight, your arms tossed themselves around his waist as you pecked his flushed cheeks. And then you were gone, and he decided he didn’t like the absence.

He didn’t forget about it the next day. You were quiet, and you kept your distance, so he did the same. But something had changed, that he knew. It pricked at his stomach, and when you hopped aboard a flight the next day after that, he realized he missed you. It was funny how a mere few hours could change a mind.

-

“Do you think Y/N was the one that psychic talked about?”

“What?”

Calum had been silently chewing on a cold slice of pizza when the question hit his brain. Luke, on the other hand, was washing down his midnight meal with a bottle of beer. The tour had been over for about a week, and they had all been sleeping for days straight. Well, all except for Luke, who found himself unable to close his eyes while he tried not to think about that one night with you. It was one fucking night. By this point, nearly all of the events had vanished from his mind, but he couldn’t shake the honest happiness he felt while singing along to cheesy songs from the 1980s. He couldn’t get over your impromptu stand-up comedy show and your terrible John Mulaney impression.

“The psychic, Gina,” said Calum. “You remember that, right?”

“Yeah,” Luke replied, a little wary of where the conversation was headed.

Calum straightened his posture and slapped the pizza back down onto the greasy cardboard box. “D’ya think Y/N is who she was talking about?”

“I–– “ Luke thought for a moment as he racked his brain. He hadn’t mentioned that night with you to anyone, but they all knew his prior distaste for you. Now, he couldn’t help but think of the accuracy of the psychic’s testament. You didn’t like him, he didn’t like you, but now he kind of did like you. “No,” he said, “not a chance. It’s Y/N. Fuckin’ hate her.”

Calum nodded. A frown pulled at his lips. “She’s great, mate. Y’oughta give her a chance.”

Luke had given you a chance, and it worked all too well.

“Maybe you’ll fall in love with her.”

The blond snorted. “I can’t even be in the same room as her, Cal. Don’t see romantic escapades in our future. No–– no drunken late-nights with comedy impressions and Starship dance-offs.”

“’s oddly specific, but okay,” said Calum. He shut the pizza box a moment later and slid it back into the fridge, and meanwhile, Luke felt a pit growing in his stomach. “You’re too stubborn,” his friend continued. “And ugly. Like, too damn ugly for her anyway.”

Luke smirked, tilting his beer in Calum’s direction. “Cheers to that, mate.”

Through the dying laughter, Luke’s smile fell into a frown, and he couldn’t quite grasp the reason why. It was possible that the idea of falling for someone like you didn’t seem so terrible after all.

-

A few dozen people had gathered in the backyard by the time you arrived. Luke spent the first hour of the party cradling a beer, keeping himself out of sight on the porch but in view of the pool. His shirt had already become unbuttoned, and his curls had loosened and stuck flat against his skin due to the humidity in the hot air. And you... you looked marvelous.

Luke had been so focused on trying not to think about you, he ended up thinking about you every hour of every day. He caught himself scrolling through your Instagram page after failing to fall asleep, and he thought about what would have happened had you stayed in his hotel room a little longer. When your face popped into his brain, his heart hurt. He had started to idealize the two of you together–– exactly what he hadn’t wanted.

So, he isolated himself in the kitchen after your arrival, a series of nonconsecutive thoughts whirling through his head while he chipped away at the sticker on his warm beer. The party was outside, and he was in there, wondering how on earth he let himself start falling for the person he never wanted to know.

“I told Calum to queue up some Starship.”

Your voice was confident as you slid the back door closed behind you. Luke focused on your footsteps, but he refused to turn around as you approached him.

“If I can’t jam to some “Beat Patrol”, then honestly, what’s the point of being here?” you continued with a light laugh. You were grinning from ear to ear when you placed yourself in front of Luke, the close proximity causing him to hold in a gasp.

He cracked a smile. “Who invited you?”

“I invited myself,” you replied, “thank you very much.” You tilted your drink in his direction before taking a quick sip and setting it beside Luke’s on the counter. “The question is: why are you in here alone, bud? Lookin’ so glum n’ all.”

Luke’s heartbeat had begun to pick up, and humidity from the outside had seeped its way into the kitchen. He placed his palms on his pants to dry them off.

You frowned–– he had taken too long to answer. “You okay?”

