#Alcohol Use

[justafewsmallsteps]

Okay, time to guess what’s up in Chapter 3 of Inevitable! Is Kagome reminiscing? Is Inuyasha walking her through their honeymoon threshold? You wish. It’s a slow burnnnnn.

(I profusely apologize for pose’s anatomy. Let’s pretend that I’m an anti-AI soldier who is ‘purposefully’ messing with the algorithm.)

#inuyasha #inukag #kagome higurashi #jelly art #jelly fic #justafewsmallsteps #modern au #inevitable #alcohol use

[viking-raider]

The Devil Made Me Do It *Mature* 👻

Summary: Upon receiving a mysterious and anonymous invitation to a Halloween party, a chauffeur takes you to an LA mansion estate for the party; where you meet your mystery man for an All Hallow's Eve you'll never forget.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader + Mystery Character/Reader

Word Count: 9.8k

Warning: M - Secrets, Mystery, Alcohol Use, Scares, Costumes, Flirting, Teasing, Language, Mysterious Behavior, Longing, Fluff, Angst, Co-Workers to Lovers - SMUT - Unprotected sex, Fingering: (F - Receiving), Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, Oral: (F - Receiving), Masturbation, Orgasm Control, Praise, Dirty Talk, Possible Corruption and Dub-Con, Light Dom, Aftercare

Inspiration: It’s Halloween and Kinktober! Posting now for Friday, the 13th!

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy this! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLISTand turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!

“So, who is your date?” Your best friend asked, glancing at you through the mirror you were using to put the finishing touches on your Harley Quinn costume.

“I don't know.” You answered, turning your head side to side, making sure you'd gotten everything perfect. “I just got a card delivered, stating it was from someone I know and asking if I would join them for an enchanting night.”

“And you're sure it's not from a stalker?” She asked, planting her hands on her hips.

“I'm sure it's not, Maggie.” You giggled at her, shaking your head. “Few people know my nickname, and it was noted on the card. So, I know it's from someone inside our circle of friends. Stop fretting over it.” You told her, getting up and facing her. “If it's someone I don't like in our circle or I'm uncomfortable with, I'll call you.”

“You better!” Maggie huffed, wagging a finger at you.

“Yes, ma'am.” You smirked, giving her a quick hug. “I have to go, they asked me to meet them at nine. Have fun handing out candy and protecting the house from tricksters!” You called out to her, grabbing your jacket and black, cross body, boho bag as you headed out the door.

You were about to unlock your car, when another pulled up at the bottom of the driveway, a matte black Cadillac Lyriq, and a man in a classy, black suit stepped out of the driver's seat, casting his eyes around as if to make sure he had the right address, before settling them on you.

“Are you the young lady that lives here?” He asked, motioning to the two-story house you lived in with Maggie, positioned on a cliff that gave the two of you access to your own private sandy beach on the LA coast.

“One of them.” You answered, narrowing your eyes at him suspiciously. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, going into the inside pocket of his jacket to pull out a small, black card and approached you with it held out. “I was told to give you this, then take you downtown.”

Taking the card from him, you read the gilded, blood-red lettering on it: 'My love, please allow me to treat you on this night together. My driver, Marco, will ensure you arrive safely, so we may enjoy our spooky festivities.'

“A lot of cloak and dagger going on with your employer.” You smirked at Marco, touched and amused, as you tucked the card into your bag.

Marco smirked and nodded his head. “Yes, he's having a good time with it. But he's quite eager to meet up with you.” He chuckled, offering his arm to you as you started down the slightly sloped driveway and ushered you to the back passenger-side door, opening it and handing you inside.

You settled in the backseat, pulling your mobile from your bag and texted Maggie. He sent me a chauffeur.

Maggie: Fancy!

During the drive, you snapped some photos of yourself, posting them on your Instagram, wishing everyone; family, friends and fans alike, a happy Halloween before pocketing it and glancing out the window. The quiet hills you lived in, dotted with beautiful homes, started to fall away for the speed and lights of downtown Los Angeles. Traffic thickened, forcing Marco to slow the Cadillac down until it stopped several cars behind a red light.

“Are you allowed to tell me where we're going?” You asked, leaning forward between the front seats. “Or is that to remain a secret?” You smirked as Marco glanced sideways at you.

“I am sworn to secrecy, my lady.” He smirked, winked and got the car rolling again.

Marco drove you across LA to the posh side of the City of Angels, where all of the famous people called home or a vacation getaway. He maneuvered the winding road, until pulling up to a towering, black ornate gate, pausing to enter the pass code, rolling the gate back and permitting you.

“Wow.” You uttered, eyes popping and mouth dropping, seeing the enormous mansion with a circle driveway and bubbling fountain, as you leaned even further between the seats, craning your neck to look out the front window.

It was elaborately decorated; nothing was left for the imagination with its decorations, and it was clear the owner of the home had no issue spending the money on their expenses. Pumpkin lights lined the driveway, the windows at the front of the house were backlit and flickering back and forth between orange and green, with vast and long threads of spiderwebs and cobwebs over them. There were hanging ghosts and skeletons in the trees, an extensive graveyard to one side, with body parts poking out of the mock graves. Everywhere you looked, something caught your eye, impressing you more and more.

“He really went all out.” You chuckled, as Marco stopped at the front door, the stairs leading up to the double doors flanked by massive gargoyles with glowing red eyes.

“Oh, this isn't his home.” Marco answered, releasing his seatbelt. “This is the home of a colleague. He was given an invitation to attend their party here and it had a plus one on it. So, he asked you to join him.” He explained, getting out of the car and opening your door.

“Ah.” You blinked, confused as you took his hand and slipped out of the car, met with a thump of distant music and festivities. “So, how am I supposed to meet my date?” You asked, lifting a brow at him.

“Go inside,” Marco said, motioning to the doors. “The butler at the door will ask you for the code word. It's 'Beetlejuice'. Once you've been admitted, ask them to show you to Lucifer's room.”

“Lucifer?” You purred, amused.

“Yes, ma'am.” He chuckled, nodding. “With that, I wish you a good evening and a happy Halloween.” He said, kissing your hand and getting back into the car.

“Cloak and Dagger much?” You snorted and made your way up the steps. “Oh Christ!” You yelped, as the gargoyles on either side of you came to life, roaring and turning their heads towards you, dropping their bottom jaws open. “Rude.” You panted, composing yourself as the front doors swung open, letting out a flow of music and murmur of voices from inside, and revealing a man dressed as a zombie-butler.

“Madam.” He regarded you, with a thick Scottish accent. “Are you here for the party?”

“I am.” You answered him, making it to the top of the stairs. “I believe the password is, Beetlejuice.”

He bowed his painted face. “Correct.” He turned and lifted a hand to usher you inside. “Please, come in. I'm Mr. Davison, should you require anything during your stay here, please find me.” He told you, closing the doors as the two of you stepped into a grand foyer, two twisting staircases on either side, leading up to a landing on the second floor. On the ground floor were three hallways, one straight ahead between the staircases, where you could see flashing lights with the bump and sway of bodies, and two hallways on either side of you.

“There is one thing you can help with, Mr. Davison.” You said over the noise, turning to face him. “I'm actually a plus one to an invited guest of this party. I was told by the driver my date sent to bring me, to ask to be shown to Lucifer's room.” You explained to him, biting your painted lip, while studying his gray, black and bloody face, butterflies filling your stomach. “Whomever Lucifer is, since he's been secretive about his identity since asking me out.”

Davison smirked, his dark eyes dancing with amusement, clearly knowing who your date and Lucifer was. “Of course, right this way.” He said, before guiding you up the left staircase.

You could feel the vibration of music through the floor as you followed him down the decorated hallway. Each door on either side decorated a different theme, such as Jack and Sally from Nightmare Before Christmas, Jason's mask and bloody machete from Friday the 13th, a Gothic door with an image of Bela Lugosi from Dracula and the doll, Jigsaw, from SAW. Davison stopped before a door, it was red with the silhouette of a pair of angel wings and a flaming halo with black horns.

“Lucifer.” You mumbled to yourself, watching Davison knock loud enough to be heard above the noise of the party, you were distracted by the zombie-butler stepping aside, as the door opened and revealed your date.

“You made it!” They declared to them, excited and relieved that you had come.

“Of course!” You answered, finally looking up at him, only to have your mouth drop open.

Standing before you in a stylish pair of black slacks, a matching vest over a light-gray dress shirt, the first few buttons undone and the long sleeves rolled up his forearms. At first, it wasn't much of an impressive costume, until you studied his face, he wore a touch of black eye-liner, that was slightly smudged, and poised on his forehead was a pair of glue-on horns, well blended in to match his skin color with at touch of red, as if it was a pain for him to have horns breaking through his otherwise angelic appearance.

“Henry!” You squeaked, surprised to see the Brit standing there, imitating Lucifer Morningstar from the DC comic and hit tv show.

“Hey.” He grinned, moving forward and hugging you. “You look great!” He said, stepping back again to look over your Harley Quinn costume, loving the gold, argyle overalls, pink sports bra, pink and blue hair and make-up. “You nailed Harley.” He commented, meeting your eyes again, finally noticing your surprise that he was the one that asked you out. “Oh.” He blushed, carding a hand through his hair.

“Right, I suppose I should explain myself. Why don't you come in?” He suggested stepping aside so you could enter the room. “Do you want something to drink? Davison can get you something.” He said, looking between you and the butler. “Anything you want.”

“We have several Halloween themed cocktails, wines, whiskey and such.” Davison told you, reappearing before the door.

“I'll have one of your cocktails.” You answered, with a small nod. “I'll leave that to your recommendation.”

“I would appreciate a refill as well, Davison.” Henry added in, with a polite nod.

“I'll bring them, presently.” He nodded back, and started downstairs.

“So, you're my date.” You said, entering the room with Henry, finding it was a sitting room that led into a bedroom.

“I am.” Henry smirked, closing the door. “I hope you're not...disappointed.” He said, looking at you with blue eyes that truly wished you weren't.

“I'm not at all disappointed.” You assured him, offering him a sweet smile. “Just surprised.” You confessed to him, pressing your lips together. “We had a couple interactions during the filming of Mission Impossible, but I wouldn't have guessed enough for you to notice me and to ask me out on a mysterious date to a high end LA party.”

“Oh, I noticed you the moment we were in the same room together.” He told you the truth of his feelings for you all over his face. “I tried drumming up the courage to ask you out so many times in those three months. I just kept chickening out, because I didn't think you'd say yes or be interested. So, when my friend sent me an invitation to his party here, you were my first thought on who to bring. But, again, I didn't think you'd say yes. Especially after we hadn't seen each other in a couple months. However, he suggested I send you a note asking you to come and send my driver to pick you up, to see what would happen.”

“You think I would say no to you?” You frowned at him, your brow pinching. “God, I would have said yes in a heartbeat.” You blurted out, shamelessly. “I admit, I wasn't going to come. I was suspicious about the motives and a little worried that it was set up by my stalker.”

Henry's face went blank for a moment, before it filled with worry and how stupid he felt. “I am so sorry. I didn't know you had a stalker, or I would have never been so secretive. I would have just asked you out right. I hope I didn't put you through any anxiety.”

You chuckled at him, shaking your head. “No, you didn't.” You assured him, waving it off. “You just set off my protective roommate, Maggie, who I should probably text and tell who my mystery man is, at some point.” You said, finding the whole thing amusing now.

There was a knock on the door and Davison came in with a small platter holding your and Henry's drinks, a skeleton hand wine-glass with a red shimmer liquid and a black substance around the rim. Beside that was Henry's squat glass of whiskey on the rocks, the ice shaped like a bone.

“Your Vampire's Kiss.” Davison said, as you took your glass. “Spiced rum, Cran-Grape juice, Grenadine and black sanding sugar.” He listed off the ingredients as you took a careful sip.

“Mmm.” You moaned, nodding your head. “Positively enchanting, thank you.”

“My pleasure.” He smiled, tucking the platter under his arm. “Enjoy your evening and the festivities.” He bid you and Henry, then saw himself out.

“Well, would you like to look around?” Henry asked, swilling his drink. “There's dancing and a bar downstairs and I've been told the backyard of the house has quite the surprise.”

“I'm not much for dancing.” You confessed, a shy smile crossing your face.

Henry looked a tad relieved at your words. “That's more than fine. I'm not either.” He chuckled, glancing down into the amber liquid in his glass. “The backyard then?”

“The backyard.” You nodded, smirking with an excited giddiness.

Nodding, Henry polished off his drink and set it on a small coffee table that was in the sitting room. You finished yours and put it beside his, then dropped your bag on the floor under the table. Henry opened the door, letting you enter the thrumming hallway first and followed, taking a key out of his pocket and locked the door behind you both.

“Worried about something?” You inquired, as he pocketed the key again.

“No.” He answered, shaking his head with a blank expression. “Better safe than sorry, I suppose.” He admitted, pressing his hand over the key. “Anyway, let's find out what's in the backyard.” He smiled, offering his hand out to you.

“If it's as good as the rest of the decorations I've seen, it'll be great.” You smiled back, taking his hand.

The two of you descended the spiral staircase you'd come up earlier, Henry paused and looked towards the hallway that led into the room where all the dancing was occurring, then looked at you.

“It's a little warm in here.” He said, even though it was cool in the foyer. “Why don't we go out the front and walk around the side?” He suggested, with an arched brow.

“Sounds fine to me.” You nodded, content with not going through the press of bodies on the dance floor to make it to the backyard.

Giving you a wink, Henry shifted your hand to his forearm and walked you to the entry, nodding to Davison. “We'd like to take a little stroll.” He informed the man, who nodded back and pulled open the double doors for you. “Thank you kindly.”

“So, are you in LA only for the party?” You asked as the two of you went down the steps, while mentally preparing yourself not to get frightened by the gargoyles again.

“No.” Henry chuckled, glancing away from you with a bashful smirk. “I just finished filming a movie in England. The first Enola Holmes movie, where I play Sherlock Holmes.” He explained, looking left and right for a moment, before guiding you towards the left. “I came out here after I finished, to take a little vacation, and suppose they heard I was in town and invited me.”

“A vacation, is that all?” You smirked at him, having a sneaking suspicion the Brit may have had an extra motive for coming out.

“Well,” He droned, rolling his eyes with a guilty smirk. “There may have been a certain lady I hoped to catch up with, while I was in the city.” He confessed, shooting you a glance from the corner of his eye. “Thankfully for me, I had the opportunity to.”

“Mmm, yes.” You nodded, cocking a brow at him and pressing your lips together. “Lucky for you.”

He patted your hand and grinned with boy-ish pride. “He really went all out for decor.” He commented, rounding the corner with you, to get met with tall, manicured hedges covered in webs and skeletons trying to break through and coming at you. The entryway cut into the hedges was covered with chains, obscuring your view of what was on the other side.

“That he did.” You agreed, twisting to look at the graveyard behind you. “I really like that makeshift graveyard over there. Very fright night.” You commented, rather eager to see what Henry's friend had down in their backyard. “Let's go in!” You giggled, moving towards the chain-cover entrance, your hand slipping down Henry's forearm, until you caught his hand and could pull him through after you.

Chuckling, Henry let you drag him into the side yard, finding scarecrows on either side, a bloody butcher's knife through the body of one as it rested on a cross of thin wooden poles and the another hung from the branch of a tree, swaying in the gentle, evening breeze. There were a few more graves, lining the path, leading towards the back of the house.

“Declan Hunley.” You read one of the grave markers. “Born 1879, dead 1910, killed for not looking behind him.” You frowned and looked up at Henry. “That's a weird mess-” You shrieked as the grave on the other side of the path burst open to reveal a gnarled zombie crawling out, growling and hissing, as you scrambled behind Henry in your terror.

Henry's heart rocked in his chest in surprise, instinctively putting an arm out between you and the flesh-eating monster. But a smile soon crossed his lips, guiding you around the zombie, who made decent grabs at your ankles, however made no attempt to crawl out of his grave to follow after you.

“Oh my gosh.” You panted, brushing your multi-colored hair out of your face, with shaking hands.

“It's all right.” Henry cooed, resting his hand on the small of your back, rubbing gentle circles. “I think he's still snacking on poor Declan.” He quipped, smirking at you.

You managed to laugh a little bit, your heart rate slowing down and collecting yourself. “Well, we know what the tombstone meant.” You sighed, shaking your head, feeling foolish for falling for it. “Suckered me.” You chuckled, then cast your eyes out over the backyard. “Oh wow.” You mumbled, eyes widening as your mouth dropped agape.