He nearly jumped at the feeling of your hand brushing against his arm, and then he noticed that you had moved slightly closer. “I–– “ Luke coughed. “’m fine.” The weight on his arm never left.

“C-can I ask you something?” you spoke up again after a few moments of silence. You didn’t wait for his answer. “Do you hate me?”

His eyes met yours, despite the pain settling in his chest because of the contact. “You’ve asked me that before,” he said and smirked.

“I know,” you said quickly. “But, do you?”

Luke shook his head. “No. I could–– I could never.”

You nodded.

He nearly leaned in a little. The heavy tension and spike in energy tilted his body and its weight on the balls of his feet, but he held back in fear. All he wanted to do was see how you felt beneath his touch.

“Okay,” you then mumbled. Your voice was hushed, and you refused to look at him again. Somehow, the distance between the two of you shrunk once again.

Luke swallowed. His fingers played with the neck of his half-empty bottle; they spun it around and around while his brain told him what to do and what not to do.

And then, the hand that had been grazing his arm moved up to rest on his chest, and Luke restrained himself from completely losing himself in you. It was as if the music from the world outside had been sucked into a vacuum, and the air around him was dense with heat and sexual tension, but he could only notice your breath ghosting his lips. There was something about the nudging of noses and fluttering of eyelids that pushed him over the edge. So, when your lips finally met in a soft, velvety kiss, he couldn’t hold back the desire that had been building up for months.

While your hands plaited through his hair, Luke’s were firm on your waist. He had pulled you into him, all previous thoughts out the door while your lips slotted against his. It was wet yet warm, and a familiar sensation tightened in his abdomen. His cheeks were hot and pink–– that he knew for sure.

But you pulled away quickly, gasps falling as you sputtered out apologies. “I shouldn’t–– that was–– weird, right?”

Luke wanted to shake his head no, but instead, all he could do was nod.

“We–– we hate ea–– I’m sorry,” you said, grabbing your beer quickly and making a b-line for the sliding glass door.

Underneath Luke’s eyes, the skin burned, but he quickly shook it off. He wasn’t going to cry because you walked out on him. He was, however, disheartened tremendously.

The rest of the night, he spent his time avoiding you. Truth be told, he spent his time avoiding everyone. He loitered around his practice room, used the bathroom for twenty minutes, and locked himself in his room until the crowd outside died down. No one bothered to check up on him, not even you. It was when he had come to terms with his isolation that you knocked on his door and stumbled in. Immediately, he knew you had a few too many drinks.

Neither of you said a word as you ambled over, giggles leaving your lips before you flopped onto his bed beside him. Pillows flew and the duvet slipped to the floor, but Luke didn’t care. In the beginning, he never wanted to picture you in his bed–– it made him sick to think about. But then he purposefully avoided the thought, for he simply knew he’d find himself wanting to picture it more and more. So now, he had to keep his stomach from knotting. He had to keep himself from looking over and spilling out a word-vomit of feelings that he didn’t even want to have.

And then, you started touching his face.

At first, Luke wanted to laugh. You were cute albeit clumsy, yet the silence and evident tension settled in his shoulders, and every graze of your fingers on his flushed skin sent shivers up his spine. Fingers running over cheeks and closed eyelids, your touch so gentle he could barely feel it, but he did. You brushed the ridge of his brows, the curve of his nose, and finally, the dip of his cupid’s bow. He couldn’t breathe as you lightly traced the soft skin of his lips.

His lips felt cold once your fingers left, but they soon skimmed the hollowing of his cheeks back down to where his lips parted in a silent gasp. You pressed one finger against the separation of skin, and he kissed it gently. Then, you placed another finger there, and he continued.

Luke wanted to shoo your hand away. He blinked up at the ceiling while your hand traveled down his Adam’s Apple and onto his collarbones. Your touch was so light, so beautiful–– he was completely enamored at this moment. He had to clench his jaw while your hand traced the hairs on his chest.

The weight in his bed shifted, and suddenly your body was wedged up against his, your nose nudging his chest as you peppered kisses up and down it. Luke’s heart rate decided to make a break for it.

“No, no, no,” he breathed out, reaching over and pushing you away from him. He rose instantly while his hands fumbled to button up his shirt. It would be obvious to anyone as to how utterly flustered he was. “No, you can’t–– you can’t do that to me.”

You grinned. “Why not? Yer so pretty! Like a fuckin’ angel that fell from heaven. You glow.”

“I-I don’t–– no, what?” Luke sputtered, nerves rising to his throat as he finally got a good look at you in your drunken state. He already knew what you were like drunk, but he never saw you like this while sober.

“Ya deserves to be kissed,” you said.

Luke wanted to smile; except he couldn’t have things end up this way. He felt so much, maybe too much, and he wanted it to be good. You had hardly blinked.

“Um,” Luke whispered, “thanks. I–– I should–– I should check on the party.”

“Oh, yeah!” you squeaked. “Go, go, go!”

He nodded, excusing himself quickly and then shutting the door behind him. But he couldn’t walk any farther than that. With a sigh, he pressed his back against the door and looked down to his feet. Every muscle in his body tensed and relaxed while his brain went black. Luke didn’t know what to think. He wasn’t sure he would ever know how to admit how he felt. However, he did know that needed to pay a certain psychic a visit.

part two

[violetnuisance]

Wake Up

pairing: Sal Fisher/Larry Johnson

rating: T

words: 3,224

summary: Sal rambles to Larry while the brunet’s in a coma.

a/n: Hi, my Sally Face discord server has monthly art/writing challenges. July’s theme was “Hospital,” so this is my submission. Here’s the link to the server: https://discord.gg/kYtz72e

Sal stood awkward, one hand clasped around the bouquet of peonies he had spray painted black while the other hand tightly gripped a “Get Well Soon!” card, no doubt creasing it. His mind felt numb as he stood and stared at his best friend who laid unconscious in the hospital bed that dominated the tiny room. Larry had definitely seen his better days. His hair was unkempt, sticking up every which way, and the dark circles underneath his eyes only seemed to worsen as his stay at the hospital progressed, having lasted two weeks already. Despite the doctors and nurses reassuring a stressed Lisa and Sal that Larry was in stable condition and would most likely make a swell recovery, the bluenet was still worried. Every day that passed that Johnson didn’t wake up, his stress only skyrocketed.

 What if Larry had severe brain damage that the doctors didn't notice? What if he woke up in a vegetative state? What if he didn’t wake up?

Sal tried to shake the thoughts and padded over to the small nightstand beside Larry’s bed. An array of wilted flowers and still-enveloped cards littered the desk. Sal tried not to think about how most of the bouquets would be dead by the time Larry woke up as he set his own down. The falsely black flowers stood out against the pink ones everyone else had left, and Sal felt a sort of sick satisfaction. Larry had told him about how someone needed to genetically engineer a solid black flower. He couldn’t remember the context of the conversation, but he remembered how much they had laughed about it. A smile threatened to tug at his lips from beneath his prosthetic, but the urge was quickly destroyed. He shouldn’t have left Larry alone that night.

Sal laid on his stomach on the treehouse’s splintered floor, a lit cigarette between his lips and his prosthetic at his side. Larry laid on his back beside him, shirt pushed up, exposing his stomach, as he stretched. The sun outside was quickly setting, but that didn’t mean Sal couldn’t still make out a trail of soft brown hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of the other’s jeans in the treehouse’s dimness. The sight made him itch, curiosity lighting him ablaze. He smushed the notion quickly forming in his head down and took the cigarette from his lips, blowing a trail of smoke. Larry looked at him, a dopey grin on his face. Something had piqued the brunet’s interest, and he rolled onto his side, facing Sal.

“We should shotgun, baby blue,” Larry laughed, voice airy and light. Sal rolled his good eye at him. 

“No one shotguns cigarette smoke,” Sal stated. His fingers brought the stick back up to his mouth. Over the years, he had become a master at hiding his reactions from Larry’s random quips. The brunet had the worst habit of cracking jokes that made Sal’s heart pitter-patter pathetically in his chest. Still, at the thought of Larry’s lips on his, he could feel the tips of his ears growing warm. Before the brunet could notice the pink tint, Sal turned his head and blew smoke into the other’s face. The bluenet let out a snort as Larry wrinkled his nose in slight disgust. “You act like you don’t smoke a pack a day.”

“Doesn’t mean the smell has grown on me,” Larry rebuffed, rubbing the back of his hand across his nose. Sal shook his head, bangs bouncing against his forehead.