Henry turned and his brows went up. “Damn. I'll hand it to him, he didn't spare a shilling for all of this.” He commented, taking in the immaculate backyard.

The three sets of double doors leading out from where the dancing and bar was set up were open and brought out the sound of voices and music with them. There was a trickle of people on the patio, which was lit by standing torches of orange, green and red. Sitting on the furniture or huddled around the couple of blazing fire pits, were a few hired staff helping them roast marshmallows for S'mores or brew hot chocolate. Beyond the patio, were tall hedges and party-goers funneling into the opening, stopped only by someone at the entrance, before vanishing into the dark and glowing fog.

“I wonder what they're doing?” You muttered to yourself, brow creasing with curiosity.

“We can find out, if you want?” Henry said beside you, his head cocking to the side to see your face.

“Let's go!” You smiled, clapping your hands and dashing forward.

Henry laughed, amused and touched at your enthusiasm, before following after you. You were stopped at the entrance of the mysterious attraction by a man dressed up in a torn and bloody lab coat. A tall fridge with a clear door stood beside him, filled with green, red and blue test tubes.

“Beware!” The bedraggled doctor wheezed, reaching out to prevent you and Henry from going any further. “There's a deadly pathogen inside the maze!” He panted, looking back and forth between the two of you frantically; as if you had the cure and answer.

“Oh no!” You gasped back at him, bringing a hand to your chest, dramatically, making Henry snort behind you. “It sounds terrible!” You whimpered, trying to hold back a giggle.

“It is!” He agreed, not breaking character, while pulling open the fridge door. “There's only one way to make it through, without succumbing to the pathogen. It's by taking this antidote.” He waved a hand over the display, before taking two out and handing you a red tube and Henry, the blue.

The label on your tube told you the antidote was made from white rum and cherry liqueur, while Henry's was made of Curaçao and SVEDKA, blue raspberry flavored vodka. Uncapping and tossing the red antidote back, the chilled liquid burned down your throat into your stomach, and finally out through your veins. Mixing with the wine you had in Henry's room. Drinking down his own antidote and tossing the empty tube in the provided bin, the doctor finally let you pass. Entering the foggy maze, constructed out of the manicured hedges, stone planters with beautiful and exotic flowers. There were LED lights tucked into the dense and dark-green leaves, flickering in an off-rhythm, giving the already dark and close passages a disorienting feel.

“This is so cool!” You giggled, bouncing on your toes and turning back to look at Henry, who walked close behind you.

“Yeah, it is.” He agreed, glancing behind him, hearing a screech that was all too human, from somewhere else in the maze. “He really went all out for Halloween.” He looked back to you and smiled, finding the two of you had come to a three way.

“Which way should we go?” You asked, looking around, before looking at Henry.

“Hmm.” He hummed, glancing about, then smirked at you. “This way.” He said, jerking his head to the left, taking your hand and led you down the footpath.

“Do you know where you're going?” You asked, frowning at his back.

“I might.” Henry answered, casting a teasing glance over his shoulder.

“Shady Devil.” You teased, smirking at him.

After a couple twists and turns, the two of you came to a dead end that was adorned with a massive marble statue of a half-naked archer, shooting her arrow into the skies and a bench at her feet. There was a square lantern hanging from the tip of the Archer's arrow and two on the bench, casting an eerie, flickering, orange glow in the dark mist that surrounded you. But you were apprehensive about the skeleton sitting on the bench with them.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. But fool me three times, screw that! You thought, eyeing it. But the flickering light and swirl of fog played tricks on you, making it difficult to tell if the skeleton was twitching or not.

“I don't trust it.” You said aloud, and Henry's chuckle filled the enchanted space.

“I wouldn't blame you, love.” He admitted, cautious himself about the authenticity of the skeleton, however taking a gallant step forward to find out. “I think the poor chap died of whatever pathogen is in the maze though.” He quipped, making himself laugh and you rolled your eyes, amused. Reaching the skeleton without it jumping out at him, Henry put his hand on top of its cranium and gave it a gentle shake, causing the rest of the body to rattle on the bench, revealing it to be a prop.

“We're safe from another scare.” Henry declared, picking it up and setting it aside, making room for the two of you to sit down together. “I am really glad you came.” He said, as you sat down beside him. “I know I already said it, but I am.”

“I'm really happy that I came as well.” You smiled at him, feeling the heat already in your cheeks from your alcohol consumption increase, but the cool night helped keep it under control.

Henry grinned, giddy to hear it. “Kal really missed you, after you finished filming your scenes in Norway.” He confessed, chuckling as he fussed with the skull fob on the end of a pocket watch chain he had attached to the front of his vest.

“Oh, Kal missed me, did he?” You purred, amused.

“Yeah, Kal.” He nodded, glancing up at you, his blue eyes dark and holding a gaze that sent a shiver down your back. “Are you cold?” He asked, a playful and coy smirk curling up one corner of his mouth as he moved a little closer to you, offering the warmth of his body.

“I'm either cold or the pathogen is setting in.” You sighed softly, biting your lower lip and tucking yourself into his side, a quiet moan escaping your throat as the weight of Henry's strong arm slotted around your shoulders.

It was all of sudden that you were aware of how close Henry's mouth was to yours, his eyes still trained on your face, waiting—watching—for your reaction. Were you going to push him away or were you going to let him go all the way?

Screw it!

You leaned forward and locked lips with him, feeling Henry smile for a moment before meeting your kiss. His palm moved to cup your nape, fingers curling into your hair and nails grazing your scalp, ever so lightly, drawing another shiver out of you. Henry's other hand moved around to your hip and tugged you closer to him, all but pulling you into his lap. The kiss is slow and easy at first, feeling each other out, testing the waters to see if it was right. Then, as if your minds connected like Bluetooth, the embrace became hungry. Fingers slipped into the armholes of his vest and your back straightened as you made little tugs on the soft fabric, needing to feel him closer against you.

“Henry.” You whimpered into his mouth, lashes fluttering open, hearing his breathing deepen, watching and feeling his chest heave.

His lips brushed yours, the warm puffs of his pants caressing your face as his eyes bored into yours, arms dropping around your waist and squeezing you against his rigid body. He felt the same longing that showed in your eyes, and wanted nothing more than to fulfill it. His palms moved up your back and made for the straps of your overalls, shoving one off your shoulders and unclasping the other. Leaning away for the zipper in the middle, unzip it, making it fall off your shoulders completely, to gather around your waist, giving Henry a nice peek at the black lace, bikini panties you were wearing.

“Mmm.” He hummed, smirking at you with half lidded eyes. “Not shorts?” He rasped, tracing the tip of his finger along the wavy edge, before giving the waistband a playful pop.

You felt a slight heat of embarrassment in the pit of your stomach, but your expression was bashful. “Didn't expect any fallen Angels to sneak a peek down my overalls.” You quipped, playfully pushing a button at the top of his vest open.

“It was far too tempting.” Henry murmured, leaning in to kiss you once more, while his hand caressed your bare side, your skin dancing at the feather light contact, before it grazed the waistband of your panties.

Pausing, he meets your eyes once more, seeking permission. You answered it with a nip at his bottom lip and went in for another heated and heady kiss. With an amused rumble, Henry pushed his hand beyond the barrier, drawing out the magical sound against his mouth, when his fingertips dusted over your throbbing clit. He teased you, only giving you the lightest of touch, as if a ghost was tormenting you from the great beyond. Hands moving to the last three buttons of Henry's vest, you opened his dress shirt and pushed your hands inside of it, finding the burning and hard packed muscles he worked so hard on, every day, dusted with dark hair. You lightly dragged your blue, red and white painted nails down his chest; Henry growled and let out a sharp hiss, giving you a narrow-eyed look.

“Oh!” A voice rang out, before Henry could repay your action. “I am so sorry!”

Almost all of your arousal vanished, you quickly fixed your clothing and tried to act as casual as possible but struggled to meet the other party-goer's eyes. Henry on the other hand, had little qualms, having embodied his costume's entity.

“That's quite all right.” He chuckled, not bothering to button his open shirt, showing off his bare chest and nail marks. “Wrong turns happen.” He smirked, his face morphing into this delighted, sinister expression.

“Yeah, this place is a serious maze.” The man, dressed as a Roman soldier, answered, his startled eyes still moving back and forth between you.

“It is.” Henry nodded, his tone hinting for him to go on his way. “There's many more dead ends like this one, I'm sure you'll find.”

Blinking, then finally getting it, the Roman soldier turned and vanished into the fog and dark of the maze, leaving you and Henry once again alone.

“Well, that was interesting.” He laughed, looking back to you, finally buttoning his shirt.

“Yeah, you can say that.” You answered with a half-hearted laugh.

Biting his lip, feeling the mood had been destroyed and sighed softly. “You want to finish the maze?” He asked, offering you a smile, brows lifted in question. “Or we could go back inside?” He added, brow creasing a little.

You balanced the options, seeing the rest of the maze and what was at the end intrigued you, but finishing what you and Henry started was still a rage inferno between your thighs. “I think it's a bit too nippy out here for what I have on.” You answered, licking your lip and eyeing Henry.

“You know,” He replied, glancing thoughtfully. “I believe you're right.” He said, giving a soft shiver himself, his massive shoulders quaking. “Let's go back inside.” He cooed, fixing his vest and standing to offer you his arm.

Taking it, you retraced your steps back to the start of the maze, nodding to the Mad Doctor, who was restocking the antidotes, quickly moved by the grave with the awaiting zombie at the side of the house, and were met yet again by Davison at the door, as he opened them to greet you.

“I hope you found the attractions and festivities to your liking?” He inquired, shutting the doors behind you.

“We did.” Henry nodded, smiling at you. “He went all out for his Halloween party. It's quite amazing.”

“Yeah, it's gotten my heart beat up several times.” You chuckled, smiling back. “Not a party I'll forget.” “I'm pleased to hear it, and so will he.” Davison smiled, pleased.

“We're going to retire upstairs for a bit.” Henry informed him with a wink, leading you towards the staircase. “Have a good evening, Davis.”

“And you.” He called back.

“No.” He chuckled, smiling down at his bare feet. “It is rare. But this isn't really an occasion to bring him along. So, I left him with a good friend.”

“Mmm.” You hummed, leaning back against the bed's footboard to unlace your shoes. “I suppose not.” You agreed, flexing your toes and glancing up at him. “You want to help me?” You asked, gesturing to your overalls. “You seemed quite the expert out in the maze.” You quipped, impishly.

Pursing his lips and giving you a hungry look, Henry strode forward, closing the gap between you easily with his long legs, and took the zipper between his fingers again, but now, he took his time. You watched him work the clasp gently down the molten-gold fabric, revealing more and more of you as it reached its end, between your legs. Henry smirked at your panties, discovering they were not only sheer, but sported a nice, growing wet patch.

“Do you like it when I touch you?” He asked in a breath voice, nimble fingers moving to your straps, caressing the skin beneath it, before flicking it open, the overalls slipping to one side.

“You don't see me stopping you, do you?” You quipped back, as the last strap fell from your shoulder and your outfit started to slip down your body.

He shook his head, hands moving up to the buttons of his shirt, but your hand came up to brush them aside, intent on doing that yourself. Pushing each black button through their hole with painstaking care, knowing Henry was impatient about picking up where you left off outside. You moaned softly, tugging the tucked in fabric from the waistband of his pants and pushing his shirt off his shoulders and arms. You were slow to pull his belt free of their loops, admiring the growing bulge at the front of his slacks. With his belt free, you curled your fingers around the waistband of his pants and boxer briefs, only to be stopped by Henry's hands grasping your wrists.

“What?” You frowned, looking up at him.

“Top.” He answered, motioning to it with his head. “Off.”

“I think I'm a little more naked than you are.” You stated, raising a brow at him.

“I'll be naked the moment you pull my pants and underwear down.” He countered with a smirk.

You took a deep breath, then nodded. “Fair.” You chuckled, pulling your hands away to remove your pink sports bra. “Better, you devil?” You teased, tossing the article of clothing over his head.

“Much, my little joker.” He rasped, cupping one of your breasts in his hand and rubbing its hardened nub with the pad of his thumb. “You can finish your task now.” He said, leaning in to kiss you.

“Mm, thanks.” You mumbled against his mouth, hands blindly finding their way back to his waist, tugging at it, and trying not to be distracted by his lips and hands working their magic on you. “Bat above, you're evil.” You whimpered to the pinch he gave your breast, sending a tingle to your still clothed clit. Henry turned his head, lips brushing the helix of your ear. “I'm not Lucifer for nothing, my dear.” He whispered, allowing his accent to dip and deepen.

Your knees weakened and you let out a breathy whimper. “Good lord.” You gulped, grasping the back of his arms for support.

“I'd rather keep his name to a minimum.” Henry quipped, with a playful attempt at a wink.

“Classic.” You giggled, tilting your head back to brush your lips against his stubbly jaw. “Apologies, Prince of Darkness.” You teased, hand trailing down his torso to his semi-hard cock, closing your fingers around the heated flesh.

Henry hissed in your ear, hooked an arm around your waist and snagged you against him, lifting you off your feet and moving around to the side of the bed, setting you down on it. He paused for a moment, to turn out the lights, then joined you again, where you had fixed yourself correctly on the comfortable mattress and about to slip your undies off.

“No.” He rumbled, slipping between your legs and gently pushing your hands away. “Those are mine.” He informed you, taking a hold of the delicate fabric and started to slip them off. “Oh, you smell so tasty.” He cooed, catching a whiff of your glistening folds, tossing your panties aside and leaning closer with a lick of his lips.

Gulping, you melted back against the pillows as Henry's mouth closed around your slick, vibrating your sensitive need with a rumble of carnal lust. You pawed at the duvet beneath you, rolling your hips against his working mouth, tongue parting your folds to collect the dripping nectar flowing from your cavern. You whimpered and squeezed your thighs against his head, feeling his horns brush your heated and trembling skin, building the numb and tingling sensation at the pit of your stomach.

“Oh, Henry!” You whimpered, a hand moving into the curls at the back of his head. “Oh, plea-fuck!” You cried out, back arching as Henry pressed two heavy fingers onto your swollen pearl, rubbing at it in a rhythm to his mouth and drawing you over the edge swiftly.

Blinded by your orgasm, you didn't notice the figure entering the room with you and Henry for a moment. But caught the moving shape at the foot of the bed, slowly coming down and through your blurred vision, it paused, before shifting to the chair in the corner.

“Henry.” You panted, the heightening tone of alarm in your voice.

“Ssshh.” He hushed you, slowly kissing his way up your seething body until his face was nuzzled between the valley of your bosom, tasting the thin layer of exertion on your burning skin. “It's all right, love.” He heaved, his breath raising goose flesh in its wake.

“But-” You started to protest, shaking your head and trying to focus on the figure seated in the corner, feeling their eyes on you. “There's some-” You tried to warn him breathily, as his mouth encompassed one of your breasts. “Someone's in-”

“I know.” He moaned around your taut areola, before tilting his head for a second to glance at your strange guest. “It's just Gus.” He purred, a naughty smile on his lips and returned back to his worship of your body.

“August?” You whimpered, brows furrowing at his name and Henry's intent suckling. “Henry.” You sighed, eyes fluttering shut and hands pressing to Henry's broad back, letting go and getting washed away with the moment.

Smiling from his vantage point in the corner, the chair angled just right, August watched you and Henry in bed. He knew the two of you, having worked on a couple projects with Henry over the years and met you during the filming of Fall Out. When Henry told him he intended to ask you to the party, his interest and intrigue was set into motion, intent on having some of you for himself, informing Henry of this, and having Davison keep a close eye on you and Henry. So, upon hearing the two of you had been found canoodling in the maze, then scampering back upstairs to Henry's room, Davison rushed to find his boss and informed him that love was in the air between the two of you.

August left where he was entertaining in his study and moved upstairs to Henry's room, using a master key he had for every room on his estate and slipped into the darkened room, like a stealthy panther stalking its prey. Removing and turning off his light up Purge mask, he found you sprawled out on the bed, whimpering Henry's name, while his skillful mouth ate you out, like it was one of the Brit's decadent cheat meals. Hovering in the doorway between the sitting room and the bedroom, waiting—watching...you slip off the cliff of your orgasm, crying out and writhing as you fell; then moved to the bottom of the bed, to reach out and touch Henry's foot.

Alerting him that he had shown up.