“Are you trying to tell me I stink?” Larry laughed again, and the sound rumbled through Sal’s chest. He had always been especially fond of his friend’s voice, and Larry’s laughter always caused a weird sense of nostalgia to fall over him, like he was returning home after exploring the world for years. The brunet took the cigarette from Sal while he was lost in thought.

 “Don’t worry, we can stink together,” Larry assured, a wolfish grin on his face. Sal watched silently as Larry placed the cigarette between his lips before sucking gently. The bluenet should’ve seen the next action coming, but he really hadn’t.

“Oh, c’mon dude,” Sal groaned as Larry blew the smoke into his face. He waved a hand around dramatically, trying to clear the vapor. “You’re such a… such a rat!”

“Your vernacular never ceases to astound me, bluebird,” Larry mocked, passing the cigarette back to Sal. Sal took it in hand, watching in slight interest as Larry sat up before standing and walked over to the mini fridge he had hooked up. The shorter male’s interest turned to dread as his lanky friend pulled out a bottle, caramel liquid sloshing inside of it. 

“I thought you were stopping that,” Sal complained, the words pushing out automatically. His eyes narrowed as Larry used the end of his shirt to help pop the cap off the bottle. Immediately, the sickening cat-pee smell of beer assaulted Sal’s senses.

“I said I’d try to stop, and I did try,” Larry corrected before bringing the bottle to his lips. Sal cringed as he watched the other’s adam’s apple bob, swallowing the drink down. The shorter male grimaced and reached for his prosthetic. The brunet watched as Sal stubbed the cigarette out against the floor, leaving a burn mark. Larry had chastised him about it multiple times before, but Sal didn’t care at the moment. “Where are you going?”

Sal stared at Larry as he clasped his straps into place at the back of his head. “You know how I feel about your drinking problem,” he chastised, moving to his feet.

The bluenet had never been a fan of alcohol. Before his mom had passed, both of his grandparents on his dad’s side had been raging alcoholics. His mom wouldn’t let them see their grandkid unless they tried to recover. They chose the bottle. And then, after his mom’s death, his father had fallen into the same state. He drank his days away until Sal found him passed out on the floor from alcohol poisoning. After a few days in the hospital, his dad sobered up. As soon as they got back home, they both equipped themselves with plastic trash bags and threw out all the alcohol. Sal thought that would be the last he’d ever have to see of alcoholism, but now Larry was running down the same reckless path. The bluenet didn’t know why, and the other refused to open up to him.

“It’s not a problem-”

“Yes it is, Larry! How do you not see that?” Sal was fuming, his hands balled into fists at his sides. The brunet stood stiff, surprised by the emotional outburst. “There’s a difference between responsible drinking and alcoholism. And you, my friend, crossed that boundary months ago.” Sal’s voice came out quieter now, a tremble in his tone. He didn’t know if he was angry or despairful, but he knew the tears would start flowing either way if he didn’t leave. 

By god, he had hoped Larry would stop him on the way out, but the brunet hadn’t, and the next morning Sal got a phone call from Lisa, explaining that her son had gone into an alcohol poisoning induced coma.

Larry’s chest rose and fell with his breaths, and Sal wished the brunet would crack his eyes open and offer a coy smile, saying this was some prank all along. Of course, nothing of the sort happened. Sal’s gaze traveled to the plastic chair sitting at the bed’s side. Lisa had been sitting there before Sal came in, talking to the unresponsive male. Apparently the nurses had told her that stimulating Larry’s main senses could help rouse him, so the woman had done everything in the book. She rambled to him about her day every time she visited after work, constantly held his hand and kissed his cheek every time she left, and she had even brought and lit candles in the room from their apartment. Before she had given Sal privacy with Larry, she urged him to talk to the brunet. Sal had denied the notion, saying he wouldn’t stay that long, but now he felt himself sitting down in the uncomfortable chair.

For a moment, he just sat, not knowing what to say. But soon enough, the words flowed smoothly. “You’re such an idiot,” Sal whispered, feeling uncomfortable breaking the silence. He glanced around, half expecting a nurse to come in and chastise him for being loud. When that didn’t happen, he continued. “I hate to say ‘I told you so,’ but I told you so. I read you an online article of this exact thing happening. My dad’s binge drinking wasn't even this bad. God, I can’t believe you cut off the oxygen flow to your brain, and still, somehow, survived getting severe brain damage. Lisa thought you were dead when she found you!”