He repressed a chuckle, while you tried alerting Henry to his presence, and moved towards the chair, making himself comfortable. But Henry reassured you that it was perfectly all right. It was just your good friend, August, in the room with you, and you had no reason to fret. He opened the front of his rough and semi-black jeans, lifting his hips off the chair just enough to push his pants and briefs down, allowing his rigid cock to spring free of the tight confines and rest heavily against the white dress shirt he had on. He closed his fist around the slick head of his shaft, a deep rumbling moan boiled in his throat as he slowly started to stroke himself, eyes locked on you and Henry intertwining together in bed.

Your quivering legs locked loosely around his thick thighs, while Henry's mouth was like a suction cup against the column of your throat, working in tandem to his steely manhood rubbing against your heated folds, coating the taut and veiny flesh with your sweet essence. Your quiet whimpers and mewls spurred on both men, putting cracks in August's usual calm and controlled demeanor, and pushed Henry to impatience, struggling with his will to warm you up, before diving deep into you, headfirst.

“Take her.” August rasped, abandoning his cock for a second to open his shirt and toss it aside, not wanting to soil it any more than the few wet spots of pre-come, and returned to pleasuring himself.

Henry snapped a look over his shoulder, face flushed and sweaty. “She's mine, Gus.” He hissed at the other man, eyes a dark cobalt with lust and feeling territorial.

“I belong to no one!” You wheezed, dizzy and drunk from Henry's attention.

A smirk pulled across both men's lips, and Henry looked down at you, brushing damp and colorful strands of hair off your sweaty forehead and placing a gentle kiss to the bridge of your nose.

“Of course, my love.” He cooed at you, stroking the side of your face with the back of his fingers. “We know you don't.” He said, kissing the corner of your mouth. “My apologies.” He whispered against your lips.

You sighed against his mouth and shook your head again, lifting your heavy arms to tangle your fingers into his hair. “I want you.” You murmured, nudging your nose against his, legs squeezing his to pull him in closer. “Please, Henry.” You gulped, eyes fluttering open to gaze up at him.

“As you wish.” He replied quietly, pulling back slightly and slipping a hand between your bodies, grasping and stroking himself for a moment, before lining his weeping, heart-shaped tip with your glistening honeypot. “Oh god, you're so snug, Bug.” He purred, easing himself in, bit by bit, as he leaned back over you, bracing himself on his elbows, loving how you wrapped around him.

“Shit.” August grunted, fixated on Henry entering you, your folds sealing around his girth like a tailor-made glove, while trying to picture his own manhood in its place, squeezing his shaft in an attempt to replicate it.

Henry's thrusts were short and measured, rocking into you with an easy pace, almost matching the beat of the music that was bleeding through the floor downstairs. It was both what you wanted and also drove you nuts, wanting him to drive you through the bed, to turn your insides to pudding. You rocked your hips in-tune to his, one hand clawing down his sweat drenched back to dig into the meat of his bum and thrust your other hand between your bodies to find your neglected clit.

“Don't you dare come.” Henry growled at you, pressing his body down on yours, trapping you against the mattress and immobilizing your hand from pleasuring yourself. “Not without me.” He panted, holding your gaze.

You were caught off guard for a moment, before arching an amused brow at him. “Fine.” You smirked, giving him a nice pat on the butt.

“Good girl.” He purred, capturing your lips and shifting his weight again, enabling you to stroke your pulsing clit, toes curling and walls quaking around Henry's cock, milking it. “How are you doing over there, Gus?” He chuckled, shooting the American a glance over his shoulder.

“Could be better.” August grunted back, slumped a little in his seat, working his cock as he continued to watch, the sound of Henry's cock moving inside of you filled the room with your soft whimpers and moans, it was like a perfect orchestra to his ears, making his balls tight, but he still wanted you for himself.

Henry brought his lips to your ear. “He's jealous.” He whispered in a roguish tone.

“Mmm.” You moaned back, half listening to what either of them were saying, drunk on the feeling of Henry inside of you and the pressure you were applying to your tender pearl, drenching you both even more to create a wet spot on the bed sheet beneath.

“She's getting fucked out.” August smirked, hearing your numb moans. “And you haven't even let her come again.” He chuckled, using his free hand to massage his heavy sack, growling deep in his chest and pressing his head against the back of the chair.

Henry felt his own loins tingle and spasm, begging to be unloaded inside your tight, hot core, which only drew him in with each thrust, attempting to hold him inside for your own salvation. Henry groaned, thrusting forward and almost losing himself to the pressure.

“I can't hold back anymore, Hen.” You mewled up at him, breathless and spent. “Please.”

“Me neither, love.” He sighed back, nuzzling the side of your sweaty neck for a moment, before slowly slipping free. “You wanna come with me, babe?” He panted, pulling up on his knees, but kept one elbow braced beside your head.

Moving a hand between your heaving bodies, Henry gently shoved aside your sluggishly moving hand from your mound, bringing it to his mouth and gently sucked on your honey saturated fingers, savoring the heady taste. With your hand clean, Henry took a hold of himself, stroking his length and rubbing his tip against your overstimulated folds at the same time, drawing out soft whimpers and moans. Your hands kneaded his sides, while you twitched and quivered beneath him, eyes fluttering in the back of your lids with streaks to tears going down your temples.

“Oh...Henry!” You hiccupped in short gasps, licking your parched lips. “I'm-m s-so c-close!” You gulped, nudging your face against his, blindly seeking his lips.

“I am too, love.” He wheezed back, increasing the friction. “Come with me.” He whispered, meeting your lips in a breathless kiss.

It was easy, with how close the pair of you were, so you just let go. Gushing over Henry's cock and drenching the sheets even more, while Henry jerked rope after rope of his hot seed over your glistening folds and heaving stomach, making your skin sticky with each expulsion of his loins. August watched with concupiscent awe, biting into his bottom lip and digging a shoe heel into the expensive rug at his feet, as his own orgasm peaked, flowing over his jerking fist and staining the black fabric of his jeans.

You, Henry and August let out a collective sigh as your climax waned. Henry's weary arms snaked around your body, while his body slowly tilted sideways, collapsing onto the mattress with an exhausted grunt and holding you to his chest. Sighing against his collarbone, your eyes fluttering shut, spent and sedated.

A touch to your back told you, you'd fallen asleep, stirring you back to the world of the living and from the warm bubble of Henry's body. Expecting to see Henry staring at you, you opened your eyes to his sleeping face and the deep puffs of his snores.

“Right here, gorgeous.” A deep timber whispered into your ear.

Turning your head, your eyes met August's, he was leaning over you, a smile plastered on his handsome face, and his hand still stroking the length of your back. “Gus?” You mumbled, sleepily blinking up at him.

August tapped a finger to his lips and cast his eyes to Henry. “Ssshh, don't wake him, sweetheart.” He cooed at you, sweetly. “He needs his rest.” He told you, before helping you carefully untangle from Henry's embrace and sit up on the edge of the bed.

“What are you doing, August?” You asked, looking up at him, even though you had your suspicions.

“Helping you clean up.” He answered, dipping his hand to your stomach, reminding you of Henry's dried release, that was still there. “I started a nice, warm shower for you.” He explained, taking your hands in his and pulled you to your feet, stretching your sore muscles.

“Sure, Gus.” You giggled, letting him guide you around the bed and into the bathroom, the sound of falling water filling your ears and blanket of warm steam wrapping around you as it filled the space. “You're only helping, so you can have your chance.” You smirked, not so out of it during your lovemaking with Henry to forget August's jealousy he was missing out.

August laughed, unconcerned of sound now that the door was closed. “So perceptive of you, Sugar.” He smirked, opening the door of the shower stall for you. “Unless you'd rather I leave you and Henry be.” He added, as you entered the shower, cocking a brow at you.

“Hmm.” You hummed, stepping under the pleasant spray of the showerhead, letting the water wash over you, before glancing at August over your shoulder. “Well, it would be a lie, if I said I hadn't thought about what it would be like to be with both of you.” You smirked, eyes dancing with mischief. “And Hen and I already had our fun.”

“You impish, little jester.” August growled, discarding the remains of his clothing and joined you, hugging an arm around your waist and pressing his chest against your back, his mouth finding your neck, the hairs of his immaculate mustache tickling your wet skin.

“Christ, August.” You moaned, his rock-hard manhood pressing against your butt. “I-” Your breath caught in your throat, August's hand closing around your mound, fingers oh-so-delicately caressing your pearl, waking it from its soreness.

“You what, Sugar?” He purred into your ear, nipping at its rim almost painfully. “Tell me.” He insisted, free hand coming up to cup your jaw and pull your back to rest against his shoulder.

“I want you.” You whimpered, chewing on your bottom lip and pushing up on your toes. “Take me, Gus.” You begged him, grinding against his manhood.

Smirking, August took a step forward, until you were trapped between him and the warm, smokey-gray subway tile of the shower wall. He spread your feet and gripped your hip with one hand, grasping his shaft in the other and teased your silky folds, only slipping just his tip between them to rim your passage, loving the feel of your quiver.

“So desperate for me to fill you up.” He chuckled, kneading your hip.

“August, please.” You huffed, still overstimulated from being with Henry and unable to take August's teasing. “Please, I need you inside of me.” You moaned, legs wobbling as he pushed the first half of his manhood into your ruined cavern, your knees almost giving out, had it not been for him and the wall holding you up.

“Stuff me.” You told him, mindlessly.

“I intend too, Sugar.” August smirked, gripping both of your hips and used them as leverage to ease the rest of himself inside of you, still taking his time, despite your continued begs and mewls. “You take me so well, sweetheart.” He panted, once he was settled, engulfed inside your pocket. “Henry did so well, opening you for me.” He chuckled, pressing a palm to the tile above your head and drew almost completely out, then drove back in, hammering into your sweet and sore spot, drawing out a cry from your lips that echoed in the stall.

“August!” You arched your back into his thrusts, cheek pressed against the wall and eyes squeezed shut. “Oh god.” You wheezed, breath fogging the glossy tile. “You feel so good, Gus.” You told him, your voice hardly above the sound of the shower head. “So good.” You mumbled to yourself, nursing your walls around his cock, feeling every ridge and vein as you did and every driving force of him moving inside of you.

“Oh, you're not going to last for me, are you, Sugar?” He cooed, stroking the back of your wet hair and squeezing the nape of your neck. “Just too fucked out.” He hummed, sensing and watching your body tremble as you did your best to fight off your orgasm. “That's all right, princess.” He said, kissing the top of your head and increasing the pace of his thrusts. “Let go.” He instructed you, locking an arm around your waist. “Come all over my cock, gorgeous.” He egged you on, until he felt your body quake and tense, a hot rush around his frenzied shaft.

“There you go, very good.” He praised you, lining kisses over your shoulder and neck, nuzzling his face there as he buried himself deep inside and let loose, pumping his load into your core and painting your walls, unlike Henry.

The two of you stood there for a long time, supporting each other against the shower wall with the water still raining down over you. Until August's skilled ears twitched to a squeak above the patter of water on the hexagon tiles and turned his head. A smirk pulled across his lips as he spied Henry through the clear glass of the shower doors, coming into the bathroom.

“Did we wake you, Hank?” He quipped, as the Brit stepped into the stall with you, a gush of chilly air invading the warm space, making you shiver against August's chest.

“Yes and no.” He replied, dipping his head under the shower head, soaking his curls. “I woke up, when I realized our little Harley Quinn wasn't in bed with me any longer and heard some of your shower fun.” He informed him, shaking his head, to flick the curls out of his face, and moved to stand beside August, looking down at you. “Looks like you're having a nice, little shower, love.” He smirked, seeing the expression of sedated and satisfied exhaustion on your face.

“Mmm.” You hummed back, blinking up at him.

Both men chuckled at you, shaking their heads.

“You look after her, I have to piss.” August told Henry, slipping free of you and eased away, wanting to make sure you didn't fall without his support, before stepping out of the shower to use the toilet.

“Are you all right?” Henry asked, helping you sit down on a built-in, shower bench.

“I'm fine.” You answered, resting back against the wall. “Just didn't expect all of--” You motioned around sluggishly. “This—when I got your mystery invite to the party.”

Henry smirked, grabbing a bath sponge and a bar of vanilla, sandalwood and cardamom soap, from a recess in the shower wall. “That's a fair point.” He nodded, soaping up the sponge and grabbing one of your arms. “In all honesty, I didn't intend this to happen either.” He admitted to you, gently lathering up your skin.

“Well, I did want to be with you. I just didn't expect August to actually join us.”

“The devil made me do it!” August chimed in, coming back into the shower and started to wash. “But I told you, I intended to, if you wooed her.”

“Wooed me!” You huffed, rolling your eyes. “So, the two of you talked about this?”

“Henry needed some prodding in getting the courage to send you the invite.” August informed you, smirking at Henry, who blushed and looked at neither of you. “But we're both quite happy you said yes.”

“That's true.” Henry nodded, moving the sponge across your shoulders, massaging them as he did. “I hope we didn't push you or anything.” He said, biting his lip as he looked you over.

You let out an amused laugh, tipping your head back to look up at the two men, who regarded you. “It's a bit late to be asking that, isn't it?” You inquired, shaking your head, before relaxing and growing serious. “But no, you guys didn't do anything I didn't want or consent to. Even though I was surprised by August sneaking into the room, like some sort of spy.”

Henry and August looked at each other, an expression of acknowledgment between them for a quick moment, before it passed, and they looked away.

“Suppose we should get back to the party.” You said, as Henry finished helping you wash.

“No.” August shook his head and rinsed the shampoo out of his hair. “The party ended a short while ago. The guests that are staying over, are in their rooms and those that weren't, have long been ushered off the property.” He informed you, causally.

“Just us, darling.” Henry winked, moving into August's spot to shower himself, carefully removing his devil horns. “Do you want to stay here with us, or would you rather I call Marco to take you back home?” He asked, cocking a closed eyed brow at you.

You weighed the options, watching Henry wash, water cascading around and along every groove and line of his muscular body, activating a tingle deep in your exhausted and sore body. “No need to bother him so late.” You finally answered, eyes shifting to August, who was grabbing towels.

Showered and dried off, You, Henry and August filed back into the bedroom. August called Davison up with a phone in the sitting room, having him bring up a few bottles of water for you all, which you were thankful for, since you were parched. Quenched, you climbed into bed, burrowing down under the sheets in the middle, while Henry and August got in on either side of you. Henry looped an arm around your waist, snuggling you against his chest and August lounged close to you, on his back, allowing you to reach out and lay your hand on his chest.

“Good night, my love.” Henry whispered, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“Sleep well, Sugar.” August cooed, patting your hand gently, and kissed your knuckles.

“Good night.” You hummed, letting your fatigue take a hold of you. “Happy...Hallo-ween.” You mumbled, dropping off, happily cocooned between them.

#henry cavill #henrycavill #viking-raider fics #fluff #The Devil Made Me Do It #The Devil Made Me Do It *fic* #Halloween Fic #Kinktober Fic #Kinktober #smut #Harley Quinn Costume #Lucifer Morningstar Costume #Purge Costume #Halloween Party #Fluff #Angst #Alcohol Use #Teasing #Flirting #Henry Cavill x Reader #Henry Cavill x You #henry cavill x y/n #henry cavill x female reader #Henry Cavill x All Types of Readers #Henry Cavill/You #Henry Cavill/Reader #Henry Cavill/Female Reader #Henry Cavill x Fem!Reader #Henry Cavill/Fem!Reader #No body specific body types

[ursidanger]

From thesis featuring my characters Max & Brandy! (Completed April 2023)

Max finds herself hiding in the club bathroom, the prospects of her love life spiraling down the drain...

I have a lot of mixed feelings about how this turned out. There are major things I would change or rework if I did it all over again but looking back on everything I am proud of finishing. My hope is to continue fleshing out the story and characters more after this!

Would not have been able to do it without the creative input and assistance of @fabba-banna ! So, huge shoutout to them and many thanks

#character design #art #comics #demons #possession #alcohol use #ocs #max artiga #brandy #sugs scribbles

[petra-dot-png]

LETS GO BLONDE PUNK AUSTRALIAN WOMEN!!!!!!!!

#petra's doodles #fanart tag #amyl and the sniffers #amyl #tank girl #jamie hewlett #tank girl fanart #australia #what the fuck else do i tag this as. its australia #i know tank girl is british actually but she lives in australia thats close enough #alcohol use #saw amyl in concert it was SO awesome

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Everything Good

CW: Self-hatred, victim-blaming, referenced past noncon, Kauri does so love to get drunk when he’s sad doesn’t he, some big old angst

Follows directly after Antoni and Kauri’s fight here, happens before/concurrently with Who You Are Looking For

-

“I told Jameson in confidence,” Antoni is saying, the words finding their way through the white noise slowly overtaking Kauri’s mind. His hard jaw and hard eyes and hard voice all combine to give away what he’s really saying, underneath the words. I didn’t trust you enough to tell you.  Kauri opens his mouth with some retort but it falls apart, nothing comes out but air. Antoni speaks over the silence. “I did not tell you, or Jasha, and that was my choice not to tell.” Antoni’s voice is hard as granite, and Kauri can’t breathe as he feels the inhuman stone shove itself down his throat. Unfeeling. Uncaring. “I am sorry it hurt you that you did not know.”

No, you’re not.

Everyone says they’re sorry, no one ever means it.

It always happens again-

“Do not ask me again.”

Kauri isn’t sure if he even remembers how to blink. His heart pounds in his chest, so loud that it beats inside his ears, and he can’t say anything. He realizes with  start that he is terrified of Antoni’s anger, that he understands that Antoni is the most dangerous person living in this house and Kauri has said and done all the wrong things for the last time. He manages a thin, stammered, “Ant-”

“I am ashamed of what was done to me,” Antoni snaps, a look on his face like a sneer. Loathing. Kauri is shit on his shoe, needing scraped off or dissolved with bleach. They’re supposed to be partners, but then again, when has Kauri been loved without pain?

Jake loves you.

The thought doesn’t land. None of them do, not with that look on Antoni’s face.

Antoni turns away from him, and it’s like slamming a door in his face. Like when Derrick would grab him by the arm and shake him for being so fucking stupid, why the fuck did you do that and Kauri never had a good reason. He doesn’t have a good reason now. 

Antoni could hurt him for this. Antoni and Jake and Chris are never, ever supposed to hurt him. They’re the ones he can trust not to.

Antoni, a man carved of marble and painted in shades of furious anger, has a stare that burns holes through Kauri’s thin armor. “Is that not enough? Must you make it worse?”

Kauri swallows the rocks in his throat and lets them come to rest somewhere in his chest, behind his heart, a weight of guilt he can’t carry alone, but alone is what he is right now. Antoni looks at him like he’s been wounded by Kauri knowing this, when Kauri should be the first person people know will understand. Of course he understands. It’s the one thing he’s a goddamn expert in.

“... I-... I didn’t mean-” His voice catches in his throat, thin and reedy, and Kauri winces and tries again. He takes a step back. Antoni doesn’t notice him putting space between them. Even Kauri is barely aware of it, the instinctive self-protection. Please don’t hurt me for making you angry. “You don’t have to be ashamed of-”

“Yes, I do!” Antoni smacks his hand down on the countertop and Kauri flinches, but Antoni wasn’t looking at him. He doesn’t see it. Kauri takes another step back. “It was shameful!”

Blood rushes to Kauri’s face, a sudden burst of heat. His fingers, though, are freezing. His lungs feel cold. Granite has become a glacier, a weight of ice he can’t possibly resist or dig his way out of. His mind scrapes against ice walls as thick as canyons are deep. “Don’t say that.”

His voice is a whisper.

Antoni turns to look at him and it’s an expression Owen has shown him so many times Kauri could draw it with his eyes closed even now. A look that Kauri can hear, the words spit at him with Owen’s righteous anger, his judgement, the way he could hate Kauri and love him all at once. You stupid slut.

If Antoni hates him for it, too, then what was the point of ever leaving?

“... I, I don’t have to be ashamed-” His voice is a thin whimper, and Antoni smacks the countertop again. This time Kauri stumbles back against the wall, his eyes locked on Antoni’s hand where it lays, fingers splayed, on the laminate made to look like stone. Just a thin layer of imaginary strength over wood so easily broken. 

“Stop it!” Antoni stops. Takes in a breath. “Stop. This is not about you. Not everything on earth is about you. This conversation ends now.”

Kauri has never, ever dreamed that Antoni could look at him like this. Disgusted with him. Loathing him. God, he must hate Kauri for what he’s done, for what he is, if he can hate himself for having to live with it. Hating himself because he ever, for even a second, had to have the same life Kauri did. He swallows, thinking he can apologize, he can be good, he can talk his way out of this. If he can just be sorry enough, they can make this go away, like it never happened. “Antoni-”

“I said it ends.” 

Antoni walks away.

Kauri’s mouth is still open, but all he sees is Antoni’s back as he disappears down the hall. The room isn’t empty, though. It’s full of the weight of Kauri standing, once again, alone. This time he isn’t fleeing Owen’s rage and the hands around his neck, the realization that he can’t survive it if it keeps getting worse.

Instead, he’s standing here alone because Antoni doesn’t want him. 

“Makes sense,” He whispers to himself. Guilt rages, tears him apart from the inside. He’s just skin stretched over self-loathing. Kauri takes a deep breath, steadying himself, closing his eyes. Then he pulls his phone from his pocket and dials a number he meant to block a long time ago, but never could quite bring himself to. Just in case.

He’s honestly surprised when Westin answers. “Kauri! Long time no fuck around! How are you?”

“Shit. It’s all shit.” Kauri’s voice still won’t rise above a hoarse whisper. 

“Oh, damn. What’s wrong? I thought you were all married and settled and shit now.”

“I-... I am-” I think I am, he says, but then tries to shove that thought away. Even if Antoni doesn’t want him, even if he’s ruined everything by not knowing how or when to shut his fucking mouth, Jake will still love him.

Won’t he?

God. He can’t make Jake choose between them. Antoni’s objectively the better choice, anyway. He’s better with the rescues, he’s a good cook, he never makes demands on anyone for anything at all. There’s no choice to be made, Antoni is always going to be the one who wins out. If Kauri gets picked it’d be out of pity.

Wouldn’t it?

“Then what’s up?”

“Uh, my. My, um-... Look, tonight sucks. You got anything?”

“Kauri. Gorgeous. Light of my… fucked-up early twenties. I always have something. You want to come over?”

Westin’s nice. He has an apartment he pays for in cash because you don’t pay taxes on the kind of money he makes, the way he makes it. Kauri hesitates, because he shouldn’t. He hasn’t, not in years. He had thought he’d grown out of running for something to wipe out his mind when it’s overwhelmed by fear. 

But he’s never been afraid like this. 

“... Uh-”

Chris peeks into the kitchen. His wide green eyes meet Kauri’s, below the shock of lavender hair with copper roots starting to show. He’s wearing a gray hoodie that drowns him and black pants with holes at the knees that Kauri honestly can’t tell if they’re jeans or leggings. Or both. He realizes Chris has shoes on. “Kauri? Is, is, is everything-”

Kauri grabs his arm, not so much thinking as just acting on impulse, the way he always does. “Come on. We’re going out.”

“Wh-what? We are?”

“Yeah.” Kauri puts the phone back to his ear. “Westin? You still there?”

“Yeah, eavesdropping shamelessly. You coming over?”

“Nah. Can I meet you outside of the Dolph? You know the place?”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely. I love that place. You slept with the bartender, didn’t you?”

“That was like a decade ago, Wes. He’s probably not the bartender anymore.” Kauri heads down the steps, Chris’s arm still in his hand, the younger man stumbling after him confused and uncertain, but willing to go wherever Kauri takes him. Chris, at least, won’t ever look at him the way Antoni did. He isn’t fucking physically capable of it. No matter what Kauri says, or does, or thinks, or feels.

“I mean, I know, but just-”

“I did. I think his name was Jerome. Or Jared?”

“Jerome. Definitely Jerome. Jesus, that guy was stacked like a fucking…” Westin trails off, lost in thoughts. Or memories. “I don’t know. He definitely didn’t wear the right size t-shirt though.”

“You get bigger tips that way.”

Kauri half-shoves Chris into the car and gets himself into the driver’s seat. Jake’s metal music blares at first, but Kauri smacks at the volume button until the sound is silenced. “We’ll be there in half an hour. Can you bring me something chill?”

“Some, something chill?” Chris’s eyes widen, then he looks… unaccountably sad. “Kauri-”

“It’s fine,” Kauri says, waving a hand in Chris’s face without looking at him. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah, I can do that.” Westin’s voice goes soft. “You going to be up for some real fun tonight?”

“God, no.” Kauri still loves the way the word ‘no’ sounds in his own voice. He went so long without remembering how to say it and not fall apart. “Had a shit night. Just… half an hour, the Dolph, something good.”

“Got it. Hey, I always wondered… is the Dolph named about dolphins, or Dolph Lundgren?”

“... yes.” Kauri hangs up before Westin can say anything else, hitting the gas hard enough that the car jerks forwards and Chris grabs, a little panicked, at his seatbelt. “Whoops, sorry. Haven’t driven in a while.”

“It’s, um. It’s fine.” Chris’s phone vibrates and he checks it, wincing as if what he sees hurts him. “Uh, Jake, um, Jake wants to, to to to know, um, what, what happened, uh-”

“Tell him we’re going out.” Kauri takes a left turn too sharply, throwing Chris against the door. It occurs to him he probably shouldn’t drive when he feels like this, but fuck it, he doesn’t care anymore. Why not? He can drive the way he feels, and maybe it’ll help unstick the ice in his chest. “To dinner. To talk.”

Chris swallows. “... are, are we going out to, to, to dinner?”

“Well, the Dolph is kind of a dive-y bar and serves some pretty fucking awesome fried food, plus a real shitty take on a garden salad, so… sure. I’m buying.”

“And… and, and and and, we, um, will we… talk? About-... about what, what happened-”

“Once I am high off my ass and don’t care anymore,” Kauri says, taking another turn. He can see the blue sign marking that the interstate is coming up, now. Merge there, drive a few miles, get right back off. Head into an unassuming up-and-coming neighborhood where cute little boutiques vie with murals spray-painted on walls twenty years ago and left to fade with time and weather. Find the bright blue door with a light over the top. Go inside. Order drinks, swallow pills, and breathe.

He’s done it a thousand times before.

He can do it again.

It always helps. Or at least, it always holds off the pain long enough for Kauri to find a way to run from it.

“Kauri, please, how, how, how how how can I get home, if, um, if you get… high, again, you, you you you haven’t done that in a while, are-... can, can we talk before, um-” 

Kauri glances sideways, and feels a brand new wash of self-loathing when he sees that Chris looks worried, even a little scared. Of him.

He merges too hard and nearly sideswipes a semi. The guy blares his horn and Kauri flips him off and speeds past, changing lanes. It’s begging for something to go horribly wrong, flirting with an accident or injury or death. But fuck it, what does it matter?

“I think Antoni stopped loving me tonight,” Kauri says, voice flat. He’s proud of the way it doesn’t shake. “I think I deserve to get high again tonight. You get me home safe. Everyone goddamn wins, right?”

Chris clutches his phone like it could save his life. “Antoni could-... could never st, stop-”

“Yeah, maybe not with other people. But I have that very special talent, Chris, I can make anybody fall out of love with me just by being myself. Just by being who I am. Just by being… being what I was. What we were. Right? We don’t change. Once a stupid selfish slut, always a stupid selfish slut, right?”

He realizes he’s accidentally included Chris in that estimation a moment too late, when he glances to the side and sees the look of profound hurt on his sort-of little brother’s face.

Great work, Kaur-Bore, you did it again.

“Oh, shit, Chris. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“It’s, it’s okay,” Chris whispers. He’s rocking forward and back, his fingers scratching at his jeans, running along the seams. “It’s okay. I, I, I think it sometimes, too. Once, um, once a, once a-”

“No. Not you, Chris. Never you.” Kauri holds a hand out, and Chris takes it, even though he can’t stop rocking, keeps his other hand moving. “That was a shitty thing to say, and I shouldn’t have said it. What if I promise I’ll eat something before I start drinking, and I won’t have more than three drinks and one of whatever Westin brings? How’s that sound?”

Chris squeezes his hand. Someone honks - not even at him - but it reminds Kauri that his exit is right there and he has to take a hard swerve not to miss it. Chris lets go to put his hands in his hair and lean over, eyes closing tightly, breathing in gasps. “Kauri!”

“It’s fine, it’s okay.” Kauri soothes, both hands back on the wheel, hitting the brakes so they come to a sudden jerking stop at the light, waiting for it to turn green. “See? Look? I can’t even go very fast on this road. We’re almost there, I swear.”

“Okay.” Chris rocks forwards and back, forwards and back. His hands slip under his hoodie, and Kauri knows without having to see that he’s tapping, soothing himself with sensation that settles his fraying nerves, just like always. “Okay, okay, okay.”

“Okay.” Kauri nods, and as he forces himself to ease down the road instead of flying, he rubs at Chris’s back with one hand. “I’m sorry. I’m scaring you, aren’t I? I don’t-... I don’t handle this shit well, but I bounce back, I promise.” He lets out a bitter brittle laugh, startling himself a little. He hasn’t laughed like that in years. “Enough people tell you you’re a piece of shit and make it clear they can’t love you after, you get real good at letting it roll off your back.”

Chris hesitates. Kauri can see that he’s thinking. The quiet draws out between them as Kauri spots the telltale blue door and pulls into the parking lot, easing around the grass growing through the asphalt cracks, stubborn weeds that refuse to be destroyed by the conditions they have to grow in.

“... did he, he, he say that?” Chris asks, softly. The bass from the music is echoing out of the bar, and Kauri closes his eyes, letting his forehead rest against the steering wheel. “Kauri? Did, did, did Antoni say that, uh that he he he doesn’t… love you? Anymore?”

Kauri keeps his eyes closed.

“He didn’t have to,” Kauri whispers. It’s funny. He’d thought his voice would shake more, saying it, but he finds that all his fear is draining away. Falling down into the white light that lives so far back inside his mind, but always finds its way back out. “I know the way he looked at me. I’ve seen that look so many fucking times. And if Antoni can’t love me, who can?”

“I can.” Chris whispers it back, and Kauri turns his head without lifting it, watching Chris looking back at him, half-smiling. “Jake can.”

“... nah. Even he’s gotta give up the ghost eventually, right?”

Chris looks too solemn, too serious. It shatters Kauri’s heart. “You, you, you aren’t a ghost.”

Kauri could laugh. He could laugh until he ran out of air and blacked out right here, laugh until all the pain is hidden deeply enough that no one remembers he ever felt it but him. “Aren’t I? I’m not handling the love affairs of the guy who used to own my body super well, am I? Just keep fuckin’ it up. Jesus Christ. I’m such a piece of shit.” 

Oh, good. The tears are back.

His voice gets thick and wet with them, and he has to hitch in breaths to say anything around a closing throat. 

“I’m such shit. Antoni didn’t want me to fucking know because he knows I’ll just make it about me, and I did! I made it all about me and my problems and my bullshit. He lied to me because he knew I can’t take knowing that my life is something other people would rather die than admit to having lived, so I make it about me and I’m awful and I don’t even goddamn blame him for hating me now. I’m a piece of shit and a bad partner, and Saint Jake can’t keep swooping in to save me. Eventually the goddamn martyr’s going to realize he doesn’t have to die for my stupid fucking sins, and then he’ll tell me to get my ass out of the house and give him his ring back so he can give it to somebody else better than me."

Chris is silent. Doesn’t matter.

It isn’t really him Kauri’s talking to anymore.

“I ruin it. It's like my biggest fucking talent! I ruin everything good. I get a good thing and I fuck it up, I always have. All the way back to the man who I used to be, I bet he sucked at relationships, too. Bet he did. That’s why I’m like this now, it was already there, and my shitty fucking life has only made me worse. I thought I was getting better. Therapy, and not drinking so much… but I never got any better. Jesus. Who’s going to want me, huh? Who’s going to want a washed up whore who can’t keep a relationship together with the two most patient men on the entire fucking planet? Why can’t I stop myself from doing things I know are just going to make it worse? Why can’t I ever stop it before I fuck it all up again?”

There’s a pause. 

"Why can't I ever remember I don't want to until I've already done it and it's too late to stop?"

Chris’s hand is warm against his back, suddenly, rubbing up and down. Offering him the same comfort he had given a minute ago, and Kauri shudders, forcing back a sob - or a scream - trying to find its way out.

“I love you,” Chris whispers. “As, as, as your brother. Your, um, your friend. I, I I I love you, and you, I, I mean it.”

“Love you too.” Kauri’s voice is wry, so thin it’s a single human hair stretched nearly to snapping. “I’m sorry I dragged you out with me, Chris. You probably had other plans, huh?”

“Not, not, not important ones.” His voice is a shrug. “I, I, I know how you, you, you feel.”