Sal felt his cheeks wetten as he continued to rant, everything surging up at once. His eyes glanced warily around the room. The only window was a small one in the door. Taking a chance, Sal took off his prosthetic and set it in his lap. He hated how the material would cling to his skin when he was sweating or crying. “I don’t know what happened to you. You were obviously using it as some sort of coping mechanism, but I have no idea what for. You became so closed off, and you scared me. I thought you would eventually discard me. I guess you’re still going to disappear from my life for at least a month or two. You’re going to a rehabilitation center after you wake up,” Sal paused, voice growing meek, “God, please wake up.”

Once more, silence invaded the room. Sal blinked, trying to clear his vision from where it had grown blurry from tears. He could still feel a few wet trails rolling down his face, but he felt better. Most of the torrent had been released. 

When he could see again, his gaze trailed to Larry’s hand. It laid at the brunet’s side, black nail polish mostly chipped off. Sal took in into his hand without thinking. He guided Larry’s fingers to interlock with his own. “Let’s make a deal. I’ll tell you a secret right now, and you'll wake up and tell me why you were so committed to destroying your life.” Sal paused. Despite Larry not being able to hear him, he still felt like he was putting his heart on the line. Both of his hands clasped at Larry’s hand, grounding himself.

 “I really, really like you Johnson. Don’t let that inflate your already bursting ego because you absolutely don't deserve the compliment right now. But everytime you laugh and show off that stupid ass toothgap, I want to punch you because in those moments I just want to lean over and kiss you, and I know I can’t. Maybe if you wake up, we can try shotgunning cigarette smoke before you leave even though that’s the most idiotic idea you’ve ever come up with,” Sal laughed before bringing Larry’s hand up to his mouth and pressing a kiss to the back of the brunet’s hand. “If you can’t wake up for yourself, please wake up for me and Lisa.”

It was the next day when Larry came to. Sal had been getting ready to shower when Lisa called him. He had been ready to come right away, grime and all, but Lisa stopped him. Apparently Larry was in a minimally conscious state. He’d wake up for a few minutes, confused as to where he was, and then pass out again. The grogginess would most likely wear off after a few days, and Lisa promised to call him again when her son was alert enough to carry out a conversation with someone.

The two day wait between the initial phone call and the second were absolute Hell to Sal. Even his father had picked up on his nervous energy, ordering a pizza and renting a movie the first night to help Sal calm down. The second night was when Lisa called again, and Sal made it to the hospital in record time.

When he arrived, he was delighted to find out that Larry was still in tact. There would be no outstanding injuries except for a headache. However, he couldn't barge in and tackle Larry right away because Lisa was still visiting him, so Sal sat in the waiting room, legs bouncing. He could’ve cried in relief when Lisa walked into the room, twenty minutes later. He made himself wait and speak to the woman before making a break for it.

“Sorry for taking so long, but I have the Mom Privilege to get to see my son first,” Lisa joked, a warm smile on her face. Sal stood upon the greeting, his body swaying from side to side in anticipation. “But I can assure you he’s excited to see you. Yesterday, every time he woke up, he always mentioned your name. Just try not to over excite him.”

“Yes ma’am, I’ll try my best.” Lisa’s smile broadened before she pulled Sal into a hug.

“I’ve told you, just call me Lisa,” she chastised before breaking the embrace. However, her hands still gripped Sal’s shoulders. “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you! Larry remembers what was said to him during his coma. He doesn’t remember every conversation explicitly, but he definitely remembers the gist of everything. I hope you didn’t insult him while you visited him the other day.”

Sal was too excited for Lisa’s words to sink in. He just mumbled out a quick, “oh, okay,” before taking off to Larry’s room. Lisa had left the door open upon her exit, so the blunet could just slip right in and close it behind him. As soon as the door shut, Larry perked, sitting up. 

“Fisher!” Larry’s hair was an absolute bird’s nest, hair enveloping his head like a lion’s mane. His eyes were also red, an indicator that he had been crying recently. Sal supposed Lisa’s talk with him couldn't have been entirely sunshine and rainbows. He, too, was sure that he’d berate Larry later, but he was too happy to see that his friend was alive and well to do it right away.