Kauri huffs. Is it laughter? He can’t even tell. “Do you?”

“Yeah.” Chris’s voice is low and sincere. “I, I, I think that a, um, a lot. That, that, that I’m only going to to to to… mess it up. That, that, that I always… I always do. Because I, I, I can’t-... have, um. With them. And I can’t… sometimes I get so, so scared of, of, of… of-...” He trails off. “Of it all. Of me. Come, come on, Kauri.” 

Kauri looks at him, and Chris offers him a soft, sweet smile, leaning close. He smells like his shampoo, and laundry soap, and beneath all of that, the simple specific human Chris smell. “What?”

“Let’s, let’s, let’s go inside.” Chris leans over, impulsive and quick. Kauri feels his lips against his hair, warmth making its way down through the wild black curls, before he pulls back again. “Jake texted and, and, and said he’ll talk to, to, to to to Antoni. We, we, we can stay out for a, um, a while. You always, uh, always feel better… dancing.”

Well… he isn’t wrong.

“I guess you know me pretty well,” Kauri says, shifting back, rubbing at his eyes to get the last of the tears out, glancing at himself in the rearview mirror. In the dark, his eyes being reddened won’t be so obvious. He tries on his best, most glittering aren’t I the most gorgeous fucking thing and so humble too smile. Still looks good.

He always looks his best when he’s ready to shatter, after all.

Nobody looks as good getting torn apart as you do, Kaur-Bore. 

“Okay.” He takes a deep breath. Banishes Owen’s voice from his mind. “Okay. Let’s do this.” He steps out of the car, and Chris gets out on the other side. They pause, for a second, looking at the blue door. The light above it. An unobtrusive rainbow sticker pressed against the brick beside it. 

“Three, um, three drinks,” Chris reminds him, leaning sideways to bump his shoulder into Kauri’s. “And one, um, pill or… snort? Or whatever?”

“I don’t snort,” Kauri says wryly. “Anymore.”

“You, you, you weren’t doing pills either, though?”

“... Fair point. You win. Fine. One pill or snort or whatever. Three drinks. That is all. And I’ll eat some dinner first so it doesn’t hit me so hard.”

“Then, then, then we’ll… figure it out. Yeah?” His head leans on Kauri’s shoulder, lavender hair halfway up his nose when he turns and has to sneeze and then they both laugh. For a second Kauri thinks maybe he doesn’t need the pill, anyway.

But it’d be rude, if Westin drives all the way out here…

“... Yeah,” Kauri says, softly. “Yeah, we’ll figure it out.”

The blue door opens, and Kauri winces when he hears what’s playing inside. Tell all the English boys you meet, about the American boy back in the States - the American boy you used to date, who would do anything you say…

“Shit. Forgot that it’s Wednesday.”

“Um. Why?”

“Wednesday is a slow night. They let the guy who manages the bar control the music, and he’s… well. He plays shit like this.”

If you say you ever missed me then don’t say you never lied-

I’m without you-

“It’s, it’s, it’s not bad, though?” Chris follows him as Kauri heads for the door. Inside, there’s not exactly a crush of bodies, but there’s a good few dozen men of varying ages, trending older than they do on Fridays and Saturdays. Chris is one of the youngest guys here.

“Oh, it’s not that bad now,” Kauri says, winding his way towards the bar, Chris’s hand in his. A few people still remember Kauri and waves or call out, and he waves back. Lots of Kauri! Haven’t seen you! How’ve you been! You good, man? Oh hey, you’re here! He doesn’t stop to flirt. “Just wait, though. Just wait until he gets super drunk later and starts playing Taking Back Sunday.”

“Starts, um, starts playing… is, is, is that… church music?”

“Oh my God. I love you so much, you sweet tiny baby child.” Kauri throws his head back with real, genuine, open laughter for the first time all night. He orders something candy-colored for himself, plus a burger and fries. Chris gets a vodka and soda and cheese fries. 

Chris looks baffled, but Kauri can’t stop laughing, and when he pulls Chris close for a hug, the younger man never hesitates. 

Kauri holds him tight, and thinks to himself that even if Antoni never wants to look at him again, he can survive the loss. This time, there’s someone who will hold him while he figures out what to do next. Someone who will stand next to him and listen as the music changes. The crowd, such as it is, takes it as a sign to go order more drinks. Just a few couples stay dancing.

Oh, you're silent but strong Yeah, I'm playing that card And you're noticing nothing again

Now I'm lying on the table with everything you said Keep that in mind, the way that it felt When the most I could do was to just blame myself

Kauri laughs again. He can’t stop, until his laughter is nearly a sob itself. His cheeks are wet, when did that happen? His knees nearly give out with the hilarity and the hurt swelling inside of him. “Oh my God. It’s goddamn Taking Back Sunday. Dan’s drunk and sad early tonight. Join the fucking club, I guess."

Well, I know you know everything I know you didn't mean it I know you didn't mean it Kauri hums along for a while. "Wow, this music is way better when you fucking hate yourself.”

“What?”

Now I'm lying on the table with everything you said It will all catch up eventually

Kauri shakes his head. “Never mind. Just… don’t let go. Don’t let go, Chris, please.”

Well, it caught up and honestly The weight of my decisions were impossible to hold But they were never yours

“I won’t.”

They were never yours

They rock to no beat in particular and nobody’s hands wander, no one whispers filthy things in anyone else’s ear. He doesn’t even want the drink that bad when it comes.

He will, in a minute.

But right now, it can sit on the bar sweating condensation while they move, side to side. 

Stop everything Start it all over Remember more than you'd like to forget

Kauri is crying, but his head is buried against Chris’s neck, and Chris only tightens his arms. Kauri is drowning, his head dips below the water.

Chris’s arms are strong, though.

When Kauri gasps for air, he finds it. 

If Antoni can’t forgive him, he’ll keep going. Kauri always keeps going. He’s always going to be fine, in the end, because he’s never had a choice. And if Jake hates him too and he has to be fine alone, well, he can do that. 

Although Chris makes him think maybe he won’t have to.

Drop everything Start it all over...

----

As always, @autophagay, this is for you

@finder-of-rings @endless-whump @arlin-always-writing @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @whumpyourdamnpears @cubeswhump @burtlederp @whump-tr0pes @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @outofangband @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things

#whump #erase to control #antoni sings lullablies #chris the strawberry blond romantic #angst #hurt/comfort #kind of #emotional hurt anyway #abuse survivor #noncon survivor #recovering whumpee #trauma recovery tw #referenced noncon #self-loathing #victim-blaming #alcohol use #bad emo music #gets its own tw #actually it's AMAZING emo music tyvm #have I also cry-danced to taking back sunday yes yes I have #derogatory language #whump oc #kauri is always good for some angst on a sunday morning

[catsconflictscopicsandchamomile]

writing spn scenes at 5am bc I cant sleep :D

this isnt gonna b well-written...

also thanks to @brainrotarchive for pushing me to think abt how the initial reveal of all this would actually go! this was fun! and it hurt! a LOT

(set after all the current postcanon bs resolves, or in a universe where 15x20 just didn't happen)

*Sam is washing dishes in the Bunker late at night when he hears Dean quietly sobbing from the garage. Sam sighs, puts down the towel and goes to check on Dean*

*Dean is sitting on the step between the garage and the rest of the bunker, surrounded by empty beer bottles. his head is resting on his shoulder, arms wrapped around himself in a kind of hug, his shoulders are shaking as he cries*

Sam (assuming this is about Cas again): ...hey Dean. what's up?

Dean (through tears, slurred): how did it get to this, Sammy?

Sam (he wasn't expecting this response): *stepping towards his brother* what do you mean?

Dean (starting straight ahead into the unlit garage): when we die, where will we go? we've been to Heaven, we've been to Hell, Purgatory, fuck. We've fought our way out of ALL OF THEM SAMMY, WE'VE FOUGHT GOD!!! we cant even DIE now!

*Dean is getting hysterical, but Sam has sat down next to him, eyes wide, listening intently. He'd pondered this now and then, but if he's being honest he's afraid to dwell on it*

Dean (getting up and beginning to pace): we know every place we could go when we die! we know ALL of them, and we know everything about them. that's not how humans are supposed to live, Sammy, that's not how any of this is supposed to work!

*Dean pauses and almost sobs/gags as a thought strikes him*

Dean (still ranting): how do we keep going from here?! what are we supposed to do?! we used to- - we used to hunt monsters, demons, and now we've become the thing we were trying to wipe out!

*Dean is nearly screaming at this point, crying like we rarely/never see him cry*

Dean (sob-yelling): this whole thing?! this-- this defying death? cheating death!? its against the NATURAL ORDER, we were supposed to KILL things that- we were supposed to PREVENT THIS from-- WE WERE SUPPOSED TO STOP THIS, SAMMY!

Dean (fully in hysterics, breaking down): WHATS DEAD STAYS DEAD, RIGHT?! THATS WHAT DAD ALWAYS TOLD US. WELL NOW LOOK AT US?! WE DONT STAY DEAD. WE'VE DEATH AT EVERY- we've- we fought GOD Sammy, and Cas-

(Dean stops to choke on his tears a bit)

Dean(cont): Cas was an ANGEL Sammy he was a fucking- he was- that shouldnt even be- - we shouldnt --

(there's a pause as Dean almost undetectably mouths Cas' name again. Sam waits, having gone from intrigued to more than a little disturbed by his brother's behavior)

Sam (hesistant, nervously, not even sure what he's about to say): Dean, I-

Dean (back turned): we shouldve- shouldve stayed dead the first time. then-

*Dean half-stumbles out the door to get some air, seemingly out of words & tears. he is really drunk. Sam gets up and follows him.*

*Sam finds Dean outside, back to him, swaying on his feet, hugging his chest. Sam goes up behind his brother, maybe hoping to coax him to bed and finish this VERY IMPORTANT CONVERSATION when he's sober*

Sam (gently, quietly, still unsure of what exactly he's going to say): Dean, I think- I mean-- this. -I think we should--

*Dean whirls on Sam, a manic fire in his eyes, knife drawn, and slashes Sam across the chest, slicing his shirt open. Sam stumbles back in shock and fear*

Dean (reeling now, but seeing he appears to have missed his strike): See, Sammy?! How do you even know that would have cut you? how do you know the knife wouldn't fucking break?! we don't know ANYTHING Sammy we're nOT- WE'RE NOT-

*Dean crumples as the weight of his emotions and his violent attack all hit him at once, falling forward onto Sam's shoulder as his knees buckle and sobs wrack his whole body. Sam allows himself to fall to his knees and support his brother, rubbing Dean's back gently*

Sam (about to say something): -

*Sam suddenly gasps and coughs, red staining his lips. Dean's knife had hit after all, and with the adrenaline fading, Sam realizes that the cut is deep and well-placed. He begins to fall backwards*

*through the haze of alcohol and grief, Dean slowly realizes what's going on. suddenly alert, he grabs Sam by the shoulders and prevents him from falling backwards*

Dean: SAMMY!

Sam (eyes wide, choking on blood, realizing with horror that the prophecy of "brother killing brother" finally came true in this moment): Dean- I- i- *cough*

*cut to Sam's POV. he's looking up at Dean, whose expression goes from panicked and horrified to suddenly stone-cold serious*

Dean (voice unnervingly level): Sammy. Don't Die.

Sam (bewildered, fading fast): wh-what?

Dean (looking Sam directly in the eye, suddenly steady and sure of himself after his earlier outburst): We don't have to do this again Sammy. You don't have to. Just keep your eyes open. And Dont. Die.

*There's a long beat. the two brothers sit, half-crouched, facing each other, Dean half-holding Sam. Sam struggles to keep his eyes open, and then realizes, abruptly, that its not a struggle. Sam takes a breath, then another. Then looks down at his sliced shirt and the still-present wound that is already beginning to stop bleeding.*

*Sam looks up at Dean, breath becoming shaky, horror growing in his eyes as he finally accepts the truth*

Sam (choked, in shock): Oh god

Sam (helplessly, tears gathering at the back of his throat as he pulls closer to his brother, just now fully understanding what he was saying): what... what now, Dean?

Dean (Pulling Sam up so that his chin rests on Dean's shoulder, the two now fully hugging in the dust outside the bunker): I dunno Sammy... I dunno

*the camera pulls back to show the pitch darkness around the pair, showcasing how truly alone they are with what they've become*

#spn #supernatural #ficlet #OP GO TO *SLEEP* #incorrect ways to deal with upper-respiratory symptoms & insomnia: this #fuck my sleep schedule I suppose. #least its saturday #spn fanfic #sam winchester #dean winchester #Scenes That Are Desperately Needed To Take This Series Full Circle #just imho #alcohol tw #violence tw #alcohol use

[tildeathiwillwrite]

My time has come!

A writing request! Could be OCs or generic whump, whichever you're more comfortable with!

Whumpee and Caretaker got into a bad argument, and Whumpee leaves. Caretaker left them alone for a few days until they learned that Whumpee has been kidnapped and being held as bait for them. Despite the fight and the fact it was a trap, they rescued Whumpee from their kidnappers. Cue apologies and hurt/comfort ❤️

Thank you so much for the request! (Rules here)

It took me about two weeks but I managed to get 3600 words out of this prompt, and I chose to go with the Gunblade Duo (Draven and Octavian). I had a lot of fun with this, enjoy! :D

CW: swearing, blood, guns, concussion, passing out, tied up, knife wounds, implied mauling, abduction, referenced abduction, arguing, death, alcohol

A/N: This takes place during The Hunter, the Myth and the Cure and is not canon to the story. There is some reference to the events leading up to this one-shot, and implied reference to the events of The Watcher and the Thief. None of that is relevant for reading and enjoying the story :)

Tag List: @fourwingedsnake @pigeonwhumps

The trek back through Zariya was even more tense than the initial trip. Octavian must’ve sensed Draven’s displeasure. He was silent for much of the journey, only speaking to point out notable sounds and scents. Draven should’ve offered thanks. It was what a decent person would have done, considering any of the people they avoided due to Octavian’s warnings could have had ill intentions.

Draven, however, wasn’t in the mood to be a decent person.

“I apologize that the party was a bust,” Octavian finally said. They were drawing close to the safe house where the devar and Reese were staying until Draven felt it was safe for them. Octavian was, for some reason, even more paranoid than Draven about keeping the kid safe, so even if Draven decided the search for her had subsided, they might still be stuck with her for a while yet.

“You don’t sound very sorry,” Draven muttered as they rounded a corner, dodging around the pool of light illuminated by a nearby street lamp. The party had been his idea; to draw out some of the higher-profile targets the evening before a full moon. The smart ones would decline. The foolish ones would accept and try to depart early.

Unfortunately, only one of them was clever enough to avoid the party. Of the ones who attended, only one tried to leave early. And that was because she hated staying around the crowd of partygoers for too long.

“Personally, I don’t see it as a total loss.”

Draven exhaled sharply. “Really? How so?” When they’d returned to the party, he’d been pissed to discover that two of the attending targets had slipped out while they were distracted with the noblewoman. This little piece of information had turned one confirmed suspect into three.  Three more lycanthropes they had to track down. Draven was beginning to get sick of the whole thing. But money was money, and he was getting paid a lot of money.

Octavian indicated a pair of figures ahead of them on the street, and they ducked into an adjoining alley. “I spoke with a former Draigo contact. Most of the human confidants were never made public, we’re lucky I recognized him from a previous mission.”

Yeah. We. “And?”

“He all but confirmed what I already suspected. The stronghold in the south burned down before the plague claimed its first victims. It was unrelated.”

“And this is relevant because…?” They emerged from the alley. Draven quickly glanced around before turning south. Almost there.

Octavian hesitated. “I… it means that I can trust my memories from right before… you know….”

Draven rolled his eyes. “Sure.”

“Are you still annoyed that those targets got away from us?”

“Of course I’m annoyed!” Draven snapped, stopping in his tracks. “More than annoyed, I’m fucking furious! The plan was to eliminate four difficult targets from my list, not one!” He folded his arms, glaring at Octavian. “And your ‘relevant’ information was all but useless. It was a complete dead-end, and the cost is definitely coming out of my pay, and—”

Octavian hissed through his teeth sharply. “Of course it all comes down to money for you. Typical.”

Draven folded his arms, hands clenched into fists. “At least I’m not the one in denial about the greatest tragedy in the last decade!”

Octavian’s mouth snapped shut, and his expression changed from mild annoyance to barely concealed rage. If looks could kill, Draven would be six feet under and decomposing. “I can see myself to the safe house.” He finally spit out through gritted teeth, “Good night, Cozenson.”

He turned on his heel and stalked away, quickly melting into the shadows between the buildings. Draven gritted his teeth and walked in the opposite direction. He needed a drink.

- - - - -

Of course it all comes down to money for you.

Typical.

Draven knocked back the remnants of his drink. The alcohol did little to numb the shame that curled around his mind, threatening to pull him under. He slammed the shot glass on the counter, causing the other empty glasses to rattle. Since when did he care about what de Silv thought... of all people! 

A few feet away, the bartender of the random tavern Draven had stormed into eyed him with a questioning look. Draven waved him off. “I’m done for the night, I’ll settle my tab now.”

He fumbled with the strings on his coin purse with numb fingers, growing more annoyed by the second. Drinking away his frustrations had never worked in the past. Why would it this time? And now he was guaranteed a hangover in the morning. 

This was all de Silv’s fault.

The door to the tavern opened, and several pairs of feet stomped on the wooden floor. A bit late for a party. Draven finished paying for the drinks, frowning as the bartender grabbed the money with a fearful expression on his face and quickly ducked into the kitchen. As he turned to leave, he found a group of five well-armed men, all wearing identical black metal masks, standing behind him. “I was just leaving,” he said, moving to walk around them.

The group moved with him, keeping between him and the door. “Look,” Draven snapped, words slurred from the alcohol, “As much as I’d love to settle whatever score you got with me, I’m surprisingly not in the mood. So if you could just get out of my way and we could go on with our merry lives….”

No response. All five men stared at him in silence. Well, he assumed they were staring at him. He couldn’t tell, what with the masks completely obscuring their faces.

“‘Kay,” Draven muttered, reaching for his pistol, “I did warn you.”

His attackers sprang into action, surrounding him on all sides. But Draven only focused on the one directly in front of him.

Crack! Cra—!

He only got to aim one shot before he was tackled from the side. Even with unsteady hands, his aim was true, and he earned a cry of pain and a spray of blood for his efforts. The second shot went wide, the bullet embedding itself in the far wall. Draven stumbled sideways as his assailant tried to wrestle the gun away from him, the other three advancing.

Temporarily freeing his gun arm, Draven slammed the butt of the pistol against the side of his attacker’s head and pressed the business end against the bare skin of his neck. The other man stumbled back, one hand clutching his head, the other pressed against the burn caused by the hot metal.

Draven whirled around and almost fell over as the world continued to spin. He swore and drew his other pistol, blindly firing with his non-dominant hand as he stumbled backward towards the door. He didn’t notice the movement behind him until it was too late.

Thud.

Pain exploded in Draven’s head. The force of whatever had hit him sent him to the floor, his weapons falling from numb fingers and clattering out of reach. What…?

What… in the depths…?

Strong hands seized him and began to drag him away. Draven watched through half-open eyes as one of the remaining masked men picked up his pistols. Darkness bled into the edges of his vision.

They… they don’t want me dead…?

That… that’s not…

…not good…

…fuck…

…

- - - - -

Octavian dealt with his anger in the only way he knew how: sharpening his knives. He’d been doing that a lot lately, he realized, especially since he officially started working with Draven. It wasn’t just anger that prompted him to do something repetitive like knife sharpening, it was also worry, and stress. Both were also incredibly prominent in his life.

As a result, they had become incredibly sharp over the last couple of years. So sharp Octavian didn’t notice he had cut his hand until Reese pointed it out. “You’re, uh, bleeding.”

His jaw clenched as he carefully set the offending weapon aside and accepted the handkerchief she handed him. “I must’ve been more distracted than I thought,” he muttered, wiping away the pale red liquid from the cut. It wasn’t deep, thankfully, but it was long, cutting along the side of his left pointer finger.

Octavian stared at the cut, watching the blood drip down his hand in morbid fascination. At least I’m not the one in denial about the greatest tragedy in the last decade! Even if the words had come from a place of emotion, intending to hurt, he couldn’t deny the truth behind them. Call it optimism, call it hope, it was all the same.

Denial.

He pressed the cloth against the cut as Reese returned—when had she left?—with one of Draven’s spare bags. She handed Octavian the augri and bandages before sitting down next to him. She picked up the knife, still wet with his blood.

“…It’s been three days.”

Octavian hissed out through his teeth. The clear liquid was cold against his skin but searing hot like fire on the wound. Three days since the party, yes. Three days since we last parted, yes. “And?”

Reese carefully cleaned the blood off the edge of the weapon. The edges of the bandages on her forearms peeked out from underneath her sleeves. Her own wounds were healing, but they still needed to be covered. In a couple more days, she wouldn’t need the bandages. “I just… three days… is kind of a long time… to be left alone…?”

“You’re worried about Cozenson.”

She nodded.

Octavian sighed through his nose as he wrapped a thin strip of cloth around his finger. “He can handle himself.”

Her jaw tightened, and she hesitated before speaking. “You’re still angry with him.”

Octavian made a noise of indifference.

“So… so you don’t think any one of his enemies might have gotten him? You’re not worried at all?”

He opened his mouth to argue that no, he wasn’t worried, and if the hunter had gotten himself into some sort of mess he could very well get himself out of it, but the look on Reese’s face made him reconsider his words. He exhaled slowly and held out his hand. She handed over the knife, and he slid it into his sheath.

The truth? Octavian was concerned, now that Reese had brought it up, that Cozenson had left him alone for so long. Granted, Octavian hadn’t gone out to meet him at the guild over the past three days, but even so, Draven barely went a day without checking up on Reese. He pretended otherwise, but he was as interested in the girl’s safety as Octavian was.

“If it’ll make you feel better,” he began, rising to his feet, “I’ll go check up on him.”

Reese jumped up and thrust the bag at him. “Here. You might need it.”

Octavian nodded and slung it over his shoulder. “I’ll be back soon. You know the rules.”

She all but shoved him towards the door, bolting it behind him as soon as it was closed. Octavian wasted no time setting off northeast, towards the Hunter’s Guild. He would ask around there first. And if nobody knew where Cozenson was, the next step would be breaking into his apartment.

And if the apartment offered no clues? Octavian brushed the thought aside as he turned up his hood to hide the tell-tale silver of his hair. It was early morning, and few people were nearby, but he didn’t want to risk running into Reese’s abductors, who were no doubt on the lookout for him. He still received odd looks from passersby, but it was better than nothing.

He wasn’t a skilled tracker for nothing. But he’d rather not have to go that far. A trail three days cold was going to be a nightmare to follow.

Octavian had only just gotten into the northern district of Zariya when he was approached by a familiar face. Thaddeus Kaneson? Octavian had worked with him briefly back when he first joined the Hunter’s Guild. As far as he was aware, Thaddeus would have no reason to know about his and Draven’s current job. Their partnership, maybe. Why is he here?

“De Silv,” the hunter greeted softly, joining him.

“Kaneson,” Octavian replied, not slowing his pace, “I thought you were in Caenum.”

Thaddeus shrugged. “I was. Got called back.”

“That’s not why you’re here.”

“No, it’s not.” Thaddeus stopped and pulled out a sealed envelope from a hidden pocket on his duster. “This was dropped off late last night. Nobody saw who did it.” He held it out. “It’s for you. I got the short straw of trying to deliver it. Glad I found you quickly.”

Octavian hesitantly took it. His name was scrawled on the front with thick, dark letters. Thaddeus turned to leave, but Octavian touched his arm, stopping him. “Have you seen Cozenson? Within the last couple of days?”

The hunter paused, thinking. “Can’t say I have,” he said, cracking a grin. “Why, did you lose your partner?”

Octavian sighed. “I’m concerned that he might have gotten himself into a situation that I will need to rescue him from before he gets himself killed.”

Thaddeus’ grin grew wider. “Celestials, you did lose him! Well, if I find him before you do, you’ll owe me drinks at the Laughing Bear.”

“I highly doubt that will happen, Kaneson.”

Thaddeus turned away, chuckling. “We’ll see about that, de Silv.”

Octavian let him go, fiddling with the envelope until the hunter was out of sight. Shaking his head, he ducked into the shelter of a nearby alley and turned it over. He ran a finger over the wax seal. Unbroken, but he knew there were ways to open it without damaging the seal. No design was imprinted on the dark red wax, the color oddly similar to human blood. Either no signet or the person who’d sent the letter did not want to be known.

Octavian’s suspicions grew as he broke the seal and pulled out the letter. One page, same messy lettering.

We have your partner. If you do not turn over Reese Takari, we will kill him. You have one week.

The paper crinkled under the force of Octavian’s grip, but he didn’t care. It was dated the night of the last full moon, three days before, with an address scrawled below the note. No signature, but he didn’t need it to guess who had sent it.

And he’d rather be damned to the depths than give Reese’s abductors what they wanted.

- - - - -

“I think I finally figured out what your mask reminds me of.”

The guard who had been assigned to watch Draven did not obviously react, but Draven noted the way his jaw visibly tightened under the stupid metal face mask.

Draven smirked despite the pounding in his head and the aching in his joints from being tied to the chair for so long. “Your mask specifically looks like a little obedient watchdog. One who only knows how to follow the orders of someone who’s done nothing but bitch at you.”

The guard, celestials bless his patience, remained motionless, holding his handgun, as he stood about as far as he could get from his charge without leaving the small, windowless room where Draven was kept. He had originally been in the main area of the random warehouse in the merchant district, but with the front door right there, he couldn’t help but almost escape twice. Now, he was about as far away from the door as he could get, though there were plenty of windows just outside the room.

“Personally,” Draven continued, “I don’t see why your boss—whoever the depths that might be—makes you wear those stupid masks. It’s not like I couldn’t identify you by the way you stand or anything.”

The guard’s knuckles turned white as he resisted the temptation to strike Draven across the face. Or at least that’s why Draven assumed he was gripping his weapon with such strength. Any more force and the gun would probably snap in half.

“So… when did your boss say the time limit was again? Three days left, now? I have a job to get back to.”

No response.

Dammit. Worth a shot.

Draven sighed and ran his fingers along the ropes tied around his wrists for the hundredth time since he’d been bound there after the second escape. Both of the knives hidden in his sleeves had gotten confiscated, all he had left was the one in his boot. Which was currently out of reach.

Not that it would do him much good at this point. With the one guard between him and the only exit, and at least two more standing outside between the door and the nearest windows, he wasn’t getting very far. They might actually shoot him this time if only to keep him from attempting escape with a more permanent solution.

Draven opened his mouth to ask another question, but before the words left his lips, the sound of shattering glass pierced the air. The guard jumped, startled, and darted out the door. Draven cocked his head, listening as chaos reigned. Screaming, shouting, gunshots, and running footsteps as his captors tried to contain whatever had gotten inside.

The person in charge, who wore an identical black metal mask with a single gold stripe across where the forehead would be, had claimed they could handle Draven’s partner if he chose to fight his way through. “De Silv would have no choice but to accept,” he’d gloated, “I have thirty men armed to the teeth. What does a single hunter have against that?”

Besides, Octavian had no reason to risk the kid for Draven. 

Why would he, after what Draven had said to him? 

If Draven were in his position, he would have just left him and gotten himself and Reese out of Zariya days ago while her abductors waited in vain.

Just as the thought crossed Draven’s mind, a familiar face appeared in the doorway. “Cozenson,” Octavian said in greeting. He was covered in human blood, the dark red liquid dripping from his knives and smeared on his face and clothing.

“De Silv,” Draven returned slowly.

“Surprised to see me?”

He sighed. “A little bit, yeah.”

Octavian casually tossed one of his knives into the air and caught it deftly. “I couldn’t just leave you to die at the hands of these masked imbeciles. I’m not you.”

The last sentence was unspoken, but the look on Octavian’s face implied it well enough. Draven opened his mouth to argue, to deny, but he hesitated. Octavian would know it was a lie. “Look,” he said, after a moment of thought, “I’m sorry. For what I said to you. I wasn’t being fair.”

The look of pure shock on Octavian’s face was priceless. “I….”

“I know, I’m apologizing. Big shocker.” Draven jerked his head to the side, indicating the ropes binding him to the chair. “Could you let me out? My hands are getting numb.”

Octavian blinked and slowly nodded. He crossed the small room in two strides and quickly sliced through the ropes. Draven jumped to his feet and staggered, vision tunneling. “Shit,” he muttered as Octavian steadied him. “Don’t get a concussion while drunk.”

“Noted.” Octavian considered the blood on his knives, lips pressed into a thin line, before wiping the blood off and sheathing them. “I also apologize. For leaving you alone. However much I detested your company at that point, we are partners.”

Draven sighed. “Yeah, couldn’t agree more.” He slowly stepped out of the room, noting the copious amount of blood and broken glass littering the warehouse floor. The bodies of the dead lay scattered about haphazardly. Most had died by Octavian’s blades. Two appeared to have been mauled. “So… thirty men?”

“Some of them fled,” Octavian said softly. “They assumed they were dealing with an elven hunter. They were half-right.”

Draven’s eyes landed on his guns, which rested on a table across the vast room. They appeared undamaged, thank the celestials. He could always get new guns, of course, but those were his guns. They’d seen him through many a hunt and duel and scuffle. He began to pick his way over, avoiding the corpses and the worst of the blood. “You seem conflicted.”

Octavian trailed after him “I think anyone would, in my position.”

“Has everything gotta be a damned riddle with you?” Draven reached the table and picked up one of his guns. Empty. The boss must’ve unloaded it. Pretty clever for someone working with limited knowledge. He gave the room another glance. From what he could see, none of the masks on the dead guards possessed the golden stripe. “Octavian, did you happen to kill a guy with a stupid-looking gold streak across his mask? ‘Cause that guy was a particular brand of asshole. And also the one in charge.”

He glanced back to find his partner staring into space, eyes moving back and forth. “No,” Octavian finally said, refocusing his attention on Draven. “He was one of the first to flee.”

“Damned coward.”

“‘Damned coward’, indeed.”

Draven returned his guns to their rightful places on his belt and gave the warehouse one last cursory look. “Guess I’m rooming with you and the kid for a little while.”

Octavian nodded. “Her abductors are surprisingly resourceful. She must’ve been a valuable prisoner.”

“Still hasn’t told you anything?”

“No.”

Draven sighed. “I don’t know what they did with the knives I kept up my sleeve, but I’m tired, my head hurts, and I want nothing more than to go home.”

“Shall we depart then?” “Celestials, stop being so formal. Let’s get out of here.”

Meme Summary

#my writing #writing requests #whump #my ocs #gunblade duo #octavian de sil #draven cozenson #reese takari #thtmatc #tales from valaria #tfv #swearing #blood #guns #concussion #passing out #tied up #knife wounds #implied mauling #abduction #referenced abduction #arguing #whump writing #oc whump #used as bait #parting words regret #death #kidnapping #alcohol use #drunkenness

[whumpacabra]

Professionals

Interrogation, flinching, secrets revealed, past kidnapping, past trauma, implied toxic family, alcohol use, vague fictional politics, broken glass mention

[Directly follows Girls' Night!]

How the office was so clean and cozy looking after the shattered glass and shouts East had heard not too long ago, he wasn’t sure. Though he imagined the cleaning staff carrying away double-bagged trash were responsible for maintaining the office’s air of crisp professionalism.

Sean and Eoghan stood sentry at the door. East pretended not to notice the rage simmering just under their skin. It wasn’t directed at him, but that didn’t make his heartbeat any less frantic. Tierney almost followed him into the office before a harsh glare from his father made him hesitate at the threshold.

(East didn’t want to be alone alone alone - )

“We can talk later. I just need a word with your friend here.”

“Da, I think - ”

“There’s your problem. If you thought less and listened more we wouldn’t be in this situation.” Mr. O’Hare, even sitting at his desk, was imposing enough to make East flinch at his tone. But his icy eyes softened, if only in feigned apologies. “It’s nothing personal, Mr. Howard. We just need to get to know each other a little better,l.”

East glanced over his shoulder and met Tierney’s eyes, giving him a steady nod. He would be fine. He had survived worse. He could take whatever it was Mr. O’Hare saw fit to give if it spared Tierney -

The door latched closed.

“Have a seat - don’t be a stranger. You a whiskey man or…?” Mr. O’Hare was only half joking, picking out two crystal cups and uncapping a bottle of amber liquor before looking up at where East still stood.

“No, thank you, sir.”

“No need for such formalities, Easton. I’m a dangerous man, but you are not the cause of my…recent frustration.” Mr. O’Hate poured himself a glass and took a sip before gesturing to the plush chair in front of the desk again. “Do sit, you’re stressing me out - standing there like a soldier.”