“Larry!” Sal ignored Lisa’s desire to not over excite Larry for the time being and barreled halfway over the bed’s railing, enveloping the other in a hug. The brunet let out a surprised chuckle before wrapping his arms around Sal.

“If you pushed yourself any further onto here, you’d practically be laying on the bed with me,” Larry teased, his grip around Sal tightening.

“Shut up, I missed you, you oaf,” Sal mumbled, voice muffled by his prosthetic, and the fact that his face was pressed into Larry’s shoulder. “Don’t you ever scare us like that again!”

Larry didn’t say anything at the remark, and Sal didn't press. He was content to just hug the other for awhile. However, the cramped position wasn’t allowing him to breathe all that great through his prosthetic, so he pulled away. Larry stared hard at him as he dug his fingers beneath the prosthetic’s surface, pulling it away from his skin a little to get some fresh air. “You should just take it off,” Larry advised.

Sal looked from him and then back to the door’s window. “But someone could see,” he opposed. He had already risked it once, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to do that again.

“I highly doubt it. Your back’s to the window, and I could tell you if someone was coming in,” Larry countered, a sudden fierceness to his voice. Sal hesitated. “I mean, only if you want to. You obviously don't have to.”

There was a second more of hesitance before Sal decided it'd be okay to shed the prosthetic. Larry looked at him like a giddy puppy as he undid the straps and set the device down on the table. The brunet held his arms out for a hug again, and Sal couldn't help the small smile that graced his features. “You’re such an idiot,” Sal quipped, holding his own arms out.

“I know,” Larry smirked as Sal leaned over the bed again. Instead of the hug the blunet was expecting, the other grabbed his forearms and pulled him down closer, planting their lips together. Sal jerked back as if electrocuted. 

“What-”

“Did Mom not tell you?” Larry’s gaze was searching, hands still clasping onto Sal’s arms. Sal shook his head, confusion etched onto his face. “That I could hear you when you talked to me?”

“Oh,” Sal simply responded. Lisa had told him that, but he had been too dense to realize what exactly that entailed. As it dawned on him, he could feel a blush travelling up his neck.

“Oh,” Larry mocked, over exaggerating his facial features. Sal glared at him, and the idiot had the audacity to grin, tip of his tongue poking out from between his teeth. “I can’t believe baby blue has a crush on me! When were you going to tell me?”

“Oh, shut up,” Sal complained, the tips of his ears a vibrant red. He felt like he was back in high school, blushing every time Ash happened to look in his direction. He didn’t appreciate it.

“Make me,” Larry teased back, bushy eyebrows wagging. He looked from Larry’s eyes to his lips and then back up again. He still needed two things confirmed.

“You like me?” Larry rolled his eyes at the first inquiry, and Sal swallowed the urge to throttle him.

“I wouldn’t be offering to kiss you if I didn’t,” he answered, tone matter-of-fact. Sal couldn’t help but smile before dampening the mood with the next question.

“You’re going to actually try this time, right? You’re going to try in rehab, right? I can’t have you having another episode and actually lose you,” Sal whispered. Larry faltered, tongue dampening his chapped lips. The bluenet could see the other’s eyes dampen again, not quite shedding tears, but he needed to know. 

“Yes, I promise,” Larry replied. His hands tightened around Sal’s arms, trying to prove his earnesty. “Now can I have my kiss?”

Sal nodded, leaning down again. Larry met him in the middle and gently pressed their lips together. It was just a quick peck before they pulled away, but then the brunet had Sal by the collar of his shirt, dragging him in for another kiss. The bluenet let him, his own hands coming to rest against the sides of Larry’s face. Sal had always thought that if the chance of Larry touching him- kissing him -ever came up, the sensation would be overbearing and set him alight. However, the action just sent a welcome warmth through his body, much like the same feeling he got when listening to Larry laugh.

“We have to do that more often,” Larry murmured as they pulled away, eyelashes fluttering and cheeks red. Sal thought it was cruel someone could be so beautiful. “But when are we going to shotgun cigarette smoke? You did say we could do that if I woke up.”

The mood was effectively broken. “Oh god, I hate you,” Sal whined, causing Larry to chuckle.