East nodded, stiffly taking a seat. Maybe he did want a drink, just to take the edge off…

“So, you’ve been living in the Holloway Home with my boy, hm?”

“Yessir. About five or six months now.”

“That’s quite a while - most hardened criminals would take off or violate their parole. I take it you’re genuinely turning your life around?”

“Yessir.”

“And what was your life like before the Holloway Home?”

There was a probing undercurrent in O’Hare’s smiling voice, like fingers run along the seam of a mask, knowing exactly which threads to pull. East felt panic and embarrassment flush up his neck. Tierney had questioned his background before…

“Your file and records say you were at Blackwater for five years. My contacts there can definitively say you’ve never set foot in that prison. Tell me, why lie about your arrest record? Why lie your way into that halfway home?”

East tried to focus on his breathing the way he had been taught, but he could feel his throat cinching closed, words swallowed by fear. The mask was off. And Mr. O’Hare did not look pleased with what he saw.

“Who are you working for?”

(The script. He knew this script - )

“No one.”

(It was true. So why did it taste so sour in his mouth?)

“Don’t test me, lad. Someone falsified your records. Who and why?” The growl in Mr. O’Hare’s voice had a thread of anger; he didn’t like being lied to. (But East wasn’t lying; he wasn’t, he just - he couldn’t betray Jackson, he couldn’t turn traitor just because he was scared - )

“I - ” East choked on his words, hot tears welling in his eyes as his lungs seemed to seize. The script would be so easy. Such little effort. (I am Wolf. I work alone. No one hired me.) But it tasted wrong - bitter and acidic after so long without that echo in his skull, without the violence those replies anticipated. He dropped his voice low, sheepishly glancing up at Mr. O’Hare. “Can you bring Tierney in?”

“You’re in no position to be making demands on me, Easton.”

“I’d rather not have to explain this twice. It feels wrong to tell you the truth but to keep lying to him.” For a shudder, he could almost feel the mask slip on. Almost. His voice was meek as he avoided eye contact. “Please, sir.”

With some grumbling and harsh shouts Tierney was in the office. His eyes were sharp, begging to know his friend was alright and angry with his father in anticipation of the answer. But East cleared his throat and nodded to the seat next to him, and Tierney cautiously sat down without a word.

“I…don’t know a lot, but I can promise you it has nothing to do with Tierney, or your family.”

Mr. O’Hare was impatient but making an effort to be polite, waiting for East’s hoarse and halting voice to quiet before speaking.

“Then what, pray tell, brought you here?”

“An American.” East tried to sink into the numbness filling up his lungs, to make his words a disconnected, distant part of himself. It seemed to help, the name rolling off his tongue flat and steady. “Agent Simon Smith, CIA.”

[Directly before Relapse]

(Part of my Freelancers: Changing Tides series)

Taglist: @stargeode @sacredwrath @genuineformality

#whump #interrogation #flinching #secrets revealed #alcohol use #kidnapping #past trauma #toxic family #fictional politics #broken glass mention #freelancers #I thought I was posting the chapter after this today and I’m a little disappointed I have to post this one first….tomorrows is very juicy : #however bc of my disappointment/lateness no proofreading we die like men <- almost never proofreads anything anyway

[nny11writes]

Realized as much as I love this idea, I'm not actually planning to write anything for it, so I'm sharing in case someone else wants it lol.

cw: alcohol use (two drunk idiots decide to get even more drunk is a large plot point)

Glitra modern soulmates AU - To Forget Your Face

Glitra soulmates where you don’t know who your soulmate is until you touch them and then you get the rainbow marks.

They are both drunk at a bar, get into an argument, and get tossed out for being disorderly. Glimmer tries to be the bigger person and leave (in the most petty way possible), but Catra is pissed and grabs her shoulder to whirl her around and keep fighting. Glimmer, also pissed but now excited for a reason to fight, throws a wild punch landing directly into her boob.

They are both swaying under the shitty street lights as they feel the tingle/burn of their marks, and it makes it through the alcohol haze. Both of them take one more look at each other and agree to forget via more alcohol because that's a choice people don't regret for sure. They get turned away from two bars for being too drunk to serve, so they hit up a liquor store instead and end up drinking at a park. They actually kinda like one another now that they aren’t trying to kill each other and agree to trade information.

But they’re, like, super fucking drunk.

So Glimmer less spells her name and more scribbles random designs on the inside of Catra’s arm and Catra puts down her old phone that’s been deactivated for years just under Glimmer's collarbone to try and be flirty.

They wake up the next morning and realize they met their soulmate and have zero memory of it. Catra is trying to decipher the fucking runic code her soulmate left (a name, a place, a time? wtf) and Glimmer is like, “That motherfucker gave me a fake number!? COME ON!”

Eventually they meet back up and after almost going at it again for the perceived bullshit, talk and agree to go on a date.

#glimmer #catra #she ra #spop #fic idea I'm not using free to a loving home #alcohol use #glitra #soulmates au #technically doesn't have to be modern but it makes sense to me lol #a more true to canon but no horde version could be fascinating

[angeygirl]

Teen punk Michael is 100% the kid who would go to an ugly Christmas sweater party with a mirror taped to his chest

Gregory would do the same thing and then would argue about who did it first/who wore it better

Dave heard 'ugly' and showed up in the same unwashed hoodie he's been wearing for two weeks

Crying Child refused to wear an ugly sweater bc he's afraid of being made fun of. He is also very scared of Dave

Elizabeth is wearing something overly bright and sparkly (with pink pom poms or something)

Withered Bonnie is wearing something with a pun on the front

Mangle is wearing a ball of yarn

Glamrock Freddy is wearing a sweater with a teddy bear on it, but the kind that has dad energy

The Chicka variants are all wearing sweaters with images of deserts. It's a bonding experience for them : )

Springtrap shows up as is, because, like Dave he heard 'ugly' decided he was already ugly enough. He and Dave then stare at each other wondering how they can both be there at the same time

Nobody else knows Springtrap and Dave are the same person, so they are all quite confused

William tries to get very drunk very quickly to avoid the awkwardness of this situation (and he probably doesn't want to be there but lets the alcohol make him get silly so he won't have to pretend he's having a good time)

Dave tries to follow suit, but passes out bc his tolerance is waaay lower then it used to be

#tbh i just came up with the first three and let my brain keep going #what if scenario #fnaf #michael afton #fnaf gregory #dave miller #silver eyes dave miller #crying child #elizabeth afton #withered bonnie #mangle #springtrap #william afton #alcohol use #fnaf headcanons #christmas headcanons

[mcatmemoranda]

Semaglutide can be used to treat alcohol use disorder.

#EtOH #alcohol #alcohol use

[yeehawbvby]

I love you. | Ch. 1

(Piers x OC Maxine)

Rating: Teen+

Summary: "Unabashedly, he said the next part out loud. 'I love you.'

...He was being silly, right?

He was just fooling around because he was drunk and wanted affection. 

Right?

Right."

Author’s Note: This wasn’t supposed to be as angsty as it is, but here we are!! ٩( ᐛ )و

I wrote most of this while I was half asleep. I’ll make edits at some point if I need to.

Hope y’all enjoy x

Check it out on ao3!

Next

Max was enjoying having the apartment to herself for a change.

More often than not, at least one of her two roommates were home with her - whether it be Piers, because their shifts and/or plans matched up, or Marnie, because she didn’t have to see her tutor or go out for a playdate or whatever. To be alone with nothing to worry about other than her pokemon and herself was bliss for such an introvert.

She had spent the past three hours sprawled across the sofa in the apartment’s main room. She was swapping back and forth between playing a game on her old DS and grinding an otome on her phone. Her hair was styled into low pigtails and draped over the side of the sofa so that they would stay out of the way, and she had on her ideal sleepwear for warm nights like this: a lightweight tank top and soft cotton shorts. She’d prefer to be in bigger clothes that she could curl up and hide in, but she and Piers were trying to cut back on bills, which meant no aircon for a bit.

Before situating herself on the couch, she used a face mask that she’d been saving for a time like this. A night where she could really relax and let it do its thing with her skin. Before that, she had treated herself to some takeout from her favorite Alolan joint. 

This was the comfiest Max had been in ages. Sure, she’d be physically comfier in her bed, but it was nice to be cozy outside of that room for a change. To be alone in a room she’s never truly alone in, especially after having tidied it up throughout the day…

Until the door flung open, a drunken Piers stumbling through.

Ough.

It’s not that she didn’t want to see him. She was always glad to have him around — if she can’t be alone, but she wants to be alone, he’s the one person she’d happily grant a free pass to interrupt that alone time.

Max sighed, sitting herself up to observe the man. His hair, previously contained in a neat, high ponytail, was now loosely hanging closer to his nape. His fringe, damp from the summer humidity, molded itself into the rest of his hair, revealing his full complexion. His bold eyebrows and bright eyes being on full display rather than half-obscured was a rare treat.

Cute… she thought.

Her gaze lowered as Piers undid the first few buttons on his short-sleeved, black and red, paisley patterned button-up, creating a v-shaped window of porcelain skin that ended just below his chest.

Oh. 

She felt her cheeks grow warm as she tapped her thumb to her pointer — Krabby hands, she and Piers called it — to stim away her less innocent thoughts.

Piers was softly humming a tune as he then struggled to balance while he untied his combat boots’ laces. He left the door open — just as Max noticed, though, so did Piers. He bumped it shut with his hip before plopping to the ground in front of it and continuing his battle with his shoes.

He was completely unaware of Max’s curious stare as he worked. His head was empty aside from thoughts of how glad he was to be home from that Yell gathering, how sweaty he felt, and how much he wanted to see Max.

He was a happy and sappy drunk at times. He couldn’t help it, nor did he care enough to try to stop it. Right now he just knew he needed to be near her.

Finally ripping his boots off, he breathed deeply and tossed them aside. He shut his eyes and leaned his head back against the door, nearly drifting off for a moment. Focusing on how much everything was spinning, and how sleepy he felt. 

Maybe a quick nap before I go find her…

The creak of the floorboards grabbed his attention. He opened his eyes and a big, dopey grin spread across his face as Max strolled over. 

“Max!”

Oh my god. “Hello!” she offered back through a yawn into her elbow, slightly impeded by some laughter. She jumped right to business. “You drink any water while you were out?”

“Nah.”

“I’ll get you some.” Hands raised over her head as she stretched, she detoured to the left towards the kitchen.

Come back… “I don’ need it,” Piers insisted.

“You don’t need a hangover either.”

Yeah but this is encroaching on my time with you come baaack— 

His thoughts wound up translating to, “But,” he pauses to sigh, “Maaaax.”

“What?!” 

Piers grinned at the hint of a smile in Max’s voice. “C’meeere.”

“After I get your water, sure.”

Piers groaned, giving up. He shut his eyes again and rubbed at their inner corners, and in his daze, he hadn’t even heard Max come back. She crouched down at his side, a glass of water in one hand, a spoon and a packet of flavored electrolyte mix in the other.

“Here.” Piers opened his eyes again, and Max continued, “I brought this too,” she flapped around the mix a bit, “just in case you want it.”

Lazily peering back and forth between the objects in Max’s hands and Max’s face, he just quietly hummed an acknowledgement. After a few moments, Max grinned, confused as to what Piers wanted, but amused by his demeanor. He was blissfully unaware, now intent on memorizing the exact curvature of Max’s smile.

Flushing at how intensely he was staring, Max nervously laughed and tried to snap him out of it. “Piers!” 

“Max!” he beamed.

She huffed out another laugh and averted her view. Then she sat cross legged and began fixing up the drink for him. If he wasn’t going to make the decision, she would.

“So, how was it?” she asked, trying to divert Piers’ attention away from her.

“Eh,” he shrugged. “Too many people.”

Subtly nodding, Max acknowledged, “Yell’s a big crowd. But I’m sure at least some of it was fun, yeah?”

Piers hummed and nodded his answer. 

Removing a full spoon from the glass, Max put it in her mouth, testing to make sure there wasn’t too much or too little water. Piers’ eyes were glued to her lips for the short moment they were wrapped around the utensil, then on her throat, watching it bob as she swallowed. They both looked so nice… so soft…

Before Piers could say any of his thoughts out loud, Max curtly nodded and handed him the drink. He got stuck on her big and expectant eyes for a moment before snapping out of it, taking the cup from her. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled. 

He took a sip as Max stood, walking away to discard the spoon and empty packet. He didn’t realize how dehydrated he’d become. Proceeded to chug down the rest before Max came back. 

Upon seeing this, she laughed, “Damn. Want some more?”

He shook his head. Max took the cup back to the kitchen and returned again feeling as prepared as she could be to haul Piers to his room. He looked exhausted.

“Can you stand?” she asked as she crouched down again.

Piers fixated on her face again, ignoring her question. 

Stop looking at me like that oh my god— “Piers!”

Max leaned closer and clasped Piers’ face in each of her hands. She was trying to be stern, but her rosy grin made the action come off playful instead.

It didn’t help her case at all.

Piers blinked and looked like he was normal again for, like, a second, before he grew lost in his studies again. He placed his hands atop Max’s, totally engulfing them. Her face was burning hot as she looked down at her knees, taking a deep breath before looking at her friend again.

She opened her mouth to speak, but Piers cut her off, shifting his palms to her cheeks. “Can I kiss you?”

Max’s eyes widened. She froze up, gnawing her lower lip as she tried to figure out what to say. “Um…” Her eyes instinctively drifted to his lips, but she was able to save herself. “N-no,” she rejected, tearing her gaze back up to meet his, “You need to, uh, lie down. Or something.”

“Then can I kiss you?”

“Oh, Arc’s sake,” she breathed, looking down again and shutting her eyes, her hands relocating to cover her face.

On one hand, it’s not like it would be a bad thing. They’d already discussed their rules or whatever. They could kiss freely. No strings attached, or whatever they told themselves. 

On the other, she didn’t want him to think she was taking advantage of him when he sobered up. It’s not like they’d do anything more than kiss, and she wouldn’t dream of doing anything sleazy, but her mind flooded with self-destructive thoughts about how she would seem like a creep, and how he might think she was going to try more than that, and what if she did do something creepy by accident, and— 

“Please?”

Max, dumbfounded by how sweetly Piers had said that one word, looked at him again. He looked so relaxed, so happy. So hopeful. She could feel her heart melting in her chest.

Oh my god.  

She sighed. 

…It couldn’t hurt, right?

“We’ll see,” she concluded.

She knew he trusted her. She knew a kiss wouldn’t break that trust. She needed to chill before she spiraled herself into a panic attack or something.

She removed Piers’ hands from her face and stood up, still holding them. “C’mon,” she prompted. 

She gave Piers a little tug and gestured her head towards the hallway where the bedrooms and bathroom branched out of. He complied, begrudgingly picking himself up with a little help from Max. He lost balance as he straightened, causing Max to clasp his shoulders in an attempt to keep him upright.

“Careful,” she muttered. 

Piers was speechless as she took care to make sure he was okay. 

She’s so nice… 

Feeling like a giant compared to Max as he towered over her, and forgetting how light he actually was, he was cautious to not put too much weight on her. She could handle all of it with some effort, but in the moment he was none the wiser. 

As they crossed the room and entered the hall, Max nodded to the bathroom. “You wanna brush your teeth and stuff?”

“Am I stinky?”

Max stifled a laugh. She knew he was being goofy, but he did a damn good job pretending like he was worried about it. “Pfft. No, but—“

“I’m good then.”

“But your teeth—“

“C’mon.” 

“Huh?”

Piers was now the one tugging Max along. He just wanted to lay down with her. To hold her. Maybe get a smooch out of it. Or two. Or more. It’s not like he would limit her. He’d do anything for her. He’d do anything with her. 

God, he loved her so much. 

Flopping onto the bed, Piers pulled Max down with him. She landed face-first on his upper tummy. Her laughter reverberated through it, tickling him a little. Made him giggle.

“Careful, dude!” she lightly scolded through her residual laughter. She fixed her hair out of the way and laid down on her side next to him, propped up on an elbow. 

She was desperately trying to ignore how fondly Piers was staring up at her. Her heart was fluttering madly while her stomach flipped below it. 

Focus.

She wanted to make sure Piers was safe and comfy and not gonna, like, throw up and die, or something. He usually held his drinks well enough, unlike her, but she could never be too careful. 

“You’re not gonna put on pyjamas?” she asked while fixing some loose hair out of Piers’ eyes. 