“I love you too, Sally Face.”

[skeletorific]

Toxic Relationship Headcanons

Its time for aaaaaaangst

So I was spitballing this with @with-a-whisper a few days back and decided on a whim to publish them. Essentially I’ve decided to break down how a relationship with each of teh bros could end up being potentially toxic and harmful to both parties, as well as the steps that might be needed to help rebuild. Because we can’t always be happy damn it

Also please note, guys, if the relationships you are in have these qualities it may be time to have a serious talk with the other person. And while I believe that a lot of relationships can genuinely be salvaged if both partners are willing to put in the effort, if your partner is unwilling or nothing is changing you may need to get out.

UT!Sans: He definitely needs someone a little more comfortable with themselves and who's able to draw any kind of vulnerability or honesty out of him. Bonus points if they're particularly good at telling when he's faking being okay. So to prevent a break his partner would need to understand that even when he pushes it away he genuinely kind of wants someone to force him to articulate how he's actually feeling. In order for it to start devolving, his partner would either have to stop trying to reach out or make themselves the center of every emotional crisis. Either option is ignoring his feelings or assuming he doesn't have any. When he beings to feel like his emotions are unwelcome or unimportant he will more than happily begin to shut down, because after all, its easier than confronting the hot mess he is most of the time. His smiles are all faked these days and he will rarely, if ever be open with you

Patch: You need to listen  to him. This is harder than it sounds, getting Sans to be honest emotionally when he’s felt like he can’t be is like pulling teeth. ITs a slow process of rebuilding trust, of asking him questions about how he is every day no mattter how much he evades the question. If he feels like you really mean it, he can eventually warm back up to you

UT!Papyrus needs someone who won't overly-indulge him and provide some grounding but who is also quite generous with praise, especially for things that he desperately wants/needs to be praised for. He believes you entirely, but that has to go both ways at some point. Papyrus wants your validation, he wants to know that he’s important to you. This can be a little needy, and it only gets worse if he senses he’s starting to annoy you. It enourages him to ramp up his antics adn constantly strive for your approval, whih only annoys you further. If this keeps going he will be constanty on edge and in deep denial. He’ll insist that of ourse he’s happy but he’s so disappointed, trying to greet you with a smile but you never return it. He won’t break up with you, he’s convince that it has to be his fault somehow, and so he stays on. Feeling like more and more of a burden as time goes by

Patch: In order to patch up a break a good method is you have to try and match at least half of his compliments to you. He doesn’t honestly need that much, but strong signs of approval send him over the moon. He’s not as sensitive as you might think but he does need to know that deep down you really do enjoy him and his company. As you grow to a healthier place you can then begin to work on his compliment dependence.

UF!Sans needs a balance of someone who will call him out on his shit and someone who he can genuinely have a good time with and not be constantly on edge. On the one hand you need to be able to tell him no, to draw a line when his reckless behavior gets too unsafe. On the other you need a good sense of humor, as well oas a lot of patience for when he does fuck up. He’s good about apologizing, you just have to let him do it on his own terms. If you never reel him in he will trample over you and likely drag you both down with him. Drinking binges, trashing your house, forgetting dates, all that gross stuff. And He will apologize, but if you keep acting like its no big deal....it kind of starts to bug him. Why aren’t you bothered? Do you just not care that much about this relationship? Should he be treating this as casual too? Eventually he stops apologizing and does whatever the fuck he wants until you finally kick him out.On the other end, if you’re constantly snapping at him and he can’t do a thing right for you....in all likelihood he’ll break up with you. At the very least he’ll be on edge and likely tend to be hypercritical of your every move as well. Not so fun when its your fuck ups being pointed out, is it? Both of you get increasingly petty and its just bad to be around.

 Patch: it depends on which end of the spectrum is failing. If you're hitting him too hard to shape up you have to relax a little, let him live (this is also most likely to end the relationship before patching up even begins). If you're not calling him out enough in the end you just kind of need to toughen up and yell at him when he's really being a dick. He'll resist it and roll his eyes but he does take what you say into consideration if he thinks its reasonable.