“Not yet.”

Max was about to protest before Piers cut off her train of thought. He took her hand off his face and smoothly flipped over, now hovering above Max and pinning her hand to the pillow.

Max couldn’t help the gasp that came out of her mouth. She looked up at him, wide-eyed at how sudden that was. How hot it was. 

…But also at how pretty he was. At how perfect he looked with his barely-contained ponytail now draping over his shoulder, threatening to tickle her own. How cozy she felt watching him just as fondly as he had watched her moments before. 

Her free hand moved on its own, reaching up to Piers’ cheek. Beckoning him closer. Wanting to be as close as she could to him. Piers leaned into it, smiling so contentedly just barely above her face. He felt calm in spite of his racing thoughts:

You’re beautiful. I love you. I want you. I love you. I need to kiss you. I— 

Unabashedly, he said the next part out loud. “I love you.”

All the air left Max’s lungs as she stared at him, dumbfounded. “Wh— huh?!”  

Piers repeated himself.

Max took a second to buffer. 

He was being silly, right?

He was just fooling around because he was drunk and wanted affection. 

Right?

Right.

She could say it back, like she wanted to, or she could deny it entirely…

She chose the latter. It was easier that way.

“Don’t— don’t say that.”

He looked so sad as he questioned her. It made Max feel mean. Was she being mean? “Why not?”

She frowned. “Because you don’t mean it,” she assured herself more than him, “You’re drunk, you’re just saying things at this point.”

“I mean it,” he practically whined. At least he had his smile back. Now he thought she was being silly. “I lo—“

Kind of bummed, very confused, and not wanting to have this kind of discussion while Piers was intoxicated, she quickly cut him off, “Um, y-you can kiss me now, if you want.”

It worked. In his own weird, barely cognizant way, Piers thought that was her way of saying it back.

He leaned in some more, his pretty smile widening and small crows feet forming on the outer edge of his sleepy, piercing, beautiful cyan eyes. 

Max was smitten.

It was okay if he didn’t really mean what he said. She could settle for just pretending that he did. 

“Yeah?” Piers whispered, his mouth nearly touching hers. It came out husky, stealing Max’s breath away again.

Max’s nerves were on fire as she nodded, leaning up to close the gap.

It had been a while since they last found themselves like this. They both constantly craved it, wanting nothing more than to just lose themselves in the other’s touch. They felt both at home and invigorated by it. Max’s internal conflicts melted away as she cupped Piers’ nape to encourage him to sink into her lips, his hand tightening around hers in tandem. 

It was funny, Max thought, how haphazard Piers’ drunken kisses were. They were feverish, yet gentle; his lips lingered on hers with the tenderness of a lover, but pressed into them with the fervor of a one-time fling. 

He silently worshiped her, releasing her hand in favor of running his thumb along the bottom edge of her bottom lip, and then her cheek, holding the side of her face in a weak attempt to pull her closer than she already was. Desperately clinging onto each breath she made against his mouth as if it was her last. Savoring how her tongue softly flicked at his own, then twirled around it. Priding himself in the Gooserene bumps that sprouted on her neck while his fingers trailed across its side, and the audible inhale she took through her nose when he slotted himself between her thighs, pushing her left leg outward with his right knee.

He was still drunk, without a doubt, but this was the clearest he’d felt since coming home.

Max’s newly clouded head juxtaposed him, though. She felt like she was losing herself; incorporeal beneath his weight, all that existed was him. All that mattered was him. The alcohol she tasted on his tongue seemed to seep into her own system, and the soft hair she ran her fingers through was a sleeper agent, coaxing her to another realm of existence — a dream world where time stopped everywhere except Piers’ room, on Piers’ bed. 

The only thing that snapped her back to the present was his lips leaving hers, trailing next to her chin, across her jaw, and finally onto her neck. She couldn’t stop the quiet whimpers that she let out as he left an open mouthed kiss, then a little nip, right at her sweet spot; and he hummed almost instinctively in response to those sounds, the soft vibration sending a chill straight to her—

Good god, she needed to stop him.

“P-Piers,” she whispered. 

It came out breathier than she’d intended it to. Still dazed, he interpreted her tone as a sign to keep going, sucking softly at her skin. 

Shit shit shit—

Her fight or flight kicked in, and in her panic, she accidentally shouted her next attempt. “Oi!” She punctuated the word by cupping his face and pushing him back, shrinking in on herself to create some extra distance. 

He looked shocked, his eyes wide and cheeks flushed as he scanned Max’s worried expression. 

Did I do something wrong?  

“What? What’s up?”

“Um…” Max froze. “You, um…”

Shit, Max, say something. Anything.

She let out a defeated sigh, avoiding looking Piers in the face, and her mouth twitching while she tried to form words that wouldn’t come out. 

Oh no.

The room was spinning, her heart was racing, and on top of that, she couldn’t speak. Tears started to well in her eyes. 

Why was this happening? What the fuck happened? Why was she panicking?

She wanted this. 

She wanted him. 

…But their agreement.

She loved him. 

She loved him.

She thought about what he had said earlier: “ I love you. I mean it.”

What if I had said it back? she asked herself.

Why didn’t I?

Should I have said it?

Should I now?

Should I tell him I love him and then continue on with whatever was about to happen? As if this never happened?

Did he mean it?

“I mean it.”

He didn’t. There’s no way.

“I love you.”

He loves making and performing music, he loves gaming, he loves going for late night rides to the shore to write and stargaze. He loves Marnie. He loves his team. He loves this city. 

He loves me… as a friend.

“I love you.”

No. No romance. Our agreement— 

“I love you.“

I love you. But—

“I love you.”

Please don’t lie to me.

“I love you.”

No.

“I love you.”

Please—

“Max!” Piers called, his right hand firmly planted on her cheek. 

Was it shaking?  

Max’s silence, followed by tears, followed by panicking her way into disassociation, sobered Piers right up. His mind scrambled as he tried to figure out what happened. 

His brain was able to put together bits and pieces: Max walking to him from the couch, Max helping him to his room, Max giggling against his belly… 

That was it. There was no in-between. There was no buffer between that and now either, really. He knows they kissed, and he knows he kissed her neck. He didn’t leave any marks, luckily. Maybe kissing her neck was risky..? They’d done more scandalous things than that without breaking their “rules,” though. 

Maybe it was just a bad day for her?

Did he ruin her day?

Did he do something wrong?

It didn’t matter. 

Well. No. It did matter, and it mattered a lot. But he needed to make sure Max was okay, that she was going to be okay, and then he could figure the rest out. 

He tried to break through to her a few times. It was only when held her face and forced her view onto him that she came back.

Piers watched Max with wide eyes, upturned brows, and a heaving chest as she blinked a few times, her vision obscured by tears. She tried her best to focus on his face to no avail. She looked down, feeling self-conscious.

“Hey, look at me.” Max heeded his words, and did her best to deepen her breaths and squeeze her tears out of the way as he reaffirmed, “It’s alright, love, you’re gonna be alright.” 

She still couldn’t speak, only a meek squeak coming out in lieu of a proper response. She felt so pathetic. 

I did this to her, Piers thought, I don’t know what I did, but I think this is my fault. 

What did I do?

He felt his own eyes begin to sting. Damn it.

“Don’t push yourself,” he instructed, “Just breathe with me, yeah?”

Max managed a barely-there nod before they began. Piers wanted her to be okay, but he wanted to be okay enough himself to make sure of that. This was just as much for him as it was for her. 

Max tried her best to match the rise and fall of his chest with her own, and soon enough, she was able to breathe without his help. She could see him clearly for a moment, but upon viewing Piers’ anxious expression, her eyes grew wetter. 

The absolute last thing she wanted to do was make him feel shitty too.

“I’m sorry,” she finally managed. 

She was fully crying now. At least she was vocal again. For now, at least. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Piers expressed his main concern, “I just want you to be okay. Okay? Don’t worry about me.”

Seeming too lost in her own head again to accept his response, Max just repeated, “I’m so sorry.”

He sighed, shutting his eyes for a moment, calming himself down. 

Shit. Focus.  

He wanted to kiss her again. On the forehead, on her cheeks, anywhere that might potentially make her feel better. Make her feel safe and loved. He refrained, worried he’d just overcrowd her.

As if he wasn’t doing that already. He only realized then that he was still firmly planted atop her. He moved over, laying on his side. 

He raised his top arm a bit. Silently telling her that, if she wanted, she could seek comfort in him. 

She obliged, scooting herself closer. As she nuzzled herself into his chest, Piers wrapped his arm around her. Detangled her long hair from around her body. Rubbed her upper back. Placed his palm against the back of her head, holding her close.

Max, in the meantime, was doing her best to accept his kindness. To forget her worries, to just exist here and now. She let Piers engulf her, pressing her body to his as she sought refuge in his smell, in his skin, in his embrace.

She was reminded upon touching her forehead to his chest that Piers’ shirt was partially undone, and knew that she was starting to feel better upon acknowledging that she felt flustered. She found it hard to feel anything other than sadness when she felt low enough.

She sighed, letting herself relax. Feeling herself drifting, given how mentally strenuous the past ten minutes or so had been; and above her, Piers was struggling to keep awake himself, having already been tired before the events that unfolded. 

Max cuddled a little closer, now fully plastered to Piers, placing her own arm around him. They tangled their legs together and Piers strengthened his hold on her while they comfortably molded together. At some point after Max’s breathing slowed, Piers pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, drifting off with his lips still against her.

#oc maxine #minmaxshipping #angst #fluff #fluff and angst #kissing #alcohol use #drunken confessions #pokemon oc #pokemon trainersona #pokemon fanfic #pokemon swsh fanfic #piers x reader #piers x oc #oc x canon #pokemon oc x canon #pokemon piers #piers pokemon #piers swsh #swsh #pokemon swsh #hurt/comfort

[theveryworstthereeverwas]

man the fireworks are beatifuol. I love new yeaters. take a shot fro taht

i think im 8 in.

my hes d hurts

#btw way traoijn has been fliped #Pokemon #pokemon oc #unreality #tw: alcohol use #alcohol use

[pinewoodpipit]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: VALORANT (Video Game) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Fade/Neon (VALORANT), Fadeshock - Relationship Characters: Fade (VALORANT), Neon (VALORANT), Jett (VALORANT), Yoru (VALORANT), Phoenix (VALORANT) Additional Tags: Fadeshock, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunkenness, Drunken Flirting, Alcohol, Embarrassment, Vomiting, Fluff, this is very silly Summary:

(a.k.a. the drunk confessions fic)

Neon is a bit of a disaster drunk. She’s emotional, impulsive, and tends to say exactly what’s on her mind without much regard for the consequences. This is fine when she has a responsible friend to supervise her, but when her friends are all just as drunk as she is, there’s nobody to stop her from making a mistake.

On her own and bolstered by the confidence alcohol gives her, Neon hammers on Fade’s door and speaks her mind, but she’s far more honest than she ever signed up for.

(Very mild) crackfic.

#pipit writes #valorant #alcohol use #alcohol ment #indulgence #own post #fanfic #fanfiction #fadeshock

[whumpacabra]

Day 19: “Please don’t.”

Scar reveal, knife wound [minor], minor wound treatment, alcohol use, blood, implied past violence, bar fight mention

[Directly follows Barfight]

Drifting down from the adrenaline high, brushing off the praise and thanks of the other bar patrons…it was nostalgic. Warm. Familiar.

(He had done this before, during the Before.)

“I think you got us free drinks for the rest of the night East.” Tierney laughed, hand clapping East’s back. Alister smiled at him, gratitude in his eyes.

“Next time save some ass kicking for the rest of us, eh?“

East rolled his eyes, feeling Tierney’s hand slide away from his back.

“Next time I’m sure there’ll be more than one prick so you’ll have your pick - ”

“East you’re bleeding.” Tierney’s whisper was urgent, even if the smear of blood on his palm was relatively unconcerning. East knew the fucker’s knife had cut his jacket, he hadn’t felt it break the skin.

“I didn’t notice - probably just a scratch.”

“We should clean it up though.” Alister had him fixed with a concerned expression. “I don’t think Nate will take kindly to knowing we got into a bar fight. Best to hide the evidence best we can.”

“I’m fine, really - ” There was no arguing with both housemates. East swallowed back the rest of his drink and sighed. “Fine. It probably doesn’t even need stitches.”

The three made their way to the bar restroom, rowdy patrons slapping East’s arm and shouting thanks and congratulations to him as he passed. The repeated, unexpected, unwanted contact was making him sick. Safe behind the closed bathroom door, the reality of what he had agreed to sunk in. He glanced at his reflection in the dirty mirror, skin pale and clammy. East turned suddenly and grabbed Tierney and Alister by the shoulder.

“Don’t ask. Please don’t.” He hoped his reaching out, his purposeful eye contact drove home how serious he was. He hadn’t thought about his back - what was there - for months now.

And here he was letting another man’s hands touch his bared scars and bloodied skin.

(Jackson would be proud.)

(Smith would be jealous.)

Tierney stared up at him with wide shining eyes, glancing to Alister who nodded grimly, brow furrowed in cautious concern.

“We won’t say a word. And we’ll be quick - I know you don’t like touch.”

“Unless you’re knocking another guy’s lights out.” Tierney muttered with a weak chuckle, but East let a smile soften his own face to show that he appreciated the joke. He took a deep breath, removing his hands from their shoulders and nodded to Tierney.

“Get me some vodka. Let’s get this over with.” He turned back to the mirror, shrugging off his jacket - the rip in the back was almost invisible, and any blood blended too well with the dark material to see. He slowly unbuttoned his undershirt, hands growing shaky.

(He took comfort in the fact that the blood on his knuckles wasn’t his own.)

East glanced up at the mirror, the scars on his chest so small and faded with age he could hardly outline the patch of skin that had been replaced. He looked to Alister’s face, eyes gentle and encouraging. Safe.

He took a slow inhale as he pulled his shirt back off his shoulders, and exhaled as he shirked the sleeves from his arms. He grimaced down at the pale green plaid patterned shirt - blood stained a palm sized blotch just below the back of the collar. East didn’t look up to see Alister’s reaction. He didn’t need to.

His hearing caught the stutter of breath, the almost imperceptible shift in breathing before someone spoke. And Tierney’s pattering footsteps, before the door opened and closed.

“I got the - ” He cut himself off, swallowing his words. East took another measured breath, running the tap and holding his bloodstained shirt under the cold water.

“Could use that drink, Tierney.” He managed to mutter, listening to the footsteps approach and seeing the shimmering shot glass out of the corner of his eye.

“You good?”

“Yes. Hurry up.“ He didn’t mean to snap, to take the shot glass from Tierney so violently and swig it back to feel the liquor burn down his throat. A half decent distraction from the hands touching his back.

“It’s not too deep - you, you’re right it probably won’t need stitches.” Tierney was making a point of not looking at East’s back while Alister worked, practically jittering with nervous energy. Alister hummed to confirm Tierney’s observation.

“Just gonna clean it up and get a bandage over it. Don’t want Nate worrying where this blood came from.”

East focused on the gradually fading bloodstain on the shirt in his hands, red washed pink by the icy water. He would have to volunteer for wash duty this weekend - the last thing he needed was getting in trouble with Nate for getting into a bar fight, even if he didn’t start it. He turned off the tap, wringing blood tinged water from his shirt and straightening up as Alister finished.

(The fingers weren’t poking, weren’t prodding - so much like the featherlight touch of Jackson ghosting over those jagged letters when they bled fresh and raw.)

“All set?” He asked, rolling his shoulders to feel the itchy plastic and adhesive of a fresh bandage just below his neck.

“Yup. You really gonna wear a wet shirt for the walk home?”

East struggled back into his button down, the damp fabric fighting him. He responded to Tierney’s question with a shrug and a nod.

“It’s pissing down anyway out there. We’ll all be soaked to the bone before we get home.”

[Before Session #15]

(Part of my Freelancers: Changing Tides series)

#whump #scar reveal #knife wound #minor wound treatment #alcohol use #implied past violence #bar fight #freelancers #awoo. <- i am the most fulfilled I've ever been in life but i am also the busiest and most socially burnt out i've ever been in life #have some more no context wolf-east recovery #febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday19

[bonefall]

"besides a spare lionblaze" LMAAOOOO poor boy just being used for his strength

Why even HAVE a clanmate with a superpower if you aren't gonna use him to move furniture? Give him a stem of fermented rowanberries and he'll help you move that tree right out of camp.

#cw alcohol #alcohol use #Lionblaze #Bone Babble #Fennelposting