UF!Papyrus just genuinely needs someone with a backbone. Someone who won’t talke all of his “Master of the Universe” bullshit lying down. Don’t get me wrong, Boss nags because he cares. He genuinely wants you to lead a healthy life. But don’t just coast and let him make all your choices for you, he’ll stop seeing you as a person and more as a puppet that he can move however he wants. So if the time ever comes that he makes a choice for you that genuinely bothers you, he’s going to be furious when you try and defy him. He’ll start punishing you for going against him. Don’t get excited sinners, not the fun kind. He’ll ignore your texts for days or start lecturing you in public. Like, trying to make you cry He tells himself its tough love, and if you ever remove yourself he won’t stalk you or hurt you. but its not good.  

 Patch: His breaks are the hardest to fix because if you've devolved into toxicity you've let him order you around for too long and its a lot of backtracking to where you can finally get him to listen to you again. You need to stand up to him whenever and wherever he's crossed the line, even if you don't want to make a fuss. If you keep it up he can eventually start to take it to heart. He wouldn’t be dating you if deep down he didn’t honestly respect  you

US!Sans (Despite not being an angel) is kind of hard to trigger an unhealthy relationship in because he  is really good at keeping up a bright and happy front but he, like Tale Sans, tends to suffer if his partner constantly needs to be the center of attention. His s/o will never likely be ignored but people with a tendency for drama tend to pull him into their spiral because he wants to help them overcome their problems but they don't seem to want to solve them. In an unhealthy relationship he'll be pulling away, emptying himself out and kind of going through the motions more than ever. 

Patch A patch up would just be focusing some attention on him. He doesn't even need that much, you just need to not need to be the Center of the Universe At All Times. 

 US!Papyrus needs someone who's willing to call him out too, but gently. He hates being ordered around and will just avoid you if he feels like you're trying to control him unnecessarily. However just quick reminders that "hey, that kind of makes me uncomfortable, just a heads up" are usually enough of to set him on the right track. An unhealthy relationship with Stretch is a matter of time. Its a lot of small errors that snowball on itself.  He will constantly be going behind your back to do whatever he wants and will likely be pushing your buttons as far as he can because it feels like its the only way he gets a reaction out of you anymore. He also has a tendency to gaslight his partners when he thinks he can get away with it

Patch: A patch usually involves a pretty intense confrontation that directly takes him to task on his lack of honesty. It'll be unpleasant but its what needs to be done. This, however, is easier said than done, since Stretch is a master at sidestepping conversations he doesn’t want to have. Tie him down if you have to. And if he is genuinely uninterested in changing....you may just have to break it off.

SF!Sans devolves in at least partial toxicity more often than not. Keeping him on the straight and narrow is a complex matter. It requires a lot of patience and a lot of stubbornness because he will take control wherever you let him and it Will Not End Well. That said, once you've made some progress you can usually get him to take the next steps entirely on his own. He has a tendency to be very derisive of his partners and struggle to make them genuinely feel loved This isn’t because he doesn’t feel strongly, but because expressing those kinds of emotions are life-threatening where he comes from and he has no idea how to do it anymore. 

 Patch: There is no single patch that works every single time, but you will have to separate for a while. He will be in a place where he cannot and should not be around you physically, and you may want to avoid calling him for a while. Your absence makes him realize that he still cares about you , not just for what you can do for him, but as a person. Where it goes from there is up to you.

SF!Papyrus: he's pretty easy to track. The worse place he's in a relationship the more his substance abuse kicks up. Alcohol, weed, jacking off, sleeping at all hours of the day, pretty much anything that lets him escape. He starts losing track of his responsibilities even to Sans and you've picked him up out of a puddle of his own piss and vomit more often than you've kissed him good night the past 4 months.  What Rus needs is someone who can give  him the space he needs but still lets him know that they need him. Worse than anything is the idea that he's failing you. This behavior tends to pop up more frequently when you've just been injured or have been having a rough patch of fights because he feels like he's tying you down, and so self-destructively is making himself more incapable of being a good boyfriend in the hopes that maybe you'll leave him 

Patch: Like his brother its usually a somewhat lengthy process but what he needs more than anything is just firm support. Don't be a doormat, keep him away from his substances as best you can and get Black to help with that, but let him know that you're here for him and you always will be. Keep asking him to do little things for you, it makes him feel needed and wanted around. Its a process of months depending on how long he's been spiralling but he's pulled himself out of it before, and with your help, he'll hopefully do it again.